“Do they believe in Heaven?”
“Indeed, but only the ‘good Christians’ can get there. They believe in the transmigration of souls. A man who led a just life will be reincarnated into a body better suited for spiritual development. Whereas a man who’s done evil will regress, and may even be reborn as an animal. Those who accept this creed call themselves Believers, but few ask for the Consolamentum until they think death is near, for it is not easy to live like a ‘good Christian.’ Once a man or woman becomes one of their priests, they must reject all that they once held dear, even their families, for the Cathars see such earthly attachments as evil, entangling people in the life of the flesh, which will deny them salvation. They are forgiving of sinners, though, yet another way in which they differ from our Church.”
Joanna was glad that he spoke of “our Church,” for it was becoming very important to her that Raimond de St Gilles did not embrace a false faith that would put his immortal soul at risk. “I’ve heard the cardinal say the Cathars are wanton and dissolute, scorning marriage and encouraging people to commit the most shameful of carnal sins. Is that true—” She got no further, for Raimond had begun to laugh.
“I’ve always found it interesting that men who take holy vows of chastity are often the ones to become utterly obsessed with the carnal sins of others. I hate to deny them the pleasure they seem to take in imagining Cathar orgies and depraved revelries, but nothing could be further from the truth. The Cathar priests abhor sins of the flesh even more than our priests do. For them, carnal intercourse is the greatest sin as it can lead to procreation, dragging another heavenly soul down into the horrors of the material world.”
Raimond paused to pet one of the dogs when she nudged his leg. “Such a pity that the fear of heresy seems to turn even the most rational of men into raving lunatics. If Cardinal Melior would only consider the evidence dispassionately, he’d realize that I could not possibly be a Cathar, for that would mean abjuring all sins of the flesh.”
Joanna thought his smile was more mischievous than salacious and she could not keep from smiling, too, when he said, with a mock sigh, “After all, it is no secret that I do like women.”
“So I’ve heard,” she said, very dryly.
“I’m sure you have,” he agreed, just as dryly. “But what you may not know is that I differ from most men in that I enjoy the company of women in and out of bed.”
“You do not think most men do?”
“Sadly, no. Too many of them show far more interest in the female body than the female brain. They never find out that St Peter was wrong when he called women the weaker vessel. The women I’ve known have more common sense than most men and they are more resilient, too, for they’ve had to learn to bend, rather than break. And they can be delightfully unpredictable . . . as a beautiful queen proved to be on a recent evening in Narbonne.”
Joanna’s breath quickened as their eyes met. But she knew that it was far too dangerous to flirt with this man, for she was acutely aware of his physical presence, wanting to stroke his wind-tousled black hair, to feel his arm slide around her waist, to taste his mouth on hers. She stiffened her spine and her resolve. Before she could say she wished to return to the great hall, though, he drew back, almost imperceptibly, and said casually, “Tell me about Sicily, Lady Joanna.”
She was both relieved and unsettled that he seemed able to read her moods so easily. But because she did not really want to go, she found herself doing as he asked. As she spoke, memories came flooding back and she took pleasure in reliving them, in telling him of that beautiful jewel in a turquoise sea, a sun-kissed kingdom prosperous and peaceful during the years of her husband’s reign, not yet threatened by the looming shadow of the German emperor. She’d already noticed that Raimond was an unusually attentive listener. As he listened to her now, his eyes never left her face, so intent upon what she was saying that it was as if the world had contracted, shrinking until there was only this lush, flowering garden and a man and woman seated on a narrow stone bench in the shade of a cherry tree.