Carcassonne
Does your home town have a patron saint? I come from Chichester in West Sussex; our patron is St Richard. Chichester is the also the home town of the heroine of the second – contemporary – part of my novel Labyrinth.
Richard was bishop of Chichester following a political conflict that saw his patron victorious. He developed a reputation for opposing nepotism and was generous to the poor. He supported the Crusades – in fact he died preaching a crusade in 1253.
I'm interested in the idea of patron saints. It's a strange one – a kind of human lucky charm. Many years ago I was crossing one of the eastern bridges over the Seine in Paris and saw the statue of Saint Genevieve. She looks east – upriver – because that is the direction from which trouble is likely to come. She is the patron saint of the city.
Genevieve was born at Nanterre, not far from Paris, in about 420 AD. She was inspired to devote her life to God by a meeting with Saint Germanus of Auxerre when she was just 7 years old. At fifteen she became a nun a developed a gift for visions.
The people of Paris mistrusted her visions and – before they became convinced of their accuracy – they tried to kill her.
When Paris was invaded by Childeric and, later, Clovis, Genevieve negotiated the release of prisoners and provision of food for the suffering citizens. In 451 she led a crusade of prayer which was credited with saving the city from Attila II and his Huns.
The church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul was built by Clovis at her instigation. Genevieve was later buried there and many miracles have been reported at her tomb. It is said that it was through Genevieve's intercession that Paris was saved from a virulent epidemic in 1129 AD.
The cities of the Greek and Roman civilisations were protected not by saints but by gods. Tyche, the goddess of fortune, looked after Byzantium. Later, in the non-Christian middle ages, female figures wearing crowns of turrets and battlements were often pictured.
For me the pattern has been reversed. Instead of finding a person or a god to protect the city of Carcassonne, I find that it is the city of Carcassonne that has nurtured me.
My family and I bought a small house there in 1990. It sits nestled down in a quartier populaire, in the shadow the high grass bank and the biscuit-coloured city wall. We bought it by chance – almost on a whim – having seen some hand drawn particulars on school exercise-book paper, sent second class in a re-used envelope.
That whim led to this website, my novel Labyrinth, and I am proud to write in a tradition that perhaps began with Raimon de Miraval and other troubadours well known at the court of the Trencavel dynasty. It was around the turn of the 13th century that Miraval wrote:
Pauc val qui non es enveios
E qui non desira-l plus car
E qui no s'entremet d'amar
Greu pot esser gaillartz ni pros
Que d'amor ven gaugz e ven bes
E per amor es hom cortes …
(He who does not love is worth little, for he who neglects love can be neither brave nor gallant. From love come good and joy. Love makes man courtly …)
But that's an inadequate translation. We talk about courtly love – 'Amor cortes' or 'l'amour courtois' in French – and lose much of the sense of the original. There are layers of sensitivity and restraint – of civilisation – that disappear … And this is important because, around this time in southwest France, the inhabitants of the cities were free men and women. Independent elected councils took responsibility for roads, justice, militias and so on. Suburbs grew up around the fortified towns and villages, themselves extensions of the local seigneur's château built at the centre. Conduct in the courts was defined by 'courtoisie'. Bravery in combat – whether in training or real conflicts – was essential. But so was civilised, polite behaviour, good humour and – crucially – such requirements as asking a lady's permission before sitting next to her or speaking to her.
Once the knight had found his place alongside a lady, perhaps they would listen to one of Raimon de Miraval's songs of 'fin amor' – refined love – in which a lady's glance or a smile half-hidden is an overwhelming delight for the suitor.
In the fields round about each village, town or city, intelligent farming of the fertile soil brought surpluses that could be traded, bringing understanding between people of different cultures and religions. Stockpiles – for example of dried beans – were laid in for the damp, depressing winters.
And alongside these novel social arrangements, the tolerant, forgiving, pragmatic Cathar priests – the parfaits and parfaites – preached salvation for all, without exception.
Which is why Pope Innocent III sent an army of Crusaders to kill them.
The massacre of 20,000 within the walls of the Béziers was designed to crush opposition in advance, through fear. Soon the Host of Crusaders was encamped around the fortified city of Carcassonne. An attack from the north took control of the city's fresh water supplies, leaving only the wells within the walls. The summer was hot. The wells began to fail. The people became afraid. Raymond-Roger Trencavel decided to negotiate. The Christian Crusaders at the negotiating table took him prisoner and locked him in one of his own dungeons … where he died early in November. Perhaps he was poisoned …
The cité fell. The Cathars were expelled from Carcassonne, carrying nothing with them 'but their sins'.
The city of Carcassonne had been thought impregnable. Many years previously, the city had been besieged by an 8th century French king whose name is misty with legend, rather like King Arthur in Britain.
The Emperor Charlemagne received news that cities in the south of his empire had been attacked by Saracens. Amongst the cities taken was a hill town on the river Aude known to his father, Pépin le Bref. Charlemagne raised an army and set out for the southwest. When it arrived beneath the fortified he discovered Arabs from Spain already within. In the battle for the city, their leader had been killed. The city was being ruled by his widow – Carcas.
Inside the city walls, life went on. The pragmatic inhabitants of the city had quickly become used to the Saracen rule, judging it no worse than others they had endured. The army of Charlemagne managed to besiege the city and cut it off from the outside world, but could do no more against its mighty defences.
The Saracen garrison inside the city was actually quite small. Carcas told her soldiers to put their hats on sticks and march them around the battlements to give the impression of greater numbers. Charlemagne's army still held back from a frontal assault and autumn turned to winter. Unlike in 1209, the city had plenty of water, but food began to run short. The siege was clearly reaching a decisive phase.
Carcas had her soldiers round up the last supplies of grain and acorns and fed it all to the last un-eaten pig. The plump and well-fed animal was taken to the top of the battlements and Carcas called Charlemagne to a parley. As he approached the wall with his knights and servants, the snow fell and covered the ground in a freezing blanket. Carcas called out to her men to hurl the pig over the battlements at the emperor. It crashed to the ground with its mouth still stuffed with corn.
As Carcas had predicted, Charlemagne gave up the miserable, cold siege there and then. He mustered his troops and prepared for departure. Carcas had the horns of her small garrison sounded in victory. Some of Charlemagne's soldiers called out:
'Carcas sonne! Carcas sonne!'
Charlemagne returned to his position beneath the battlements. To his and Carcas' astonishment, the tall square tower known as the Tour Pinte bowed down to the emperor and removed its roof, like a polite chevalier removing his hat. At this signal, both sides decided to call an end to the conflict. The gates of the city were opened and the city returned to its peaceful existence of before the siege.
If you look for the Tour Pinte today, you will recognise it as the one with no roof …
