Robert of Avignon found himself dispatched in great haste to Rome to bring the count's petition before the pope. Several days after arriving he was granted a formal audience. There, before the papal court, he halfheartedly pled the count's case and failed to persuade the pope to lift either the interdict or the excommunication.

News of his mission's failure preceded his return to Toulouse. On his arrival, the count vented his displeasure on Robert and accused him of not giving the maximum effort expected of one on such an important assignment.

And so Robert was exiled from the county of Toulouse. It was an ignominious ending for Robert. He had been gifted with a keen intellect, which, since early on in life, he had learned to exploit. Thus he had risen from the lowly station in which he had been born to a position of power and influence. But he had overreached. He had thought that he could play off the great men in this affair against each other, and thereby gain greater prominence. His desire for power was stronger than his loyalty to his liege and, as is so often the case for those who betray the confidence and trust placed in them, he all too soon had to pay the penalty.

Robert was lucky though. He could have suffered with his life, but the count did not have enough evidence to openly accuse him of treachery. Now this failed mission gave Raymond an excuse to rid himself of this one whom he could no longer trust.

He now turned to Guillaume's father, Lord Godfrey, to fill Robert's shoes.

News soon reached the region of Languedoc that a large crusading army had assembled and was headed south. The nobility and citizens of that region prepared to meet the coming onslaught. The resolute leadership expected from Count Raymond, however, was not forthcoming. For reasons known only to himself, he continued to vacillate as to what his intentions were to be--whether he would head the forces of the south to resist this invasion, or whether he, too, would join the crusade against the Cathar population.

And so it was left to the lesser nobility, who were more militant and vigorous in the defense of their citizens and territories, to rally the local population to resist. Foremost among them was Raymond-Roger Trencavel, the nephew of Count Raymond, and Viscount of Beziers. The Trencavels had held this viscounty for many generations, but they had often proved to be bothersome vassals to the Counts of Toulouse. Raymond-Roger proved no exception, even though he had at times been close to the count.

It was believed that Count Raymond was giving him surreptitious support, but this could not be confirmed. Many thought that the count was betting on both sides. If the crusaders won, then Raymond was rid of a difficult but powerful vassal, and he would be able to exercise his authority over the Trencavel domains. If Raymond-Roger won, then his worries about the crusade would be over. Either way, Count Raymond would come out on top.

Malcolm and his two brothers attached themselves to Guillaume, who had himself raised a small force of seasoned soldiers from among the local population--many of them Cathars--who pledged themselves to defend their homeland.

The southerners, whether Catholic or Cathar, knew that even though the ostensible reason for the crusade was to force the so-called heretics, the Cathari, to renounce their beliefs, the rapacious, land-hungry northern aristocracy were most interested in carving up the region of Languedoc into their own personal fiefdoms.

Alarming news had also reached them: a large portion of the army were mercenaries, those who were intent on pillaging and raping, and prepared to kill anyone, as long as they were paid. Anyone "taking up the cross" in joining this "holy crusade" had been granted a 40-day indulgence by the church. Beginning from the first day of the war, none of the crimes they might commit against the citizens of the south would be imputed to them in this life, or the next. With time already ticking, these cutthroats were anxious to get on with their sport.

* * *

Guillaume and his band of three hundred or so knights and soldiers had made their camp to the west of Toulouse. While appearing to operate independently, they were secretly taking their orders from Lord Godfrey. Their instructions were not to engage in pitched battles with the crusaders, but to attack and harass contingents not yet attached to the main body of the crusading army. This they had done quite successfully. The biggest engagement had been against a band of two or three hundred German mercenaries under the command of Simon de Montfort's son, Guy. Guillaume and his troops had surprised them as they came out of a narrow pass. The mercenary band was virtually wiped out. The few survivors, which included Guy de Montfort, fled west.

The three Scotsmen had formed a small personal bodyguard for Guillaume. Their brash young commander would charge into the thick of the battle, and so they often found themselves in precarious and dangerous situations. Yet oftener than not, the sight of the two red-headed giants, Hamish and Dougal, swinging their great claymores, was enough to cause the valor of many of the enemy to melt away. This is not in any way to denigrate the martial skills of Malcolm and Guillaume, but the awesome spectacle of the other two brothers, yelling and cursing in their native Gaelic all the time and carving a deadly swath of mayhem through the enemy's ranks, was a fearsome sight. So far the four of them had managed to come out of these encounters without any serious wounds.

Still, they knew that these encounters were only minor skirmishes compared to the battles that surely still lay ahead. Raymond was still uncommitted.

Finally, a secret dispatch arrived at Guillaume's camp. This time it bore his uncle's seal, not his father's, so Guillaume knew that it would contain the long-awaited news of Raymond's decision. Inside his tent, the young knight stared pensively at the sealed letter. Malcolm and his two brothers sat silently across from him. Then, with uncharacteristic trepidation, Guillaume broke the seal and unfolded the document. As the others watched his eyes traverse the paper, his anxious countenance turned to one of disappointment, then despair. The news was not good!

Count Raymond had decided to join the crusaders. All of his attempts to defuse the situation had failed to produce a satisfactory result, and the size of the invading army was too great to be successfully challenged. And so the count had settled on this course of action. His only hope of retaining his territory, it seemed, was to be received back into the church, and the only way he could achieve that was to do penance for his "sins" by submitting to a humiliating public flogging, and then join the Crusade. All of Guillaume's men were to take an oath of loyalty to the church. Any who refused were to be summarily dismissed and branded as outlaws. Guillaume was mortified at the news.

Passing the dispatch to Malcolm, Guillaume staggered out of the tent and sat down heavily on the ground before a campfire a few feet away. Malcolm read the document to his brothers, and then the three of them joined the despondent Guillaume.

"What am I to do, Malcolm? Do I join this murderous mob, descending like locusts upon our country, and fight our own good citizens? Or do I disregard my uncle's orders? If I were to do that, and my men knew that my uncle now fought on the other side, I don't know how many of them would stay with me. I cannot, in all good conscience, fight my own people, but I cannot fight without an army. I am much perplexed, my friend.

"Am I to obey orders and have a part in this evil, or am I to disobey my liege, to whom I have sworn fealty? Which is greater, my oath which I solemnly swore, or my conscience and my heart, which tell me that I must defend the weak and the oppressed, and those wrongly persecuted? These are grave matters, Malcolm, and I know not what to do!"

Malcolm shook his head and remained silent. He had no quick answer to give.

Hamish, noting his brother's silence, turned to Guillaume and tried to offer his advice. "If a man is not as good as his word, he is nuthin'! And ya' ha'e sworn the great oath to yer uncle and ya' be bound by that. Ya' canna go against yer word. Ya' swore it to yer own hurt, and by the saints, ya' have to keep it. That's why my brother's here, because he sware that he would help ya'. Now he too 'as got a dreadful decision to make. For his heart is with these people, but ya're his commander, and he has taken an oath to serve ya'. So if ya' decide that ya're gonna follow yer uncle in this war, then he too has ta' decide. And his heart--his heart is lost to that lass, an' it be her kind that he'd ha'e to be a fightin'! Oh, war is a horrible thing!--Especially a one like this. When you ha'e to fight strangers, them 'ho mean nuthin' to ya', thata be one thing, but when those ya've been asked to fight are un's that ya've got regard fa' and ha'e grown up wi' some a them, then this is a dreadful thing! Ah, this is a melancholy night to be sure!"

"Aye, it is a melancholy night," said Malcolm. "I will not be sleepin' tonight, I reckon. But I know what Heloise would expect of me, and that I must be a doin'. I'm gonna go over theres away for a little while, under those yonder trees, and I'm gonna pray and ask God to get through this thick Scottish skull of mine, and show me what to do. My heart feels torn in a hundred ways. I think we all could do some praying tonight!"

Malcolm picked up a pebble and threw it into the fire. For a moment he gazed at it and thought himself very much like that little stone, with the flames of torment licking at him from every side.

"May God help us, and make our paths clear!" he said to the others as he rose. And with that, he turned and headed off to the copse a short distance away. He sat down, leaned hard against a tree, and looking up at the starry sky, began to pray. Things had been so clear-cut before: He was fighting on the side of the right, and against tyranny, defending the weak against the strong, siding with those who were sworn to the noble purpose of protecting people he loved--people such as Heloise. Now everything seemed hopelessly muddled.

His mind drifted back and forth between thoughts and prayers. He reminisced about the preceding months, his engagement to Heloise, and their plans to marry at the end of the war; he thought of Esme, who had lovingly nursed him back to health; he thought of the love she had for Guillaume, and of Guillaume's love for her. Yet, it seemed that, under the current circumstances, the two would never be able to enjoy the bliss that he and Heloise enjoyed. Guillaume had put duty first. How clearly Malcolm remembered the tears he had seen in the young man's eyes the last time he parted from Esme.

Esme and her family knew that they would receive no mercy from the crusaders, who regarded them as heathens. She and her family, as well as many others, had left to cross the Pyrenees through some of the coastal passes, and planned to resettle in the kingdom of Count Raymond's brother-in-law, Peter of Aragon.

Malcolm thought of Guy, who had wrestled with his faith for many weeks. In the end, he had decided that he would rather die defending what he believed than to take the pacifistic approach that many of the Cathars had taken. Those who had renounced physical violence as a matter of principle were not even contemplating offering any resistance to the crusaders. They had resigned themselves to die as martyrs rather than renounce their faith. Guy had sought to join Guillaume's band, but needing to stay nearby his family's business, he had instead joined the militia that was being raised inside Toulouse. In due course, that militia would have become part of the defending army. But now that the count had changed sides, Guy and Heloise would be in great danger.

Malcolm struggled to clear his mind and to form some sort of a coherent prayer to God. After many hours of this anguish, a strange peace fell upon Malcolm--one that he had never known before. Suddenly, his troubled mind and heart were quiet. Within him was a renewed purpose, his objectives were now clear. With a sigh of relief, and a thankful heart to his God, who had cut through all his confusion, he rolled over and fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Guillaume had watched as the young Scotsman had walked away, and then he, too, found a private place and searched his soul. But Guillaume was even more confused. His faith in God was not as deep as Malcolm's. In fact, he now found his mind clouded with uncertainty. Was there truly a God? If so, all this fighting over religion certainly didn't do Him any credit. And if so, why did He seem to take so little interest in what was going on?

As he mulled over these and a hundred other thoughts that crowded his mind, he determined that he would put God to the test to find out if He was truly there. Guillaume had always skirted the issue when it came to making any sort of commitment to God in his own life, but at this point he decided to strike a bargain. It was now or never. This crisis was too big for him to sort out--even with the help of those he trusted and loved the most: his uncle and his father. He knew that there was no simple answer, no unequivocal right and wrong.

And so that night Guillaume prayed with a sincerity and desperation that he had never felt before. He too found peace as the turmoil that had raged inside of him melted away. His purpose was now clear, and his direction fixed.