the rich always seemed to get across as quickly as possible. Had she been a poor girl who caught his eye? Or had she come from the kind of people who had money and wanted a better family name?
Rahn had worked hard for his summer in the French Pyrenees. He lived on a tight budget, hoping to stretch a few weeks into a month or two. Magre had tossed him a morsel with the Bachmans. After a pleasant evening of talk Rahn had managed to turn it into something of a banquet. With the money Herr Bachman had offered him, a week of work would buy him another month of study, not to mention a free ride to every ruin and medieval fortress in the region.
Along the way if a bit of flirtation with Frau Bachman developed, what was the harm? As long as no one got too serious everyone could have some fun!
'We can all fit, I hope.'
Dieter Bachman pointed toward a 1930 Mercedes-Benz SSK. The vehicle was a long sleek convertible set low to the ground. Its curving front fenders looked like giant sleds to either side of an engine that ran two thirds the length of the automobile. The tiny boot could hardly provide enough space for their combined luggage, but Rahn managed to tie his own luggage across the rear bumper, and then found himself sharing a seat with the delicate Frau Bachman nearly on his lap. Herr Bachman made a joke about trusting Herr Rahn to be a true Cathar and all three of them laughed with the giddiness of adolescents starting off on a road trip.
Bachman liked to drive fast, so they tore through the countryside with Elise, Frau Bachman, jostling against Rahn until he could think of nothing but her, the fine scent of her lustrous black hair, the sweet dusky skin so close to his lips, the delicate neck, the dark, enticing eyes. She asked him once, without the slightest insinuation that she was aware of hereffect on him, if she was making a nuisance of herself. He answered bravely. Not at all!
They stopped to stretch once along the way, and before they got back in Bachman asked him purposefully, 'My wife isn't making it too hot for you, is she?' He seemed to be enjoying himself.
Rahn had directed them to the village of Ussat-les-Bains, where he had decided to show them one of the great caves of Europe. He suggested they have lunch at the Des Marronniers before their descent, and they sat outside in the shade of a grove of chestnut trees - after which the hotel had been named. They enjoyed roast duck and a bottle of Languedoc Merlot. As they dined Rahn described certain of the key families of the region in the years leading up to the Vatican's crusade into the territory. As in much of Europe at that time, the marriages crossed borders, even languages and culture. To speak of the Cathars as a people was rather a misnomer. They were more precisely a culture. Rather than being a rural, mostly impoverished mountain region as the area was today, he told them, the south of France had actually been far in advance of most of the rest of Europe: politically stable, economically prosperous and in general at peace with its neighbours. That, he assured them, had been a rarity in feudal Europe.
'Given the advanced state of political and economic conditions,' he said, 'it was natural that they turned its attention to those things we associate with civilisation: music, poetry, the arts, and good manners. And what started here, especially the notion of romantic love, began to sweep through the courts of Europe - along with the legends of the Grail.'
Over coffee Elise asked him how he had first got interested in the study of the Cathars.
'For me,' Rahn told her, 'everything goes back to Wolfram Eschenbach's story of Percival.'
'The knight searching for the Grail?' she asked.
'Percival was the first of many and the only one who actually saw it.'
'It has been a while since I read Eschenbach,' Herr Bachman said.
'The gist of it is that Percival found his way to the Castle of the Fisher King. At a banquet, Percival witnessed a procession of
Rahn had worked hard for his summer in the French Pyrenees. He lived on a tight budget, hoping to stretch a few weeks into a month or two. Magre had tossed him a morsel with the Bachmans. After a pleasant evening of talk Rahn had managed to turn it into something of a banquet. With the money Herr Bachman had offered him, a week of work would buy him another month of study, not to mention a free ride to every ruin and medieval fortress in the region.
Along the way if a bit of flirtation with Frau Bachman developed, what was the harm? As long as no one got too serious everyone could have some fun!
'We can all fit, I hope.'
Dieter Bachman pointed toward a 1930 Mercedes-Benz SSK. The vehicle was a long sleek convertible set low to the ground. Its curving front fenders looked like giant sleds to either side of an engine that ran two thirds the length of the automobile. The tiny boot could hardly provide enough space for their combined luggage, but Rahn managed to tie his own luggage across the rear bumper, and then found himself sharing a seat with the delicate Frau Bachman nearly on his lap. Herr Bachman made a joke about trusting Herr Rahn to be a true Cathar and all three of them laughed with the giddiness of adolescents starting off on a road trip.
Bachman liked to drive fast, so they tore through the countryside with Elise, Frau Bachman, jostling against Rahn until he could think of nothing but her, the fine scent of her lustrous black hair, the sweet dusky skin so close to his lips, the delicate neck, the dark, enticing eyes. She asked him once, without the slightest insinuation that she was aware of hereffect on him, if she was making a nuisance of herself. He answered bravely. Not at all!
They stopped to stretch once along the way, and before they got back in Bachman asked him purposefully, 'My wife isn't making it too hot for you, is she?' He seemed to be enjoying himself.
Rahn had directed them to the village of Ussat-les-Bains, where he had decided to show them one of the great caves of Europe. He suggested they have lunch at the Des Marronniers before their descent, and they sat outside in the shade of a grove of chestnut trees - after which the hotel had been named. They enjoyed roast duck and a bottle of Languedoc Merlot. As they dined Rahn described certain of the key families of the region in the years leading up to the Vatican's crusade into the territory. As in much of Europe at that time, the marriages crossed borders, even languages and culture. To speak of the Cathars as a people was rather a misnomer. They were more precisely a culture. Rather than being a rural, mostly impoverished mountain region as the area was today, he told them, the south of France had actually been far in advance of most of the rest of Europe: politically stable, economically prosperous and in general at peace with its neighbours. That, he assured them, had been a rarity in feudal Europe.
'Given the advanced state of political and economic conditions,' he said, 'it was natural that they turned its attention to those things we associate with civilisation: music, poetry, the arts, and good manners. And what started here, especially the notion of romantic love, began to sweep through the courts of Europe - along with the legends of the Grail.'
Over coffee Elise asked him how he had first got interested in the study of the Cathars.
'For me,' Rahn told her, 'everything goes back to Wolfram Eschenbach's story of Percival.'
'The knight searching for the Grail?' she asked.
'Percival was the first of many and the only one who actually saw it.'
'It has been a while since I read Eschenbach,' Herr Bachman said.
'The gist of it is that Percival found his way to the Castle of the Fisher King. At a banquet, Percival witnessed a procession of
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