The Waldensian Martyrs

By Pam Vause and Ted Vause

A historic novel by Pam Vause. Italy 1496-1488. The Popes and the Inquisition forbade biblical translation through the Middle Ages, threatening imprisonment and death to those who disobeyed. This power was visited for many centuries upon the people who spread Bible doctrines. They were hunted to extinction, yet their blood watered the seed

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pam Vause
• Release date: Mar 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9780645951202

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Italy 1486–1488

Leaning against a large granite rock, grandfather was silent while Marco told his story.

‘Nonno, all went well until I entered the village.’ He stopped and looked up at his grandfather, who listened intently. ‘The streets were deserted, shops tightly shuttered, market stalls empty; even the town’s dogs were strangely quiet. I could only hear the lowing of cattle penned in the market bull-ring. The village was still, not a sound, not a movement. It was eerie and unnatural. He searched for words to describe how it felt. ‘I then noticed, you know, the one who’s slaughtering our people. He was leading the papal army,’ he shuddered and took a deep breath.

'Si,' butted in grandfather, ‘Albert Cataneo, Archdeacon of Cremona and supporter of Pope Innocent.’

‘That’s the one. He rode with his army across the bridge into Pinerolo, and they encountered no resistance.

When I turned the corner with my cart and produce, it was clear that an advance troop was already at work. Signors were prodded up the streets like cattle; hemp ropes dangled around their necks. Soldiers stripped and looted shops. Others were dragging timber or carrying straw to the market square.

A soldier came at me from the side street with a wine bottle in his hands. He grabbed my mule, and it jumped sideways, knocking the drunk to the ground. More drunken soldiers ran towards me, their hands grabbing at my reins. I pulled the reins, urging my mule to trot quickly. We jerked forward and the soldiers dropped back.

As I passed the church a very different scene met me. A signorina was screaming. Nonno, I was terrified. There was so much terror in her cries that I felt sick. She ran from the church; kept stumbling and then fell into the street and lay there. Her gown was torn and there was blood on it.’ Marco shuddered convulsively as he told his story. ‘I watched a soldier come from the church. The soldier knotted his hands in her hair and pulled her to her feet. Then he took her back inside.’ Marco drew a strangled breath that threatened to become a sob, but somehow, he held it back. ‘I knew suddenly whatever befell that signorina was far worse than the drunks I had encountered further down the street.’ He stopped, shuddered, and went on.

‘Nonno, the wind shifted suddenly and there were billows of black smoke rising in the air. You know I could feel my heart pounding. I was so scared. I stood in my cart and shouted, violently shaking the reins, and turned the mule in another direction, and then I made him gallop out of the village.’

Nonno just nodded and sat sadly contemplating what Marco told him.

MARCO HEADED DOWN the mountain track passing birch and chestnut trees, carrying the lamb his grandfather gave him. He was tall and solid, and at thirteen years of age, he was considered almost a man. Entering open pastures, he could see his village Borgata Cyrus and his family cottage. The smoke from his mother’s kitchen fire usually made him feel secure, but today it reminded him of the other fire. 'I still feel sick in the stomach when I think about the soldiers. I wish Pietro was with me, he would have known what to do. I wonder what Mamma would say if she knew, he thought.

The ancient village Borgata Cyrus

Bleating from the lamb brought him back to his present situation. His father’s voice could be heard as he led the family in prayer. Marco quietly opened the door and waited.

His mother was the first to look up. She stood and walked toward him. ‘Marco we were so worried, what took you so long?’ Looking at the lamb in his arms she sighed. ‘Son, we sent you to help Nonno, not to bring home stray lambs. What happened?’ Taking the lamb from his arms, she thought for a moment and spoke, ‘I suppose it was caught in the highland thickets.’

Marco shook his head, ‘No Mamma, Nonno gave it to you. He said to use it for the family.’ He quickly looked at Maria his six-year-old sister, who was whispering to their father and didn’t hear. He flopped down on a bench near the table as tiredness washed over every limb.

Concerned, his mother’s dark eyes watched warily. Her long black hair was always kept in a twist behind her head, but she now brushed a stray wisp of hair from her face and twisted her aching solid built body. She stood for a moment contemplating; nodded, then took the lamb outside to the courtyard and placed it in the barn’s enclosure.

When she entered the room, she placed on the table a plate of freshly cooked pizza, covered in tomato sauce with fresh cheese. It smelled good. The familiarity and warmth of the room, with father by the fire, eyes closed listening to Maria recite portions from their handwritten Bible, now resting on mother’s knees, brought back normality to Marco. He sighed, relaxed, quickly mumbled grace, and then thankfully ate.

THE NEXT MORNING Marco walked to the far pastures. He passed stone dwellings that were clustered together along the ridge. They had lemon trees and grapes vines hanging over their garden walls and vegetables could be seen between or behind the buildings.

Looking at the mountains, as he walked up the steep pass, he watched the early morning mist move amongst the craggy tips.

Marco climbed the mountain slope looking for their cow. He stood and listened to the cowbells. Each bell rang slightly differently, making a special melody, the melody of the Alps. 'There she is, he thought. I can recognize our bell anywhere as it has such a distinct tone.'

Approaching their cow, he carefully placed hemp rope around her neck and spoke softly as he stroked her. ‘Come on old girl, let’s go home.’ The cow walked quietly behind, chewing her cud.

When nearing home, Maria met him with her curly black hair protruding from under a woolly bonnet. She danced around the home yard, with red bare toes sticking out of old worn shoes. She waved her arms about, drawing the once long sleeves, higher in her outgrown dress. ‘Look Marco, the lamb is following me. I am going to make it my special friend.’ She started to sing. ‘Maria has a special friend, a special friend.’ She led the lamb with some rope. The lamb jumped and frolicked as she sang.

‘Maria, you had better take it back to its enclosure. Mamma will be cross. You know she doesn’t like us making friends with our farm animals.’

‘But why Marco? I would love to have a little lamb as my special friend.’

‘Just do it Maria, and do it quickly before Mamma catches you.’

He thought to himself, ‘I dare not explain what the lamb’s future is to Maria as she’s too young, and I feel I’m too young for what happened at Pinerolo, but somehow I know that’s not true, as I’m almost a man, and I have to take some responsibilities around here.’

Maria’s high-pitched voice chanting to her lamb seemed to beat in time with the rhythm of milk squirting into Marco’s bucket. He looked again as she disappeared into the animal enclosure.

Shaking his head he thought, 'It is said that children in the mountains are monsters with only one eye in the middle of their foreheads and they have four rows of black teeth. I dare say this is to keep people away from us. They haven’t seen our Maria.' Maria came out and stood with her hands on her hips, then turned and skipped inside. ‘She’s a healthy little signorina that doesn’t stop prattling,’ he chuckled.

CHAPTER 2

BORGATA CYRUS

Ancient 1000 -year old chestnut tree

While working in the fields, Marco once again thought about that terrible day. ‘I must tell papa. I don’t know what he will say, as he taught me to be silent and careful, and I certainly wasn’t any of those things.’

Father watched Marco. He knew what happened in the village, and was very worried. They sat under the large ancient chestnut tree, eating their mother’s bread with fresh soft cheese from their cow.

‘Papa, it was a shock to be in the middle of an invasion without you or Pietro and to see their hate and willingness to shed blood. It scared me.’ An involuntary shudder came over Marco, as he recounted the horrific details. ‘The soldiers had the appearance of devils. Their faces looked so evil and this is worrying me. How am I going to witness if I feel like this?’ A small sob escaped Marco’s lips and tears slid down his cheeks, which he quickly brushed away, hoping his father didn’t notice. He rubbed his bare feet back and forth in the warm soft soil, trying to get comfort from the familiar softness. He stared down at his feet, not daring to look at his father as he fought to regain his composure.

Father patted his hand. Marco looked up. ‘Marco you will go with another and he will be well experienced in the ways of the world, and don’t forget help is only a prayer away.’

‘Papa, why don’t we stay in our mountains and not witness to the unbelievers in other provinces? Pietro said the Pope is angry because we contradict his teachings.’

‘Marco, you saw how evil they were. We must share with those who will listen about Christ’s love for them. They don’t have Bibles and they’re being tricked into believing all sorts of lies.’ His father stood, stretched, and quickly continued. ‘Son, I have seen many people grasp the truth of Jesus' love. It is a privilege to watch the light penetrate their darkened minds. It brings such happiness to all that participate in these studies.’ He smiled, at the memory.

Marco thought as he watched his father. 'I never realized how kind and gentle papa’s whiskered face is, not like those dark, thin drunken soldiers in the village.'

Borgata Cyrus spring fed water

His father placed a large cane basket with vegetables and grain on Marco’s back and then picked up his, and continued with the conversation. ‘Son, we have been chosen by God to do this great work, and we count it a privilege, even if we must die.’

Thinking carefully about what his father said, Marco with the heavy basket walked slowly, with his head down, across the planted field with his father trudging close behind.

When at home after some discussion with mother, father called Marco, who had stopped for a drink at the well. ‘Marco could you please go to Signora Duval’s place and leave half the vegetables and all the grain with her, as her husband Antonio is too old to grow crops, and then go up to the higher summer pastures, where Nonno is staying in his Shepherd’s hut. Give him the rest of the vegetables. Don’t worry about the cow, as I will milk her.’ As a second thought, he continued. ‘It will be good when Nonno is back from the higher summer pastures; si, not so far to walk when visiting.’ Walking over to Marco, he leaned closer and whispered into Marco’s ear.

Marco’s face lit up and he nodded. ‘Si, Papa.’

He looked around for his little sister. 'There she is in the courtyard, licking wild strawberry jam off her fingers, and she’s so busy that she hasn’t seen me,' he thought. 'Well, I will go before she does, or she will want to come.' He quickly dragged the large heavy basket onto his back and headed up the mountain track.

Walking along the path, passing the other cottages with their home gardens and barking dogs, he came to the last. It stood with its front door dangerously close to the mountain’s edge. Marco realized the mountain had slipped many years earlier. From the doorway, he could see down the deep gorge, with its naked crags, and cascading waterfall. Marco knocked on the door and wondered why their dog didn’t bark.

‘Marco comes in,’ said Signora Duval. She then turned to her husband. ‘Look how tall Marco is getting, Antonio.’

‘Come, come,’ said old Antonio with a huge smile, as he beckoned Marco to follow him.

When Marco stepped into the cottage, he could see through the window the long descending path that ran narrowly along the mountain’s edge to the other valley.

Small noises turned his attention to the open fire, and there near the hearth was a large basket full of puppies. Their family dog fussed over each one of them, carefully licking and nuzzling their little bodies. Marco sat on the floor and picked them up, one by one.

‘Which one would you like for your sister?’ Antonio asked.

Marco looked carefully at each puppy. There were two females and one male.

‘Well, that’s easy,’ he laughed. ‘Mamma said I had to pick a male, so it will be this one. Look how big he is, and how striking his black and white markings are. He’s a beauty, and Maria will love him. Grazie Antonio; can I pick him up after I deliver these vegetables to Nonno?

‘Si Marco.’

‘Oh! Where will I place your vegetables and grain Signora?’

‘Place them on this table, and hurry back, I am sure Maria will be anxious to see her puppy.’

Marco slung the basket, now half empty on his back, and as he went out the front door, he replied smiling. ‘She doesn’t know about it. It’s a surprise.’

Marco hurried up the narrow path. On the mountainside, tall trees with low-hanging branches barred his way. When he pushed through the branches, rain-sodden leaves brushed across his face. He stopped; he could hear sounds in front of him.

'Was it soldiers approaching the valley,’ he thought. Gooseflesh rose down his back and his cheeks burned with shame. 'What would Pietro think of me? Well, I know, a baby that’s what!'

Ducking under the low-lying branches, he came onto the track. He looked up to see in front of him a horse and cart that stopped and pulled to one side for him to pass.

‘Well, look who’s coming to visit me. ‘Are there problems at home son?’ his grandfather asked.

‘No Nonno, I am bringing you vegetables that papa and I picked this morning.

‘Grazie Marco. If only your folk knew I was heading their way it would have saved you a trip. Well never mind, hop up and we can drive back together.’

‘Nonno, I have to pick up a puppy for Maria, from the Duval’s before I go home.’

‘I must stop there as well, so we can do our errands together.’

Marco was in the cottage giving the little puppies the last cuddle when he heard his grandfather at the front door speaking to old Antonio.

‘Do you think we could set up a watch, in your home for the next few months? I believe the army has been approaching the valleys and arresting folks. They have been dragging them down to the villages and,’ he lowered his voice; Marco couldn’t hear another word, but he knew what they were saying. With his heart now drumming louder than the soft droning of their voices, fear once again swept over him.

'Dear Lord, please take this fear from me,' he prayed. Quickly he gathered the male puppy in his arms and stepped out of the room.

‘Are you ready?’ said grandfather when he saw Marco walking towards them. He then turned and gave old Antonio a knowing look, as they still had many things to discuss, on the subject they had been talking about.

Grandfather placed on the porch table, chestnuts from his grove, meat from his herd, and several sheep skins tanned and ready for Anna to stitch together for their bed, as the coming winter would soon be on them.

‘Grazie, Grazie,’ Anna said, quickly kissing grandfather’s right then left cheek. She turned and hugged Marco goodbye.

‘NONNO, MARCO,’ CALLED Maria as she ran out to meet them. ‘I have a secret, a big, big secret and you must come inside and see,’ she squealed jumping up and down, clapping her hands.

‘Well, if it’s a secret, you had better not tell,’ Marco laughed, as he carefully stepped from the cart with his little surprise tucked into his jacket.

‘Marco your jacket, it’s wriggling about, what’s in there?’ Maria squealed pointing, now quiet and a little frightened.

‘Come and see,’ Marco laughed, squatting as he reached into his jacket, placing the little fluffy, squirming, bundle into Maria’s arms.

‘A puppy, is it for me?’

Marco nodded.

‘Look what I have; a beautiful puppy, and just for me,’ Maria shouted as she ran inside to the others.

Grandfather laughed, ‘How quickly one forgets other surprises when there’s a puppy involved.’

‘And manners as well,’ Marco laughed, as he walked towards the cottage’s open door, while grandfather tied up the horse. Suddenly standing in the doorway was Pietro.

‘Pietro, what are you doing here?’ Marco laughed, as his big brother lunged forward grabbing him in a huge hug, and holding him tightly.

‘To surprise you all, that’s what I am doing here,’ Pietro said laughing, hugging, and partly lifting Marco through the doorway. ‘How are you going little brother?’

CHAPTER 3

PINEROLO

Torre Pellice where the ancient women washed their clothes.

Marco,’ father called. ‘The summer is nearly over and we must sell our crops before winter sets in. This time I would like you to go to the Torino markets. Pietro, you must go with Marco as rumours are circulating through the mountain villages of more and more upheaval with the presence of the papal army.’

When Pietro and Marco rode through Torre Pellice their wagon rattled across a swift-flowing mountain stream. They turned to see women on the river bank, kneeling in wooden boxes with the fronts removed and the bottoms thickly covered in straw. In front of them were slabs of slate, on which they were slapping and squeezing their clothes. They used a stiff brush on the dirty spots. Pietro and Marco noticed others carrying wet washing on long poles back to their homes.

Later they travelled through flat terrain. The meadows were a carpet of colour, with red poppies and small white flowers amongst the summer grass. They rattled along and passed a small, barefooted boy leading slow-moving cattle with rhythmic clanging bells.

‘Buongiorno,’ Marco called and waved.