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'...Murder was a common occurrence for Olivier. If anyone wanted to get rid of the enemy: so this is a couple of trifles. Olivier was ready to come to the rescue for a corresponding reward. For many years now, he has not failed his master, Abbot Arnold. Many such orders were given to him by the Holy Father over the years that have passed.
"I had to kill many on the Abbot's orders! But the holy father paid regularly, you can't say anything. And this time he paid me in silver, he didn't stint. Moreover, he made me understand that I should get rid of the witnesses to the murder. Of course, I will not leave them alive. Otherwise, the Dominican monks (and they are famous fanatics) will visit and burn us, venerable Abbot, at the same stake!
They will report everything to the Pope, and even then you will not hide anywhere. And is it conceivable to kill the Legate himself with his retinue, the messenger of the Holy See! Not otherwise than the abbot, contacted Satan himself! Yes, and okay, I don't care: the main thing is that the Abbot generously paid me for the murder," Olivier was thinking, sitting in the bushes.
He constantly looked at the crossing over the Rhone River, and to be sure, he also planted the observer on a tree. This guy has a keen eye, not without reason he is a hunter. Olivier recruited three notorious scoundrels, greedy for money.
What Olivier respected and feared the Abbot for was his frankness. The Abbot summoned him to his place two weeks ago and asked:
"Olivier, are you my faithful servant?"
"Of course, holy father, why do you doubt?" Olivier was surprised.
"I probably don't. The main thing is that these doubts do not appear in you, my son," the Abbot looked at his devoted servant in a paternal way.
"And why should I have doubts? You know, holy father, if anything is necessary, I will always do it," Olivier confirmed his readiness.
"That's good. Then we'll get straight to the point. In about ten days, a Legate from the Pope himself will arrive at the Count of Toulouse. He will stay in Montsegur for a couple of days no more, then set off on his return journey. So, he should not get to Rome. Somewhere, not far from Montsegur, on the land of Languedoc, serious trouble must happen to him and his people," the Abbot looked meaningfully at Olivier. "It is desirable that no one knows about it, except for you and me. Here, take it," Arnold handed the servant a heavy a pouch of silver.
"Everything is clear, master. I will do what needs to be done!" Olivier bowed. "I am your faithful servant," he confirmed once again.
Olivier decided to involve trusted people in the dangerous business. And now his heart was heavy. He was sorry to kill his accomplices. After all, they are notorious scoundrels: they will not spare their own mother and kill them. Yes, and they shoot from crossbows and bows very accurately. He will have to look for other people in the future.
Olivier lay in the bushes on the warm skin of a wolf. The ground was cold and Olivier didn't want to catch a cold. The sparse bare bushes didn't hide the ambush well, so he had to lie on the frozen ground. And as luck would have it, you can't drink wine, because the hand of a professional killer must be firm and the eye clear. He carefully looked at the river Rhone. In this place the river was shallow and narrow, you can drive across the river even in winter.
"They're coming!" Shouted the observer, jumped down from the tree and lay down on the ground next to Olivier.
The Legate's cortege appeared on the other bank.
"These people," Olivier said almost in a whisper, "are not afraid of anything! What self-assurance! They think that since their master is a Legate, then death will bypass him. An arrow fired from a bow doesn't care: a Legate, a count or a peasant, the living flesh is the same for everyone."
The cortege entered the water of the Rhone, two guards rode in front. Behind them, riding in a velve...
"I had to kill many on the Abbot's orders! But the holy father paid regularly, you can't say anything. And this time he paid me in silver, he didn't stint. Moreover, he made me understand that I should get rid of the witnesses to the murder. Of course, I will not leave them alive. Otherwise, the Dominican monks (and they are famous fanatics) will visit and burn us, venerable Abbot, at the same stake!
They will report everything to the Pope, and even then you will not hide anywhere. And is it conceivable to kill the Legate himself with his retinue, the messenger of the Holy See! Not otherwise than the abbot, contacted Satan himself! Yes, and okay, I don't care: the main thing is that the Abbot generously paid me for the murder," Olivier was thinking, sitting in the bushes.
He constantly looked at the crossing over the Rhone River, and to be sure, he also planted the observer on a tree. This guy has a keen eye, not without reason he is a hunter. Olivier recruited three notorious scoundrels, greedy for money.
What Olivier respected and feared the Abbot for was his frankness. The Abbot summoned him to his place two weeks ago and asked:
"Olivier, are you my faithful servant?"
"Of course, holy father, why do you doubt?" Olivier was surprised.
"I probably don't. The main thing is that these doubts do not appear in you, my son," the Abbot looked at his devoted servant in a paternal way.
"And why should I have doubts? You know, holy father, if anything is necessary, I will always do it," Olivier confirmed his readiness.
"That's good. Then we'll get straight to the point. In about ten days, a Legate from the Pope himself will arrive at the Count of Toulouse. He will stay in Montsegur for a couple of days no more, then set off on his return journey. So, he should not get to Rome. Somewhere, not far from Montsegur, on the land of Languedoc, serious trouble must happen to him and his people," the Abbot looked meaningfully at Olivier. "It is desirable that no one knows about it, except for you and me. Here, take it," Arnold handed the servant a heavy a pouch of silver.
"Everything is clear, master. I will do what needs to be done!" Olivier bowed. "I am your faithful servant," he confirmed once again.
Olivier decided to involve trusted people in the dangerous business. And now his heart was heavy. He was sorry to kill his accomplices. After all, they are notorious scoundrels: they will not spare their own mother and kill them. Yes, and they shoot from crossbows and bows very accurately. He will have to look for other people in the future.
Olivier lay in the bushes on the warm skin of a wolf. The ground was cold and Olivier didn't want to catch a cold. The sparse bare bushes didn't hide the ambush well, so he had to lie on the frozen ground. And as luck would have it, you can't drink wine, because the hand of a professional killer must be firm and the eye clear. He carefully looked at the river Rhone. In this place the river was shallow and narrow, you can drive across the river even in winter.
"They're coming!" Shouted the observer, jumped down from the tree and lay down on the ground next to Olivier.
The Legate's cortege appeared on the other bank.
"These people," Olivier said almost in a whisper, "are not afraid of anything! What self-assurance! They think that since their master is a Legate, then death will bypass him. An arrow fired from a bow doesn't care: a Legate, a count or a peasant, the living flesh is the same for everyone."
The cortege entered the water of the Rhone, two guards rode in front. Behind them, riding in a velve...
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