Capcir Spring - The opening pages - Start to read here

Chapter One

Thesmall settlement, nestling in a wide clearing on the floor of thehigh valley, was silent after the last activities of the day. Thestockade gates were shut and there was no movement in or around thethatched wooden huts inside the boundary of the heavy timber fencing.All was still except for an isolated spiral of smoke drifting up fromthe glowing cinders of an outdoor earth hearth. The last daylight wassinking above the outline of the distant mountain peaks and the sky,which moments before had been red was turning slowly through purpleto blue black.

Anowl hooted twice and was almost immediately answered by another fromthe other side of the valley. And then there was fire. Fire wasapproaching the stockade from up the valley and down. At first therewere just a few torches but all the while their number expanded intoa mighty army of individual flames that together brought a flickeringorange glow to the leaves of the overhanging trees and even to thenight sky itself. From among the mass of torches flaming missilesflew through the night air and almost immediately the roof of one andthen another of the thatched huts was alight.

Asudden anguished cry ripped through the darkness as the sleepingvillagers were harshly shocked out of their slumbers. More screamsfilled the night air as people of all ages were kicked awake and ranat first in blind confusion but then, lemming like, together, to findsanctuary in the chapel, the one stone building of the settlement, atthe centre of the stockade. The noise and light and fire seemed tobe coming at them from all sides. The gates had been broken down andthe fiery torches were inside. They were moving closer, advancingslowly, setting aflame all that was in their pathway. Where wassafety now? The chapel was crammed full of frightened, tremblingbodies. The air was heavy with the smell of fire and sweat and fear.

Itoo followed the crowds and headed for the chapel. It already seemedfull. I could hardly get in. As one of the last to arrive I wasstanding in the doorway. I could feel the press of bodies coweringbehind me but I was facing outwards. The chapel was too small. Therewere too many people and it was too late to bar the door. They werealmost upon us. In the torchlight the approaching faces were grossand distorted. I could see that they were full of rage and hatred.

ThenI saw James. There could be no mistake. The same familiar outlines,the gangling gait, the prominent forehead and weak chin. Thetorchlight deepened the shadows under his sunken eyes giving his facea menacing quality. He was at the front of the crowd. It was Jameswho was leading them on and they were chanting in unison. He wasleading the rhythmic chant. I didn't understand the words but Isensed a pure hatred tinged with fear. His face was distorted in anviolent grimace of blood lust that I had seen once before. Theiranger bit into my flesh as physical pain. In his right hand was asword. Slowly, with small steps and in time with the chanting theymoved ever closer.

Angrymen with torches and swords and spears and staves were beside him anda mass of hate filled faces were crowding behind. Their advanceinched forward step by step. The cowering mass behind me in thechapel was now screaming. Voices of young and old united in acrescendo of terror, prayer, supplication and fear. And then theywere at the door, a few yards from my face. One from the advancingthrong threw a flaming torch over my head and it sailed over me intothe crowded chapel. I was conscious of a strong pressure from behindas those inside moved to avoid the fiery missile. Bodies pressedagainst trembling bodies and I was being pushed inevitably towardsthe enemy. I was being forced forwards. I was being forced to movecloser and closer to the raw hatred and the swords and the fire andthe certainty of death. Oh God! No! No!

*****

Thescream pierced the silence of the Pyrenean mountain valley. It was asultry day in early May. The sky was a cloudless blue, typical ofthat region of France. John was hot. He had been walking for severalhours and though it was not long since his lunch break, he was againlooking for somewhere out of the glaring sun to rest. He was amblinggently down a track that wound into a little wide floored clearing inthe valley with some ancient stone ruins. Then there was a scream. Itwas a sound he remembered vividly. It started quite softly almost asa low pitched, half stifled murmur but it gradually grew louderuntil a high pitched whine flooded the lightly wooded valley andechoed round the rocks and hills above............................... 

In this novel of about 70,000 words, set in contemporary France, Jean de Beurre brings together insights from psychology, history and theology in a romantic adventure.

You can get your copy of my ebook  "Capcir Spring"by clicking HERE if you are in the USA or here if you are in the UK  Thank you