Troubadour is a story of love and war and if a romance must seek out the thorniest obstacle to place between its star-crossed lovers, then the Albigensian Crusade certainly fits the bill.
The novel opens in 1208 with a murder, the bloody consequences of which will soon resonate across southern France. The victim is Pope Innocent III's legate. The crime is witnessed by Bertran de Miramont who is both a troubadour and, like many others in 13th-century Languedoc, a Cathar – a heretic. The murder (a real event) is a flashpoint. The pope calls on the barons of the north to donate 40 days of their time to rid the Languedoc of the Cathars. As the pope promises as much wealth as the northerners can lay their hands on, there is no shortage of takers. And so begins the Albigensian Crusade, a cruel and protracted persecution which is characterised by sieges, fire and appalling cruelty.
Elinor is a spirited girl from Sévignan who flees her father's castle disguised as a boy-minstrel rather than marry a suitor older than herself. Besides, her heart belongs to Bertran who, as a troubadour, is perfectly placed to warn the believers in all the Cathar strongholds of their imminent danger.
Soon war forces the resourceful Elinor to head east towards Italy and the court of Monferrato. She shares her journey with another strong female character, the Lady Iseut, a trobairitz (female troubadour) whose domain has, by now, fallen to the French. Scenes of Elinor's progress alternate with those featuring Bertran, who witnesses the atrocities of war at closer quarters. Mary Hoffman paints her epic story with a confident hand and she does not spare the reader with her tremendously vivid and evocative reports of the carnage. Her descriptions of the slaughter of 20,000 at Béziers and the torture of prisoners at Bram are gut-wrenching. Separated by conflict, the small and vulnerable figures of Elinor and Bertran move across a war-torn landscape, always seeking news of the other, always hoping that the other is safe.
The late, great children's writer Joan Aiken used to advise caution when talking to children's writers tempted to depict history in their books. This was partly because the historical novel rarely appears at the top of the list of children's favourite genres, and partly because of the self-restraint needed to keep one's painstaking research from taking over the story.
It is true that Troubadour may not have as broad an appeal as the popular Stravaganza series (Hoffman's historical-fantasy-timeslip stories set in an alternative Renaissance Italy), but for young fans of historical fiction (and there are many) this novel will be a treat, recreating as it does a fascinating and little-known period of French history. And Hoffman does not pull her punches: the Albigensian Crusade is less a backdrop than a principal character demanding our attention just as much as the two young leads. Research can be addictive; it can also be a two-edged sword (some writers even advocate doing such spade work after writing the story).
Hoffman, however, manages to weave her research seamlessly into the narrative so that readers – like me – with a less than distinct idea of the fate of the Cathars will close the book feeling better informed and with images of the great castles of the south running through their heads. The author also provides a map; historical notes; a glossary of Occitan and medieval words; and a dramatis personae which helpfully indicates which characters are real and which fictional.
Hoffman has written an enthralling and well-paced tale whose conclusion is at once unexpected, poignant and satisfying. Troubadour is not a joyous story but it is a compelling one.
Linda Buckley-Archer's Time Quake trilogy is published by Simon & Schuster.