The ‘Traitor’ of Béziers

Problems of Perspective: A Motive, a Victim, and a Traitor

Dom Devic and Dom Vaissete had been suspicious, reasonably so, when discussing the assassination of Raymond Trencavel by the hands of a dishonored commoner in their ‘Histoire générale de Languedoc’ for so great a crime committed for so slight an offence ^[20]. Louis Noguier referred to the instigating incident as one “without importance,” but one “which had the most fatal of consequences.” ^[21] Equally suspicious, the only near-contemporary account of the full event which survives is found in a chronicle written in a far-off country, who’s author was only as certain of what had transpired as those who had told him ^[22]. The details of this account, that of William of Newburgh’s ‘Historia rerum anglicarum’, nevertheless, were largely not used by later chroniclers, such as Peter of Vaux-de-Cernay who briefly recounted the tale in describing the perfidy of the city and townspeople of Béziers in his ‘Hystoria Albigensis’ ^[23]. Integral to Newburgh’s account, however, was the personal quarrel between the rapacious townsman and the knights who punished him for his thievery. It was Viscount Raymond’s ( incorrectly identified as both Guillelmus and Willelmus Trencheveil ) support of these men, after all, that won the ire of the cives and ended with his murder alongside his amicis et proceribus suis. News of the event and following uprising, Newburgh went on to say, inspired a papal interdiction and a host loyal to the slain lord, even including the king of Aragon, to besiege the rebelling city; but the townspeople had fortified themselves well, and a pact was needed to settle the matter sometime near the end of 1169 and install the viscount’s son, Roger, to whom they swore service ^[24].

The particulars of the Revolt of Béziers in 1167 as well as the assassination of Viscount Raymond itself are clearest in Newburgh’s account; a general dearth of evidence, however, taken with certain conflicting details from other sources make these events difficult to discern. Devic and Vaissete followed the ‘Historia rerum anglicarum’ and a few other sources including the chronicles of Geoffrey of Breuil and Robert of Torigni, as well as the necrologies of the churches of Carcassonne and Cassan, which together supplied a few other absent specifics and corrections: the proper name and location of the church, the date of the assassination, etc. ^[25] From Breuil’s ‘Chronica’, they and more modern historians – perhaps persuaded by both the closer temporal and geographic proximity to the events in Béziers ^[26] – have not missed the connection to the political turmoil of Raymond Trencavel’s reign, the enmity with the count of Toulouse. Breuil claimed that the townspeople of Béziers had sworn to capture their lord in service of Count Raymond V of Toulouse for the great oppression he had placed against them; a conspiracy had been formed, with that count as its leader, which had unintentionally led to the viscount’s death ^[27]. It is true that the conflict between Barcelona and Toulouse of the twelfth century, the ‘grande guerre méridionale’, often pitted the Trencavel viscounts against either lord, for which Viscount Raymond Trencavel himself had been arrested in Toulouse due to his support of the Barcelonese twelve years prior ^[28]. The count of Toulouse had also allied himself with the bishop of Béziers in 1152, specifically against Viscount Raymond, just before his arrest ^[29].

The brief account of the assassination and revolt in Breuil’s ‘Chronica’ focuses more on the aftermath of the events: the year after the assassination of Raymond ( dated to quadam dominica Quadragesimae ) and siege of Béziers, Roger brought his own army into the city under false pretense, ordering his men to slay the hosts that sheltered them at a given signal ^[30]. The later interpretation by Vaux-de-Cernay’s ‘Hystoria Albigensis’, contended as being based on a “strong local tradition concerning the murder” that the author would have had access to during his travels in Occitania between 1212 and 1218, aligns closer to Newburgh without focusing on class distinctions and instead on the perfidy of the citizens ^[31]. Despite ample emphasis on the depravity of the count of Toulouse, Vaux-de-Cernay never alleged that the predecessor of his villain, the callidissimus Raymond VI who refused to join the crusade following his penitence, was involved in the assassination nor the plot in general ^[32]. Instead, the inclusion of the tale only served to justify the massacre of Béziers itself, and specifically 7.000 people within the same church where Raymond Trencavel had been slain over 40 years before ^[33]. What is more, elements of this well-known conflict can also be found in the ‘Historia rerum anglicarum’. Newburgh wrote that Viscount Roger himself spread a rumor while in Béziers that the count of Saint-Gilles ( i. e. Toulouse ) had moved against them; fearful, the townspeople entreated their lord to beseech the aid of the Aragonese, the artifice of his revenge ^[34]. The common element of the main accounts of Roger’s intentions – quartered soldiers within the city attacking the townspeople at a given signal and resettlement of the depopulated city ^[35] – lends credulity to this deception, but only in Newburgh are the Aragonese involved, itself another oft-repeated aspect in the historiography ^[36].

All three to a greater or lesser extent, as well as Torigni’s ‘Chronica’, portray the communal effort of the townspeople during the initial revolt in a negative light. Breuil’s reference to the count of Toulouse, however, has ultimately proven the more accepted catalyst in the modern interpretation of the assassination; Raymond Trencavel’s death was due to this rivalry and because of his heavy seigneurial exactions to support his wars. Despite the fact that all of the narrative accounts inculpate the townspeople in the assassination and for instigating the rebellion, it is interesting that an overstressed relevance in Breuil’s ‘Chronica’ for its reference to the Occitan political context of the period ( something that Newburgh also discusses, as we have seen ) has diminished the relevance of the social tensions within Béziers itself. Some evidence even has been used to suggest that the burghers had not acted alone, supported – perhaps even led – by members of the urban aristocracy ( i. e. landed nobility ), raising interesting questions which are difficult to expound ^[37]. The motive noted by Newburgh thus is lost. The seemingly disproportionate reaction on account of the townsman’s debasement at the hands of the viscount’s knights is perhaps to blame, or even the geographic and temporal distance between Newburgh and the events themselves. Hints at urban conflict in the charters prior to 1167 ( to be discussed below ), not uncommon to the twelfth century, however, bring new germaneness to the tale within the ‘Historia rerum anglicarum’. To what extent should these details be trusted over others?

Connected to this issue of the underestimated cives regarding the death of Raymond Trencavel is the identity of a certain obscure individual recorded in the ‘Cartulary of Saint-Nazaire of Béziers’ ( the ‘Livre Noir’ ). The cartulary evidence for the murder of the viscount specifically is sparse, recounted only in passing, from some 40 years after the event ^[38]. The Revolt of Béziers is only slightly better documented. There is mention in a handful of acts from 1173 and 1174 of the proditionem Biterris ^[39]. An individual who seemingly took part in the revolt himself is identified as proditor twice, once in a charter from 1172 and another in 1180 – a man named Petrus Vairatus, also referred to by the moniker grossus ^[40]. The most relevant of these charters is the latter, which details the banishment of the ‘traitor’ from Béziers, along with his family, by the murdered viscount’s son, Roger.

It was the bishop who had brought the matter to the viscount, nevertheless, and it was the cathedral chapter of Saint-Nazaire in Béziers that would benefit from any confiscated properties of this Petrus Vairatus, the ‘Traitor’. Members of the Maureilhan family, the sworn men of the chapter’s camerarius, the wealthy Bernard of Narbonne, had in fact already benefited from unrecorded similar actions, hinting at what was surely a much larger degree of urban property transferal following the revolt itself. If the antagonists of this tale were in fact the townspeople, evidently, they had lost resoundingly: their properties, controlled by others as Breuil noted ^[41], were in the hands of lay and clerical lords, with some perhaps granted to the Aragonese as Newburgh claimed, Roger’s allies and his covert means of revenge, who slaughtered those responsible after the city was retaken ^[42].

And yet, who was this traitorous Petrus Vairatus the ‘Fat?’ If he had been involved in the murder of Raymond Trencavel, as others have suggested, why was it the bishop who seemed more interested in his banishment from the city than Viscount Roger? Other historians have addressed these questions briefly in the past with a few footnotes or short descriptions of the evidence ^[43]. They have often believed Petrus was of high status, connected to various aristocratic families throughout the Biterrois – some have even offered their own suggestions of his personal genealogy. What remains to be seen, however, is just how connected he was to the wealthy burgenses of Béziers and to those themes of social status and identity inherent in the conflict between knight and townsman with which William of Newburgh claimed this story began.

The Traitor and the Historian

Neither great lords nor clergymen, the Vairati family rests largely in obscurity, with Petrus Vairatus being the most renowned – or rather infamous. Pompeati, the eighteenth-century archivist of Hageneau who transcribed the ‘Livre Noir’, recorded his surname as “Nairatus”, which in turn provided the misreading printed in the Jean-Baptiste Rouquette’s edition in 1922 ^[44]. An earlier transcription of the banishment charter, one made by a copyist working for the Bibliothèque de Colbert in the mid-seventeenth century, rendered the traitor’s name “Vairatus” ^[45]. Devic and Vaissete had followed this source in printing the act within their ‘Histoire générale de Languedoc’ ^[46]. Louis Noguier, citing both the ‘Histoire’ and Pompeati’s ‘Livre Noir’, settled on the published variant, spelling the traitor’s name as “Pierre Vayrat” in his 1884 publication ‘Les vicomtes de Béziers’, where Petrus was first erroneously labelled “a lord” of the city ^[47]. In the 1950s, Paul Rey used the “Vayrat” form regarding another of Petrus’ family in his study of the lost original cartulary of Saint-Nazaire ^[48]. As Pompeati’s transcription was the only source cited, however, not Rouquette’s edition, the inclusion of this alternative appears to have been a misreading as the Hageneau archivist was consistent in his error – only in the acts copied from the Collection Doat which were compiled into Rouquette’s ‘Livre Noir’ contain this variation ^[49].

The issue has been constant in the modern historiography. In an article written in 1980 concerning the customary of Béziers, Henri Vidal noted the copyist errors regarding the “Pierre Vayrat” who witnessed the original confirmation of the urban customary in 1185 and the “Pierre Nairat” called the proditor – though he specifically refrained from postulating upon the potential crime which resulted in “his family being exiled but not himself.” ^[50] Without citing Vidal’s article ( though reiterating his caution ), Vincent Challet also remarked upon the discrepancy between the customary copied in the ‘Gallia Christiana’, approximating the “Petrus Vairatus” recorded there to be the traitor of Rouquette’s edition; though, he chose to use the latter’s spelling ^[51]. Yet, within the same anthology, Henri Barthès did not share this opinion and continued to cite the Doat variant ^[52]. Barthès himself had shown a reluctance to cite Petrus’ surname as “Nairat” twenty years before, calling him equally “Pierre Nairat ( Nairati ) ( Veyrat );” though, by 2005, he had firmly settled on the latter when he, in defiance of settled opinion, had claimed the “Vayrati” family had been one of the early consular supporters of the Cistercian monks of the Valmagne Abbey ^[53]. The inconsistent historiographic treatment of Petrus’ name and family has been a repeated problem due, largely in part, to the lack of the original ‘Livre Noir’. With only copies of copies remaining, naturally, orthographic mistakes can be easily promulgated. In the absence of the Saint-Nazaire original, nevertheless, we are fortunate to have the records of another regional ecclesiastic institution with which to compare. The ‘Cartulary of Saint-Mary of Valmagne’, preserved in two volumes, are a critical source for the twelfth-century urban history of Béziers, documenting the Cistercian activities in acquiring significant properties within portions of the city and surrounding country. This was the source that ultimately provided Barthès with the surety needed in eschewing the “Nairati” error, for at least three members of the family were recorded within its folios in the city and nearby grange of Ortes bearing the Vairati name ^[54]. And yet, other aspects more vital than simple spelling have been equally supported and propagated throughout the modern historiography regarding the family and Petrus himself. It was with Noguier, for example, that an association between his “betrayal” and the murder of Raymond Trencavel was first made ^[55].

In 1986, Claudie Duhamel-Amado briefly mentioned the “Nairatus” family in the context of the murder of Raymond Trencavel claiming that they were “rich landowners in the bourg of Maurélian” and enemies of the bishop, who had used them in this “period of tension” to further his aims against the viscount ^[56]. At the moment of this publication, the Vairati appeared less as implicated assassins and more as fodder for the growing rivalry in the city between the two major lords: the bishop and viscount ^[57]. Elaine Graham-Leigh claimed Petrus himself was “[ t ]he head of the most powerful Béziers family” when he was banished by Roger in December 1180 ^[58], that the “Nairati” in general had “held most of the Bourg of Maureilhan from the bishop” ^[59], and even correctly pointed out that there is no direct link between his label of proditor and the murder of the viscount himself. Many have continued in making that claim, however, including Vincent Challet who, more recently ( although with reservations ), supported this view while discussing the role of the assassination in the early consular history of the city ^[60]. Hélène Débax similarly made this association in which she understood both Petrus “Nairatus” and the tabellion of Béziers to have been implicated in the crimes of 1167 ^[61]. Duhamel-Amado herself, expounding upon her ideas further, later concurred. In a series of footnotes concerning the “Nairati” family, she noted the likely connection between the murder and Petrus’ banishment while indicating that, unlike for the other implicated family in the cartulary records – that of a woman named Garsinde, whose father Richer had lost certain privileges because of his involvement – there is no specific tie between confiscated properties ( or the threat thereof concerning Roger’s oath to uphold the banishment ) and the murder of the viscount ^[62]. An alternative was offered considering the use of the old Peace of God oath declared by the bishop around 1170, which implored the viscount and his knights to cease their violence against the unarmed of the city, likely a result of Roger’s revenge ^[63]. A closer look at the evidence is necessary to see what more can be said.

Reevaluation of the Diplomatic Evidence

The only certain cartulary evidence about the murder of Raymond Trencavel comes from a charter in the ‘Livre Noir’ dated August 1205, some 40 years after the events. A woman named Garsinde, the widow of Arnaud of Prades, had been in conflict with the then reigning bishop, Ermengaud, over certain rights in the Bourg of Maureilhan which had been held by the brothers Arnaud and Bérenger of Maureilhan, financial privileges amounting to seigneurial rents and fees ^[64]. These rights were hers, as she saw it, because her father Richer had held them from Arnaud of Maureilhan in mortgage ( titulo pignoris ) for 1.160 solidi of Melgueil, for which she sought restitution ^[65]. The bishop, for his part, countered that not only had she and her husband entered into a compositio amicabilis ( a settlement ) with numerous clergymen in the city concerning these rights, but Viscount Roger had confiscated them from her father Richer ob necem patris sui Trencavelli – the charter which detailed this decision, we are told, forbade Richer or any of his heirs from “agitating” these claims in the bourg. Garsinde nonetheless produced a cartam restitutionis ( a charter of restitution ) signed by the viscount himself. She or another of her family had, evidently, found Roger’s good graces, receiving what amounted to a pardon for Richer’s crimes. In the end, Garsinde received 575 sol. for the formal cession of her claims to these rights, along with any lingering claims carried by her sons and heirs. While this charter has been used to suggest that “[ Richer ] was probably linked to the plot” which killed Raymond Trencavel, it sheds no light on the issue of Petrus Vairatus himself ^[66].

From early March 1172, we learn that Arnaud of Maureilhan, with the consent of his wife Argessende and his nephew Raymond, had sold to the canons of Saint-Nazaire a certain plot ( faxia ) from his allod outside of town near the meat-market beyond the bridge of Béziers for the price of 110 sol. ^[67] In an effort to ensure its value, Arnaud promised the canons part of a manse that he held in town as collateral ( in retornum ). This manse was on the ‘French Road’, one of the thoroughfares of the Bourg of Maureilhan and was appurtenant with the bishop’s oven – both of which had belonged to Petrus Vairatus the ‘Traitor’. This is the first utterance of the term proditor connected to Petrus’ name – although not the first time Petrus appeared in the cartulary ^[68]. It was repeated again in the charter of his ( or anyone from his projienie vel de parentela ) formal banishment from the city eight years later ^[69]. Without the latter, one might not assume the manse and oven on the ‘French Road’ were confiscated properties – no claim as such was made. Only from the charter of 1180 are potential properties alluded to, the generic honores, which were, at the time of the writing of the charter, already in the bishop’s possession or that of the cathedral chapter ^[70]. While called a ‘traitor’, the word itself lacks context. The only aspect certain about these documents is that Petrus appears connected to the bishop: he had held a manse and oven of the bishop’s in the Bourg of Maureilhan; the chapter’s vassals, the Maureilhan lords, perhaps benefited from the confiscation of those properties; and other honores belonging to Petrus or his family were, after 1180, formally recognized as belonging to Saint-Nazaire. Fortunately, the related term proditio, used only rarely in the ‘Livre Noir’, and its connection to an event of some kind which had transpired in Béziers can shed some light on these obscurities.

The first time the “betrayal of Béziers” is mentioned dates to 23 August 1173 in a mortgage charter agreed between Arnaud of Maureilhan and Bernard of Narbonne. All the properties Arnaud and his nephew Raymond held in their district were loaned for 700 sol., but seigneurial rents and fees associated with the manses which stood there were retained as they had nobis sunt reversi [ … ] propter proditionem Biterris ^[71]. From only a little over a month later, in October 1173, Raymond mortgaged his share of rights and properties held by himself and his uncle to the same man, the camerarius of Saint-Nazaire, Bernard de Narbonne, for an additional 350 sol. under the exact conditions and with the same restrictions concerning the withheld revenues which had returned to them propter proditionem Biterris ^[72]. Following an official agreement of shared rights over their inherited district near the end of that winter – in which Arnaud was specified to have held the greater part, two-thirds of the rights to his nephew Raymond’s one-third ^[73] – the pair would further mortgage their rights in the district, yet again to Bernard of Narbonne, for a combined additional total of 1.250 sol. ( 1.000 to Arnaud and 250 to Raymond ) ^[74].

Considering all of their confiscated properties from the “betrayal”, held by jure feodi from the camerarius himself, uncle and nephew leveraged their district well enough to collect a staggering line of credit. Mortgages as pledges ( in pignora ), such as these, were not only a means of assuring access to readily available coin, however; they also served as a method to strengthen ties between individuals, something seen throughout the Midi in this period ^[75]. This arrangement would have been mutually beneficial for the Maureilhan lords as well as for Bernard of Narbonne, and the cathedral chapter as a whole, for the profits collected from the tenants of the district during the life of the loan. In this light, the call for the Peace by the bishop’s letter, as Duhamel-Amado had suggested as an alternative meaning of the proditio, reads less as a measure to protect the defenseless and more as a means of safeguarding further loss to Saint-Nazaire’s income ^[76]. All of this aside, the most certain evidence linking the proditio to the tumult of 1167 comes not from the ‘Livre Noir’.

From Breuil’s ‘Chronica’, we see that the Jews of Béziers were uninjured from Roger’s revenge as they were not inculpated ab hac proditione; but at the same time, the hortuli proditorum were in the aftermath planted by the seeds of others ^[77]. Evidently, the property of the proditores had been confiscated in the repression of the guilty, but we are no closer to understanding what exactly the proditio had been: seigneurial murder or rebellion? Interestingly, the term proditores was used in a very similar context in two papal letters describing the revolt of the townspeople of Montpellier in 1141–1143 concerning the rebellious viguiers, the Aimon family ^[78]. While Guilhem VI was chased from the city, finding refuge in the port of Lattes, he was not killed in the revolt like Raymond Trencavel. The term proditores, used in this manner, is connected simply to the act of rebellion. Furthermore, within the customary of Montpellier, recorded initially in 1204 following an incursion of the Aragonese into the city – as had coincidentally transpired in Béziers 20 years before ^[79] – we know that verbal insults such as aliquem malservum, vel proditorem, vel traditorem, vel furem probatum, vel perjurum were not tolerated during court proceedings, as cases were tried by the quality and dignity of the person in question ^[80]. Be that as it may, the term proditor was thus not only equated to the more general traitor and thief, but also specifically to those guilty of breaking servile oaths ( malservus ). Taken with the other evidence of proditio from the papal letters concerning the rebellion of Montpellier, we begin to see a connection. What is more, in April 1180 Viscount Roger had an instrument written in which he formally returned the tabellion to the notary Bernard Cota – he and the bishop together had apparently confiscated the office quando recuperavimus villam Biterris post proditionem & mortem patris mei ^[81]. The two events were thus distinct.

With the evidence reconsidered, a link between the proditionem Biterris and the proditor himself rests on surer footing than Elaine Graham-Leigh thought, calling it speculative when pondering Petrus’ treachery ^[82]. The crime of seigneurial murder, nevertheless, cannot be substantiated. It is certain regarding the events in Béziers that written records, now lost, once recorded the properties and rights confiscated in the aftermath of the revolt, as indicated by the settlement of Garsinde and Bishop Ermengaud’s dispute in 1205. What is more, Viscount Roger himself had restored some of these properties, at least to Richer’s heirs and the once-punished Bernard Cota, as we have seen. While the term proditor by itself may speak of a multitude of potential crimes, through the association of the related proditio, itself appearing repeatedly in the ‘Livre Noir’ in connection to the same individuals ( the Maureilhan lords Arnaud and Raymond ), one discovers that the confiscated properties were associated to rents and inheritance fees – the kinds of payments and services those with full ownership would not make ^[83]. If one reads the Latin of these documents to indicate the collection of these fees were precisely the privileges confiscated because of the betrayal, thereby suggesting a lord had held them, it is important to note that Richer, a burgher himself ( as will be shown below ), was said to have held very similar rights in the district through Arnaud of Maureilhan’s mortgage.

By accepting Petrus Vairatus’ offence as connected to the Revolt of 1167 rather than the murder of Raymond Trencavel, the time lapse of thirteen years between the assassination and the formal banishment of Petrus and his proles from the city appears as far less perplexing considering Roger would have had ample time to exact his revenge. In the account of Garsinde’s settlement with the bishop, furthermore, she had produced written documentation of her family’s restitution from Viscount Raymond’s eldest son and heir. Had Petrus received a similar act, between, say, the first recorded time he was labeled a proditor in March 1172 and his formal banishment in December 1180? An act of recognition made by Viscount Roger in July 1178 which confirmed a previous donation of milling rights to the Cistercian monks of Valmagne in the mills of Montagnac conspicuously did not record the traitor’s name among the witnesses – though his close associates ( as we will come to see ), Raymond Ledderius and Bernard Bofat, had been in attendance ^[84]. Of course, it cannot be said definitively; although, the language of Petrus’ banishment seems to suggest that Bishop Bernard was securing from Roger an assurance that he and his family would stay in exile, promising that they would not be recalled as evidently others had been, or that they had perhaps already returned to the city ^[85]. In fact, in such a light, the epithet proditor – unique to Petrus in the ‘Livre Noir’ – needs not suggest that he was the ringleader of the plot, nor that he was the man who wielded the dagger, simply that he ignored his obligations to the bishop ( perhaps for his manse and oven along the ‘French Road’ ) when he had joined the civil revolt.

Vincent Challet had come to a similar conclusion, suggesting that Petrus had received a reconciliation which the bishop was attempting to undermine in his efforts in consolidating the Bourg of Maureilhan ^[86]. Hélène Débax addressed another angle of this pattern regarding the tabellion of Béziers, as well, which was formally reinstated by episcopal order in 1174 and then again in 1180 to the previously disenfranchised notary ( Bernard Cota ) – the notariate had been implicated, as she argued, in the revolt itself ^[87]. It is worth noting here, in addition to these changing notarial privileges, that another scribe, a certain Gregory who was also noted for his public service in 1155, had a healthy career in episcopal circles from 1148 until he conspicuously disappeared from Saint-Nazaire’s records in 1167 ^[88]. A year before the revolt, Gregory dictated an act to his brother Bremond which bore certain socially sensitive material: a Petrus “Nairatus de Tripol” – perhaps the ‘traitor’, or another of his family differentiated by the toponym – and other commoners witnessed a mortgage of a fief alongside William of Béziers the miles ^[89]. The plural form also appeared in what Duhamel-Amado characterized as the lifting of acaptum restrictions: the mortgaged property could be alienated tam sanctis quam clericis sive militibus as opposed to specifically prohibiting knights and clerics. Though all of the principal actors in this mortgage came from aristocratic ( i. e. noble ) circles, invalidating its supposed impact on acaptum leases, what is interesting here is that of all such contracts written or dictated by Gregory – including one from a year following – the restrictive phrase includes rather the word caballerius. A difference of implied status is intimated here by the word choice, as well as a degree of experimentation in the Latin formulae used in property alienation when ultimate ownership was held by a third party. Gregory thus signified the elevated position of those laymen involved by using miles instead of his standard caballerius, likewise extending it to those whom the fief could be alienated ^[90]. These details suggest that status and social position were stressed in the episcopal court on the eve of the Revolt in 1167. The promise made by Viscount Roger to Bishop Bernard in April 1180 never to make another decision concerning the tabellion of Béziers, nor to draw up public instruments without his approval also has relevance here. Perhaps, finally, to the bishop’s delight, he secured a check against the viscount’s reconciliatory ways which threatened his work in the Bourg of Maureilhan, even making the notary Bernard Cota “a tenant of his charge” ^[91]. Together, these revelations hint at tensions behind-the-scenes regarding the privileges these erstwhile traitors might have held.

Assuming that a seigneurial reconciliation can explain the time lapse between the revolt and his renewed exile in 1180, in light of these hints at social friction what can be said of Petrus Vairatus’ status? His association with the landed nobility has remained a near constant in the historiography. Henri Vidal, Vincent Challet, and Henri Barthès have gone furthest in suggesting an alternative by associating Petrus and the Vairati family with other urban elites, like Bernard Bofat and Raymond Ledderius ^[92]. These associations, and their implications, are not clear, however. The Bofat family especially held elevated rights, managing privileged properties and collecting rents from tenants ^[93]. Henri Barthès even indicated that Raymond Ledderius and his first wife Jordana had collected the tasca ( annual proportional rent ) and the usatica ( annual fixed rent ) from their seniorium ( lordship ) in Ortes along the Libron River near Boujan north of Béziers itself, rights and income which were ceded to Valmagne Abbey ^[94]. While these families were all clearly associated, collecting rents such as these was a privilege that the Vairati themselves were never recorded as having.

The Vairati: Tenant-Lords?

Determining status of any individual during the twelfth century in the Midi is not always easy, often relying upon the services or fees that they owed or performed for the properties that they held – if it is not stated outright ^[95]. While it is true that the Vairati were never recorded as having collected tenant rents, either in kind or coin, as their Bofat associates or Raymond Ledderius had, it is equally true that they are never recorded as having paid them either. Lacking these tell-tale signs and yet being certain of the wealth and connections of the family, many historians have felt assured of their elevated background. Hélène Débax and Claudie Duhamel-Amado have each made their own genealogical claims regarding the Vairati family. Curiously, their opinions do not align.

Taken directly from the banishment charter, Débax believed Petrus was “linked to the family of Peter Raymond d’Hautpoul”, as that long-time associate and vassal of the Trencavel lords had specifically sworn to uphold the exile ^[96]. His oath, nevertheless, was explicitly tied to Petrus’ proles, not the traitor himself ^[97]. Equally as probable would be that Peter Raymond was operating as an agent of Bishop Bernard to ensure the decision was supported. Though his family was tied to the viscounts of Carcassonne for their lands in the Minervois, Peter Raymond himself had been a favorite in Viscountess Ermengard of Narbonne’s court for his knowledge of the revived Roman law ^[98]. His presence for the banishment of the traitor from Béziers reads rather as a means of establishing the legal veracity of the expulsion of Petrus Vairatus’ family and the confiscation of their properties.

For Duhamel-Amado, an association through a certain “Guillaume Nairat de Murviel” who signed a charter in the mid-1140s, and his supposed ancestor Raimundus Abbo de Neirano, proved plausible ^[99]. The sons of this Biterrois lord, and Raymond himself, had drawn the ire of the chapter of Saint-Nazaire in the late-eleventh century for their refusal to abandon the tithe of Saint-Félix de Tourreille, for which, Duhamel-Amado believed, the later redactors of the ‘Livre Noir’ had understood to be “bad men” for their connection to the ‘traitor Nairat’ ^[100]. Not only does a Giraldus Nairatus appear in the same witness list as that of the “Guillaume Nairat de Murviel,” however, the latter’s name is actually written Willelmi Nerreti de Muro vetulo in the ‘Livre Noir’ ^[101]. While variant spellings of the same name made by the same scribe are frequent, perhaps the more relevant association here is that not only were Giraldus and Willelmus separated in the witness list but the name recorded just before Giraldus’ was that of a Bernardus Bonifatus. Here, already in the 1140s, we see a connection between the Bofat and Vairati – a connection which would last at least into the 1180s.

In all, of the twenty-six occasions in which a member of the Vairati family appears in the written records ( not including the two charters which label Petrus a proditor ), twelve also indicate the presence of a member of the Bofat when the instrument was written ^[102]. When one is not present, other urban elites are, like Raymond Ledderius already mentioned or the lesser-known Ermengaudi, Escoa Lupi, Bedocii, Catalani. etc. A powerful association such as this bears some consideration in determining the social background of these families. As stated above, the Bofat certainly had access to a privileged position, one which was persistent well into the thirteenth century ^[103]. Yet, their status, too, is equally ambiguous: despite these heights, members of the Bofat family were linked to properties in which they did not have full ownership – properties for which tenant obligations were due ( though they were not specified as having paid them ) ^[104]. Raymond Ledderius as well, despite having a seniorium as an allod from which he collected rents, was labelled as one of three cives chosen to represent the town’s interests at the proclamation of Viscount Roger’s shared rights with the bishop before the king of Aragon in 1185; the other two beside him were Bernard Bofat and Petrus Vairatus ^[105]. To what degree were the Vairati in a similar position?

It is true, as Claudie Duhamel-Amado mentioned, that Petrus Vairatus himself, and a certain Guiraudus Nairatus, a presumed relative, were landowners in the Bourg of Maureilhan – the latter even owning an allod ^[106]. That freehold property consisted of several manses adjoining a solarium which he offered as surety for the value of his vineyard sold in Pelignanum to the canon Peter of Saint-Nazaire sometime around 1184 ^[107]. While solaria, or raised homes, akin to the patrician towers of medieval Italian cities, were dwellings of the influential, they are not inherently associated with one class of elite over another. In fact, they were so ubiquitous in the urban environment of High Medieval Occitania that the term itself disappeared throughout the course of the twelfth century; they were symbols of wealth and status, to be sure, but not restricted to lords or knights, lacking any militaristic character whatsoever ^[108]. More important to the discussion here regarding that sale, and another of the same property shared between brothers, is the inclusion of the Latin phrase salvo jure seniorum when detailing the extent of the rights conferred ^[109]. While no rents or fees are mentioned as being paid or owed, neither Guiraud nor his brother ( a certain Raymond ) held their portions of the vineyard within their full authority ^[110]. That distinction was held by another: the canons of Saint-Nazaire. Owning or having access to different properties held under different circumstances ( one field held as an allod, and another as a fief – or even tenancy – for example ) is of course common; not having full ownership of their father’s vineyard did not prevent Guiraud from holding an allod in the city. Yet it does suggest the potential, at the very least, for a lower status – definitive evidence for which is perhaps available in the Vairati genealogy.

The villa de Vairaco

Beyond the borders of the coastal Biterrois, across the Hérault River into the neighboring Agathois, records from the small villa de Vairaco within the ‘Valmagne Cartulary’ could provide a potential origin for the family surname. Much like the Cistercian abbey itself, the grange of Veyrac was a neighboring rural settlement just north of where the ancient via Domitia had crossed the Marinesque stream by a small bridge – evidently still in use during this period ^[111]. Based upon the compounding spiritual donations to the newly founded abbey from 1139 onward, first built in the neighboring territoria de Tortoreria ( later moved to Creis ) ^[112], this area can best be defined as a border zone where competing interests from local notables were at work. The lords of Montpellier, the viscounts of both Béziers and Agde, as well as the bishops of those cities, were all, occasionally, involved to greater or lesser degrees in activities of the monks, bestowing upon them and other local notables extensive rights and properties. And yet, not all donations came from such powerful individuals. While certain, less-eminent donors had vested interests in Montpellier ^[113], more than a few landowning families with properties or interests in the villa shared surnames with known burghers of Béziers – like the Bedocii ^[114], the Ermengaudi ^[115], and even the de Prades ^[116], whose member Arnaud, the husband of Garsinde, daughter of the disenfranchised Richer, has already been mentioned. Another local family with significant properties in the area even took the town’s name as their own, the de Vairaco.

Beginning in the Spring of 1182 with a certain Ermengard of Veyrac, a series of donations and sales lasting throughout that year heavily invested the abbey with lucrative properties throughout the future grange, not least of which was the town mill ^[117]. Shared between four individuals ( only for two of whom is it clear that they were siblings ) ^[118], the family had undoubtedly been one of the most ardent local supporters of the abbot and his monks – two of those mill donors, Peter and Genesius, had both become conversi in the process of their donations ^[119]. The fourth part had been owned by a certain Agnes, wife of Peter Blanchus ( occasionally translated as Albus ), who sold her portion of the mill for 150 sol. at the end of that year, though she would make a considerable windfall from the monks when she sold all of her rights to the honor de Vairaco two years later in a period of her great need following her husband’s likely death and to support her daughter Beliardis’ wedding ^[120]. Most crucial, however, were the terms under which the honor was sold: Agnes would receive yearly ten sétiers of grain ( a mixture of wheat and barley ) and an additional ten sétiers of vina puri from the abbot for the rest of her life. Despite what amounted to a life annuity, Agnes and her children were said to hold the honor from the monastery ad usaticum and that they had done hominium for the privilege. Clearly, they were valued tenants.

The de Vairaco family had been locally influential as well for at least a generation prior. A certain Andreas of Veyrac and his brother William had been among the witnesses of the initial donation by William Frezol and his wife Ermessende, a seigneurial family originating from Cabrières, in March 1139 ( 1138 ) to the monastery of Ardorel of their land in Tortoreria specifically for building a church of their order at a place called Vallis Magne ^[121]. Andreas and his brother had also been tasked, evidently on more than one occasion, to reveal the total dimensions of the new abbey’s lands in the area ^[122]; their assessment had been consistently referenced at least until the mid-1150s ^[123]. They were a family of considerable means, to be sure. As part of his final donation of his portion of the mill before being welcomed as a lay brother, Peter of Veyrac had included ( among many rural properties throughout the villa ) his portion of a house in Montpellier from which he collected six d. as an usaticum from Berengar of Palas and his mother ^[124]. Despite their wealth, Peter, his relatives Genesius and Peter the White ( Blanchus ), together with a Gerald Bedos, had still owed hospitality services for thirteen knights ( alberc entier ) to the Cistercians – a service, which others have shown, was a legal sign of dependency ^[125].

These tenants of Veyrac with a degree of seigneurial authority ( i. e. ‘tenant-lords’ ) evidently match the ambiguous social status of the Vairati family of Béziers and their associates. But does the similarity of their surnames necessarily imply a connection beyond a reasonable doubt? Of course, without specific evidence, a definitive answer is lacking; though, several aspects lend a degree of support for such a contention. Scribal variations cannot be discredited, especially when considering the different contexts for the production of these records. These were not disconnected communities, as we have seen; but an individual notary or scribe’s unfamiliarity with a foreign family might have affected the rendering of their names on parchment. The influence of vernacular on Latin conventions within the minds of the scribes who wrote the charters of this period have been investigated by linguists and historians alike ^[126]. While a general hallmark of Medieval Latin may be the use of prepositional phrases to convey the grammatical function of a more rigid case system in the classical period ( i. e. de Vairaco as opposed to the genitive Vairaci ), declensions within the vernacular languages of modern France themselves have been shown to have had considerable variation in their use and were highly independent of Latin grammatical standards of the time ^[127]. How all of this may have affected individual scribes when recording placenames of course necessitates a nuanced analysis, not least when considering the morphology of toponymic surnames, themselves subject to inconsistencies. Case usage aside, the articulation of Occitan toponyms derived from the Latin -acum suffix ( of Gallo-Roman origin designating the people of a given individual, in this case “the people of Varius” ^[128] ) have led to orthographic confusion within certain dialects of Old Occitan where the postvocalic /k/ and /t/ became muted ^[129]. When pronunciation evolved, rendering -ac and -at endings similar, variants naturally could follow.

Even within charters produced for the de Vairaco family themselves regarding their properties near the mill, variations occur. A certain Guilelma Vairaga sold with her sister and her children a garden attached to the dike of the mill – chief among the witnesses of this act were Genesius and Peter of Veyrac ^[130]. Though undated, a partial censier labelled a Guirald of Vairag as one of the laborers of the viscountess of Béziers within the cartulary composed for the Trencavel lords ^[131]. Indeed, one of the earliest recordings of the town itself can be found with this same spelling: villa Vairago ^[132]. Of the known given names of the Vairati, furthermore, the most common ( Peter and Guiraud/Gerald ) number among those used by the de Vairaco. Peter of Veyrac and Petrus Vairatus the ‘Traitor’ in this light might even appear to be the same man; while they were contemporaries, this is impossible considering the former’s donation in 1182. The introduction of the Vairati into Béziers would necessarily have had to occur at least a generation earlier. Recall from above the presence of Guiraud Nairati beside Bernard Bonifati in the mid-1140s ^[133]. In a charter from 1133 detailing the exchange of properties between Saint-Nazaire and Saint-Étienne recorded in the ‘Cartulary of the Bishopric of Agde’, interestingly we can also find among the witnesses assembled by both bishops a Bernard Bonfati together with a William of Veyrac ^[134].

A Rebellion of the Townspeople

If the Vairati were connected to the de Vairaco, or even simply to the villa in the Agathois rather than the castrum Neyran or the Hautpoul family suggested by Duhamel-Amado and Débax respectively, a division tantamount to a common origin rather than aristocratic, what does the difference actually entail? In other words, if the Vairati were rich and influential landowners in Béziers during and after the death of Viscount Raymond in 1167, operating in a clearly privileged manner, does the exact nature of their status truly make a difference? By consulting the sources left with which the above is based, the answer to this question is frustratingly ambiguous.

Status mattered, surely, on a social level. The ability to be seen by others ( and recorded ) wielding influence and power counted as much, if not more, than the right to do so. We see, from the aftermath of this one event, ‘commoners’ ( both urban and rural ) exerting such influence. Richer had collected seigneurial fees in the Bourg of Maureilhan through mortgage, suggesting the lord who leveraged those rights, Arnaud of Maureilhan, was not concerned about doing so with someone who might, conceivably, be considered beneath him on the social spectrum. Peter of Veyrac, despite owing services of his own, collected monetary rents from tenants in Montpellier. Such a situation of course was not unique. More remarkable yet, however, the de Vairaco family had enough familiarity with the Cistercians of Valmagne that Agnes, Peter’s relative, received payments of grain and wine from the monks following the sale of an honor held from the abbey. To what extent can these disparities in the social order, as defined by acaptum contracts in which social divisions are stressed, be interpreted as an effort on the part of the ‘tenant-lord’ to insert themselves into aristocratic society? Or were these situations possible simply because reality was less rigid than customary practices entailed, suggesting those involved did not doubt nor object to their blended social status? These actions suggest, however, that a division itself was fundamental, one which was echoed in the ecclesiastic narratives of Newburgh, Breuil, and Torigni – the collective cives or burgenses had killed the viscount and took control of the city, not specifically the knights or landed nobility. As seen time and time again in the cartulary evidence, in which rights and privileges were meticulously recorded, many of the Vairati and their peers are seen in both worlds, suggesting that these differences were apparent to all but more strongly felt in ecclesiastic circles ( not to mention foreign chroniclers ). It becomes clear that while the boundary between these social strata was real enough it was not entirely impermeable. This in fact points to a theme which has not been emphasized regarding these events previously: How might these ‘tenant-lords’ – separated from those who held real power in the city regarding legal practices while simultaneously operating within these circles in practical experience – exert their influence upon their society? To what means might they be compelled in the face of regimented social structures imposed by at least one of the co-lords of the city – say, to communal rebellion? Considering these questions, let us return to William of Newburgh’s ‘Historia rerum anglicarum’.

It was the interaction of a townsman and a knight which initiated the murder of the viscount and the revolt of the city. While the account in the ‘Historia’ is full when compared to others like Breuil’s ‘Chronica’ or Torigni’s, little is given about the specifics which transpired between that man and the knight. It is clear that the theft of the knight’s warhorse and its subsequent reuse as a pack animal was a major insult, and the punishment and debasement of the townsman at the hands of the knights – leaving him sine honore – was more than he or his fellows could bear. Nothing more is given. Vincent Challet has suggested that physical punishment for his crimes might have infracted newly won franchises by the townspeople of the city for which pecuniary fines ought to have been levied. It was indeed in the struggle to establish a consulate that Challet placed the context of the revolt; perhaps this could explain the severe response of initiating a murderous conspiracy to deprive the Trencavel family of their city ^[135]. This could have been a factor in the slight felt by the townspeople of Béziers, a broken promise by their lord which had been written on parchment. But what of the symbolism of the events themselves?

The theft of a horse from a knight by a commoner, one of the very symbols of knighthood itself, allowed that man to exist simultaneously in two roles, emphasized again by the use of that horse in assisting the baggage train. In a period in which it has been argued that social meaning, and lordship itself, was in part derived from the public spectacle of the exercise and use of property and rights, this scene was equally unacceptable by the viscount’s knights, evidently sympathetic to Raymond himself, and grounds enough for the whole community to revolt when one of their own was maligned ^[136]. What is more, it is clear from the diplomatic evidence that the only individuals implicated in the crime itself from the multitude of the townspeople who had revolted in 1167, a certain Richer and Petrus Vairatus the ‘Traitor’, were similarly operating in dual roles of commoner and lord.

As discussed above, it was recorded in the charter of 1172 in which Petrus was first labelled a traitor that he had held a manse and an oven in the city which had belonged to the bishop and were confiscated. Undoubtedly, it was in connection to this oven that the Vairati had made some of their wealth – and perhaps, even distantly, from the mill in Veyrac. Interestingly enough, the other implicated man, Richer, not only had held seigneurial fees in the Bourg of Maureilhan through mortgage from Arnaud of Maureilhan but had owned and operated yet another mill south of town in Saint-Pierre-du-Bosc, one which the canons had confiscated from his daughter and her husband in 1191 because they had left it derelict longo tempore ^[137]. This mill was likely not among the confiscated properties captured by the bishop following the revolt itself as not only was it well south of town and outside the district associated with the known confiscated properties, but it was also over twenty years since the revolt itself. Perhaps Garsinde and her husband had been unable to maintain the mill due to the financial difficulty stemming from the punishment of her father’s crimes. Her husband Arnaud had sold to the abbot and monks of Valmagne Abbey a manse he had held in the district extra portale in March 1181 for 300 sol. in which Petrus Vairatus appeared as a witness; though, evidently, Garsinde was still attempting to improve her situation nearly fifteen years later when she reached a settlement with Bishop Ermengaud regarding her father’s once-claimed seigneurial rights ^[138]. As her mill had been confiscated, nevertheless, held under the condition of its profitability and given to new tenants by the canons ( who were similarly obligated to maintain the property ), her family’s status is equally tied to tenancy ^[139]. In this light, the Bourg of Maureilhan appears as a district rife with the emergent burghers who used their wealth to bridge the social divide, and whose properties were targeted by established power structures following the revolt. As questions of status implied by Latin vocabulary regarding the provisions behind the evolving conceptions of property ownership in this period suggest, as indicated above in Gregory’s charters, the extent of these developments and their effects upon society are telling.

These themes have been lost by the repetition of the more accepted version of the events promulgated by Breuil’s ‘Chronica’, that of Count Raymond V of Toulouse’s meddling, which was in part supported by Peter of Vaux-de-Cernay in his ‘Hystoria Albigensis’. The context of the ‘grande guerre méridionale’ as well as the enmity between Viscount Raymond Trencavel and Count Raymond V of Toulouse, surely influenced the events of 1167, if not simply because of the exactions placed upon the city to support his nephew, implied by Breuil. The Revolt of Béziers itself did not exist in isolation; three other twelfth-century Occitan cities experienced similar moments, that of Carcassonne ( 1107, 1112, 1120 ), Lavaur ( 1139 ), and Montpellier ( 1141 ) ^[140]. Political reasons rooted in these well-attested facts offer a compelling solution when the social conflict attested by a foreign commentor is questioned. And yet, even in Breuil’s ‘Chronica’ the townspeople are given more of the blame than the count of Toulouse in that the original conspiracy stopped short of seigneurial murder ^[141].

Certainly, the account of William of Newburgh ought not to be placed above all others without due consideration – the geographic and temporal separation of William from events related to his Willelmus Trencheveil are enough to give one pause. The material he used in constructing the narrative, nevertheless, may have come from a much closer source: Elaine Graham-Leigh believed Newburgh’s misspelling belied a connection to the Aragonese allies of his King Henry II – a similar misidentification was made in the inquiry produced to support King Alfonso’s claims to the city of Carcassonne c. 1175 ^[142]. Interestingly, the same error was also made in Torigni’s ‘Chronica’, identifying Raymond as Guillelmum Trencheuel ^[143]. Direct use of this text by Newburgh is dubious as other erroneous details – like the death of Raymond’s infant son – were not repeated; though perhaps it speaks to a similar, Angevin distortion ^[144]. William’s preoccupation with the divisions of the secular world, however, certainly explains his narrative of a personal struggle between knight and townsman – the references to subverted roles involving the use of a warhorse most of all.

According to Nancy F. Partner, “[ i ]n general, an unspecified code of feudal, chivalric behavior with some deference to religion is the tacit standard for William’s judgement of conduct in the lay, secular world which, he usually assumes, is aristocratic and agrarian.” ^[145] His view of towns and their vigorous activity, Partner went on to discuss, was one generally of uncertainty if not suspicion. The rebellion was treated unfavorably by William not because of his innate support of the wealthy, but rather due to his suspicion of the “upstart, wrongheaded, violent urban men who had no respect for the inevitable patterns of an orderly society”, who instigated the revolt ^[146]. Yet, the involvement of the burghers in a plot of some kind was corroborated by other chroniclers, as we have seen. Equally as plausible, then, might be that William found in Raymond Trencavel’s murder an event which seemed to confirm his social biases, a sentiment, perhaps, at least in a pragmatic sense, shared by Bishop Bernard who himself was insistent on the continued success of his aims in the Bourg of Maureilhan in suppressing burgher properties ( despite the unabated communal support for the proditor himself ). Details about Roger’s revenge upon the citizens of Béziers in all of the narrative sources, furthermore, appear not to be true in so far as the cartulary evidence suggests. Rather than indiscriminately kill the population of a whole quarter of the city, Roger seems to have been reconciled with some of the very individuals involved in the revolt itself. The question is why?

This may point, oddly enough, toward yet another aspect of Newburgh’s account which was not fully supported by other chroniclers: Roger’s delay in seeking his revenge. In the ‘Historia rerum anglicarum’, it is mentioned that Roger was not moved to seek retribution immediately following the revolt once he and the bishop were reinstated in the city, sometime near the end of 1169 or early 1170 ^[147]. A nameless nobleman in Roger’s court, however, suggested ( perhaps in jest ) that the new viscount was reluctant to retaliate because he had gained everything from his father’s murder; forced to act, Roger conspired for an army of his Aragonese allies to storm the city and settle the confiscated properties ^[148]. Breuil claimed that in 1168, a year after he believed the city was retaken, Roger feigned to march on an enemy, sending his own army instead into the city to hang the perpetrators along with some notables ^[149]. Both Newburgh and Breuil relate an element of secrecy in the events, how Roger waited until the opportune moment to strike. To Torigni, however, his revenge followed immediately upon recovering the city in 1169, where all the men and women were killed by hanging and other means, allowing others to repopulate Béziers ^[150]. Largely combining the accounts of Newburgh and Breuil, Dom Devic and Vaissete stated that Roger’s invitation of the Aragonese into the city under the faulty pretense of shelter on their way through the city occurred the following year after his reinstatement, near the end of 1169 ^[151]. Henri Vidal himself wondered if the favorable obligations for asylum seekers ( not restricted to churches ) and to foreign residents ( freed from servility ) recorded in the urban customary of 1185 were not in fact attempts to encourage resettlement following the reported horrors of Roger’s revenge ^[152]. To Louis Noguier, the viscount’s preoccupation with the count of Toulouse, stemming from his own association with Barcelona, explained his delay; though, we are told, “Roger never forgot the murder of his father” and retaliation was his first priority ^[153].

Though the ‘Livre Noir’ makes no reference to the ‘revenge’ other than allusions to confiscated properties ( and, considering the ecclesiastic origin of the cartulary, it should come as no surprise that these properties and rights primarily aggrandized the bishop or chapter ), perhaps Roger’s recorded leniency toward Garsinde, or the inferred leniency toward Petrus Vairatus, may indicate some truth behind Newburgh’s claim that the new viscount himself was reluctant to move against at least some of the perpetrators. Considering what has been suggested about the Trencavel authority over the urban elites of Béziers in establishing a consulate as well as maintaining control over the assemblies of boni homines, there appears here to be a link in the struggle for dominance between the two leading powers of the city ^[154]. Who better to support in that struggle against the bishop than one of the prominent ( if not rebellious ) tenants of his district, Petrus Vairatus, who himself, and his family, were influential not only in the episcopal court but also among the community of burghers in the Bourg of Maureilhan?

Conclusion

Bishop Bernard’s insistence on the continued banishment of Petrus Vairatus the proditor, as well as his shared authority over the reformed notariate of the city – both documented in 1180 – was in part to secure control over the Bourg of Maureilhan and influence over all public instruments, as others have suggested ^[155]. Yet, in the light of the cartulary evidence discussed above concerning the seigneurial privileges held by these dual status, ‘common’ families, like those of the Vairati and Bofat, the ecclesiastical confiscation of at least a portion of them appear targeted toward these rising elites as a means of limiting their influence principally in areas within Saint-Nazaire’s control. After all, of the confiscated properties later mortgaged by the Maureilhan lords, only the seigneurial rights were maintained, rights returned to them propter proditionem. Social order regarding these lands, it would seem, had been restored – an effort perhaps akin to Lord Guilhem V of Montpellier’s insistence on class divisions following the union of the Aimon and Faidit families in the early twelfth century ^[156].

It is true, nevertheless, that we know of these efforts only from ecclesiastical sources, perhaps imparting a one-sided view of this struggle. Not all of these elite burghers, for instance, appear to have been implicated in the plot of 1167, such as the Bofat themselves. While the collective, communal action on the part of the cives, as described at least in part by all narrative accounts of the revolt, lends support to the idea of a battle to wrest control over civic administration by a nascent consulate – itself in dispute within the historiography – in light of the diplomatic evidence in which only two individuals are implicated in the crime ( and curiously only those subject to seigneurial clemency ), perhaps it is of no coincidence that they were subjects of the bishop’s district ^[157]. Little can be said about the districts controlled by the viscount – the bourgs of Nissan, Lespinan, and of La Salvetat – as written evidence is sparse, but considering their shared access to the old market and the ‘French Road’, the artisanal and commercial center of the city, they surely were not devoid of wealthy tradesmen, money lenders, and merchants ^[158]. These sources indicate the willingness of Viscount Roger to support at least some of the individuals involved in the communal plot, suggesting that these reconciliatory patterns, perplexing considering the crime, belie a degree of usefulness on the part of Garsinde or Petrus Vairatus to the viscount despite their implication in the dispossession of his patrimony and indirect involvement in the death of his father. Such leniency may indicate a degree of reflection on the part of the viscount, shifting from revenge by pacifying urban discontent, similar to the Guilhems of Montpellier when increasing the administrative function of many burghers following the 1141–1143 revolt ^[159]. These aims were opposed to those of the other co-lord of the city, however, in a period of mounting episcopal strength ^[160]. As influential tenants of the chapter of Saint-Nazaire, Roger’s mercy and support of Garsinde and Petrus Vairatus naturally would have been at odds with an episcopal agenda intent upon property acquisition in the Bourg of Maureilhan, stemming the growth of a rival lord in acquiring influential allies within the bishop’s half of the city. Shared religious affiliations between the Trencavel and these ‘tenant-lords’ with the Cistercians of Valmagne, furthermore, may have leant a compassionate view; the growing influence of the abbot in the city surely would not have escaped the attention of the viscount either – nor, for that matter, the bishop’s ^[161].

What is more, despite the failure of the revolt itself and the reprisal of Trencavel authority, the continued vagueness of the statuses of these elites, and the traitor’s own continued support, in the aftermath of 1167 indicates that Roger and the bishop together were not capable of preventing their regrowth ^[162]. Here we see a hint at the slow but steady progression of the communal aims initiated by the revolt itself – aims which are only supported within the ‘Historia rerum anglicarum’ of William of Newburgh. Henri Vidal saw the failed impact of the customary of Béziers as a symptom of urban decay; a latent but unmaterialized potential when compared to its eastern neighbor, Montpellier ^[163]. These general conclusions about the social and economic context of the city, decades before the Massacre of 1209, may well be true. But the eventual acquiescence of the viscount and bishop to concede rights and privileges of their own prerogatives to the townspeople in 1185, eighteen years after the death of Raymond Trencavel, must surely have been a culminating triumph to those former rebels and to our Petrus Vairatus the ‘traitor’, so near the end of his life.

The stain of the epithet proditor, however, inserts Petrus into the seigneurial world of oaths and owed services. Though no oath remains between him and the bishop, in a society governed by such compacts functioning on the trust they naturally instilled, severing this bond was thus particularly egregious ^[164]. It was his rejection of societal norms that garnered such a moniker; but his return to Béziers and his elite position speak to a status that could endure beyond the whims of the powerful. We see here a man transcended; one who bargained with his prominence, which may easily have been undone without communal support.

In 1211 another Petrus Vairatus – perhaps the traitor’s son – was firmly in the orbit of the new seigneurial order of the city in the aftermath of the tragedy of 1209, witnessing, together with a member of the notarial Alsona family, the growth of Valmagne’s influence in the city: Simon of Montfort’s agent, Robert Mauvoisin, allowed two cives in his lord’s district of Nissan to sell to the monks their casale, portions of rural agricultural land, and even una tabula in mercato ad coinatariam ^[165]. Not only were other families like the Bofat seemingly unmarred in the decades which followed, Petrus’s family continued to occupy a privileged position; the ‘traitor’ himself had even done so for at least five years following his renewed exile in 1180 ^[166]. In the formal act of submission sworn by fifty-four probi homines of the city to King Louis VIII in 1226, two of those signatories were members of this clan ^[167]. Sixty years later still, a century after the traitor’s renewed exile, a late-thirteenth century consul bore the name Petrus Vairatus ^[168]. Whatever troubles followed Petrus’ ignominy in 1180, they proved fleeting. Like the efforts of other ‘tenant-lords’ – such as Agnes of Veyrac who received her life annuity from the monks of Valmagne, her landlords – Petrus had tended his associations well enough that not even the failed revolt of 1167, nor the enmity of the bishop, could stamp them out.