by Kate Mosse
‘So?’
‘A French bible means a Protestant bible,’ she said, stressing each of the words. ‘Monsieur Boussay refused to allow her to keep it. For once, our aunt defied his wishes. She was too scared to hide it in the house, so she concealed it in the Eglise Saint-Taur.’ Minou paused, then gave a wry smile. ‘Where better to conceal a bible than within a church?’
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CARCASSONNE
The carriage was waiting in Place Saint-Nazaire, the black horses pawing the ground in their eagerness to be gone. Blanche lifted Alis up into the cab, settled her and untied her bonnet.
The girl ran her hands over the soft upholstered seats in delight.
‘I have never been in such a carriage before. It is beautiful.’
Blanche took her place beside her and the manservant closed the door, then they felt the carriage lurch as he climbed up beside the driver. A crack of the whip, the heavy jolt of the wheels beginning to turn, and they were on their way.
‘May we have the curtains open?’ Alis asked.
‘Not until we are out of La Cité.’ The child might not recognise the crest of the Bishop of Toulouse on the doors of the carriage, but others would and Blanche did not want Alis to be seen inside. ‘When we are on the open road, then you may look out.’
Alis sat back patiently with her hands in her lap. The high carriage wheels rumbled under the Porte Saint-Nazaire, then the ground became smoother as the horses trotted through the lists between the inner and the outer walls.
At the Porte Narbonnaise they were stopped by the guard. Blanche heard the muttered conversation between a sergeant-at-arms and her driver, praying the watch would not ask to check the identity of his passengers.
‘That sounds like Bérenger,’ Alis said.
‘Stay still,’ Blanche hissed.
Then, to her relief, the thump of a hand on the side of the carriage, and they were on their way.
‘Hope you have a good run of it,’ Bérenger called after them. ‘The weather’s set to turn tonight.’
‘I only stepped out for an instant,’ Rixende cried. ‘I meant no harm.’
‘If I told you once, I told you a hundred times. Never let Alis out of your sight. I warned you. Not only did you go out, but you left the house with all the doors unlocked.’
‘It was only a moment. I needed to fetch some milk and—’
‘She’s gone,’ Madame Noubel said heavily. ‘Alis is gone.’
‘She will only be out for a walk, or with a friend, or . . .’
Madame Noubel gestured to the chair where the kitten sat on the untenanted blanket. ‘Alis never goes anywhere without taking her pet with her.’
‘When Marie came to call,’ Rixende said, ‘I sent her away with a flea in her ear. I give you my word. I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t let anyone in. I was only gone for a quarter of an hour.’
‘And what business, pray, did Marie Galy have coming here? She knows Aimeric is in Toulouse.’
‘I don’t know.’ Rixende was twisting her apron into knots. ‘I sent her packing, I told her nothing.’
Madame Noubel looked around the kitchen, noticing how little things were out of place – a drawer left open, the basket of kindling too far back on the hearth, books on the shelf in the wrong order, Bernard’s chair pushed against the wall. And there was the old map drawn by Florence, except now her own name was printed in block capitals on the reverse side.
She picked it up. No message. Nothing. Yet proof someone had been here.
‘Did Marie come into the kitchen?’
‘No! I told you, Madame, I sent her away. She didn’t set foot inside, I swear.’
Cécile Noubel sat down and patted the bench beside her. ‘Come here, Rixende. Start at the beginning. Tell me every single thing that happened this afternoon from the instant I left the house.’
In no time, Blanche and Alis were out on the open road, the land rising and falling as the horses picked up speed.
‘You may look out now,’ Blanche said.
Alis set her hands on the rim, watching as the outskirts of La Cité gave way to a few solitary houses and farms. Then, the endless fields of the Aude valley – wheat and vines and orchards. In the distance, she saw the white-capped mountains of the Pyrenees. Soon the dust of the road, thrown up by the horses’ hooves, swirled into the cab and Alis settled back on the bench.
‘It feels as if we are flying like birds,’ she said.
Blanche drew the curtains shut. ‘Tell me about your father, Alis. Why does he not take you with him to the bookshop? A clever girl like you, I am sure you would be a great help to him.’
‘I would,’ she said in her solemn little voice, ‘but Papa is not there at the moment.’
‘No?’
‘He left Carcassonne shortly after Minou went to Toulouse with Aimeric. That’s why Madame Noubel is looking after me.’ She paused. ‘I thought Papa would have written to my sister to tell her so.’
‘Perhaps the letter went astray.’
Blanche produced a blue glass phial from beneath her cloak. She did not think the child would know they were travelling in the wrong direction for Toulouse, but soon the road would fork and there was no sense taking the chance.
‘Here,’ she said, ‘this is something to help us with the journey. It is always better to drink before the nausea can take a hold.’ She removed the stopper and handed the bottle to Alis. ‘Don’t drop it.’
‘It is beautiful.’
‘It comes from a place called Venice.’
‘I know about Venice,’ Alis said. ‘The streets are all made of water there. Even the poorest people travel from place to place in special boats. Minou told me.’
Blanche watched her sip the sleeping draught, disguised by a tincture of honey and rosemary.
‘It’s horrible!’
‘Dutch sailors take this remedy before they set out into open water, to counteract the swell of the sea at the harbour mouth.’
Alis emptied the phial and handed it back. ‘Papa goes sometimes to Amsterdam. Minou says it is much like Venice, though she has not visited there either.’
‘Perhaps your father has gone to Amsterdam this time?’
Alis shook her head. ‘No, not this time.’ She paused. ‘He said he was travelling south. Amsterdam is not to the south, is it?’
‘No, Amsterdam is a long way north. You are a clever child.’
Alis blushed red. ‘I wasn’t eavesdropping, but Madame Noubel was talking in a very loud voice. I couldn’t help but hear.’
Blanche allowed the music of the road and the sleeping draught to take effect for a minute. The drumming of the horses’ hooves, the rattling wheels on the carriageway, the hiss and sigh of the air.
‘So, do you remember the name of the place Madame Noubel said?’ she asked quietly.
‘It began with a P,’ Alis murmured, her eyelids closing. ‘I had not heard of it, but it made me think of spring. Something green . . .’
‘Vert?’ Blanche felt a fluttering in her chest. ‘Might it have been Puivert?’
‘Puivert, yes,’ Alis said, her words blurring together. ‘Like springtime.’
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
TOULOUSE
In the time between Minou leaving her aunt’s chamber and returning with Aimeric to escort her to Mass, Madame Boussay had changed her mind.
‘Perhaps it is better to stay here,’ she said. ‘My husband so values my company. He is always vexed if he returns home to find me absent without his permission.’
‘Keeping you prisoner,’ Aimeric muttered under his breath.
Minou shot a warning glance at him.
‘I see that,’ she said patiently. ‘However, if you do wish to attend your usual Friday service, Aunt, then there is no choice but to leave the house for a short while. However, if you prefer, I could ask the priest to come here instead and . . .’
‘No! Monsieur Boussay would not like that. He prefers his own confessor. He sa
ys Valentin will be the next Bishop of Toulouse. He has already contributed significant alms to his campaign.’
Minou glanced again at the door, listening for the sound of Madame Montfort’s footsteps. It would only be a matter of time before she discovered they were here.
‘I am sure God will understand if you do not attend,’ Minou said. ‘He knows what is in your heart, Aunt.’
‘Though I always go to Mass on Friday,’ she fretted. ‘And today of all days I would give thanks for our safe deliverance from the mob and to praise God for sparing you, Minou, from . . . well, from I do not know what. They are like animals, these Huguenots. They have no respect for –’ She drew in her breath. ‘If I do not show my gratitude, then next time the Lord might turn away from us in our hour of need.’
Behind her aunt’s back, Aimeric was pretending to hang himself with an imaginary rope. Minou frowned at him to stop.
‘Perhaps if I ask my sister-in-law to come with us, Monsieur Boussay would have no reason to be angry with me.’
It was the last thing Minou wanted. ‘I am sure my uncle is proud to have a wife of such piety,’ she said, trying another tack.
Madame Boussay’s expression lightened. ‘Do you think so?’
‘I do.’
‘What can be keeping him?’ she said, wringing her hands. ‘He works every hour God sends, but this is very late for him not to be home. Perhaps something has happened . . .’
Minou shook her head at her aunt’s naivety. It was extraordinary that she did not realise that the terrible events of yesterday and today’s attempts to negotiate a truce might interfere with Monsieur Boussay’s usual routines.
‘Since we know all the leading men of Toulouse are in council, trying to broker peace between the Catholic and Protestant factions,’ she said, ‘it is possible he might not even come home until after dark.’
‘I do not know, Niece, really I do not,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Everything is upside down. They say the Huguenots looted all the houses in Saint-Michel and the cathedral quarter too.’
‘They did not,’ Minou said.
The bell began to ring from the church. Her aunt turned towards the sound, hesitated for one last moment, then stood up.
‘You are right, dear Minou. I should pray. For God will know if I am not there. Fetch my cloak, Aimeric. I am so pleased you are to come with us too.’
‘The pleasure is mine, Aunt,’ he said politely.
‘We could be there and back again before my husband comes home, do you not think? I really do not want to anger him. That would not do.’
The bells were ringing for Mass as Piet hurried the few steps from rue du Périgord to the back entrance to the church.
He was disappointed not to have found Minou at the almshouse. At first, the only evidence she had been there at all was the triangle of muslin used as a sling left folded on the counter in the antechamber. Then a woman from the quartier Daurade – who often helped in the kitchens – described someone matching Minou’s description having helped for some hours. And a little boy confirmed the same lady had helped him look for his grandfather.
‘She has different-coloured eyes,’ Louis said. ‘One was blue, and one was brown.’
It gave him pleasure to think that she had stayed.
Piet approached the vestry door, still in two minds as to whether to retrieve the Shroud or leave it be. Perhaps things were not so pressing? News of the truce had reached the almshouse and people were inclined to trust in it. Many had left already to return to their homes.
He lifted the latch on the small arched door, and stepped inside the vestry. The smell of incense and the voices of the choir greeted him, both as familiar as the pattern of his own breathing. Mass would be over in a little while. He would wait and rest, ready to act once the congregation had gone.
The evening service was short but, when it ended, Aunt Boussay did not stir.
Minou glanced at her – still on her knees, with her head bowed – and wondered how much longer she intended to continue at prayer. A few other worshippers also remained. She was aware of two nuns behind them and others in the side chapels. The curate was walking through the body of the church snuffing out each of the candles in turn, leaving a lingering scent of wax and smoke.
‘When can we go?’ Aimeric mouthed.
‘Soon,’ she whispered back.
Before Minou could prevent him, he had slipped out of the pew and was heading up the side aisle to the three chapels behind the altar. ‘Aimeric,’ she hissed, trying to fetch him back, but he pretended not to hear.
He slipped out of sight. Though it was becoming darker, Minou felt a strange sense of peace, despite the exhausting events of the past two days. The last rays of twilight were glinting through the mitred windows above the east door, sending blue and red and green ladders of light into the nave.
She wondered where the bible might be hidden, then glanced again at her aunt and thought of her mother. Though they had different fathers, Minou fancied she could detect a family resemblance. They were of different build and colouring, but Salvadora’s eyes were dark as Florence’s had been. Aimeric and Alis were the same, eyes as black as coal.
The sound of an offertory plate falling to the ground brought Minou back to the present. Her first thought was to wonder what Aimeric was up to, and she half rose from the pew to see. Her aunt clasped her hand.
‘Stay with me, Niece,’ she whispered.
‘Of course,’ Minou said. ‘Though, I wonder, if soon we should return home? The time is passing. Soon it will be dark and—’
‘Please.’ She seemed to be gathering her thoughts. ‘Until I confided in you, Minou, I never told a soul I kept the christening gift Florence sent to me.’
‘The French bible?’ Minou said, her interest quickening.
‘Monsieur Boussay would be so angry if he knew. He does not like me to be disobedient and, though I do try so hard not to provoke him, I know I am a trial.’ She opened her eyes, but kept her gaze fixed on the Cross. ‘I think of your dear mother often. In the blackest hours, I try to imagine what she would do. She would not endure such . . . well, no matter.’
‘No one could be a kinder person than you, dear Aunt. No harm will befall you.’
‘If something does happen to me,’ she continued, as if Minou had not spoken, ‘I would be glad if you should have it.’
Minou squeezed her aunt’s hand. ‘Nothing will happen to you, to any of us. The events of yesterday, terrible as they were, are over. A truce will be agreed and life will return to normal. This is Toulouse. Everything will go back to the way it was before, you’ll see.’
A trill of nervous laughter slipped from her aunt’s lips. ‘You are young, Niece. It is not what lies outside the walls of the house I fear, but –’ She stopped, and levered herself awkwardly off the kneeler and up onto the pew. ‘Promise me this,’ she said. ‘If anything does, well . . . Promise me that you will retrieve the bible and keep it safe, in memory of my beloved sister. I owe her that much.’
Minou nodded. ‘I will do whatever you want.’
‘You’re a good girl, Minou. It is hidden within this church. Did I tell you?’
‘Yes, though not precisely where.’
Madame Boussay smiled. ‘An old priest showed me the place. He is dead now, God bless his soul. No one knows of it.’
Minou’s heart sank. She could not help wondering if the story was quite true. In the short time she had been living in the Boussay house, Minou realised her aunt often said one thing, then days later would claim the exact opposite to be true.
‘Just knowing the bible was here,’ her aunt continued, ‘even though I could not touch it with my own hands – has been a comfort to me during the darkest times. A link between me and Florence.’
‘I could fetch it for you?’ Minou asked. ‘I could keep it within my chamber.’
‘Not yet, dear Niece. I will keep my secret a little longer. It is the only special thing I have. But, as I said, i
f something happens to me . . .’
‘Nothing is going to happen to you,’ Minou insisted, not knowing what else she could say.
A movement behind the altar caught her eye. She looked up and saw Aimeric beckoning her to join him.
‘Not now,’ she mouthed.
Then, in the fading light of the afternoon, a man stepped out to stand beside him. Minou watched him put his hand upon her brother’s shoulder and saw Aimeric look up at him.
Minou caught her breath.
‘Aunt, might you excuse me for an instant?’
Fighting her every instinct to run, Minou walked up the side aisle and along the flagstones until she had reached her brother.
‘Look what he’s given me.’
Minou looked down at the plain silver dagger in her brother’s hands. ‘It is a fine dagger,’ she said, in a voice that seemed to come from a long way away. She turned to his companion. ‘Monsieur Reydon, you are too generous.’
‘I made a promise, my Lady of the Mists, and I always keep my word.’ Piet took her hand and kissed it. ‘I am pleased to see you. It grieved me we parted on such ill terms.’
‘He says he will start teaching me the trick with the knife tomorrow, provided I can get away,’ Aimeric said brightly. ‘Can I go?’
‘We’ll see,’ Minou said carefully, but she was smiling too.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
TOULOUSE
Tuesday, 12th May
Five weeks passed. A stormy April gave way to a gentle May. The winds blew from the south and the sun shone. On the plains of the Lauragais between Carcassonne and Toulouse, lily of the valley and mimosa, violets and primroses blossomed, the colours of spring tipping into summer. Poppies and forget-me-nots blazed red and blue.
Within the city the truce was still holding, though there was a simmering undercurrent beneath the surface of daily life that threatened to erupt into violence at any moment.
Minou looked up at the decaying body hanging in chains from the gibbet in Place Saint-Georges, and her stomach clenched. The balls of the victim’s feet were livid where the blood had pooled, the jaw hung loose. His eyes were gone, the sockets picked clean by the carrion birds. Tufts of hair, tipped with dried blood, had rotted free from the dead man’s scalp and dropped to the ground below. There were three identical scaffolds in each of the other corners of the square.
