The Last Scion

by Richard Reed

  “I don’t trust him – and neither should you. If a descendant of the Magdalene really is still alive, and Dubois is in league with the Vatican, we would be leading him straight to her.”

  Rachel reluctantly agreed to err on the side of caution. They retraced the route they had taken with Dubois, and arrived at the cave by nine o’clock. Not wanting to waste their time, David made a further examination of the cave, searching the walls for further markings, and sifting through the thick layer of loose sand on the ground for anything that might have been missed. However, after trawling through the debris for an hour or so and finding nothing, he gave up and went outside to explore the cliff for other caves nearby.

  The hours dragged by. Rachel tried to read a book, but found it impossible to concentrate. Eventually, at around three o’clock, she heard a scrabbling sound outside the cave. She looked up at the entrance, startled, as a female figure appeared outlined against the bright sky beyond. It was Hélène from the museum.

  Rachel jumped to her feet, startled. “Hélène!” she exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I might very well ask you the same question,” she replied curtly. “You were told this was private property.”

  Rachel paused a moment before answering. She owed Hélène an explanation – as curator of the Rennes museum, she had shown them a considerable degree of trust over the past few months.

  “I found out on the grapevine that according to local tradition, the Grotte du Fournet was where Mary Magdalene was buried. We know, of course, about the legend that she came to France after the death of Christ. And since it is St Mary Magdalene’s Day today, we thought we would come and pay our respects.”

  Hélène studied her face carefully. “How very thoughtful,” she said icily. “You didn’t have any trouble finding it, then?”

  “It certainly wasn’t where you showed us on the map, Hélène,” said Rachel. “But I guess you had your reasons.”

  “Indeed,” said Hélène. “The landowner is a good friend of mine. I’m afraid he doesn’t like uninvited guests. We have had enough trouble with treasure-hunters desecrating this place.”

  “We’re not treasure hunters, Hélène, as well you know.”

  “No, but you came here before, didn’t you? Did Dubois show you the way?”

  “Yes, we did. Is there anything wrong with that? He’s a local historian, and he’s related to Marie Dénarnaud, isn’t he?”

  Hélène snorted with derision. “Is that what he’s been telling you?”

  “Do you know something we don’t?”

  “Plenty, but now is not the time. I’m sorry, but I must ask you to leave.”

  “Why?”

  “As I have said, you are trespassing.”

  “Well, I can’t go until David gets back.”

  “David’s here?”

  “Yes, he’s gone off exploring, looking for other caves – you know what men are like,” said Rachel coolly.

  “And you? You are not exploring?”

  “No, just soaking up the atmosphere. Look, Hélène, I understand your concern, but we’re not doing any harm. I’ll wait until David gets back, if it’s all the same with you. I can’t remember the way back to the car, anyway,” she lied. “I’ve got a terrible sense of direction.”

  Hélène looked nonplussed, unsure of what to do. “Very well,” she said eventually. “You can wait here until David returns, but then you must leave.”

  An hour passed in awkward silence, broken only by the occasional snatch of forced conversation. Soon after four o’clock, there was a scrabbling sound outside and David appeared in the cave entrance, bathed in sweat.

  “Hélène!” he exclaimed. “What are you…”

  “We’ve been through this already, David,” said Rachel, jumping to her feet. “It turns out Hélène is a friend of the owner, and she is not desperately happy about us being here. In fact, she has asked us to leave.”

  “So what’s the big deal?” he said, giving Hélène a hard stare. “You should know by now that we can be trusted.”

  “Oh, really? This coming from someone who broke into the crypt, against all the rules?”

  David started to protest, but Hélène raised her hand to stop him. “Don’t try to deny it,” she said angrily. “I know all about your little midnight expedition – and what you found down there.”

  He shrugged; the game was clearly up. “OK, so we went into the crypt. It’s no big deal, unless you’re working for the Vatican. Don’t you think people have a right to know what’s down there?”

  “That is not for you or me to decide,” retorted Hélène angrily. “Now, please – go!” she ordered, pointing to the cave entrance.

  “We’ll go when we’re good and ready, and not before,” said Rachel, as she saw David hesitating. “You don’t own this place. For all we know, you could have your own reason for wanting to be here on your own.”

  “And what reason would that be?” said Hélène, her eyes flashing dangerously.

  Rachel fell silent. There was a few moments’ pause, then in a sudden movement, Hélène reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a small pistol. “Now perhaps you will go,” she said icily.

  Chapter 29

  Council of war, Montségur, January 31, 1244.

  The floor shuddered as a stone ball from a trebuchet cannoned into the castle’s curtain wall, and lumps of mortar rained down from the ceiling.

  Pierre-Roger raised his hands to Philippa in a quizzical gesture. “What more evidence do you need? Scarcely an hour passes without the king’s war machines raining down destruction upon us. You know I am not a man who would idly contemplate defeat, but it is only a matter of time before Montségur is captured. Now they have advanced from Tower Rock to the Barbican and assembled their siege engines, we cannot survive for long. Our supply lines are cut. You must escape while there is still the chance to smuggle you out.”

  “I will not leave you,” said Philippa, her eyes blazing defiantly.

  “In God’s name, why not? It was I who brought this destruction upon us; you warned of the consequences but I would not listen. You are rightfully angry, yet you refuse to go.”

  “Because I love you, husband,” she said quietly. ““What is past is past, and cannot be undone. You are the father of my child. My place is here at your side.”

  Pierre-Roger sighed in exasperation and turned to her mother, Corba. “My lady, please, will you insist that she leaves Montségur? Your bloodline is at risk – you must see the inevitability of our situation. There is no way, militarily, that we can avoid defeat.”

  “Believe me, her father and I have both tried,” she said wearily. “But when her mind is made up, there is no changing it.”

  Pierre-Roger turned away, struggling to get his temper under control, pacing around the small tower room like a caged animal.

  “Bishop Marty,” he said at last, turning to a man in a simple grey cassock, “you of all people must understand the importance of the situation. I seek not just to protect my wife and child, but the future of Christendom. You are now the leader of our faith; surely you can persuade my wife?”

  The bishop smiled wanly. “I wish that I could, my lord, but you must know I have no sway over either Lady Corba de Péreille or her daughter. If Bishop Benoît were still with us, God rest his soul, he might have been able to intercede, for he was like a second father to the girl. But I have little influence, for this goes beyond the Cathar faith.

  “By all normal conventions, as your wife, Lady Philippa should obey you; but by virtue of her heritage, she has the right to make such decisions herself. Were she without child, her mother could insist that she goes, but now she has a daughter, the final decision rests with her, and her alone.

  “I will say one thing, however, my Lord: it is vital that we remove from here our sacred writings. They must be preserved for future generations, and we cannot allow them to be used against us by the Inquisition. I include in that the gospel th
at Lady Corba carries with her; I have discussed this with her, and we are both agreed it must be taken to a place of safety.”

  “Well then, so be it,” said Pierre-Roger, resignedly. “Make plans to take the scrolls from here. I know of a place where they will be safe, but let no word of it be mentioned outside this room, save to the man to whom you entrust this mission. There is a place beneath Rhédae known only to a few of our number – an ancient burial chamber deep within the hill. I have used it as a refuge on more than one occasion when fleeing the king’s men.”

  “Rhédae? But that is where the Madeleine was interred before her body was moved at the start of this vile crusade. Is that wise, when the town is under royal control?” queried Corba.

  “Where better to hide it than right under their noses? In any case, since the armistice that followed the Treaty of Meaux it has become a backwater, and many Cathars have returned there incognito. As I have said, only a few trusted men know of the entrance to the cave on the hillside below the town. It is impossible to find unless you know the way. Now, Bishop Marty, and you, my Lady Corba, talk to my seneschal about finding some reliable men to undertake the mission. In the meantime, I will plan a counter-attack on the siege engines to give them some cover.”

  He paused and looked over at Philippa, a grave expression on his face. “As for you, my wife, I appreciate your love, loyalty and forgiveness, but I will not halt in my efforts to persuade you to leave.”

  Philippa smiled and bowed her head. “You may try all you wish, my lord, but I think we both know who will win that particular argument.”

  Three days later, shortly before dusk, a defiant counter-attack was launched on the enemy position at Tower Rock. During the fierce fighting, two of the most trusted Cathar faithful, Matheus and Peter Bonnet, slipped out of Montségur with their precious cargo, and taking a secret mountain path, disappeared into the hills beyond.

  Chapter 30

  “What the hell…” said Rachel, dumbfounded, staring at the gun in Hélène’s hand. “Who are you really working for?”

  “That’s none of your business,” said Hélène. “Now get out of here before I do something we will both regret.”

  Rachel looked across at David, who was still standing near the cave entrance, looking on in disbelief. “I think you’re bluffing,” she said quietly. “You know full well that if you shot me, David would grab you within a second. Do you really want to stand trial for murder? You don’t strike me as the type.”

  Hélène eyed them both warily, weighing up the situation. “OK, David, get over there with Rachel,” she said, rapidly backing up against the cave wall. “Move – now!”

  He hesitated, and a bullet spat into the floor and pinged against the cave walls as it ricocheted around the small chamber.

  “Jesus, Hélène – careful what you’re doing with that thing,” said Rachel, shocked and deafened by the noise of the gun’s discharge in the confined space of the cave.

  “David, move over to Rachel or the next one goes in your leg,” said Hélène in a steely voice. “Please don’t think I’m bluffing.”

  Confused and shaken by the sudden turn of events, David edged over to where Rachel was standing. “Now sit down – both of you,” demanded Hélène. “OK, now we wait,” she said, as they shakily complied with her order.

  “For what?” said Rachel with more than a hint of sarcasm, fighting to control the panic that was threatening to overwhelm her.

  Hélène studied her face, trying to gauge how much she knew. “Until I am ready to go,” she replied darkly.

  The next hour tested Rachel’s patience to breaking point. Had all their painstaking work, all their hours of research, come to nothing? And what was Hélène’s role in all this? To order them out, as a friend of the landowner, was one thing – but to pull a gun on them? That put her in a different category altogether – a very dangerous category. Was she operating on behalf of the Vatican, or some other interested party? Either way, it would seem that the life of the current Magdalene was in grave danger – assuming she was still alive.

  Five o’clock came and went, and Rachel began to wonder if the whole thing was an elaborate charade. She looked across at David and grimaced, while he shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “I told you so.”

  Even Hélène started looking anxiously at her watch, then stood up and started pacing up and down, all the while keeping her gun trained on Rachel and David.

  “Who are you waiting for?” asked Rachel once more, prodding for a reaction.

  “As if you don’t know!” snapped Hélène angrily.

  Suddenly the sound of footsteps making their way down the steep path echoed into the cave. “Now be quiet – if you make a sound, you will pay for it,” hissed Hélène.

  The footsteps grew closer until they were just outside the cave. Rachel’s heart raced. If this really were a descendant of the Magdalene, then a huge weight rested on her shoulders. She could hold the key to the future of Christianity; a figure second in importance only to Jesus himself. Could she allow a bunch of scheming diehards to bring to an end a line dating back two millennia; a direct bloodline to Christ?

  “Gardez-vous – elle a un pistolet!” screamed Rachel at the top of her voice, throwing herself across the cave to avoid any gunshot.

  Hélène gave her an evil look, then seemingly unmoved, turned back to the cave entrance. “Ne vous inquiétez pas – c’est moi, Hélène,” she shouted. “I have some treasure-hunters here.”

  After a few moments, a slim teenage girl appeared hesitantly at the cave entrance, her eyes anxiously peering into the gloomy cave beyond.

  “C’est vous, Hélène?” she called, trying to keep her body hidden behind a rock.

  “Oui, c’est moi, Angeline!” replied Hélène, dropping the gun to her side and walking towards the entrance.

  Rachel seized the moment and threw herself at Hélène, grabbing her legs in a rugby tackle and bringing her crashing to the ground.

  The girl fled, and Rachel picked herself up and dashed after her. “It’s OK, Angeline!” she shouted at the girl’s rapidly receding figure. “We have been working on the dig at Rennes – we are not dangerous! We only want to talk…” The last words were uttered in a desperate plea as the girl scrambled her way back up the steep path.

  The teenager paused at the American accent. “We are trying to contact the Madeleine on a matter of great importance!” added Rachel. “That’s why we came here today, on her feast day. We must talk to her. C’est très important!”

  The girl paused, mid-flight. “You know of the Madeleine?” she said hesitantly.

  “Yes!” Rachel looked over her shoulder at Hélène, who was standing watching her, a curious expression on her face. She decided to throw caution to the wind. “We found a hidden message during the dig at Rennes. The Madeleine is in grave danger.”

  The girl slowly started making her way down the path once more. Rachel could see she was trembling. “Please don’t be afraid – we want to help,” she called.

  Angeline slowly edged into view. Underneath her long, dark hair, her dusty face was limned with tears. “You are English?” queried Angeline, in a strong Occitan accent.

  “American,” corrected Rachel. “Though I was brought up in England.”

  “What is going on, Hélène?” asked the girl, looking from Rachel to David, and then to Hélène, who was still standing behind them, her gun no longer in sight.

  “They are uninvited guests,” said Hélène darkly. “I do not trust them. They work for TV – they will expose the Madeleine to great danger.”

  “We need to talk to the Madeleine, for her own safety,” said Rachel quickly. “It’s true that we work for National Geographic. But we give our word we will say nothing about the Madeleine that she does not want us to say. And under no circumstances will we reveal her identity or location.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?” asked Angeline.

  “We found a scroll in the tomb of the Made
leine in the crypt of the church,” said Rachel gravely.

  Angeline gasped.

  “The scroll has a message: it says, ‘When the time is come, seek out she who waits at the grotto where Our Lady was laid to rest, for it is the destiny of her issue to reveal Christ’s truth unto all men. Find her, and she will guide you to the light.’ And so we have come here. Tell me, Angeline – are you the Madeleine?”

  “Mois?” said the girl, startled, before bursting out laughing. “Non, she is my grandmother’s sister. She is too old to come herself, and anyway the risk is too great with les trésor-chasseurs everywhere. But no-one cares about a girl like me.”

  Hélène moved forwards and confronted Rachel. “Is what you say true – did the scroll really come from the tomb of la Madeleine?”

  “It did indeed,” said Rachel.

  “And you have a copy?”

  “Yes, we managed to open the scroll before it was stolen.”

  “This changes everything.” Hélène turned to Angeline and spoke to her rapidly in Occitan, the original language of the Languedoc. “I have explained what happened here,” said Hélène. “Frankly your presence here is not welcome, but it seems you may have information that is vital to our cause – information that has been lost for centuries.”

  “Lost when the body was moved, perhaps?” put in David, who had been hanging back for fear of adding to the confusion and scaring Angeline further.

  “Oui.”

  “Where was the body moved to?”

  “You think if I knew I would tell you? But I do not know. No-one knows, not even la Madeleine. The body was moved in great haste during the crusade against the Cathars.” David shot a meaningful glance at Rachel. “Since then the knowledge has been lost. We knew of the scroll, too, but not where it was hidden. To think it was still in the tomb!”

  “You say, ‘We knew’… Who is ‘We’?” asked David. “Who are you working for? And what is ‘the cause’?”