by Kate Mosse
‘Innocent people could be killed,’ she said firmly. ‘We can’t leave it.’
‘If they’ve found it, you’ll never get into the Cité and out again without being seen. It’s impossible.’
‘Difficult, not impossible,’ she said.
‘Almost impossible then,’ he said sharply.
‘Look, they aren’t aware that we know they have – might have – discovered the bomb is there.’
‘You’ll be caught,’ he said again.
‘I don’t think so,’ Sandrine continued. ‘They will be expecting us to act at the moment Authié’s scheduled to arrive in the lices. Yes? When they see we’re not coming, they’ll either remove the device themselves or, more likely, put out that he will be there on another occasion, trying to encourage us to make a move the following day.’
‘Or, more likely,’ Raoul said, ‘they will simply sit it out. Wait for you for as long as it takes. Then arrest you,’ Raoul said.
Sandrine raised her hands, then let them drop. ‘I know it’s a risk, but I can’t see any other option.’
‘The logical option is to leave it. Hope it doesn’t get accidentally detonated. That’s the only sensible thing to do.’
‘I’m not prepared to do that,’ Sandrine said. ‘If we kill innocent people, then we’re just as bad. We sink to their level.’
Raoul paused. ‘OK, if you insist. I’ll go.’
Sandrine smiled. ‘You can’t possibly try to get into the Cité. You’ll be stopped straight away. They’re less suspicious of women.’
‘Not if they’re looking for “Sophie”,’ he said.
Sandrine didn’t answer. She knew he was right. For a moment, they both fell silent.
‘If you’re determined to go through with this,’ Raoul said eventually, ‘isn’t there someone who could go in your place? Authié will recognise you.’
Sandrine sighed. ‘We haven’t the time to find anyone and besides, I know the device, how it works. It’s got to be me.’
There was a knock at the back door. Sandrine glanced at the clock – it was just shy of six o’clock, very early for anyone to be calling. She stood up, immediately on her guard, as Raoul slipped behind the door to the cellar, out of sight. She heard the click as he released the safety catch on his revolver.
‘Who is it?’ Sandrine said.
‘Me,’ Lucie whispered through the wire mesh of the fly screen. ‘I’m on my own.’
Sandrine let out a long breath. Raoul stepped from his hiding place, putting his gun back in his pocket.
She put her hand to his cheek. ‘Before I let her in, are we agreed?’
‘I don’t like it.’
Sandrine nodded. ‘Neither do I,’ she said softly.
‘Authié has this address. He could be here at any moment.’
‘We’ll see the plan through tonight, then we’ll leave, I promise. Go to Coustaussa. There’s nothing more to worry about than there was before, it’s just going to take longer to get to Authié than we’d hoped.’
‘Sandrine,’ Lucie said, a little louder.
‘Ask Lucie to go with you,’ Raoul said suddenly. ‘You can’t go alone. Take her.’
Sandrine was about to say no, but then stopped. She could see the sense in his suggestion.
‘Actually, that’s not a bad idea.’
‘Authié won’t recognise her, she’s changed so much. And she’s not known to the Milice or the Gestapo, is she?’
‘No.’
‘Sandrine!’ Lucie repeated. ‘Let me in.’
‘But I won’t pressure her,’ Sandrine said, turning the key, ‘not if she doesn’t want to help. She’s got Jean-Jacques to think of.’
She opened the door. ‘You took your time,’ Lucie said.
There was a pause as she looked at Sandrine, then at Raoul. The colour slipped from her face.
‘What’s going on?’
‘We need your help,’ Sandrine said.
Chapter 119
‘Are you sure?’ Sandrine said for the third time.
Lucie tapped the cigarette Raoul had given her on the side of the glass ashtray. She was pale and her eyes kept darting to and fro.
‘I’ve said so, haven’t I?’
‘I know, but I want you to be clear about what we’re asking of you. It will be dangerous.’
‘It’s dangerous, I understand. I get it.’
Sandrine exchanged a glance with Raoul, who shrugged.
‘No, I mean it, Lucie,’ Sandrine persisted. ‘This isn’t simply delivering a message or smuggling a little paper from one place to another.’
‘The consequences are the same, aren’t they?’ Lucie said. ‘I’d have been in trouble if we’d been stopped on Monday morning on our way to the Café des Deux Gares.’
‘Yes, but . . .’
Lucie shrugged. ‘Well then.’
Sandrine frowned. ‘But we’ve always agreed I’d say you didn’t know anything about it if we were stopped and searched.’
‘No one would have believed that for a moment,’ she said wryly. ‘You know as well as I do, I’d have been for it. Same as you, kid.’
Sandrine stared at her.
‘Sandrine,’ Raoul said gently, ‘if Lucie says she’s willing to help, then it’s her decision.’
Sandrine shook her head. She understood why Raoul wanted Lucie to go with her – it was the only thing he felt he could do to keep her safe – but it felt wrong. She was still not convinced Lucie was aware of what she was agreeing to.
‘Maybe it’s best if I go alone,’ she started to say.
‘No,’ Raoul said, his voice loud in the quiet of the early morning.
Lucie ground the stub out in the ashtray. ‘You want me to help create a diversion,’ she said.
‘Well, yes,’ Sandrine said carefully. ‘But if I’m caught, Lucie, and they realise you were helping me, then it will go badly for us both. Do you see?’
‘So it’s the same story,’ Lucie said. ‘I’ll say I didn’t know anything about it.’
‘They won’t believe you.’
‘I’ll persuade them,’ Lucie said firmly. ‘Look, I understand.’
‘What about Jean-Jacques?’
‘Tonsils,’ she said. ‘That’s what I came to tell you. I thought he was teething, but his temperature kept going up and up. Dr Giraud diagnosed it straight away.’
‘Well then, you can’t possibly leave him,’ Sandrine said in a rush. ‘In fact, shouldn’t you be with him now?’
‘Dr Giraud’s taken him into the Clinique du Bastion. He’s promised to operate as soon as he can, though it probably won’t be until tomorrow morning.’ The light faded from her face, revealing how worried she really was. ‘It’s too risky to smuggle me in too – and if Authié is back, I can’t risk my name being on any list – so, well, I had to leave him with Jeanne.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’ll go out of my mind if I have to sit around doing nothing.’
Now Sandrine was even more worried about Lucie’s involvement. The fact that she seemed to see this as a good way to keep her mind off her little boy in hospital proved absolutely that she didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation.
‘Dr Giraud’s excellent,’ she said quickly. ‘J-J will be in safe hands. But, really, I think you should go home. Wait for news.’
‘I want to help,’ Lucie said firmly. ‘I can’t sit around worrying myself to a thread.’
Raoul stepped in. ‘Thank you,’ he said firmly. ‘I appreciate this. Sandrine does too.’
‘I don’t think it’s a good idea,’ Sandrine said, but neither of them paid any attention.
‘What time will we leave to go to the Cité?’ Lucie said, turning to Sandrine. ‘You have a pass, you said? Will I need one too?’
Sandrine glanced up at the time, then gave in. Raoul was right. She had to have someone on lookout, and Lucie was willing to do it.
‘Yes, everyone’s been issued with an additional special pass for today,’ she said. She went to the kit
chen table and got two cards from the drawer. ‘Suzanne made one for me and left the original too.’
Lucie stared at the blurred photograph. ‘It’s not a bad likeness. And if I do my hair in the same style, I think I can pass for . . .’ she peered at the name, ‘Marthe Perard.’
Raoul nodded. ‘Authié and Schiffner are supposed to tour the lices before dinner, which is scheduled for eight o’clock. Sandrine will need to be in place well before that.’
‘You’re not going through with it?’ Lucie asked. ‘Even if Authié does actually make an appearance?’
‘No,’ Sandrine answered, throwing a glance at Raoul. ‘No, in the circumstances, we decided it was too much of a risk. I’m just going to disable the device, so that nobody else gets injured, and get out.’ She paused. ‘There will be other opportunities with Authié.’
Lucie nodded, but didn’t ask anything more.
‘You won’t be able to come back here,’ Raoul said. ‘It’s likely—’
‘Possible,’ Sandrine interrupted.
‘Likely,’ Raoul reiterated, ‘Authié will come here as soon as he realises the mission’s been aborted. He has this address.’
Lucie blushed. And Sandrine realised that in the same way she still felt she should have done more to stop Max being taken, Lucie still felt guilty for talking to Leo Authié.
‘Oh, Lucie,’ she said in a rush, ‘it was such a long time ago. There’s nothing to make up for, not now.’
‘I know, kid,’ Lucie said. ‘But even so . . .’
‘It’s all forgotten.’
‘Forgotten, no.’ Lucie met her gaze. ‘Two years ago, you came with me to Le Vernet. Despite what I’d done, talking to Authié. It was stupid to go and I shouldn’t have let you take the risk. But I was an idiot and you came all the same.’ She caught her breath. ‘You did it for me. For Max, though you didn’t know him. And even before we knew Max wasn’t going to be coming back, you and Marianne took Liesl in too.’ She looked at Sandrine. ‘Do you see now, kid?’
For a moment, they just looked at one another.
‘Yes,’ Sandrine said. And for the first time since they had put the plan to Lucie, she thought it might be all right. She’d underestimated Lucie. Assumed she was walking into this without thinking, when in fact she knew precisely what she was doing. And why. ‘Yes, I see.’
‘Good,’ Lucie said briskly. ‘That’s settled then.’ She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, blew her nose, then nodded, to confirm the decision taken.
Sandrine glanced at Raoul and saw the relief in his face.
‘Happy now?’ she murmured, taking his hand.
He laughed. ‘Less unhappy.’
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked. ‘I don’t think Authié will come here before tonight, but he might. You shouldn’t stay here.’
‘I agree.’
‘Where will you go? Can Robert Bonnet help?’
‘Home,’ he said quietly. He gave a long, weary sigh.
‘Do you mean the Quai Riquet?’ Sandrine said with surprise. She knew he felt bad about how infrequently he visited his mother, but he thought it kept her safer. ‘Has something happened? Has her neighbour been in touch with you?’
Raoul shook his head. ‘No. But when we leave tonight, we’re not likely to be back. Are we? Not now Authié’s here.’ He sighed. ‘I owe it to her to say goodbye.’
‘She didn’t know you last time, did she?’ Sandrine said quietly. ‘Are you sure it’s not better to leave her be?’
‘Other people have looked after her, when it should have been me,’ he said. ‘I’ve stayed away. For the right reasons, but I feel I owe it to her.’
‘Authié might have put the apartment under surveillance, have you considered that?’
‘I doubt it. I’ve barely been there in two years, anyone would say the same. There’s no reason for him to think I’d be there.’
Sandrine didn’t want him to go, though she accepted he had to spend the next twelve hours somewhere. But every time he went into the Bastide, she was terrified he’d be spotted and picked up. It hadn’t happened yet, but that didn’t mean anything. It only meant their luck had held.
‘I don’t think . . .’ she began, then stopped herself. ‘Be careful,’ she whispered.
‘Aren’t I always?’ He smiled. ‘Where shall we meet? You shouldn’t come back here either.’
‘No.’
Raoul rested his hand against her cheek. ‘What about chez Cazaintre?’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure the side gate’s open.’
Sandrine nodded. ‘All right.’
Lucie frowned. ‘Where’s that? Is it a bar? Would I have heard of it?’
Sandrine shook her head. ‘Cazaintre was the architect of the Jardin du Calvaire in the 1820s. It’s one of the places we use as a drop-off and collection point for Libertat.’
‘One of them?’
‘That’s right. “The Naiads” is the fountain in Place Carnot, “Monsieur Riquet’s bathing house” is the steps on the north side of the Canal du Midi and “Monsieur Courtejaire is asleep” means that the pick-up is Courtejaire’s grave in the cimetière Saint-Michael.’
Lucie smiled. ‘Smart.’
‘It’s worked so far,’ Sandrine said.
Raoul took her hand. ‘I’ll wait there until you come.’
She smiled, masking the way the nerves were already hammering in her chest.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be all right. You’ll see. This time tomorrow, we’ll be in Coustaussa.’
Chapter 120
TARASCON
A silver mist skimmed the tops of the trees on the slopes below the Pic de Vicdessos, as dawn began to give colour back to the world.
Audric Baillard had come alone, leaving the house before first light while Pujol was still sleeping off the effects of the previous evening’s wine. He thought Pujol would have tried to stop him or else insisted on accompanying him. Neither suited Baillard’s purposes. He knew these old Cathar routes like the back of his hand. Despite his weakened state, he was certain he could evade any Nazi patrols operating in the mountains. More, he didn’t want to put his old friend at risk.
He looked down at the milk-white scrap of cloth in his hand, Arinius’ map of where the Codex had been hidden some sixteen hundred years before. Safe, there, for all that time. For a moment, in the shimmering dawn, Baillard suddenly saw his younger self reflected back at him. A boy still, being entrusted with another map by his grandmother, a map leading him and those for whom he was responsible to the village of Los Seres.
‘La Vallée des Trois Loups,’ he said aloud. Eloise and Geneviève had told him the valley had such a name, though it appeared on no map. Even with his extensive knowledge of the myths and legends of the hills, he had never heard it called that.
He closed his eyes. As the timelessness of the ancient forests and mountains seeped into his tired bones, another memory. Himself as a young man – no older than Raoul Pelletier was now, no older than Viscount Trencavel when he gave his life to save the people of Carcassonne – travelling through these lands during another occupation. Remembering how the Inquisitors went from village to village, accusing and denouncing and condemning. Spies everywhere, neighbour denouncing neighbour, until no one knew who to trust. Corpses exhumed to be burned as heretics. The Cathars and freedom fighters of the Midi being pushed back and back into the mountains. The raid in Limoux just days ago, reminding him of another raid in the peaceful mountain town where friends of his had been seized. The inquisitional courts, mirrored now by the trials conducted by the Gestapo. And those few who survived the interrogation to be released, forced to wear a scrap of yellow cloth stitched to their garments.
A cross then, a star now.
Baillard shook his head. The time had come. While he was imprisoned in Rivesaltes, he had not been able to act. The decision had been taken from him. Now he could avoid it no longer. As he looked up at the ridges and crests ahead and compared them to Arinius’
map, he knew he was in the right place. Although the forest had been cut back over the centuries, the essential landscape remained unchanged.
Now, as then.
In his youth, Baillard had taken a vow to bear witness. To speak out so that the truth should not die. He had given his word. He had known great joy in his life, but also great sorrow. His destiny was to watch those he loved live and grow old. In time, to die. Generation unto generation.
He allowed his thoughts to fly north to Chartres. It was a city that had been part of his life for so long, even though he had never been there. Several times he had tried, several times he had failed. He had never seen the labyrinth in the nave of the great Gothic cathedral. He had never met the descendants of those he had fought so long ago and fought against still. But he knew the jackals were coming. Once more, from Chartres to Carcassonne. The names were different – Leo Authié and François Cecil-Baptiste de l’Oradore – but their intentions were the same. Coming, as Baillard’s enemies had done before, in search of the secrets of the Languedoc.
As he stood in solitude, the soft morning air on his face, Baillard knew he was not yet strong enough to begin the climb into the mountains. But he needed to be here, in the peace and silence, to make his decision. To listen to the voices and to hope they would guide him.
‘Per lo Miègjorn,’ he murmured.
In his head, he heard the battle cry. Trencavel’s brave chevaliers attempting to defend the Cité against the northern crusaders. The clash of steel and the sweet, hot smell of blood. In a matter of days, the Jewish quarter had been destroyed, the suburbs of Sant-Vincens and Sant-Miquel put to the flame, the women and men of Carcassonne expelled like refugees from their homes.
Then, as now.
There was no doubt in his mind. He would return, as soon as he had gathered his strength. He would gather to him those who would help him. Sandrine Vidal and Raoul Pelletier, Achille Pujol and Eloise and Guillaume Breillac. With their help, he would retrieve the Codex and bring it down from the mountain.
