by Kate Mosse
Pelletier gave a long sigh. ‘I fear, Simeon, that despite our best efforts we have been betrayed, although I have no hard and fast proof of it. There are those who know of the connection between us, I am convinced of it. Whether they also know the nature of our bond, I cannot say.’
‘Something has happened to make you think this?’
‘A week ago or more, Alaïs came across a man floating in the river Aude, a Jew. His throat had been cut and his left thumb severed from his hand. Nothing else was taken. There was no reason to think so, but I thought of you. I thought he had been mistaken for you.’ He paused. ‘Before this there have been other indications. I confided something of my responsibility to Alaïs, in the event that something happened to me and I was unable to return to Carcassona.’
This is the moment to tell him why you are come.
‘Father, since you — ’
He held up a hand to stop her interrupting. ‘Have there been any indications your whereabouts have been discovered, Simeon? Either by those who sought you in Chartres or others?’
Simeon was shaking his head. ‘Of late, no. More than fifteen years have passed since I came south and I can tell you that, in all that time, there has not been a single day when I’ve not expected to feel a knife at my throat. But, as to anything out of the ordinary, no.’
Alaïs could keep silent no longer. ‘Father, what I have to say has bearing on this matter. I must tell you of what has happened since you left Carcassona. Please.’
By the time Alaïs had finished, her father’s face was scarlet. She feared he would lose his temper. He would allow neither Alaïs nor Simeon to calm him.
‘The Trilogy is discovered,’ he ranted. ‘There can be no doubt about it.’
‘Be still, Bertrand,’ said Simeon firmly. ‘Your anger serves only to cloud your judgement.’
Alaïs turned to the windows, aware of the growing levels of noise in the street. Pelletier, too, after a moment’s hesitation, raised his head.
‘The bells have started again,’ he said. ‘I must return to the Suzerain’s residence. Viscount Trencavel expects me.’ He stood up. ‘I must think further on what you have told me, Alaïs, and consider what should be done. For now, we must concentrate our efforts on departure.’ He turned to his friend. ‘You will come with us, Simeon.’
While Pelletier had been talking, Simeon had opened an ornately carved wooden chest that stood on the far side of the room. Alaïs edged closer. The lid was lined with deep crimson velvet, gathered in deep folds like the curtains around a bed.
Simeon shook his head. ‘I will not ride with you. I will follow with my people. So, for safety’s sake, you should take this.’
Alaïs watched Simeon slide his hand along the bottom of the chest. There was a click, then a small drawer sprung open at the base. When he straightened up, Alaïs saw he was holding an object enclosed in a sheepskin chemise.
The two men exchanged glances, then Pelletier took the book from Simeon’s outstretched hand and concealed it beneath his cloak.
‘In his letter, Harif mentions a sister in Carcassona,’ said Simeon.
Pelletier nodded. ‘A friend to the Noublesso is my interpretation of his words. I cannot believe he means more.
‘It was a woman who came to take the second book from me, Bertrand,’ Simeon said mildly. ‘Like you, at the time I confess I assumed she was no more than a courier, but in the light of your letter . . .’
Pelletier dismissed the suggestion with a wave of his hand. ‘I cannot believe Harif would appoint a woman guardian, whatever the circumstances. He would not take the risk.’
Alaïs almost spoke, but bit her tongue.
Simeon shrugged. We should consider the possibility.’
‘Well, what manner of woman was she?’ Pelletier said impatiently. ‘Someone who could reasonably be expected to take custody of so precious an object?’
Simeon shook his head. ‘Truthfully, she was not. She was neither high-born nor in the lowest station of life. She was past the age of childbearing, although she had a child with her. She was travelling to Carcassona via Servian, her home town.’
Alaïs sat up straight.
‘That is a meagre amount of information,’ complained Bertrand. ‘She did not give you her name?’
‘No and nor did I ask it, since she bore a letter from Harif. I gave her bread, cheese, fruit for the journey, then she left.’
They were now arrived at the door to the street.
‘I do not like to leave you,’ Alaïs said abruptly, suddenly fearful for him.
Simeon smiled. ‘I shall be fine, child. Esther will pack those things I wish to take with me to Carcassona. I will travel anonymously in the crowd. It will be safer for us all if I do so.’
Pelletier nodded. ‘The Jewish quarter lies on the river, to the east of Carcassona, not far from the suburb of Sant-Vicens. Send word when you arrive.’
‘I will.’
The two men embraced, then Pelletier stepped out into the now crowded street. Alaïs went to follow, but Simeon put his hand on her arm to hold her back.
‘You have great courage, Alaïs. You have been steadfast in your duty to your father. To the Noublesso too. But watch over him. His temper can lead him astray and there will be difficult times, difficult choices ahead.’
Glancing over her shoulder, Alaïs dropped her voice so her father couldn’t hear. ‘What was the nature of the second book taken by this woman to Carcassona? The book that yet is unfound?’
‘The Book of Potions,’ he replied. ‘A list of herbs and plants. To your father was entrusted the Book of Words, to me the Book of Numbers.’
To each their own skill.
‘I think that tells you what you wanted to know?’ Simeon said, looking knowingly at her from under his bushy eyebrows. ‘Or perhaps confirms a thought?’
She smiled. ‘Benlèu.’ Perhaps.
Alaïs kissed him, and then ran to catch her father up.
Food for the journey. A board too, perhaps.
Alaïs resolved to keep her idea to herself for now, until she was sure, even though she was all but certain she knew where the book would be found. All the myriad connections that ran through their lives like a spider’s web were suddenly clear to her. All the tiny hints and clues missed, because not looked for.
CHAPTER 29
As they hurried back through the town, it was clear that already the exodus had begun.
Jews and Saracens were moving towards the main gates, some on foot, some with carts laden down with belongings, books, maps, furniture; financiers with horses saddled and carrying baskets, chests and scales for weighing, rolls of parchment. Alaïs noticed a few Christian families in the crowd too.
The courtyard of the Suzerain’s palace was bleached white in the morning sun. As they passed through the gates, Alaïs saw the look of relief on her father’s face as he realised the Council was not yet concluded.
‘Does anyone else know you are here?’
Alaïs stopped dead in her tracks, horrified to realise she’d not thought of Guilhem at all. ‘No. I came straight to find you.’
She was irritated by the look of pleasure that flashed across her father’s face.
He nodded. Wait here. I will inform Viscount Trencavel of your presence and ask his permission for you to ride with us. Your husband, also, should be told.’
Alaïs watched as he disappeared into the shadows of the house. Dismissed, she turned and looked around. Animals stretched out in the shade, their fur flattened against the cool, pale walls, unconcerned by the affairs of men. Despite her experiences and the stories Amiel de Coursan had told her, here, in the tranquillity of the palace, Alaïs found it hard to believe the threat was as imminent as they claimed.
Behind her, the doors were flung open and a tide of men flooded down the steps and across the courtyard. Alaïs pressed herself against a pillar to avoid being caught up in the rush.
The courtyard erupted with the sound of shouting, commands, orde
rs issued and obeyed, écuyers running to fetch their masters’ horses. In a heartbeat the palace was transformed from the seat of administration to the heart of the garrison.
Through the commotion, Alaïs heard someone calling her name. Guilhem. Her heart leapt into her mouth. She turned, straining to see where his voice was coming from.
‘Alaïs,’ he cried in disbelief. ‘How? What are you doing here?’
Now she could see him, striding through the crowds, clearing a path, until he was lifting her into his arms, squeezing her so hard that she thought every last breath would be driven out of her body. For an instant, the sight of him, the smell of him, drove everything from her mind. All was forgotten, all was forgiven. She felt shy almost, captivated by his obvious pleasure and delight to see her. Alaïs closed her eyes and imagined themselves alone, returned miraculously to the Château Comtal, as if the tribulations of the past few days were but a bad dream.
‘How I’ve missed you,’ said Guilhem, kissing her neck, her throat, her hands. Alaïs winced.
‘Mon còr, what is it?’
‘Nothing,’ she said quickly.
Guilhem lifted her cloak and saw the angry purple bruising across her shoulder. ‘Nothing, by Sant-Foy. How in the name of — ’
‘I fell,’ she said. ‘My shoulder took the worst of it. It is worse than it looks. Please, do not concern yourself.’
Now Guilhem looked uncertain, caught between concern and doubt. ‘Is this how you fill your hours when I am away?’ he said, suspicion forming in his eyes. He took a step back. ‘Why are you here, Alaïs?’
She faltered. ‘To bring a message to my father.’
The moment the words were out of her mouth, Alaïs realised she had said the wrong thing. Her intense pleasure immediately turned to anxiety. His brow darkened.
‘What message?’
Her mind went blank. What might her father have said? What possible excuse could she give?
‘I — ’
What message, Alaïs?’
She caught her breath. More than anything, she wanted there to be trust between them, but she had given her word to her father.
‘Messire, forgive me, but I cannot say. It was a matter for his ears alone.’
‘Cannot or will not?’
‘Cannot, Guilhem,’ she said with regret. ‘I would that it were otherwise.’
‘Did he send for you?’ he said furiously. ‘Did he send for you without asking my permission?’
‘No, no one sent for me,’ she cried. ‘I came of my own accord.’
‘But yet you will not tell me why.’
‘I beseech you, Guilhem. Do not ask me to break my word to my father. Please. Try to understand.’
He grabbed hold of her arms and shook her. ‘You will not tell me? No?’ He gave a sharp, bitter laugh. ‘And to think I believed I had first claim on you. What a fool to think so!’
Alaïs tried to stop him leaving, but he was already striding away from her through the crowds. ‘Guilhem! Wait.’
What’s the matter?’
She spun round to see that her father had come up behind her.
‘My husband is offended by my unwillingness to confide in him.’
‘Did you tell him I forbid you to speak of it?’
‘I tried, but he was not minded to listen.’
Pelletier scowled. ‘He has no right to ask you to break your word.’
Alaïs held her ground, feeling anger well up inside her.
With respect, Paire, he has every right. He is my husband. He deserves my obedience and my loyalty.’
‘You are not being disloyal,’ Pelletier said impatiently. ‘His anger will pass. This is not the time nor the place.’
‘He feels things deeply. Insults go deep with him.’
‘As do we all,’ he replied. ‘Each of us feels deeply. However, the rest of us do not let our emotions govern our common sense. Come, Alaïs. Put it from your mind. Guilhem is here to serve his seigneur not fret over his wife. As soon as we are back in Carcassona, I’m sure all will be quickly resolved between you.’ He placed a kiss on the top of her head. ‘Let it lie. Now, fetch Tatou. You must get ready to leave.’
Slowly, she turned and followed him to the stables. ‘You will speak with Oriane about her part in this. I feel sure she knows something of what happened to me.’
Pelletier waved his hand. ‘I’m sure you misjudge your sister. For too long there has been discord between you, which I have allowed to run unchecked, believing it would pass.’
‘Forgive me, Paire, but I do not think you see her true character.’
Pelletier ignored her comment. ‘You are inclined to judge Oriane too harshly, Alaïs. I am certain she undertook your care for the best of motives. Did you even ask her?’ Alaïs flushed. ‘Exactly. I see from your face you did not.’ He paused again. ‘She is your sister, Alaïs. You owe her better.’
The unfairness of the rebuke ignited the anger simmering inside her chest.
‘It is not I — ’
‘If I have the chance, I will talk to Oriane,’ he said firmly, making it clear the subject was closed.
Alaïs flushed, but held her tongue. She had always known she was her father’s favourite and therefore she understood that it was his lack of affection for Oriane that pricked at his conscience and made him blind to her faults. Of her, he had higher expectations.
Frustrated, Alaïs fell into step beside him. ‘Will you try to seek out those who took the merel? Have you — ’
‘Enough, Alaïs. No more can be accomplished until we return to Carcassona. Now, may God grant us speed and good fortune to carry us swiftly home.’ Pelletier stopped and looked around. ‘And pray that Besièrs has the strength to hold them here.’
CHAPTER 30
Carcassonne
TUESDAY 5 JULY 2005
Alice felt her spirits lift as she drove away from Toulouse.
The motorway ran dead straight through a green and brown fertile landscape of crops. Now and then she saw fields of sunflowers, their faces tilted from the late afternoon sun. For much of the journey, the high-speed railway ran alongside the road. After the mountains and undulating valleys of the Ariège, which had been her introduction to this part of France, it appeared a more tamed landscape.
There were clusters of small villages on the hilltops. Isolated houses with windows shuttered and a clocher-mur, the bells silhouetted against the pink dusk sky. She read the names of the towns as she passed — Avignonet, Castelnaudary, Saint-Papoul, Bram, Mirepoix - rolling the words over her tongue like wine. In her mind’s eye, each promised the secret of cobbled streets and history buried in pale stone walls.
Alice crossed into the département of the Aude. A brown heritage sign read: Vous êtes en Pays Cathare. She smiled. Cathar country. She was quickly learning that the region defined itself as much by its past as its present. Not just Foix, but also Toulouse, Béziers and Carcassonne itself, all the great cities of the southwest living still in the shadow of events that had taken place nearly eight hundred years ago. Books, souvenirs, postcards, videos, an entire tourist industry had grown up on the back of it. Like the evening shadows lengthening in the west, the signs seemed to be drawing her towards Carcassonne.
By nine o’clock, Alice was through the péage and following the signs for the city centre. She felt nervous and excited, strangely apprehensive, as she picked her way through grey industrial suburbs and retail parks. She was close now, she could feel it.
The traffic lights turned green and Alice surged forward, carried along by the flow of traffic, driving over roundabouts and bridges, then suddenly in countryside again. Coarse scrub along the rocade, wild grasses and twisted trees blown horizontal by the wind.
Alice cleared the brow of the hill and there it was.
The medieval Cite dominated the landscape. It was so much more imposing than Alice had imagined, more substantial and complete. From this distance, with the purple mountains thrown into sharp relief behind, it looked lik
e a magical kingdom floating in the sky.
She fell in love immediately.
Alice pulled over and got out of the car. There were two sets of ramparts, an inner and an outer ring. She could pick out the cathedral and the castle. One rectangular, symmetrical tower, very thin, very tall, stood higher than everything else.
The Cite was set on top of a grassy hill. The slopes swept down to streets filled with red-roofed houses. On the flat land at the bottom there were fields of vines, fig and olive trees, wigwams of heavy ripe tomatoes in rows.
Reluctant to venture closer and risk breaking the spell, Alice watched the sun set, stripping the colour from everything. She shivered, the evening air suddenly chill on her bare arms.
Her memory provided the words she needed. To arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
For the first time, Alice understood exactly what Eliot had meant.
CHAPTER 31
Paul Authié’s legal practice was in the heart of the Basse Ville of Carcassonne.
His business had expanded fast in the last two years and his address reflected his success. A building of glass and steel, designed by a leading architect. An elegant walled courtyard, an atrium garden separating the business spaces and corridors. It was discreet and stylish.
Authié was in his private office on the fourth floor. The huge window faced west overlooking the cathedral of Saint-Michel and the barracks of the parachute regiment. The room was a reflection of the man, neat and with a tightly controlled ambience of affluence and orthodox good taste.
The entire outer wall of the office was glass. At this time of day the blinds were drawn against the late afternoon sun. Framed and mounted photographs covered the other three walls, together with testimonials and certificates. There were several old maps, originals not reproductions. Some depicted the routes of the Crusades, others were illustrations of the shifting historical boundaries of the Languedoc. The paper was yellow and the reds and greens of the ink had faded in places, giving an uneven, mottled distribution of colour.
