by Kate Mosse
At last, Alaïs heard the words of the Benedictus. This was her moment to slip away. She bowed her head. Slowly, her hands clasped, careful not to attract attention, Alaïs edged back towards the door.
A few moments later, she was free.
CHAPTER 35
Esclarmonde’s house lay in the shadow of the Tour du Balthazar.
Alaïs hesitated a moment before tapping on the shutter, watching her friend moving about inside through the large window overlooking the street. She was wearing a plain green dress and her hair, streaked with grey, was tied back.
I know I am right.
Alaïs felt a surge of affection. She was certain her suspicions would prove true. Esclarmonde glanced up. Straight away, she raised her arm and waved, a smile lighting her face.
‘Alaïs. You are most welcome. We have missed you, Sajhë and I.’
The familiar smell of herbs and spices hit Alaïs the moment she stepped under the lintel into the single downstairs room. A pan of water was boiling over the small fire in the centre of the room. A table, a bench and two chairs were set against the wall.
A heavy curtain separated the front from the back of the room. It was in here that Esclarmonde gave consultations. Since she had no visitors, the curtain was pinned back and rows of earthenware containers stood in lines on long shelves. Bunches of herbs and sprigs of dried flowers hung from the ceiling. On the table, there was a lantern and a pestle and mortar, the twin of the one Alaïs had. It had been a wedding gift from Esclarmonde.
A ladder led up to a small platform above the consulting area where Esclarmonde and Sajhë slept. He was up there and gave a shout when he saw who it was, hurling down the rungs and throwing his arms around her waist. Immediately, he launched into a description of all the things he’d done and seen and heard since last they’d met.
Sajhë was a good storyteller, full of detail and colour, and his amber eyes sparkled with excitement as he spoke.
‘I need you to deliver one or two messages for me, manhac,’ Esclarmonde said, after giving him his head for a while. ‘Dame Alaïs will excuse you.’ Sajhë was about to object, when the look on his great-grandmother’s face stopped him. ‘It won’t take long.’
Alaïs ruffled his hair. ‘You have an observant eye, Sajhë, and a skill with words. Perhaps you’ll be a poet when you are older?’
He shook his head. ‘I want to be a chevalier, Dame. I want to fight.’
‘Sajhë,’ said Esclarmonde sternly. ‘Listen to me now.’
She spoke the names of the people he was to visit and then gave him the message that two parfaits from Albi would be in the copse east of the suburb of Sant-Miquel in three nights’ time. ‘Are you sure of the message?’ He nodded. ‘Good,’ she smiled, kissing the top of his head, then put her finger to her lip. ‘Remember. Only to those of whom I have spoken. Now, go. The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll be back and can recite more of your stories to Dame Alaïs.’
‘Do you not fear he will be overheard?’ asked Alaïs as Esclarmonde closed the door.
‘Sajhë is a sensible boy. He knows to speak only to those for whom the message is intended.’ She leaned out of the window and pulled the shutters closed. ‘Does anyone know you’re here?’
‘Only François. It was he who told me you were returned.’
A strange look appeared in Esclarmonde’s eyes, but she said nothing of it. ‘Best keep it that way, è.’
She sat down at the table and gestured that Alaïs should join her.
‘Now, Alaïs. Was your journey to Besièrs successful?’
Alaïs blushed. ‘You heard about that.’
‘All of Carcassona knows of it. The talk has been of little else.’ Her face grew serious. ‘I was concerned when I heard, coming so soon after the attack upon you.’
‘You know about that too? Since you did not send word, I thought perhaps you were away.’
‘Far from it. I came to the Chateau the day you were discovered, but this same François would not give me leave to enter. On your sister’s orders no one was to be admitted without her permission.’
‘He did not say so,’ she said, puzzled at the oversight. ‘Nor, indeed, did Oriane, although that surprises me less.’
‘How so?’
‘She watched me all the time, with a purpose rather than affection, or so it seemed.’ Alaïs paused. ‘Forgive me for not confiding my plans in you, Esclarmonde, but the time between the decision and execution of the plan was too brief to allow it.’
Esclarmonde waved her hand. ‘Let me tell you what happened here while you were gone. Some few days after you had left the Chateau, a man arrived asking after Raoul.’
‘Raoul?’
‘The boy who found you in the orchard.’ Esclarmonde gave a wry smile. ‘He has gained some notoriety since the attack on you, aggrandising his own role to the point that if you heard him speak, you would think he had taken on the armies of Saladin single-handed to save your life.’
‘I have no memory of him at all,’ said Alaïs, shaking her head. ‘Did he see anything, do you think?’
Esclarmonde shrugged. ‘I doubt it. You had been missing more than a day before the alarm was raised. I cannot believe Raoul witnessed the actual attack otherwise he would have spoken up earlier. Anyway, the stranger approached Raoul and took him to the taberna Sant Joan dels Evangèlis. He plied him with ale, flattered him. Raoul is but a boy for all his talk and swagger, and a rather dullwitted one at that, with the result that by the time Gaston was shutting up for the night, Raoul was incapable of putting one foot in front of the other. His companion offered to see him safely to his lodgings.’
‘Yes?’
‘Raoul never arrived home. Nor has he been seen since.’
‘And the man?’
‘Vanished, as if he had never been. In the tavern, he claimed to be from Alzonne. While you were in Besièrs, I travelled there. No one had heard of him.’
‘So we can learn nothing from that quarter.’
Esclarmonde shook her head. ‘How came it that you were in the courtyard that time of night?’ she said. Her voice was calm and steady, but there was no mistaking the serious intent behind her words.
Alaïs told her. When she had finished, Esclarmonde was silent for a moment.
‘There are two questions,’ she said in the end. ‘The first is who knew that you had been summoned to your father’s presence, for I do not believe that your assailants were there by chance. The second is, presuming they were not the instigators of the plot, for whom were they acting?’
‘I told no one. My father advised me against it.’
‘François brought the message.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Alaïs, ‘but I cannot believe François would — ’
‘Any number of servants might have seen him come to your chamber and overheard you talking.’ She fixed Alaïs with her direct and intelligent stare. Why did you follow your father to Besièrs?’
The change of subject was so sudden, so unexpected, that it took Alaïs by surprise.
‘I was — ’ she began, sombre, but careful. She had come to Esclarmonde to find out answers to her questions. Instead, she found herself the witness. ‘He gave me a token,’ she said, not taking her eyes from Esclarmonde’s face, ‘a token, with an engraving of a labyrinth. It was that the thieves took. Because of what my father had told me, I feared that every day that passed in ignorance of what had come to pass, might jeopardise the — ’ She broke off, not sure how to continue.
Instead of looking alarmed, Esclarmonde was smiling. ‘Did you tell him about the board too, Alaïs?’ she said softly.
‘On the eve of his departure, yes, before . . . before the attack. He was much perturbed, especially when I admitted I did not know where it had come from.’ She paused. ‘But how do you know that I — ’
‘Sajhë saw it when he helped you buy cheese in the market and told me of it. As you remarked, he is observant.’
‘It is a strange thing for a boy of ele
ven to remark upon.’
‘He recognised its importance to me,’ Esclarmonde replied.
‘Like the merel.’
Their eyes met.
Esclarmonde hesitated. ‘No,’ she said, choosing her words with care. ‘No, not exactly.’
‘You have it?’ said Alaïs slowly.
Esclarmonde nodded.
‘But why did you simply not ask? I would have given it willingly.’
‘Sajhë was there the night of your disappearance to make just such a request. He waited and waited and when, finally, you still did not return to your chamber, he took it. In the circumstances, it was good that he did.’
‘And you have it still?’
Esclarmonde nodded.
Alaïs felt a surge of triumph, proud that she had been right about her friend, the last guardian.
I saw the pattern. It spoke to me.
‘Answer me this, Esclarmonde,’ she said, her excitement making her hurry. ‘If the board belongs to you, why did my father not know it?’
Esclarmonde smiled. ‘For the same reason he does not know why I have it. Because Harif wished it. For the safety of the Trilogy.’
Alaïs couldn’t trust herself to speak.
‘Good. So, now we understand one another, you must tell me all you know.’
Esclarmonde listened carefully until Alaïs had reached the end of her story.
‘And Simeon is making his way to Carcassona?’
‘Yes, although he gave to my father the book for safekeeping.’
‘A wise precaution.’ She nodded. ‘I am looking forward to making his acquaintance properly. He always seemed a fine man.’
‘I liked him enormously,’ admitted Alaïs. ‘In Besièrs, my father was disappointed to discover Simeon had but one of the books. He was expecting both.’
Esclarmonde was about to answer when there was a sudden hammering on the shutters and door.
Both women leaped to their feet.
‘Atencton!Atencion!’
‘What is it? What’s going on?’ cried Alaïs.
‘Soldiers! In your father’s absence, there have been a number of searches.’
‘But what are they looking for?’
‘Criminals, they say, but in truth for Bons Homes.’
‘But on whose authority do they act? The consuls?’
Esclarmonde shook her head. ‘Bérenger de Rochefort, our noble Bishop; the Spanish monk Domingo de Guzman and his friar preachers; legates, who can say? They do not announce themselves.’
‘That’s against our laws to — ’
Esclarmonde raised a finger to her lips. ‘Sssh. They might yet pass us by.’
At that moment, a savage kick sent splinters of wood flying into the room. The latch gave and the door smashed back against the stone wall with a hollow thud. Two men-at-arms, their features concealed by helmets worn low over their faces, burst into the room.
‘I am Alaïs du Mas, the daughter of Intendant Pelletier. I demand to know on whose authority you act.’
They did not lower their weapons nor raise their visors.
‘I insist that you — ’ There was a flash of red in the doorway and to Alaïs’ horror, Oriane appeared in the doorway. ‘Sister! What brings you here in this manner?’
‘I come at our father’s request to escort you back to the Chateau Comtal. Your somewhat hasty departure from Vespers has already reached his ears. Fearing some catastrophe might have overtaken you, he bid me find you.’
You are lying.
‘He would never think such a thing unless you had planted the idea in his head in the first place,’ she said immediately. Alaïs glanced at the soldiers. ‘And was it his idea to bring an armed guard?’
We all have your best interests at heart,’ she said, smiling slightly. ‘They were, I admit, perhaps over-zealous.’
‘There is no need for you to concern yourself. I will return to the Chateau Comtal when I am ready.’
Alaïs suddenly realised Oriane wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes were sweeping around the room. Alaïs felt a hard cold feeling in her stomach. Could Oriane have overheard their conversation?
Immediately, she changed tactics. ‘On second thoughts, perhaps I will accompany you now. My business here is concluded.’
‘Business, sister?’
Oriane started to prowl around the room, running her hand over the backs of the chairs and the surface of the table. She opened the lid of the chest standing in the corner, then let it fall shut with a snap. Alaïs watched her anxiously.
She halted on the threshold of Esclarmonde’s consulting room. ‘What is it you do through there, sorcière,’ Oriane said contemptuously, acknowledging Esclarmonde for the first time. ‘Potions, spells for the weak-minded?’ She put her head inside, a look of disgust on her face, then withdrew. ‘There are many who say you are a witch, Esclarmonde de Servian, a faitilhièr as the common people say.’
‘How dare you address her like that!’ exclaimed Alaïs.
‘You are welcome to look, Dame Oriane, if it pleases you,’ said Esclarmonde mildly.
Oriane suddenly grabbed Alaïs’ arm. ‘That is enough from you,’ she said, digging her sharp nails into Alaïs’ skin. ‘You declared yourself ready to return to the Chateau, so let us go.’
Before she knew it, Alaïs found herself back in the street. The soldiers were so close behind her that she could feel their breath on the back of her neck. She had a fleeting memory of the smell of ale, a calloused hand over her mouth.
‘Quick,’ said Oriane, poking her in the back.
For Esclarmonde’s sake, Alaïs felt she had no choice but to comply with Oriane’s wishes. At the corner of the street, Alaïs managed to throw a final glance over her shoulder. Esclarmonde was standing in the doorway, watching. Quickly, she raised her finger to her lips. A clear warning to say nothing.
CHAPTER 36
In the donjon, Pelletier rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms to relieve the stiffness in his bones.
For many hours, messengers had been dispatched from the Château Comtal carrying letters to all of Trencavel’s sixty vassals not already making their way to Carcassona. The strongest of his vassals were independent in all but name, so Pelletier was mindful of the need for Raymond-Roger to persuade and appeal rather than command. Each letter laid bare the threat in the clearest terms. The French were massing on their borders preparing for an invasion the like of which the Midi had never seen. The garrison at Carcassona had to be strengthened. They must fulfil their obligation of allegiance and come with as many good men as they could muster.
‘A la peifin,’ said Trencavel, softening the wax over the flame before setting his seal upon it. At last.
Pelletier returned to his Viscount’s side, nodding to Jehan Congost. He had little time for Oriane’s husband usually, but on this occasion he had to admit Congost and his team of scribes had worked tirelessly and efficiently. Now, as the servant took the final missive to the last waiting messenger, Pelletier gave the escrivans permission to leave too. Following Congost’s lead, one by one they rose, cracking the joints of their stiff fingers, rubbing tired eyes, gathering up their rolls of parchment, quills and inks. Pelletier waited until he and Viscount Trencavel were alone.
‘You should rest, Messire,’ he said. ‘You need to conserve your strength.’
Trencavel laughed. ‘Força e vertu,’ he said, echoing the words he’d spoken in Béziers. Strength and courage. ‘Do not worry, Bertrand, I am well. Never better.’ The Viscount put his hand on Pelletier’s shoulder. ‘You, my old friend, do look in need of rest.’
‘I confess the thought is attractive, Messire,’ he admitted. After weeks of broken nights, he felt every one of his fifty-two years.
‘Tonight we will all sleep in our own beds, Bertrand, although I’m afraid that hour is still some way off, for us at least.’ His handsome face grew solemn. ‘It is essential I meet with the consuls as soon as possible, as many as can be gathered at such short notice.’
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br /> Pelletier nodded. ‘Do you have a particular request?’
‘Even if all of our vassals heed my call, and come bringing a fair contingent of soldiers with them, we need more men.’ He spread his hands.
‘You wish the consuls to raise a war chest?’
We need enough to buy the services of disciplined, battle-skilled mercenaries, Aragonese or Catalan, the closer to hand the better.’
‘Have you considered a raise in taxes? On salt, perhaps? Wheat?’
‘It’s too soon for that. For now, I would rather try to gather the funds we need through gift than obligation.’ He paused. ‘If that fails, then I will consider more stringent measures. How progresses the fortification?’
‘All masons and sawyers within the Ciutat, Sant-Vincens and Sant-Miquel have been summoned, as well as from the villages to the north. Work to dismantle the choir stalls in the cathedral and the priests’ refectory has already begun.’
Trencavel grinned. ‘Bérenger de Rochefort will not like that!’
‘The Bishop will have to accept it,’ Pelletier growled. ‘We need all the timber we can get, as quickly as possible, to start work constructing the ambans and cadefalcs. His palace and the cloisters are the closest source of wood available.’
Raymond-Roger held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘I’m not challenging your decision,’ he laughed. ‘The hoards and brattices are more important than the Bishop’s comfort! Tell me, Bertrand, has Pierre-Roger de Cabaret arrived yet?’
‘Not yet, Messire, although he is expected at any time.’
‘Send him straight to me when he comes, Bertrand. If possible, I would delay speaking with the consuls until he is here. They hold him in high esteem. Any word from Termenès or Foix?’
‘None yet, Messire.’
A while later, Pelletier stood looking out over the Cour d’Honneur, his hands on his hips, pleased at how quickly work was progressing. Already, sounds of sawing and hammering, the rumble of cart wheels delivering wood, nails and tar, the roar of the fires in the smithy filled the courtyard.
