by Kate Mosse
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Alaïs running across the courtyard towards him. He frowned.
Why did you send Oriane to fetch me?’ she demanded as she came level with him.
He looked bewildered. ‘Oriane? To fetch you from where?’
‘I was visiting a friend, Esclarmonde de Servian, in the southern quartier of the Ciutat, when Oriane arrived, accompanied by two soldiers, claiming you had sent her to bring me back to the Chateau.’ She watched her father’s face for signs of a reaction, but saw only bafflement. ‘Is she speaking the truth?’
‘I have not seen Oriane.’
‘Have you spoken to her as you promised, about her behaviour in your absence?’
‘I have not yet had the chance.’
‘I beseech you, do not underestimate her. She knows something, something that could harm you, I am convinced of it.’
Pelletier’s face turned red. ‘I will not have you accusing your sister. This has got — ’
‘The labyrinth board belongs to Esclarmonde,’ she blurted out.
He stopped as if she had struck him. ‘What? What do you mean?’
‘Simeon gave it, remember, to the woman who came for the second book.’
‘It cannot be,’ he said, with such force that Alaïs took a step back.
‘Esclarmonde is the other guardian,’ Alaïs persisted, talking faster before he stopped her. ‘The sister in Carcassona of whom Harif wrote. She knew about the merel too.’
‘And Esclarmonde has told you she is a guardian?’ he demanded. ‘Because if she has, then — ’
‘I did not ask her directly,’ Alaïs replied firmly, then added. ‘It makes sense, Paire. She is exactly the nature of person Harif would choose.’
She paused. What do you know of Esclarmonde?’
‘I know of her reputation as a wise woman. And have reason to be grateful to her for the love and attention she has shown to you. She has a grandson, you say?’
‘Great-grandson, yes. Sajhë. He is eleven. Esclarmonde comes from Servian, Messire. She came to Carcassona when Sajhë was a baby. The timings all fit with what Simeon reported.’
‘Intendant Pelletier.’
They both turned as a servant hurried towards them.
‘Messire, my lord Trencavel requests your presence immediately in his chambers. Pierre-Roger, Lord of Cabaret, has arrived.’
Where is François?’
‘I know not, Messire.’
Pelletier glowered at him in frustration.
‘Tell my lord I will attend him immediately,’ he said brusquely. ‘Then find François and send him to me. The man’s never where he should be.’
Alaïs laid her hand on his arm. ‘At least speak with Esclarmonde. Hear what she has to say. I will take word to her.’
He hesitated, then gave in. When Simeon comes, then I will listen to what your wise woman has to say.’
Pelletier strode up the stairs. At the top, he stopped.
‘One thing, Alaïs. How did Oriane know where to find you?’
‘She must have followed me from Sant-Nasari, although . . .’ she stopped, as she realised Oriane wouldn’t have had time to enlist the help of the soldiers and return so quickly. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘But I am sure of — ’
But Pelletier was already gone. As she walked across the courtyard, Alai’s was relieved to see that Oriane was no longer anywhere to be seen. Then she stopped.
What if she went back?
Alaïs picked up her skirts and ran.
As soon as she rounded the corner of Esclarmonde’s street, Alaïs saw her fears were justified. The shutters hung by a thread and the door had been ripped clean from its frame.
‘Esclarmonde,’ she cried. ‘Are you here?’
Alaïs went inside. The furniture lay upturned, the arms of the chair snapped like broken bones. The contents of the chest were thrown carelessly on the ground and the remains of the fire had been kicked over, leaving clouds of soft, grey ash smudged on the floor.
She climbed a few steps up the ladder. Straw, bedding and feathers covered the wooden slats of the sleeping area, everything ripped through. The marks of the pikes and swords as they had plunged through the fabric were easy to see.
The mess in Esclarmonde’s consulting room was worse. The curtain had been ripped from the ceiling. Smashed earthenware jars and shattered bowls lay all around in pools of spilled liquids and compresses, brown, white and deep red. Bunches of herbs, flowers and leaves were trampled into the earth floor.
Had Esclarmonde been here when the soldiers returned? Alaïs ran back outside, in the hope of finding someone who could tell her what had happened. The doors all around were shut and the windows latched.
‘Dame Alaïs.’
At first she thought she’d imagined it. ‘Dame Alaïs.’
‘Sajhë?’ she whispered. ‘Sajhë? Where are you?’
‘Up here.’
Alaïs stepped out of the shadow of the building and looked up. In the gathering dusk, she could just make out a tumbling mass of light brown hair and two amber eyes peering at her from between the sloped eaves of the houses.
‘Sajhë, you’ll kill yourselfl’
‘I won’t,’ he grinned. ‘I’ve done it lots of times. I can get in and out of the Château Comtal over the roof too!’
‘Well, you’re making me dizzy. Come down.’
Alaïs held her breath as Sajhë swung himself over the edge and dropped on the ground in front of her.
‘What happened? Where’s Esclarmonde?’
‘Menina is safe. She told me to wait until you came. She knew you would.’
Glancing over her shoulder, Alaïs drew him into the shelter of a doorway. ‘What happened?’ she repeated urgently.
Sajhë looked unhappily at his feet. ‘The soldiers came back. I heard most of it from the window. Menina feared they would, once your sister had taken you back to the Château, so as soon as you were gone, we gathered everything of importance and hid in the cellars.’ He took a deep breath. ‘They were very quick. We heard them going from door to door asking for us, questioning the neighbours. I could hear them stamping around over our heads, making the floor shake, but they didn’t find the trap door. I was frightened.’ He broke off, all mischief gone from his voice. ‘They broke Menina’s jars. All her medicines.’
‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘I saw.’
‘They didn’t stop shouting. They said they were looking for heretics, but they were lying, I think. They didn’t ask the usual questions.’
Alaïs put her fingers under his chin and made him look at her.
‘This is very important, Sajhë. Were they the same soldiers who came before? Did you see them?’
‘I didn’t see.’
‘Never mind,’ she said quickly, seeing he was close to tears. ‘It sounds as if you were very brave. You must have been a great comfort to Esclarmonde.’ She hesitated. ‘Was anyone with them?’
‘I don’t think so,’ he said miserably. ‘I couldn’t stop them.’
Alaïs put her arms around him as the first tear rolled down his cheek.
‘Ssh, ssh, it will be well. Don’t distress yourself. You did your best, Sajhë. That is all any of us can do.’
He nodded.
Where is Esclarmonde now?’
‘There’s a house in Sant-Miquel,’ he gulped. ‘She says we are to wait there until you tell us Intendant Pelletier is coming.’
Alaïs stiffened. ‘Is that what Esclarmonde said, Sajhë?’ she said quickly. ‘That she is waiting for a message from my father?’
Sajhë looked puzzled. ‘Is she mistaken then?’
‘No, no, it’s just that I don’t see how . . .’ Alaïs broke off. ‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter.’ She wiped his face with her kerchief. ‘There. That’s better. My father does wish to talk with Esclarmonde. However, he is waiting on the arrival of another . . . a friend who is travelling from Besièrs.’
Sajhë nodded. ‘Simeon.’
Alaïs looked at him in astonishment. ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling now. ‘Simeon. Tell me, Sajhë, is there anything you don’t know?’
He managed to raise a grin. ‘Not much.’
‘You must tell Esclarmonde I will tell my father of what has happened, but that she – you both – should stay in Sant-Miquel for the time being.’
He surprised her by taking her hand. ‘Tell her yourself,’ he said. ‘She will be glad to see you. And you can talk more. Menina said you had to go before you had finished talking.’
Alaïs looked down at his amber eyes shining brightly with enthusiasm. ‘Will you come?’
She laughed. ‘For you, Sajhë? Of course. But not now. It is too dangerous. They might be watching the house. I will send word.’
Sajhë nodded, then disappeared as quickly as he had come.
‘Deman al vèspre,’ he called out.
CHAPTER 37
Jehan Congost had seen little of his wife since returning from Montpellier. Oriane had not welcomed him home as she should, showing no respect for the hardships and indignities he’d suffered. He had also not forgotten her lewd behaviour in their chamber shortly before his departure.
He scuttled across the courtyard, muttering to himself, then into the living quarters. Pelletier’s manservant, François, was coming towards him. Congost thought him untrustworthy, inclined to think too much of himself, always skulking around and reporting everything back to his master. There was no business for him to be in the living quarters at this time of day.
François bowed his head. ‘Escrivan.’
Congost did not acknowledge him.
By the time he reached his quarters, Congost had worked himself into a frenzy of righteous indignation. The time had come to teach Oriane a lesson. He could not allow such provocative and deliberate disobedience to go unpunished. He flung open the door without knocking.
‘Oriane! Where are you? Come here.’
The room was empty. In his frustration at finding her absent, he swept everything off the table. Bowls smashed, the candle holder clattered on the ground. He strode over to the wardrobe and pulled everything out and wrenched the covers off the bed, the bedding with her wanton scent on them.
Furious, Congost threw himself down on a chair and looked at his handiwork. Torn material, broken bowls, candles. It was Oriane’s fault. Her ill behaviour had caused this.
He went in search of Guirande to clear up the mess, reflecting on the ways he could bring his errant wife to heel.
The air was humid and heavy when Guilhem emerged from the bathhouse to find Guirande waiting for him, her wide mouth upturned in a slight smile.
His mood darkened. ‘What is it?’
She giggled and looked at him from beneath a fringe of dark lashes. ‘Well?’ he said harshly. ‘If you have something to say, say it, or leave me in peace.’
Guirande leaned forward and whispered in his ear.
He straightened up. What does she want?’
‘I cannot say, Messire. My lady does not confide her wishes to me.’
‘You’re a poor liar, Guirande.’
‘Is there any message?’
He hesitated. ‘Tell your mistress I will attend her presently.’ He pressed a coin into her hand. ‘And keep your mouth shut.’
He watched her go, then walked to the centre of the courtyard and sat down beneath the elm tree. He didn’t have to go. Why put himself in the way of temptation? It was too dangerous. She was dangerous.
He had never intended things to go so far. A winter’s night, bare skin wrapped in furs, his blood heated by the mulled wine and the exhilaration of the chase. A kind of madness had come over him. He’d been bewitched.
In the morning, he’d woken with regret and vowed that it would never happen again. For the first few months after his marriage, he had kept his word. Then there had been another such night, then a third and a fourth. She overwhelmed him, took his senses captive.
Now, given how things were, he was even more desperate to ensure no whisper of scandal seeped out. But he must be careful. It was important to finish the affair well. He would keep this appointment only to tell her that their meetings must stop.
He stood up and headed for the orchard before his courage failed. At the gate, he stopped, his hand on the latch, reluctant to go further. Then he saw her standing beneath the willow tree, a shadowed figure in the fading light. His heart leaped in his chest. She looked like a dark angel, her hair shining like jet in the dusk, tumbling unbraided down her back in twists.
Guilhem took a deep breath. He should turn back. But at that moment, as if she could sense his indecision, Oriane turned and he felt the power of her gaze, drawing him to her. He told his écuyer to keep watch at the gate, then stepped through on to the soft grass and walked towards her.
‘I feared you would not come,’ she said as he drew level.
‘I cannot stay.’
He felt the warm tips of her fingers brush against his, then her hands gentle on his wrist.
‘Then I beg your pardon for disturbing you,’ she murmured, pressing herself against him.
‘Someone will see us,’ he hissed, trying to pull away.
Oriane tilted her face and he caught the scent of her perfume. He tried to ignore the stirrings of desire. ‘Why do you speak so harshly to me?’ she pleaded. ‘There is no one here to see. I have posted a watch at the gate. Besides, everyone is too busy tonight to pay attention to us.’
‘They are not so immersed in their own business that they don’t notice,’ he said. ‘Everybody is watching, listening. Hoping for something they can use to their advantage.’
‘Such ugly thoughts,’ she murmured, stroking his hair. ‘Forget everyone else. For now, think only of me.’ Oriane was so close now he could feel her heart beating through the thin fabric of her dress. Why are you so cold, Messire? Have I said something to offend you?’
He could feel his resolve weakening as his blood grew hotter. ‘Oriane, we are sinning. You know it. We wrong your husband and my wife by our unholy — ’
‘Love?’ she suggested and she laughed, a pretty, light sound that turned his heart over. ‘ “Love is not a sin, it is a virtue that makes the bad good and the good better”. You have heard the troubadours.’
He found himself holding her beautiful face in his hands.
‘That is but a song. The reality of our vows is quite another matter. Or are you minded to misconstrue my meaning?’ He took a deep breath. What I am saying is that we must not meet any more.’
He felt her grow still in his arms. ‘You no longer want me, Messire?’ she whispered. Her hair, loose and thick, had fallen across her face, concealing her from him.
‘Don’t,’ he said, but his resolve was weakening.
‘Is there something I can do to prove my love for you?’ she said, her voice so broken, so soft, that he could barely hear her. ‘If I have not pleased you, Messire, then tell me.’
He entwined his fingers with hers. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re beautiful, Oriane, you are — ’ he broke off, no longer able to think of the right words to say. The clasp on Oriane’s cloak came undone. It fell to the ground, the vibrant, shimmering blue material pooling like water at her feet. She looked so vulnerable, so powerless, it was all he could do not to sweep her up in his arms.
‘No,’ he murmured. ‘I cannot. . .’
Guilhem tried to summon up Alaïs’ face, imagined her steady gaze on him, her trusting smile. Unusual for a man of his rank and position, he believed in his wedding vows. He did not want to betray her. Many nights in the early days of their marriage, watching her as she slept in the quiet of their chamber, he understood he was — he could be - a better man because he was loved by her.
He attempted to pull himself free. But now all he could hear was Oriane’s voice, mixed up with the spiteful chattering of the household saying how Alaïs had made a fool of him by following him to Béziers. The roaring in his head grew louder, drowning out Ala
ïs’ light voice. Her image grew fainter, paler. She was drifting away from him, leaving him to resist temptation alone.
‘I adore you,’ whispered Oriane, sliding her hand between his legs. Despite his resolution, he closed his eyes, helpless to resist the soft whispering of her voice. It was like the wind in the trees. ‘Since your return from Besièrs, I have barely caught sight of you.’ Guilhem tried to speak, but his throat was dry. ‘They are saying Viscount Trencavel favours you most of all his chevaliers,’ she said.
Guilhem could no longer distinguish one word from another. His blood pulsed too loud, too heavily in his head, swamping every other sound or sensation.
He laid her down on the ground.
‘Tell me what happened between the Viscount and his uncle,’ she murmured in his ear. ‘Tell me what happened in Besièrs.’ Guilhem gasped as she wrapped her legs around him and drew him to her. ‘Tell me how your fortunes have changed.’
‘It is not a story I can share,’ he breathed, conscious only of the movement of her body beneath his.
Oriane bit his lip. ‘You can share it with me.’
He shouted her name, no longer caring who might be listening or watching. He did not see the look of satisfaction in her green eyes nor the traces of blood — his blood — on her lips.
Pelletier looked around him, displeased to see neither Oriane nor Alaïs at the supper table.
Despite the preparations for war going on around them, there was an element of celebration in the Great Hall that Viscount Trencavel and his retinue had returned safely home.
The meeting with the consuls had passed off well. Pelletier had no doubt they would raise the funds they needed. Messengers were arriving every hour from the châteaux closest to Carcassonne. So far, no vassal had failed to pledge allegiance and offer men or money.
As soon as Viscount Trencavel and Dame Agnès had withdrawn, Pelletier excused himself and went out for some air. His indecision lay heavy on his shoulders once more.
Your brother awaits you in Besièrs, your sister in Carcassona.
Fortune had restored Simeon and the second book more quickly than Pelletier had believed possible. Now, if Alaïs’ suspicions were right, it seemed the third book might also be close at hand.
