by Kate Mosse
The path twisted and coiled back on itself, sending her scuttling this way and that, until she rounded the corner and saw the silent wall of fire blocking the path ahead. She put her hands up to shield her face from the billowing, puffing, red and orange and yellow flames that whipped and swirled in the air, like reeds under the surface of a river.
Now the dream was changing. This time, rather than the multitude of faces taking shape in the flames, there was only one, a young woman with a gentle yet forceful expression, reaching out and taking the book from Alice’s hand.
She was singing, in a voice of spun silver.
‘Bona nuèit, bona nuèit.’
This time, no chill fingers grabbed her ankles or shackled her to the earth. The fire no longer claimed her. Now she was spiralling through the air like a wisp of smoke, the woman’s thin, strong arms embracing her, holding her tight. She was safe.
‘Braves amics, pica mièja-nuèit. ’
Alice smiled as together they soared higher and higher towards the light, leaving the world far beneath.
CHAPTER 44
Carcassona
JULHET I209
Alaïs rose early, awoken by the sounds of sawing and banging in the courtyard below. She looked out of the window at the wooden galleries and brattices being constructed over the walls of the Chateau Comtal.
The impressive wooden skeleton was taking shape quickly. Like a covered walkway in the sky, it provided the perfect vantage point from which the archers could rain down a hail of arrows on the enemy in the unlikely event that the walls of the Cite itself were breached.
She dressed quickly and ran down to the courtyard. In the smithy the fires were roaring. Hammers and anvils rang out as weapons were sharpened and shaped; sappers yelled to one another in short, sharp bursts as the axles, ropes and counterweights of the pèireras, the ballistas, were prepared.
Standing outside the stable, Alaïs saw Guilhem. Her heart turned over. Notice me. He did not turn and he did not look up. Alaïs raised her hand to call out, but then cowardice overcame her and she let her arm drop back to her side. She would not humiliate herself by begging for his affection when he was unwilling to give it.
The scenes of industry within the Chateau Comtal were reproduced in the Cite. Stone from the Corbières was being piled high in the central square, ready for the ballistas and the catapults. There was an acrid stench of urine from the tannery where animal hides were being prepared to protect the galleries from fire. A steady procession of carts was coming in through the Porte Narbonnaise bringing food to support the Cite: salted meat from La Piège and the Lauragais, wine from the Carcasses, barley and wheat from the plains, beans and lentils from the market gardens of Sant-Miquel and Sant-Vicens.
There was a sense of pride and purpose behind the activity. Only the clouds of noxious black smoke over the river and marshes to the north — where Viscount Trencavel had ordered the mills to be burned and the crops destroyed — served as a reminder of how imminent and real was the threat.
Alaïs waited for Sajhë at the agreed meeting place. Her mind was full of questions she wished to ask Esclarmonde, questions that swooped in and out of her head, first one, then another, like birds at a river. By the time Sajhë arrived, she was tongue-tied with anticipation.
She followed him through unnamed streets into the suburb of Sant-Miquel, until they arrived at a low doorway set hard by the outer walls. The sound of men digging trenches to prevent the enemy getting close enough to mine the walls was very loud. Sajhë had to shout to make himself heard.
‘Menina is waiting inside,’ he said, his face suddenly solemn.
‘Are you not coming in?’
‘She told me to bring you, then go back to the Chateau to find Intendant Pelletier.’
‘Seek him in the Cour d’Honneur,’ she said.
‘OK,’ he said, his grin back in place. ‘See you later.’
Alaïs pushed open the door and called out, looking forward to seeing Esclarmonde, then checked her step. In the shadows, she could see a second figure sitting on a chair in the corner of the room.
‘Come in, come in,’ said Esclarmonde, the smile showing in her voice. ‘I believe you already know Simeon.’
Alaïs was astonished. ‘Simeon? Already?’ she cried with delight, rushing to him and taking his hands. ‘What news? When did you arrive in Carcassona? Where are you lodging?’
Simeon gave a deep, rich laugh. ‘So many questions! Such haste to know everything and so quickly! Bertrand said that, as a child, you never stopped asking questions!’
Alaïs acknowledged the truth of this with a smile. She slid along the bench at the table and accepted the cup of wine Esclarmonde offered, listening as Simeon continued to talk to Esclarmonde. Already there seemed to be a bond, an ease between them.
He was a skilful storyteller, weaving tales of his life in Chartres and Besièrs with memories of his life in the Holy Land. The time passed quickly as he talked of the hills of Judea in springtime, told them of the plains of Sephal covered with lilies, yellow and purple irises and pink almond trees, which stretched like a carpet to the ends of the earth. Alaïs was captivated.
The shadows lengthened. As they did so, the atmosphere changed, without Alaïs being aware it was happening. She was conscious of a nervous fluttering in her stomach, an anticipation of what was to come. She wondered if this was how Guilhem or her father felt on the eve of a battle. This sense of time hanging in the balance.
She glanced across at Esclarmonde, her hands folded in her lap and her face serene. She looked composed and poised.
‘I’m sure my father will be here soon,’ she said, feeling responsible for his continued absence. ‘He gave me his word.’
We know,’ said Simeon, patting her hand. His skin was as dry as parchment.
‘We may not be able to wait much longer,’ said Esclarmonde, looking to the door that remained firmly shut. ‘The owners of this house will soon return.’
Alaïs intercepted a look between them. Unable to bear the tension any longer, she leaned forward.
‘Yesterday, you did not answer my question, Esclarmonde.’ She was amazed at how steady she sounded. ‘Are you also a guardian? Is the book my father seeks in your safe-keeping?’
For a moment, her words seemed to hang in the air between them, claimed by no one. Then, to Alaïs’s surprise, Simeon chuckled.
‘How much did your father tell you about the Noublesso?’ he said, his black eyes twinkling.
‘That there were always five guardians, pledged to protect the books of the Labyrinth Trilogy.’
‘And did he explain why there were five?’
Alaïs shook her head.
‘Always, the Navigatairé, the leader, is supported by four initiates. Together, they represent the five points of the human body and the power of the number five. Each guardian is chosen for their fortitude, their determination and their loyalty. Christian, Saracen, Jew, it is our soul, our courage that matters, not blood or birth or race. It also reflects the nature of the secret we are pledged to protect, which belongs to every faith and to none.’ He smiled. ‘For more than two thousand years, the Noublesso de los Seres has existed — although not always under that name — to watch over and protect the secret. Sometimes our presence has been hidden, other times we have lived openly.’
Alaïs turned to Esclarmonde. ‘My father is unwilling to accept your identity. He cannot believe it.’
‘It flies in the face of his expectation.’
‘It was ever thus with Bertrand,’ chuckled Simeon.
‘He would not have anticipated the fifth guardian being a woman,’ Alaïs said, coming to her father’s defence.
‘It was less remarkable in times gone past,’ said Simeon. ‘Egypt, Assyria, Rome, Babylon, these ancient cultures of which you have heard tell, accorded more respect to the female state than these dark times of ours.’
Alaïs thought a moment. ‘Do you think Harif is right to believe the books will be safer
in the mountains?’ she asked.
Simeon raised his hands. ‘It is not for us to seek the truth or to question what will or will not be. Our task is simply to guard the books and to protect them from harm. To make sure that they are ready when they are needed.’
‘Which is why Harif chose your father to carry the books, rather than either of us,’ continued Esclarmonde. ‘His position makes him the most suitable envoi. He has access to men and horses, he can travel more freely than either of us.’
Alaïs hesitated, not wishing to be disloyal to her father. ‘He is reluctant to leave the Viscount. He is torn between his old and his new loyalties.’
We all feel such conflicts,’ said Simeon. We all have found ourselves struggling to choose what path to take for the best. Bertrand is fortunate to have lived so long without having to make his choice.’ He took her hands between his. ‘Bertrand cannot delay, Alaïs. You must encourage him to fulfil his responsibilities. That Carcassona has not fallen before does not mean that it cannot.’
Alaïs felt their eyes upon her. She stood up and walked over to the hearth. Her heart was racing as an idea took shape in her mind.
‘Is it permitted for another to act in his stead?’ she said in a level voice.
Esclarmonde understood. ‘I do not think your father would allow it. You are too precious to him.’
Alaïs turned back to face them. ‘Before he left for Montpelhièr, he believed me equal to the task. In principle, he has already given me leave.’
Simeon nodded. ‘That’s true, but the situation changes daily. As the French approach the borders of Viscount Trencavel’s lands, the roads every day become more dangerous, as I saw for myself. It will not be long before it is too perilous to travel at all.’
Alaïs held her ground. ‘But I will be going in the opposite direction,’ she said, looking from one to the other. ‘And you did not answer my question. If the traditions of the Noublesso do not prohibit me taking this burden from my father’s shoulders, then I offer my service in his place. I am more than capable of protecting myself. I am an excellent rider, skilled with sword and bow. No one would ever suspect me of — ’
Simeon raised his hand. ‘You misinterpret our hesitation, child. I certainly do not doubt your courage or your resolve.’
‘Then give me your blessing.’
Simeon sighed and turned to Esclarmonde. ‘Sister, what say you? If Bertrand agrees, of course.’
‘I beseech you, Esclarmonde,’ Alaïs pleaded, ‘give your voice to my request. I know my father.’
‘I can promise nothing,’ she said, in the end, ‘but I will not argue against you.’ Alaïs let a smile break out on her face. ‘But you must abide by his decision,’ Esclarmonde continued. ‘If he will not give his permission, you must accept it.’
He can’t say no. I won’t let him.
‘I will obey him, of course,’ she said.
The door opened and Sajhë burst into the room, followed by Bertrand Pelletier.
He embraced Alaïs, greeted Simeon with much relief and affection, and then paid more formal respects to Esclarmonde. Alaïs and Sajhë fetched wine and bread while Simeon explained what had so far passed between them.
To Alaïs’ surprise, her father listened in silence and without comment. Sajhë was wide-eyed to begin with, but soon grew sleepy and curled up against his grandmother. Alaïs took no part in the conversation, knowing Simeon and Esclarmonde would plead her case better than she, but from time to time she threw a look at her father. His face was grey and lined and he looked exhausted. She could see he did not know what to do.
Finally, there were no more words to speak. An expectant hush fell over the tiny room. Each of them waiting, none sure of the way the decision would go.
Alaïs cleared her throat. ‘So, Paire. What is your decision? Will you give me leave to go?’
Pelletier sighed. ‘I do not want you put at risk.’
Her spirits sank. ‘I know that, and I am grateful for your love of me. But I want to help. I am capable of it.’
‘I have a suggestion that might yet satisfy you both,’ said Esclarmonde quietly. ‘Allow Alaïs to travel ahead with the Trilogy, but part of the way only, as far as Limoux, say. I have friends there who can provide safe lodging. When your work here is completed and Viscount Trencavel can spare you, you can join her and make the journey to the mountains together.’
Pelletier scowled. ‘I do not see this helps at all. The madness of undertaking such a voyage during these unsettled times will draw attention, which is the one thing we most wish to avoid. Besides, I cannot say how long my responsibilities will keep me in Carcassona.’
Alaïs’ eyes flashed. ‘That’s easy. I could publish it that I was fulfilling a private pledge made on the occasion of my marriage,’ she said, thinking as she went along. ‘I could say I wished to make a gift to the Abbot of Sant-Hilaire. From there, it is no distance to Limoux.’
‘This sudden display of piety will convince no one,’ said Pelletier, with a sudden flash of humour, ‘least of all your husband.’
Simeon shook his finger. ‘It is an excellent idea, Bertrand. No one would challenge such a pilgrimage at this time. Besides, Alaïs is the daughter of the steward of Carcassona. No one would dare challenge her intentions.’
Pelletier shifted in his chair, his face stubborn and set. ‘I am still of the opinion that the Trilogy is best protected here, within the Ciutat. Harif cannot be as aware of the current situation as we are. Carcassona will not be taken.’
‘All cities, however strong, however indomitable, can fall. You know this. The Navigatairé’s instructions are to deliver the books to him in the mountains.’ He fixed Pelletier with his black eyes. ‘I understand you do not feel you can abandon Viscount Trencavel at this time. You have said so and we accept it. It is your conscience that speaks to you, for good or ill.’ He paused. ‘However, if not you, then another must go in your place.’
Alaïs saw how painfully her father struggled to reconcile his warring emotions. Moved, she reached out and put her hand over his. He did not speak, but he did acknowledge her gesture by squeezing her fingers.
‘Aquò es vòstre,’ she said softly. Let me do this for you.
Pelletier let a long sigh come from his lips. ‘You put yourself in great danger, Filha.’ Alaïs nodded. ‘And yet still you wish to do this?’
‘It will be an honour to serve you in this way.’
Simeon placed his hand on Pelletier’s shoulder. ‘She is brave, this daughter of yours. Steadfast. Like you, my old friend.’
Alaïs hardly dared breathe.
‘My heart counsels against this,’ Pelletier said at last. ‘My head speaks otherwise, so . . .’ He paused, as if dreading what he was about to say. ‘If your husband and Dame Agnès will release you — and Esclarmonde will go as chaperone — then I give my permission.’
Alaïs leaned across the table and kissed her father on the lips.
‘You have chosen wisely,’ said Simeon, beaming.
‘How many men can you spare us, Intendant Pelletier?’ asked Esclarmonde.
‘Four men-at-arms, six at most.’
‘And how soon can arrangements be made?’
‘Inside a week,’ Pelletier replied. ‘To act too quickly will attract attention. I must seek permission from Dame Agnès and you from your husband, Alaïs.’ She opened her mouth to say Guilhem would hardly notice her gone, then thought better of it. ‘For this plan of yours to work, Filha, etiquette must be observed.’ All indecision gone from his face and manner, he stood to take his leave. ‘Alaïs, return to the Château Comtal and seek out François. Inform him of your plans, in the barest terms, and tell him to wait upon me presently.’
‘Are you not coming?’
‘Presently.’
‘Very well. Should I take Esclarmonde’s book with me?’
Pelletier gave a wry smile. ‘Since Esclarmonde is to accompany you, Alaïs, I feel sure the book will be safe with her a while longer.’
‘I didn’t mean to suggest. . .’
Pelletier patted the pouch beneath his cloak. ‘Simeon’s book, however.’ He reached beneath his cloak and withdrew the sheepskin chemise Alaïs had seen briefly in Besièrs as Simeon handed it over. ‘Take it to the Chateau. Sew it into your travelling cloak. I will fetch the Book of Words by and by.’
Alaïs took the book and put it into her purse, then raised her eyes to her father. ‘Thank you, Paire, for putting your faith in me.’
Pelletier blushed. Sajhë scrambled to his feet. ‘I’ll make sure Dame Alaïs gets home safely,’ he said. Everybody laughed.
‘Mind you do, gentilòme,’ said Pelletier, slapping him on the back. ‘All our hopes rest on her shoulders.’
‘I see your qualities in her,’ said Simeon as they walked towards the gates that led out of Sant-Miquel to the Jewish suburb beyond. ‘She’s courageous, stubborn, loyal. She does not give in easily. Is your eldest daughter as much like you?’
‘Oriane favours her mother,’ he said shortly. ‘She has Marguerite’s looks and temperament.’
‘It often happens like that. Sometimes the child is a good match to one parent, sometimes the other.’ He paused. ‘She is married to Viscount Trencavel’s escrivan?’
Pelletier sighed. ‘It is not a happy marriage. Congost is not young and is intolerant of her ways. But for all that, he is a man of position within the household.’
They walked a few steps more in silence. ‘If she favours Marguerite, she must be beautiful.’
‘Oriane has charm and a grace that draws the eye. Many men would court her. Some make no secret of it.’
‘Your daughters must be of great comfort to you.’
Pelletier shot a glance at Simeon. ‘Alaïs, yes.’ He hesitated. ‘I dare say I am to blame, but I find Oriane’s company less. . . I try to be even-handed, but I fear there is little love lost between them.’
‘A pity,’ Simeon murmured.
They had arrived at the gates. Pelletier came to a halt.
‘I wish I could persuade you to stay within the Ciutat. In Sant-Miquel at the very least. If our enemies are at hand, I will not be able to protect you outside the walls — ’
