Labyrinth

by Kate Mosse

  He gave a long, soft sigh. ‘I know. But she lives on in you . . . and you in her.’ He stopped. Alice could see how much it hurt him to talk. ‘I wish we could have had longer, Alice. But to have met you, to have shared these hours with you. It is more than ever I hoped.’

  Sajhë fell silent. The last vestiges of colour drained from his face, from his hands, until there was nothing left.

  A prayer, one spoken a long time ago, came to her mind.

  ‘Payre sant, Dieu dreyturier de bons esperits.’ The once familiar words fell easily from her lips. ‘Holy Father, legitimate God of good spirits, grant us to know what Thou knowest, and to love what Thou lovest.’

  Biting back her tears, Alice held him in her arms while his breathing became lighter, softer. Finally, it stopped altogether.

  EPILOGUE

  Los Seres

  SUNDAY 8 JULY 2007

  It is eight o’clock in the evening. The end of another perfect summer’s day.

  Alice walks over to the wide, casement window and opens the shutters to let in the slanting orange light. A slight breeze skims her bare arms. Her skin is the colour of hazelnuts and her hair is tied in a single plait down her back.

  The sun is low now, a perfect red circle in the pink and white sky. It casts huge black shadows across the neighbouring peaks of the Sabarthès Mountains, like swathes of material laid out to dry. From the window she can see the Col des Sept Frères and behind it the Pic de St Bartélémy.

  It is two years to the day that Sajhë died.

  At first, Alice found it hard to live with the memories. The sound of the gun in the claustrophobic chamber; the trembling of the earth; the white face in the darkness; the look on Will’s face as he burst into the chamber with Inspector Noubel.

  Most of all, she was haunted by the memory of the light fading in Audric’s eyes - Sajhe, as she learned to think of him. It was peace she saw in them at the end, not sorrow, but it has not made her pain any the less.

  But the more Alice learned, the more the terrors that held her locked in those final moments began to fade. The past lost its power to hurt her.

  She knows Marie-Cécile and her son were killed by the falling rock, both lost to the mountain itself in the earthquake. Paul Authié was found where François-Baptiste had shot him, the timer detonating the four charges ticking relentlessly down to zero beside his dead body. An Armageddon of his own making.

  As that summer turned into autumn, autumn to winter, Alice began to recover, with Will’s help. Time is doing its work. Time and the promise of a new life. Gradually, the painful memories are fading. Like old photographs, half remembered and indistinct, they gather dust in her mind.

  Alice sold her flat in England and together with the proceeds from the sale of her aunt’s house in Sallèles d’Aude, she and Will came to Los Seres.

  The house where Alaïs once lived with Sajhë, Bertrande and Harif is now their home. They have added to it, made it suitable for modern living, but the spirit of the place is unaltered.

  The secret of the Grail is safe, as Alaïs had intended it should be, hidden here in the timeless mountains. The three papyri, torn from their medieval books, lie buried under the rock and stone.

  Alice understands that she was destined to finish what had been left unfinished eight hundred years before. She also understands, as Alaïs did, that the real Grail lies in the love handed down from generation to generation, the words spoken by father to son, mother to daughter. The truth lies all about us. In the stones, in the rocks, in the changing pattern of the mountain seasons.

  Through the shared stories of our past, we do not die.

  Alice does not believe she can put it into words. Unlike Sajhë, she is not a spinner of tales, a writer. She wonders if perhaps it is beyond words. Call it God, call it faith. Perhaps the Grail is too great a truth to be spoken or tied down in time and space and context by so slippery a thing as language.

  Alice puts her hands on the ledge and breathes in the subtle smells of evening. Wild thyme, broom, the shimmering memory of heat on the stones, mountain parsley and mint, sage, the scents of her herb garden.

  Her reputation is growing. What started as a sequence of private favours, supplying herbs to the restaurants and neighbours in the villages, has become a profitable business. Now, most of the hotels and shops in the area, even as far away as Foix and Mirepoix, carry a range of their products, with the distinctive Epices Pelletier et Fille label. The name of her ancestors, reclaimed now as her own.

  The hameau, Los Seres, is not yet on the map. It is too small. But soon it will be. Benlèu.

  In the study below, the keyboard has fallen silent. Alice can hear Will moving about in the kitchen, getting plates from the dresser and bread from the pantry. Soon, she will go down. He will open a bottle of wine and they will drink while he cooks.

  Tomorrow, Jeanne Giraud will come, a dignified, charming woman who has become part of their lives. In the afternoon, they will go to the nearest village and lay flowers at a monument in the square, which commemorates the celebrated Cathar historian and Resistance fighter, Audric S. Baillard. On the plaque, there is an Occitan proverb, chosen by Alice.

  ‘Pas a pas se va luènh.’

  Later, Alice will walk alone into the mountains where a different plaque marks the spot where he lies beneath the hills, as he always wanted. The stone simply reads SAJHË.

  It is enough that he is remembered.

  The Family Tree, Sajhë’s first gift to Alice, hangs on the wall in the study. Alice has made three changes. She has added the date of Alaïs’ and Sajhë’s deaths, separated by eight hundred years.

  She added Will’s name to hers and the date of their marriage.

  At the very end, where the story is continuing still, she’s added a line:

  SAJHËSSE GRACE FARMER PELLETIER, 28 February 2007 — .

  Alice smiles and walks over to the cot where their daughter is stirring. Her pale, sleepy toes twitch as she starts to wake. Alice catches her breath as her daughter opens her eyes.

  She plants a murmuring kiss on the top of her daughter’s head and begins a lullaby in the old language, handed down from generation to generation.

  Bona nuèit, bona nuèit . . .

  Braves amics, pica mièja-nuèit

  Cal finir velhada

  E jos la flassada

  One day, Alice thinks, Sajhësse might sing it to a child of her own.

  Holding her daughter in her arms, Alice walks back to the window, thinking of all the things she will teach her. The stories she will tell her of the past and of how things came to be.

  Alaïs no longer comes to her in her dreams. But as Alice stands in the fading light looking out over the ancient peaks and crests of the mountains and valleys that stretch further than her eye can see, she feels the presence of the past all around her, embracing her. Spirits, friends, ghosts who hold out their hands and whisper of their lives, share their secrets with her. They connect her to all those who have stood here before — and all those yet to come - dreaming of what life might hold.

  In the distance, a white moon is rising in the speckled sky, promising another fine day tomorrow.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many friends and colleagues have given support, advice and help during the course of the writing of Labyrinth. It goes without saying that any mistakes, in either fact or interpretation, are mine and mine alone.

  My agent, Mark Lucas, was brilliant throughout and gave not only fantastic editorial feedback but copious yellow stickers! Thanks, too, to everyone else at LAW for their hard work and to everybody at ILA, especially Nicki Kennedy, who was patience personified and helped make the process such fun.

  At Orion, I’ve been very lucky to have worked with Kate Mills, whose light editorial touch, efficiency and thoughtfulness has made this publication so very enjoyable; and Genevieve Pegg; I’d also like to thank Malcolm Edwards and Susan Lamb, who started the whole thing off, not to mention the hard work, enthusiasm and energy of
the marketing, publicity and sales teams, in particular Victoria Singer, Emma Noble and Jo Carpenter.

  Both Bob Elliott and Bob Clack, of the Chichester Rifle Club, gave fascinating advice and information about firearms; as did Professor Anthony Moss on medieval warfare.

  At the British Library in London, Dr Michelle Brown, Curator of Illuminated Manuscripts, provided invaluable information about medieval manuscripts, parchments and book-making in the thirteenth century; Dr Jonathan Phillips, Senior Lecturer in Medieval History, Royal Holloway, University of London, very kindly read the 695 typescript and gave excellent advice. I’d also like to thank all those who helped at the Bibliothèque de Toulouse and at the Centre National d’Etudes Cathares in Carcassonne.

  I’d like to thank all those who have worked with us on the creative reading and writing website - www.mosselabyrinth.co.uk — based on the historical research and process of writing Labyrinth over the past couple of years, especially Nat Price and Jōn Hörôdal.

  I’m very grateful to my friends for their tolerance about my long-time obsessions with the Cathars and Grail legends. In Carcassonne, I’d particularly like to thank Yves and Lydia Guyou for their insights into Occitan music and poetry and for introducing me to many of the writers and composers whose work has so inspired me; and Pierre and Chantal Sanchez for their support and friendship over many years. In England, I’d like to mention Jane Gregory, whose enthusiasm way-back-when was so important; Maria Rejt, for being such a great teacher in the first place; as well as Jon Evans, Lucinda Montefiore, Robert Dye, Sarah Mansell, Tim Bouquet, Ali Perrotto, Malcolm Wills, Kate and Bob Hingston and Robert and Maria Pulley.

  Most of all, my thanks go to my family. My mother-in-law, Rosie Turner, not only introduced us to Carcassonne in the first place, but while I was writing provided day-today help, practical support and companionship well beyond the call of duty. My love and thanks to my parents, Richard and Barbara Mosse, for always being proud and to my sisters, Caroline Matthews and Beth Huxley, and her husband Mark, for all their support.

  Most important, my love and gratitude to my children, Martha and Felix, for their steadfast support and faith. Martha was relentlessly upbeat, positive and encouraging, never doubting that I would finish in the end! Felix not only shared my passion for medieval history, but talked me through the finer points of medieval weapons and siege warfare and made brainy suggestions! I cannot thank either of them enough.

  Finally, to Greg. His love and support - not to mention his intellectual, practical and editorial help - made all the difference. As it always does and always has.

  SELECTED GLOSSARY OF OCCITAN WORDS

  agost August

  ambans wooden galleries built for defence around

  battlements

  ben good

  benvenguda welcome

  bonjorn hello

  cadefalcs brattices

  calèche an open carriage

  calèlh oil lamp

  coratge courage

  défora outside

  deman tomorrow

  dintrar enter

  doçament softly

  faitilhièr a witch

  faratjals pastures

  filba daughter

  gata a cat (type of siege engine)

  graal grail

  janvièr January

  julhet July

  libres books

  Lo Ciutat the Cite

  Lo Miègjorn the Midi

  març March

  menina grandmother

  meravelhós miraculous

  mercé thank you

  molin blatier a wheat mill

  montanhas mountains

  Na Madame/Mrs

  nenon baby

  noblessa nobility

  oc yes

  oustâou home

  paire father

  pan de blat wheat bread

  panièr basket

  Payre Sant Holy Father

  payrola cauldron

  pec idiot

  perfin at last

  perilhòs danger

  res nothing

  Sénher Sir/Mr

  sirjan d’arms sergeant at arms

  sòrre sister

  trouvère troubadour

  vuèg empty

  OTHER TERMS

  Guignolet a Languedocien homebrewed alcoholic aperitif

  Mangomel, Cat, Trebuchet, Catapult all forms of medieval siege engines

  Michelmas Christmas

  Passiontide Easter

  Prime the first religious office of the day (about dawn/five o’clock in the morning)

  Rocade the ring road in Toulouse

  Tierce mid afternoon

  Toussaint All Saints Day, i November

  Vesprè final religious office of the day (about seven o’clock)

  SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

  A History of the Crusades — S Runciman, Cambridge University Press, 3 volumes, 1951 — 1954

  Bélibaste — Henri Gougaud, Editions du Seuil, 1982

  Carcassonne in my Heart — Claude Marti, Loubatières, 1999

  Cathars — Yves Rouquette, Loubatières, 1998

  Chòlera — Joseph Delteil, Grasset, 1923

  Crusader:by Horse to Jerusalem — Tim Severin, Hutchinson, 1989

  Eleanor of Aquitaine — Alison Weir, Jonathan Cape, 1999

  La Canso: 1209 — 1219 Les Croisades Contre le Sud — edition by Claude Marti, Loubatières, 1994

  La Religion Cathare — Michel Roquebert, Loubatières, 1986

  La Religion des Cathares — Jean Duvernoy, Mouton, 1976

  La Vie Quotidienne des Cathares au XIIIe Siècle — René Nelli, Hachette, 1989

  La Vrai Visagedu Catharisme — Anne Brenon, Loubatières, 1997

  Pays cathares — Georges Serrus, Loubatières, 1996

  LesCathares — René Nelli, Ouest-France, 1993

  Les Femmes Cathares — Anne Brenon, Perrin, 1992

  Massacre at Montségur — Zoë Oldenburg, Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1997

  Montaillou: Cathars and Catholics in a French Village — Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie, Penguin, 1990

  Parzival — Wolfram von Eschenbach translated by A. T. Hatto, Penguin, 1980

  The Albigensian Crusade — Jonathan Sumption, Faber and Faber, 1999

  The Crusades 1095 — 1197 — J P Phillips, Longman, 2002

  The Fourth Crusade — J P Phillips, Cape, 2004

  The Gospel of John — Claus Westermann translated by Siegfried S Schatzmann, Hendrickson, 1998

  The Keys of Egypt: The Race to Read the Hieroglyphs - Lesley & Roy Adkins, HarperCollins, 2000

  The Story of the Grail (Perceval) — Chrétien de Troyes, Yale University Press, 1999

  The Yellow Cross: The Story of the Last Cathars 1290 — 1329 — René Weis, Penguin, 2001

  For a comprehensive list of titles and source material — or to add your own recommended reading — please visit www.mosselabyrinth.co.uk.

  LABYRINTH

  By Kate Mosse

  In Brief:

  It’s July 2005. Dr Alice Tanner is a volunteer on an archaeological dig in the Pyrenees when she is unwisely drawn away from the rest of her group by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Dangerously dislodging a boulder that she later learns has concealed a cave for eight centuries, Alice stumbles upon two intact skeletons and a carving of a labyrinth that looks oddly familiar to her. The discovery is to provoke the intense interest of the local police, whom Alice immediately distrusts; but too late she realises that her actions have irrevocably placed many lives in danger – including her own. Alice has no choice but to rediscover her distant past, and act on what she learns before her present enemies catch up with her.

  In Detail:

  Labyrinth features two intelligently headstrong heroines, 17-year-old Alaïs Pelletier from 13th century Carcassonne and modern-day PhD graduate Dr Alice Tanner. It is a grippingly told adventure that skilfully blends the lives of these two women, separated by time but united in a common destiny. Both protagonists display tremen
dous reserves of courage, steadfastness and loyalty on their respective quests. They also, in the author’s own words, ‘have lovely frocks, sex and swords and don’t hang about waiting to be rescued’!

  This is a stunning novel set in both medieval and contemporary southwest France. As the parallel storylines unfold, both ancient and modern-day conspiracies are unearthed, all revolving around three hidden books – The Book of Words, The Book of Potions and The Book of Numbers. Together, these tomes hold the secret of the true Grail, which dates back to the Ancient Egyptian era many years before Christ. The appointed Guardians of the Books, of which Alaïs’s father is one, must devote their lives to the protection of this secret. Meanwhile, back in the present day, Alice faces a race against time to put together the curiously familiar pieces of a jigsaw puzzle representing her long-buried history.

  Set against a historical backdrop of religious persecution, Labyrinth also tells the story of a real-life Christian sect, the Cathars, who were a powerful presence in the community of Carcassonne from the late 11th century until the early 13th century. (The failure of military force to eradicate the Cathars led directly to the foundation of the Inquisition.) Seen as a rival to the Catholic Church, Catharism was a tolerant faith offering universal redemption, irrespective of the individual’s creed. It is this compassionate ideology that Alaïs and those closest to her must battle to protect. But in her efforts to also save the Books, Alaïs soon discovers she can trust no one – least of all her cruelly manipulative sister, Oriane.

  Labyrinth’s story and colourful cast of characters resonate back and forth between past and present, but what remains constant throughout is a gripping plot and the depth and accuracy of the author’s research into the history and cultural landscape of the region. The language of the Cathars, particularly, is portrayed with richness and authenticity; as well as French snippets (the dialect of their persecutors) there is a fascinating and significant peppering of medieval Occitan words and phrases, with a glossary at the back for the reader’s reference.