The Secret Of The Cathars (2011)

by Michael Hillier

  Gaston spoke. “Don’t worry. I’ll drive Jackie to this place.”

  “No thanks, Gaston.” She turned back to Philip. “Will you accompany me?”

  “Me?” His expression showed his surprise. “Why me?”

  “Because I want the opinion of somebody who is unbiased.” She touched his arm. “Will you come with me?”

  “Well - yes. Of course I will.”

  “If that doesn’t beat it all!” Gaston thumped his fist on the table. “I’m obviously not wanted around here.” He stumped out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

  “My dear,” said Cambray, “Is this a good idea?” He turned to Philip. “I have nothing against you, young man, but you must realise how important Jacqueline is to all our futures. And none of us know you.”

  Philip noticed that the agent didn’t point out that he was English, though no doubt it had crossed his mind. “Well, if she really wants me to take her, I’ll give you my promise that I’ll be very careful with her,” he said.

  Cambray turned back to her. “Let me drive you, my dear. Paris can wait for a day. I’m sure this is important enough for me to spend a night here. We can discuss your plans as we go.”

  “I’ve made my decision, Bernard.” Jackie stuck her chin out obstinately. “I’m sure I shall be perfectly safe with Philip and I want him to come with me. Do you understand? It’s much more important that you are sorting things out in Paris.”

  Philip watched with amusement as the agent’s bubble of self-confidence was deflated. Suddenly Jacqueline Blontard was very much the woman in charge. He began to see that she could be a very formidable young lady.

  “Let us have an early lunch and get off to Fanjeaux as soon as we can,” she said, taking his arm. “I’ll phone Bertrand Dugard to check that he can see us this afternoon, but I don’t expect we’ll have a problem.”

  As she swept from the room with Philip in tow she called out, “While we’re gone, Bernard, will you speak to the police and find out when we’re going to be allowed back on the site?”

  - 14 -

  As they left the Quillan sign behind, Philip changed up into top gear and eased his foot down on the throttle. However he wasn’t in a hurry. It was more than fifty kilometres to Prouille but there was plenty of time. He glanced sideways at his companion. Jacqueline was regarding the road ahead, apparently deep in thought.

  “Why did you ask me to drive you to see this Abbe Dugard chap?”

  She switched her gaze and smiled at him. He thought again how beautiful that smile of hers was. “Well, first of all, I wanted to stop this stupid idea of Gaston’s. I don’t want you to think that all French are biased against the English.”

  “Oh. Thank you for that.”

  “And secondly,” she continued, “you intrigue me. I want to know the real reason why you suddenly turned up here, trailing this story about having ancient Cathar forbears. I know you’ve given me half an explanation, but I don’t think you’ve told me everything. I suspect there may be something very interesting which has made you come to le Bezu.”

  “What I’ve told you is absolutely true.”

  “Ah, but it’s not the whole truth, is it? I want to hear the rest of your story.” She laughed lightly. “Perhaps I thought there would be no better chance of getting it out of you than on a long car journey.”

  “And your desire for a good story leads you to put yourself at risk from a man who may turn out to be a homicidal maniac.”

  “Do you think I believe that?”

  “It seems to be what Gaston thought. He obviously doesn’t think Andre Jolyon’s death was an accident.”

  “Do you?”

  Philip thought carefully about it. “I suppose there’s a possibility it may not be. I agree that what happened certainly needs some explaining. The question is, though, who would have wanted to kill him? You may know the answer to that. All I can promise you is that it wasn’t me.”

  “Of course it wasn’t. I know that. Even if I didn’t believe your denial, I can’t see Andre agreeing to go up to the chateau with you in the middle of the night.”

  “But your friend Gaston isn’t at all happy with me. I think he would like to have thumped me when I accepted your invitation to drive you to Prouille.”

  “Oh, Gaston!” Now her laugh was ironic.

  “Not only did he want to drive you to this meeting, it seems pretty clear he’s hoping to take over Andre Jolyon’s job.”

  She snorted. “Well, he has no chance of doing that. His experience is unsuitable. He’s a good rock climber, but he’s quite useless at organising anything. And he’s also much too emotional and unreliable. I need somebody I can rely on and I must be confident that the man won’t let me down.”

  “Hopefully this new chap - what’s his name? - Lerenard - hopefully he’ll be able to take that job on.”

  “Maybe.” She switched her gaze back to the road. “That’s what I intend to find out when we talk to my old mentor, Bertrand Dugard.”

  “You have a lot of faith in the Abbe? I thought you didn’t know him very well.”

  “Better than I admitted. I worked with him, on and off, for two or three years - firstly when I was at the Sorbonne. I spent the holidays digging with him at Prouille. He’d only just started then, but I realised immediately that his excavation methods were exemplary. I learned a lot of practical lessons from him which have stood me in good stead since.”

  “Yes. I can understand that,” agreed Philip. “I’ve always maintained that a week’s practical experience was worth a month in the classroom.”

  “That’s absolutely right. And the good thing about Bertrand is that he only ever allows himself to have a small team working with him - never more than three or four people. That means he is able to spend more time working with each assistant.”

  “So you did your degree at the Sorbonne? I believe that’s the equivalent of Oxbridge in the UK.”

  She smiled. “Actually I also did my doctorate at Oxford after I’d had a year’s experience with Bertrand. I enjoyed it very much, living in the city of dreaming spires.”

  “That explains why your English is so good.”

  “You think it’s good?”

  “It’s fantastic. It’s much better than the English you hear spoken by most people in the UK.” He gave her a quick glance. “I wish I could speak French half as well as you speak English.”

  She contrived to give him a little curtsey from her seat. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “It’s a pleasure.”

  An easy silence settled over them. Philip concentrated on his driving for the next few kilometres. He thought he was getting to like Mademoiselle Jacqueline Blontard more than was wise. He was aware that she was a star in her own world. She was also obviously extremely talented. It occurred to him that if he wasn’t careful he might well become another of the band of devoted slaves who seemed to surround her.

  After a while he said, “I’m quite looking forward to meeting this Abbe Dugard chap. Is he really an Abbe?”

  “Certainly he is. He used to be an important figure in the French Catholic community - and that means he was really important in France.” She chuckled. “But his first love was always archaeology. He is an authority on the Dominican Order. I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to get the Church authorities to let him retire early from the priesthood and also to give permission for him to excavate at Prouille, which was the original headquarters of the Order.”

  “What age is he then?”

  “Oh, he must be close to seventy by now. However he still seems to be healthy and in the prime of life. At least, he was when I saw him last. He’s only a little man and is almost perfectly bald. But he’s an absolute bundle of energy. He works a ten-hour day. Half of the time he’s on his knees down in a hole. But he always seems to have time to talk to visitors or helpers, and he’s always willing to give a kindly word of encouragement to his staff or to discuss sensibly some probably-daft theory that h
is helpers have come up with.”

  “He certainly sounds like a nice guy.”

  “He’s super.” Her voice glowed with enthusiasm. “When I rang up to ask if I could discuss something important with him, he straight-away assented. He sounded just as he always did when we spoke in the past. He immediately said I was welcome to drive over any time. This afternoon was as convenient as any other time. And,” she added seriously, “I’m confident I’ll get the truth from him.”

  “You sound a bit uncertain about this chap Lerenard.”

  She pulled a face. “Well, I’ve never heard of him before. Archaeology in France is quite a small world. I must admit I wonder why he has suddenly turned up so conveniently just when I’ve lost such an important member of my team.”

  “I see. Does that mean you think the man may have had something to do with Andre’s accident?”

  “Surely not!” Her surprise suggested she hadn’t even considered it before. She went silent as she thought about it. After a long pause she said, “I suppose that’s the logical conclusion of my suspicions.” She looked at him seriously. “I think that you are a bit frightening, Philip Sinclair.”

  “Me? Why am I frightening.”

  “Because you seem to say what other people have hardly started thinking. I suppose I would have come to the same conclusion in the end, but it would have taken me a lot longer to get to the point of admitting it.”

  He couldn’t help grinning. “Well, I did promise to look after you so I’ll try not to frighten you any more before we talk to the Abbe. Let’s discuss more mundane things. I do think this is a beautiful area of France - spectacular scenery, lots of history, and quite decent weather in the summer. Do you like it here?”

  “I’ll say I do. It’s more or less my home territory.”

  “You mean you come from here?”

  “Well, just down the road in Beziers, near the coast. Coincidentally that’s where the Albigensian Crusade began. A large part of the population of that city was massacred by the French at the start of the crusade. At that time the Languedoc was a more or less independent nation, although the Viscounts Trencavel, who ruled it, owed fealty to the King of Aragon.”

  “Were your family around in those days?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never tried to trace my forebears. Why do you ask?”

  Philip chuckled. “I was just thinking that our ancestors might have fought together against the French. I believe I told you that my ancient predecessor, Phillipe de Saint Claire, was a Cathar?”

  “That’s an interesting idea.” She leaned forward enthusiastically. “My father would be fascinated to talk to you. His brother was the historian in the family. He was the one who encouraged me to start looking into the Albigensian Crusade. He always maintained that the French have tried to brush that part of their history under the carpet and it’s time they faced up to it.”

  They continued to chat about the region and its history and it seemed all too soon that an hour had passed and they had arrived at their destination. Philip parked in front of the abbey and they crossed a broad grass verge under the trees and entered the site through a small gate.

  They walked across the sloping park, dotted with small trees at intervals. There seemed to be nobody about. Then they heard a scratching noise in one corner of the site. Philip followed Jackie as she hurried towards the sound. They arrived at a simple barrier beyond which was a deep pit from where the scratching sound emanated.

  “Est-ce Bertrand?” she called.

  The scratching stopped. “Un moment!” A few seconds later a bald head appeared climbing up a ladder out of the pit. “Who wants me?”

  “It is Jacqueline - Jacqueline Blontard.”

  The remainder of a short, rotund figure emerged from the pit and hurried across to the barrier.

  “Jacqueline!” He brushed off his hands on his already dirty black habit and gave her a hug. “How are you, my dear.”

  “I’m fine, Bertrand.” She stepped back. “This is Philip Sinclair - from England.”

  The Abbe leaned forward to shake his hand “Really. From England, eh? How nice to meet you.” He turned back to her. “Is this the one then, Jackie?”

  “What are you talking about, Bertrand?” She had turned delightfully pink. “Philip only agreed to drive me over to meet you. He’s interested in what we’re doing at le Bezu. You knew we were exploring the ruined chateau there, didn’t you, Bertrand?”

  “I had heard something.”

  “Had you also heard about the accident?”

  “An accident? No. What has happened?”

  “My number two - a lovely guy called Andre Jolyon - went up to the castle on his own the night before last. He fell from the top of the ridge and was killed.”

  “What! Oh, no!”

  Watching him, Philip noticed how Dugard’s ruddy complexion had suddenly gone pasty. His frightened eyes stared from Jackie to him. His mouth had fallen slackly open. The old man seemed far more shocked than he would have expected.

  “Did you know him?” asked Philip.

  “No! I - oh, dear.”

  He seemed about to collapse and Philip stepped forward to support him by the elbow. Jackie hurried to his other side.

  “Are you all right, Bertrand?”

  “Oh, my goodness,” he gasped. “Oh dear, oh dear.”

  “Come out of the sun, Bertrand,” she said. “Is there somewhere you can sit down for a few minutes?”

  He took a deep breath. “The hut’s just behind that wall.”

  They helped him round the corner to a modest wooden structure. The door stood open and there were a couple of simple chairs and a desk inside, plus a set of shelves on the end wall carrying trays of finds. They sat him down and Jackie fussed round him.

  “Will you have something to drink?”

  “Yes.” He gestured to the canvas bag in the corner. “There’s some water.”

  Jackie delved into the bag and came up with a large plastic bottle of Vichy water. She poured some into a cup which was standing on the desk and handed it to him.

  He gulped it down and took a breath. “Thank you, my dear.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right? You seem to have had a nasty turn.”

  “Yes, thank you.” He took another drink and looked up at them with frightened eyes. “This assistant of yours - what exactly happened to him?”

  “We don’t really know yet. All we know is that yesterday morning his body was found on some rocks at the foot of the highest cliff. Nobody seems to know why he went up there or how he came to fall. The police are still investigating. We hope to find out more tomorrow.”

  He shook his head. “Oh, dear. What an awful thing to happen.” He swallowed another mouthful of water. “What are you going to do now, my dear? Does it mean you’ll have to close down the excavation?”

  “There’s no chance of that, Bertrand. My agent has been in touch with TV France and they’re insisting that we carry on. You know what these television companies are like. Nothing must be allowed to interfere with the screening of the series. My contract won’t allow me to back out once I’ve started. In fact some of the top names in Paris have got involved. That’s why I’ve come to see you.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t get involved, Jacqueline. I wouldn’t be any good for you. Besides, I must continue with my work here.”

  “No. That’s not what I meant. The big boys in Paris say that they’ve found me a replacement. He’s a chap called Lerenard. Apparently he gave your name as a reference. I thought I’d take the opportunity of the fact that we were only fifty kilometres from Prouille to have a brief chat with you about him. I want to find out if you think he’s up to the job.”

  Dugard was regarding her with wide, horrified eyes. “Oh dear,” he said, “I was afraid this was going to happen.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Philip.

  “Is the fellow a waste of time?” said Jackie. “I was wondering if it was a bit too convenient - him being ava
ilable just like that.”

  “No.” The Abbe shook his head. “The man is a good assistant as far as I can tell. I only had him here for a few weeks but he’s very dedicated and very hard-working. I was very impressed with him. And he promised…” He paused. “I’m sure he will look after you very well.”

  “What’s his background? Where did he train?”

  “Oh, er…” He shook his head again. “I’m afraid I don’t know. I never thought to ask.”

  She frowned. “That’s not like you, Bertrand. You’re usually so thorough about these things.”

  “Yes. Well, you see…” He seemed to be struggling to explain himself. “He came to me very highly recommended. I had no reason to question him about his earlier experience.”

  “Really? Who recommended him to you?”

  “It was - let me see - the recommendation came from the Bishop’s Palace in Narbonne. They obviously thought very highly of him.”

  “I see.” She regarded him quizzically.

  “Please don’t ask any more, my dear. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can really add to what I’ve already told you. The only thing that I’m quite sure about is that you’ll be perfectly safe if you do decide to take him on.”

  Jackie was quiet for some time before she said, “Well, that’s something anyway. Thank you, Bertrand.”

  The old boy gave her a weak smile and nodded.

  Philip noticed that she suddenly changed the subject, to the Abbe’s obvious relief. For the next half an hour they discussed his progress on the site. She showed a lot of interest in his work and, after a few minutes, Bertrand began to respond. He seemed to have recovered sufficiently from his nasty turn to take them to the latest group grave which he was excavating so that he could explain the interesting aspects of the original Dominican funeral rites.

  By the time they left the site, after they had offered him tea in a local bar in Fanjeaux and he had refused, he seemed once more to be the relaxed and friendly old man they had first seen. He reminded Philip of a kind of favourite uncle.

  When they were back in the car Jackie asked, “What did you think of that?”

  “I wouldn’t touch this bloke Lerenard with a barge-pole based on the Abbe’s recommendation. It seems somebody has leaned heavily on Bertrand Dugard to make him support the man’s application. The problem for them is that the old boy’s a useless dissembler. He wouldn’t know how to lie if his life depended on it.”