by Kate Mosse
‘May God have mercy on your soul.’
Then he grabbed Louis’s arm. ‘Take me to where they are. Quick, now.’
CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR
No one was coming.
Minou was holding the old embroidered cap in her lap though she couldn’t feel her fingers.
‘What’s that you’re holding?’ Marta asked, stirring beside her.
‘Nothing,’ Minou said quickly. ‘Are you cold?’
‘No more than before. Please may I see it?’
Minou hesitated, then passed the cap to Marta. She watched her turn it gently over in her hands.
‘I –’ Marta began, then stopped.
Minou held her breath. Perhaps there were some memories of the girl she had once been buried deep inside.
‘It belonged to my daughter,’ she said.
Marta traced her fingers over the embroidered letters. ‘It’s strange. I think I had a cap rather like this when I was little. The letters were red.’
‘As are these: M R J.’
Minou sensed Marta’s confusion as she moved away and pushed her hands into her pocket, clearly looking for something.
‘I have a kerchief, if you need one.’
‘It’s not that.’ Marta opened her hand to show her a plain wooden rosary, nestling in her palm. ‘It was my mother’s, I think. She died in the plague in Paris when I was little. I don’t remember her.’
Even in the semi-light of the chamber, Minou recognised her old chaplet. It had been lost for twelve years, she had thought for ever, but her quick-fingered daughter had had it all along.
‘You always were a magpie,’ she whispered.
The water was still rising, they were both blue with cold, and no help had come. These might be their last moments on God’s earth.
Feeling oddly calm now the time had come, Minou took her daughter’s hand.
‘There is something I must tell you,’ she began to say. ‘You are not who you think you are.’
Suddenly, someone was banging on the wooden trapdoor above their heads and the moment was lost.
‘Minou? Minou, are you there?’
Her heart leapt at the sound of his voice.
‘Piet!’ she shouted, jumping to her feet. ‘I’m here. We’re both here. We are all right.’
Minou heard the bolts being undone then the trapdoor was thrown back and Piet’s face appeared in the opening.
‘I feared you wouldn’t find us.’
‘We need to get you out of there.’
‘Take Marie up first.’ There was no time to say anything more.
Piet lay down flat on the floor above and stretched his arms down. ‘All set.’
‘Can you manage alone?’ Minou called up.
‘Vidal’s son is with me,’ he said, giving a signal with a brief shake of his head not to ask more.
Minou nodded, then turned back to Marie.
‘What were you going to say? Madame? Tell me.’
‘As soon as we are free, I will,’ Minou replied, keeping her voice light. ‘Now we need to put all our efforts into getting out.’ She laced her fingers together. ‘You climb on my hands, then once you have your balance, reach up. My husband will pull you out.’
‘What about you?’
‘Don’t worry about me.’
Marta did as she was told. She wobbled a bit, then steadied herself and clamped both her hands around Piet’s wrist.
‘Ready?’
‘Yes, monsieur.’
‘Here we go.’
He grunted, and then started to pull Marta up. Her legs flailed in the air, but she held on tightly and, within moments, she was safely out.
Piet’s face, red from exertion, reappeared in the opening.
‘How are you going to manage, Minou? Is there anything to stand on?’
‘If I can brace myself into the angle of the wall, I should be able to raise myself high enough to reach you.’
He leant further down and whispered. ‘It is her, isn’t it?’
Briefly, Minou smiled. ‘It is, but she doesn’t remember.’ Then she raised her voice for the benefit of the listeners. ‘Here I go.’
At the first attempt, Minou slipped. Her wet clothes were dragging her down and she couldn’t seem to get purchase on the slippery walls. The second attempt was little better. The third time, she managed to stretch her fingers just a little further, and Piet reached down just a little bit lower and, though it was a struggle and took the last of her strength, suddenly she was free.
‘My lady of the mists,’ Piet murmured, wrapping her tight in his arms.
She drank in his familiar scent of sandalwood and hair oil, then looked up, becoming aware of the two young people next to him. The boy looked dazed, but Marta was now staring hard at her. The first of the morning light was creeping through a small high window in the antechamber, so for the first time, Minou saw her daughter’s face clearly. As Antoine le Maistre had said, she was a mirror image.
She smiled. But Marta frowned, and turned away.
‘Minou, this is Louis,’ Piet said.
Keeping her eyes on her daughter, Minou nodded. She didn’t understand why the boy seemed now to be allied with them rather than with his father, nor why Marta seemed to have withdrawn from her. She’d thought they had established a rapport.
‘Where is Vidal?’ she asked.
‘He won’t disturb us,’ Louis said in an odd, detached voice.
Minou saw Piet glance at him. ‘The guards are our main concern. I managed to hold them off, but they could be anywhere now. I’m surprised they haven’t already found us. The building is not stable. We need to get to the boat and get clear.’ He shot another glance at Louis. ‘We have no choice but to go back through the reliquary.’
Piet then drew Minou to one side. ‘Go quickly through the chamber to the other side,’ he whispered. ‘Keep her at your side and don’t let her stop.’
Minou’s eyes widened. ‘Why, what’s happened?’
‘Just keep walking. Don’t look round.’
CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE
Minou put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and Marta didn’t pull away. She was shaking, from cold or relief or fear, Minou wasn’t sure. Marta had not said a word since they’d been pulled out of the chamber.
The dismal grey dawn was filtering down through the lantern as they rushed into the reliquary. Louis had already gone ahead into the chamber, with Piet following closely behind.
Minou stopped. Vidal himself was sitting in a chair in the middle of room.
‘Piet!’ she hissed. ‘He’ll see us. There must be some other way.’
‘He can’t hurt us now, Minou, keep going.’
‘What do you mean?’
There was another sharp sound, louder this time like a mountain animal waking from its winter sleep. A crack appeared in the wall, snaking across the chamber like a fork of lightning, widening as it went.
‘The building could collapse at any moment, keep going, Minou.’
Piet ran further into the chamber. After a moment’s hesitation, Minou followed. Still Vidal did not move.
As they drew level with the altar, Marta suddenly broke away and ran to the chair. In the strengthening of the light, Minou took in the stains on the ground, the trampled Sudarium and Vidal himself, slumped in bloodied robes.
‘Don’t look,’ Minou said, trying to draw Marta away. She shook her off.
‘My father spent his entire life looking for this man. Everything we had was spent trying to find him and now –’ She turned on Piet. ‘Did you do this?’
‘Not I.’
‘Then who?’
Louis was standing by the far wall.
‘It was an accident,’ he said calmly, as if it was a matter of no great importance.
There was a shuddering beneath their feet. The ground was giving way.
‘The relics don’t matter,’ Piet shouted. ‘Leave them.’
Louis lifted the lid of the third casket. ‘This i
s the Sancta Camisia. It is genuine. It should be saved. And the Shroud of Antioch, too, but then of course you know that, Monsieur Reydon.’
‘There isn’t time!’
Minou grabbed Marta’s arm as fissures opened in the walls, each giving life to another and renting the chamber in two.
‘Run!’ shouted Piet.
They cleared the chamber and charged along the passageway, feeling another mighty lurch beneath them. The frescoes on the walls began to crack, brickwork falling from the alcoves. A huge piece of blue plaster fell, sending a fragment of Charlemagne’s painted cross smashing down to the floor near Minou’s feet.
Piet threw open the outer door. The stone staircase was already coming away from the wall. They took the steps two at a time, the wind snapping at their heels, and managed to jump clear of the building and down to the water.
‘The boat’s not here, Piet,’ Minou cried. ‘The guards must have taken it. What are we going to do?’
Shielding his face against the driving rain, Piet pointed into the lake.
‘It’s there. It’s come away from its moorings.’
‘Can you get it?’ Minou yelled, struggling to make her voice heard over the storm.
‘I can try.’
Her heart in her mouth, Minou watched Piet launch himself into the torrent. A huge wave washed over him. Minou screamed as he disappeared beneath the surface of the water, but then she saw his head a little further out. Fighting the current, Minou saw he was gaining ground. Several times more, he disappeared from view, until finally he managed to get hold of the rope. He didn’t give up, just started to drag the boat back towards the island bucking on the tide like an unbroken horse.
‘You’re nearly here,’ Minou screamed into the storm.
‘You’re going to have to jump,’ he yelled, trying to hold the rocking craft steady. ‘I can’t get any closer for fear the hull will smash.’
‘Wait,’ Marta suddenly shouted, speaking for the first time since running from the reliquary. ‘We have to wait for Louis.’
‘He knows the island,’ Minou said quickly. ‘He will know where to take shelter until the storm passes.’
To her relief, Marta didn’t argue. With a last look over her shoulder at the white tower, she lifted her skirts and jumped.
‘Brave girl,’ Minou heard herself say. Then she took a deep breath, and did the same.
As soon as they were set, Piet hauled himself in, too, setting the flat-bottomed boat plunging sideways. Water broke over the stern. Then he braced his knees and tried to stand up so he could reach the chain.
‘It’s too dangerous,’ Minou cried. ‘You’ll be thrown out.’
‘There’s no choice.’
With Minou grasping his legs to hold him steady, Piet set his face to the wind and, hand over hand on the iron links, started to haul them away from the island. Years of living in Amsterdam had taught her what happened when huge bodies of water were violently displaced. If the building collapsed – when it collapsed – it would cause a massive surge. Their fragile boat would be dragged under.
Tossed and thrown in the plunging waters of the lake, Piet nearly fell several times, but they kept going.
They were nearly there when the wooden pole supporting the chain on the island gave way and tipped forward into the lake, like a felled tree, sending a reverberation all along the chain. It cracked like a whip, smashing into the water and capsizing the boat.
Minou threw out her hand and grabbed Marta. Together, they managed to swim the last few yards to shore, bruised and soaking wet, but alive.
Behind them, there was an enormous eruption, as if the earth was being split in two. Minou, Piet and Marta turned. The sound seemed to echo around the hollow of land, reverberating like thunder in the mountains.
‘Louis!’ Marta shouted.
For a moment, Vidal’s son was briefly visible standing at the doorway to the white tower. Then he disappeared. Moments later, an enormous surge of water swept up from the lake onto the island. The reliquary seemed to sway on its foundations, then disappeared into the underground vaults Vidal had built. White clouds of debris flew up into the grey dawn air.
Water had reclaimed the land.
CHAPTER NINETY-SIX
Two Days Later
CHARTRES ESTATES
Thursday, 23 August
It was the blue hour, that magical time in an August afternoon when the sky turns from blue to orange to white. All around, so far as the eye could see, stretched green fields and golden wheat and shy red poppies.
At this time of the day, with a light breeze, long shadows seemed to dance along the pathways as if they were late for some charming rendezvous. Butterflies fluttered, dipped, settled and spread their wings, before spiralling up into the sky again. The air was alive with the conversation of songbirds and the humming of bees. A wood thrush called to its mate. Sparrows shimmered in and out of the formal hedges of box, rosemary and privet that led to the front door.
The façade of the manor itself was bathed in late afternoon sunlight. It was a house that was most itself in late summer when the honeysuckle transformed the walls from grey to green, yellow and white.
The estate was elegant and serene and beautiful. It seemed impossible that only two days previously, a flood could have caused so much devastation. The storm had blown through as quickly as it had come. Today, the lake was as still and tranquil as a millpond. The island was visible again above the surface of the water, but the white tower had vanished.
Chartres had never known a natural disaster like it: as the waters receded, the corpses of two local brothers and two estate guards were discovered; a nobleman from Chartres, Lord Evreux himself and his steward, Xavier. Although their injuries were not consistent with drowning, there was no one prepared to ask questions. Piet grieved for the loss of his friend, Antoine le Maistre, though Minou imagined him reunited with his beloved wife and children again, and thought he was at last at peace.
Only the body of Evreux’s son, Louis, had yet to be found.
Minou and Piet were sitting in the library waiting for their carriage to be brought to the door. Yesterday, they had repaired to the house and found that the servants had returned. Each told the same story: that Lord Evreux had dismissed them on the eve of the twenty-first day of August, giving them a night and a day with their families, asking them to return at dawn on the following day. Marta’s coachman, who had stayed at his post through the storm, confirmed it. And although some admitted their master had been capricious of late, his moods changeable, Piet had noticed they were all saddened by his death. That Louis’s body had not yet been found gave them hope that the future of the estate would still be secure.
‘I should not have told her,’ Minou said again. ‘It is too much. After everything that happened, I should have given her time to—’
Piet put his hand over hers. ‘My love, stop this. Marta deserved to hear the truth. Even if she didn’t want to hear it, even if she has no memory of her life before Paris, she cannot fail to see herself in your features, and that confuses her. Give her time. She will come back to us when she is ready.’
‘But if she does not?’
Piet looked out across the green countryside. ‘We must give her time.’
Minou had less hope. After they’d staggered, half drowned, to the manor house yesterday, Marta had barely spoken. Her colour was high and her temperature spoke of a chill. Taking up residence in Vidal’s private quarters, Minou had sat with her daughter all afternoon, cooling her brow and cindering herbs to purify the room. It eased some of the loss of the past twelve years. Just a little.
As the fever burned, Minou had told Marta who she really was and how she had been lost, trying to bring her back to her memories: of Puivert and Carcassonne, of the tapestry of the Reydon-Joubert family that now hung over the fireplace in Amsterdam; of her brother and sister and aunt; of how loved and cherished she had been.
‘You were always in my heart,’ she’d whispered
as Marta slept. ‘Not a day went by when I didn’t think of you.’
At sunset, Marta’s fever had broken and Minou had rejoiced. But when her daughter came back to herself, she had turned her face away. Minou tried to recapture the intimacy she’d shared in their stone prison, but Marta had been formal and courteous. She did not want to listen.
In the end, feeling as if her heart was breaking, Minou had left her journals on the table beside the chaise longue and withdrawn. She didn’t want to cause her any more pain – she could not.
‘I am not sure we should leave,’ Minou said again. ‘What if she will not come with us? What if Louis survived? We should stay.’
‘We are her blood family, Minou,’ Piet said gently, ‘but she is a grown woman. And even if Louis is not dead, she cannot stay here. She wouldn’t tell you why she came here, would she? We know she brought with her a forgery of a relic. We know too that the man she thinks of as her father, Pierre Cabanel, was the man hired to kill Vidal.’
‘What are you saying?’ Minou asked, her own fears making her snap.
Piet sighed. ‘She came here with some purpose, Minou.’
Minou fell silent. Whatever her daughter had done, whatever the life she had lived, she would accept it. Forgive it. Who were they to judge, they who had abandoned their child when she’d needed them most?
But now, at the idea that they might have found her only for Marta to turn away – Minou knew she would never recover from this second loss.
‘I don’t care about any of that, Piet. She’s our daughter.’
Piet raised his hands. ‘I don’t want to quarrel. But twelve years is a long time, my love.’
* * *
Biting back her tears, Marta stepped away from the door.
She had pretended to sleep. She had heard Minou whispering to her in the cellar when they thought they would drown, and yesterday as the fever burned. She feared what she might have said in her delirium. Memories she had not known were there, clouded but glimpsed, had flooded back, melding with the fragments of her life she had never been able to account for: being carried through a courtyard in a mountain castle; playing with the pointer on a compass in a box and being gently scolded by an old man with a sweet voice; picking a black feather plucked from a fan; stealing a wooden rosary from a casket; remembering an embroidered cap covered in blood.
