‘No one’s sacrificing anything,’ Alice said sharply. Fear was making her nervous. ‘And I still don’t understand why you wouldn’t let me come earlier. We could have come to the chamber when it was still light and not run the risk of being caught.’
Baillard behaved as if she had not spoken.
‘You telephoned Inspector Noubel?’ he asked.
There is no point arguing. Not now.
‘Yes,’ she sighed heavily. ‘I said what you told me to say.’
‘Ben,’ he said softly. ‘I understand you think I am being unwise, Madomaisèla, but you will see. All must happen at the right time, in the right order. There will be no truth else.’
‘Truth?’ she repeated. ‘You’ve told me all there is to know, Audric. Everything. Now my only concern is to get Shelagh – and Will — out of here in one piece.’
‘Everything?’ he said softly. ‘Is such a thing possible?’
Audric turned and looked up at the entrance, a small black opening in the expanse of rock. ‘One truth may contradict another,’ he murmured. ‘Now is not then.’ He took her arm. ‘Shall we complete the last stage of our journey?’ he said.
Alice glanced quizzically at him, wondering at the mood that had overtaken him. He was calm, thoughtful. A kind of passive acceptance had descended over him, while she was very nervous, frightened at all the things that could go wrong, terrified Noubel would be too late, scared that Audric would turn out to be mistaken.
What if they’re already dead?
Alice pushed the thought from her mind. She couldn’t afford to think like that. She had to keep believing that everything was going to be all right.
At the entrance, Audric turned and smiled at her, his speckled amber eyes sparkling in anticipation.
‘What is it, Audric?’ she said quickly. ‘There’s something,’ she broke off, unable to find the word she wanted. ‘Something . . .’
‘I have been waiting a long time,’ he said softly.
‘Waiting? To find the Book?’
He shook his head. ‘For redemption,’ he said.
‘Redemption? But for what?’ Alice was astonished to realise she had tears in her eyes. She bit her lip to stop herself breaking down. ‘I don’t understand, Audric,’ she said, her voice cracking.
‘Pas a pas se va luènh,’ he said. ‘You saw these words in the chamber carved at the top of the steps?’
Alice looked at him in surprise. ‘Yes, but how did — ’
He held out his hand for the torch. ‘I must go in.’
Battling her conflicting emotions, Alice handed it to him without another word. She watched him walk down the tunnel, waiting until the last pinprick of light had disappeared, before turning away.
The cry of an owl nearby made her jump. The slightest sound seemed magnified a hundred times over. There was malignancy in the darkness. The trees looming around her, the awesome shadow of the mountain itself, the way the rocks seemed to be taking on unfamiliar, threatening shapes. In the distance she thought she heard the sound of a car on a road somewhere down in the valley.
Then the silence came surging back.
Alice glanced at her watch. It was nine-forty.
At a quarter to ten, two powerful car headlights swept into the car park at the foot of the Pic de Soularac.
Paul Authié killed the engine and got out. He was surprised to find François-Baptiste wasn’t there waiting for him. Authié glanced up in the direction of the cave with a sudden flash of alarm that they might already be in the chamber.
He dismissed the thought. His nerves were starting to get to him. Braissart and Domingo had been there until an hour ago. If Marie-Cécile or her son had turned up, he’d have heard about it.
His hand went to the control box in his pocket, set to detonate the explosives and already counting down. There was nothing he had to do. Just wait. And watch.
Authié felt for the cross around his neck and started to pray.
A sound in the woods that bordered the car park caught his attention. Authié opened his eyes. He could see nothing. He went back to the car and turned the headlamps on full beam. The trees leaped out of the darkness at him, stripped of colour.
He shielded his eyes and looked again. This time, he detected movement in the dense undergrowth.
‘François-Baptiste?’
No one answered. Authié could feel the short hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. We haven’t got the time for this,’ he shouted into the darkness, injecting a tone of irritation into his voice. ‘If you want the Book and the ring, come out here where I can see you.’
Authié started to wonder if he’d misjudged the situation.
‘I’m waiting,’ he called out.
This time, he heard something. He suppressed a smile as a figure started to take shape among the trees.
Where’s O‘Donnell?’
Authié nearly laughed at the sight of François-Baptiste walking towards him, wearing a jacket several sizes too large for him. He looked pathetic.
‘You’re alone?’ he said.
‘None of your fucking business,’ he said, coming to a halt on the edge of the woods. Where’s Shelagh O‘Donnell?’
Authié jerked his head in the direction of the cave. ‘She’s already up there waiting for you, François-Baptiste. Thought I’d save you the bother.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘I don’t think she’ll give you any trouble.’
What about the Book?’
‘In there too.’ He shot the cuffs on his shirt. ‘The ring as well. All delivered as promised. On time.’
François-Baptiste gave a sharp laugh. ‘Gift-wrapped too, I suppose,’ he said sarcastically. ‘You don’t expect me to believe you’ve just left them up there?’
Authié looked at him with contempt. ‘My task was to retrieve the Book and the ring, which is what I’ve done. I’ve also returned your – what shall we call her – your spy, at the same time. Call it philanthropy on my part.’ He narrowed his eyes. What Madame de l‘Oradore chooses to do with her is her business.’
Doubt flickered across the boy’s face.
‘All out of the goodness of your heart?’
‘For the Noublesso Véritable,’ Authié said mildly. ‘Or have you not yet been invited to join? I imagine being merely her son makes no difference. Go and have a look. Or is your mother already up there getting ready?’
François-Baptiste darted a glance at him.
‘Did you think she hadn’t told me?’ Authié took a step towards him. ‘Do you think I don’t know what she does?’ He could feel the anger rising in him. ‘Have you seen her, François-Baptiste? Have you seen the ecstasy on her face when she speaks those obscene words, those blasphemous words? It’s an offence against God!’
‘Don’t you dare talk about her like that!’ he said, his hand moving to his pocket.
Authié laughed. ‘That’s right. Ring her. She’ll tell you what to do. What to think. Don’t do anything without asking her first.’
He turned away and started to walk back to the car. He heard the release of the safety catch seconds before it registered what it was. In disbelief, Authié spun round. He was too slow. He heard the snap of the bullets, one, two in quick succession.
The first went wide. The second hit him in the thigh. The bullet went straight through, shattering the bone, and out the other side. Authié went down, screaming, as the shock of the pain went through him.
François-Baptiste was walking towards him, the gun held straight in front of him with both hands. Authié tried to crawl away, leaving a trail of blood behind him on the gravel, but the boy was upon him now.
For a moment, their eyes met. Then François-Baptiste fired again.
Alice jumped.
The sound of the shots cut through the still mountain air. It bounced off the rock and reverberated around her.
Her heart started to race. She couldn’t work out where the shots had come from. At home, she’d know it was only a farmer shooting rabbits or
crows.
It didn’t sound like a shotgun.
She jumped down to the ground, as quietly as she could, and peered out into the darkness to where she thought the car park was. She heard a car door slam shut. Now, she could pick out the sound of human voices, words carried on the air.
What’s Audric doing in there?
They were a long way off, but she could sense their presence on the mountain. Alice heard the occasional sound of a pebble as their feet dislodged gravel and stones from the path. The crack of a twig.
Alice edged closer to the entrance, sending desperate glances towards the cave as if, by sheer force of will, she could conjure Audric out of the darkness.
Why doesn’t he come?
‘Audric?’ she hissed. ‘There’s someone coming. Audric?’
Nothing but silence. Alice peered into the darkness of the tunnel stretching out before her and felt her courage waver.
But you have to warn him.
Praying she’d not left it too late, Alice turned and ran down towards the labyrinth chamber.
CHAPTER 78
Los Seres
MARÇ 1244
Despite Sajhë’s injuries, they made good time, following the line of the river south from Montségur. They travelled light and rode hard, stopping only to rest and water the horses, using their swords to break the ice. Guilhem saw immediately that Sajhë’s skills exceeded his own.
He knew a little of Sajhë’s past, how he had carried messages from the parfaits to the isolated and far-flung villages of the Pyrenees and delivered intelligence to the rebel fighters. It was clear the younger man knew every passable valley and ridge, and every concealed track in the woods, gorges and the plains.
At the same time, Guilhem was aware of Sajhë’s fierce dislike, although he said nothing. It was like the burning sun beating down on the back of his neck. Guilhem knew Sajhë’s reputation as a loyal, brave and honourable man, ready to die fighting for what he believed in. Despite his animosity, Guilhem could see why Alaïs would love this man and have a child with him, even though the thought was like a knife through his heart.
Luck was with them. There was no new snowfall during the night. The following day, the nineteenth of March, was bright and clear, with few clouds and little wind.
Sajhë and Guilhem arrived in Los Seres at dusk. The village was nestled in a small, secluded valley and, despite the cold, there was the soft smell of spring in the air. The trees on the outskirts of the village were dotted with tight green and white. The earliest spring flowers peeped out shyly from the hedgerows and banks as they rode up the track that led to the small cluster of houses. The village seemed deserted, abandoned.
The two men dismounted and led their horses the final distance into the centre of the village. The sound of their iron shoes striking against the flint and stone of the hard earth echoed loudly in the silence. A few wisps of smoke floated carefully from one or two of the houses. Eyes peered suspiciously out through the slits and cracks of the shutters, then darted quickly away. French deserters were uncommon this high in the mountains, but not unheard of. Usually, they brought trouble.
Sajhë tethered his horse beside the well. Guilhem did likewise, then followed him as he walked through the centre of the village to a small dwelling. There were tiles missing from the roof and the shutters were in need of repair, but the walls were strong. Guilhem thought it wouldn’t take much to bring the house back to life.
Guilhem waited while Sajhë pushed the door. The wood, swollen by the damp and stiff from disuse, juddered on its hinges, then creaked open enough for Sajhë to get in.
Guilhem followed, feeling the damp, tomb-like air on his face, numbing his fingers. A mound of leaves and mulch was piled up against the wall opposite the door, clearly blown in by the winter winds. There were fingers of ice on the inside of the shutters and, like a ragged fringe, at the bottom of the sill.
The remains of a meal sat on the table. An old jug, plates, cups and a knife. There was a film of mould on the surface of the wine, like green weed on the surface of a pond. The benches were neatly tucked against the wall.
‘This is your home?’ Guilhem asked softly.
Sajhë nodded.
‘When did you leave?’
‘A year ago.’
In the centre of the room, a rusted cooking pot hung suspended over a pile of ash and charred wood that had long since burned itself out. Guilhem watched with pity as Sajhë leaned over and straightened the lid.
At the back of the house, there was a tattered curtain. He lifted it to reveal another table with two chairs set on either side. The wall was covered with rows of narrow, almost empty shelves. An old pestle and mortar, a couple of bowls and scoops, a few jars, covered in dust, were all that had been left behind. Above the shelf small hooks had been set into the low ceiling from which a few dusty bunches of herbs still hung. A petrified sprig of fleabane and another of blackberry leaves.
‘For her medicines,’ he said, taking Guilhem by surprise. He stood still, his hands folded in front of him, not wanting to interrupt Sajhë’s recollections.
‘Everybody came to her, men as well as women. When they were sick or their spirits were troubled, to keep their children healthy through the winter. Bertrande . . . Alaïs let her help with the preparations and deliver packages to the houses.’
Sajhë faltered, then fell silent. Guilhem was aware of the lump in his own throat. He too remembered the bottles and jars with which Alaïs had filled their chamber in the Château Comtal, the silent concentration with which she had worked.
Sajhë let the curtain drop from his hand. He tested the rungs of the ladder, then cautiously climbed to the upper platform. Here, rotten with mildew and soiled by animals, was a pile of old blankets and rotten straw, all that remained of where the family had slept. A single candlestick, with the remains of wax, stood beside the bedding, the tell-tale smoke marks spread like a stain up the wall behind it.
Guilhem couldn’t bear to witness Sajhë’s grief any longer and went outside to wait. He had no right to intrude.
Some time later, Sajhë reappeared. His eyes were red, but his hands were steady and he walked purposefully towards Guilhem, who was standing at the highest point of the village, looking to the west.
‘When does it grow light in the morning?’ he said as Sajhë drew level.
The two men were a similar height, although the lines on Guilhem’s face and the flecks of grey in his hair betrayed he was fifteen years closer to the grave.
‘The sun rises late in the mountains at this time of year.
Guilhem was silent for a moment. What do you want to do?’ he said, respecting Sajhë’s right to dictate things from here.
We must stable the horses, then find somewhere for ourselves to sleep. I doubt they will be here before morning.’
‘You don’t want . . .’ Guilhem started, looking towards the house.
‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘Not there. There’s a woman who will give us food and shelter for the night. Tomorrow, we should move further up the mountain and set up camp somewhere near the cave itself to wait for them.’
‘You think Oriane will bypass the village?’
‘She will guess where Alaïs has concealed the Book of Words. She’s had time enough to study the other two Books over these past thirty years.’
Guilhem glanced sideways at him. ‘Is she right? Is it still there in the cave?’
Sajhë ignored him. ‘I don’t understand how Oriane persuaded Bertrande to go with her,’ he said. ‘I told her not to leave without me. To wait until I came.’
Guilhem said nothing. There was nothing he could say to allay Sajhë’s fears. The younger man’s anger quickly burned itself out.
‘Do you think Oriane has brought the other two Books with her?’ he said suddenly.
Guilhem shook his head. ‘I imagine the Books are safe in her vaults somewhere in Evreux or Chartres. Why would she risk bringing them here?’
‘Did you love her?
’
The question took Guilhem by surprise. ‘I desired her,’ he said slowly. ‘I was bewitched, flushed with my own importance, I . . .’
‘Not Oriane,’ Sajhë said abruptly, ‘Alaïs.’
Guilhem felt as if an iron band had fixed itself round his throat.
‘Alaïs,’ he whispered. For a moment, he stood locked in his memories, until the force of Sajhë’s intense gaze brought him back to the cold present.
‘After . . .’ he faltered. ‘After Carcassona fell, I saw her only once. For three months, she stayed with me. She had been taken by the Inquisitors, and — ’
‘I know,’ Sajhë shouted, then his voice seemed to collapse. ‘I know of it.’
Mystified by Sajhë’s reaction, Guilhem kept his eyes straight ahead. To his own surprise, he realised he was smiling.
‘Yes.’ The word slipped from between his lips. ‘I loved her more than the world. I just did not understand how precious a thing love is, how fragile until I had crushed it in my hands.’
‘It’s why you let her be. After Tolosa, and she returned here?’
Guilhem nodded. ‘After those weeks together, God knows it was hard to stay away. To see her, just once more . . . I had hoped, when this was all over, we might be . . . But, obviously, she found you. And now today . . .’
Guilhem’s voice cracked. Tears welled in his eyes, making them smart in the cold. Beside him, he felt Sajhë shift. For a moment, there was a different quality to the atmosphere between them.
‘Forgive me. That I should break down before you.’ He took a deep breath. ‘The bounty Oriane put on Alaïs’ head was substantial, tempting even for those who had no reason to wish her harm. I paid Oriane’s spies to pass false information. For nigh on thirty years it helped keep her safe.’
Guilhem stopped again, the image of the burning Book against the blackened red cloak slipping, like an unwelcome guest, into his mind.
‘I did not know her faith was so strong,’ he said. ‘Or that her desire to keep the Book of Words from Oriane would drive her to such steps.’