Kate Mosse - Labyrinth

Sickened to the bottom of his heart, Guilhem glanced to where Francois stood impassive, his face a perfect mask, on the outskirts of the group.

“If you believe it will aid our cause, Dame,” Viscount Trencavel replied, “then you have my permission.”

Oriane curtseyed once more. “Thank you, Messire .”

He clapped his hands. “Saddle the horses.”

Oriane kept close to Guilhem as they rode across the devastated land to the pavilion of the Count of Nevers, where the parley was to take place. From the Cite, those with the strength to climb the walls stood in silence and watched them go.

The moment they entered the camp, Oriane slipped away. Ignoring the lewd and rough calls of the soldiers, she followed Francois through the sea of tents and colours, until they found themselves in the green and silver of Chartres.

“This way, Dame,” murmured Francois, pointing to a pavilion set a little apart from everyone else. The soldiers stood to attention as they approached and held their pikes across the opening. One of them acknowledged Francois with a nod.

“Tell your master that Dame Oriane, daughter of the late steward of Carcassona, is here and wishes audience with Lord Evreux.”

Oriane was taking a terrible risk coming to him. From Francois, she knew of his cruelty and quick temper. She was playing for high stakes.

“On what matter?” demanded the soldier.

“My lady will speak to none but Lord Evreux himself.”

The man hesitated, then he ducked beneath the opening and disappeared into the tent. Moments, later, he came out and beckoned them to follow.

Her first sight of Guy d’Evreux did nothing to allay her fears. He had his back to her as she entered the tent. He turned and flint grey eyes burned in his pale face. His black hair was oiled back from his forehead in the French style. He had the look of a hawk about to strike.

“Lady, I have heard much about you.” His voice was calm and steady, at there was a hint of steel behind it. “I did not expect to have the pleasure of meeting you in person. What can I do for you?”

“I hope it will be a question of what I can do for you, my lord,” she said.

Before she knew it, Evreux had taken hold of her wrist.

“I advise you not to bandy words with me, Lady Oriane. Your pleasant southern ways will do you no good here.” Behind her, she felt Francois trying not to react. “Do you have news for me, yes or no?” he said. “Speak.”

Oriane held her nerve. “This is an ill way to treat one who brings you at most you desire,” she said, meeting his gaze.

Evreux raised his arm. “I could beat the information out of you, as soon as be kept waiting and save us both time.”

Oriane held her gaze. “Then you will learn only part of what I have to say,” she said as steadily as she could. “You have invested much in your quest for the Labyrinth Trilogy. I can give you what you want.”

Evreux stared at her a moment, then lowered his arm.

“You have courage, Lady Oriane, I give you that. Whether you also have wisdom remains to be seen.”

He clicked his ringers and a servant brought a tray of wine. Oriane’s hands were shaking too hard to risk taking a cup.

“No thank you, my lord.”

“As you wish,” he said, gesturing to her to sit. “What is it you want, my lady?”

“If I deliver to you what you seek, I wish you to take me north when you return home.” From the look on his face, Oriane knew she had finally succeeded in surprising him. “As your wife.”

“You have a husband,” Evreux said, looking over her head to Francois for confirmation. Trencavel’s scribe, I heard. Is that not the case?“

Oriane held his gaze. “I regret to say my husband was killed. Struck down within the walls whilst doing his duty.”

“My condolences for your loss.” Evreux pressed his long, thin fingers together, making a church of his hands. “This siege could yet last years. What makes you so sure that I will return north?”

“It is my belief, my Lord Evreux,” she said, choosing her words with care, “that your presence here is for one purpose. If, with my assistance, you are able to conclude your business in the south speedily, I can see no reason you would wish to stay beyond your forty days.”

Evreux gave a tight smile. “You have no faith in your lord Trencavel’s power to persuade?”

“With all due respect to those under whose banner you march, my lord, I do not believe the revered Abbot’s intention is to conclude this engagement by diplomatic means.”

Evreux continued to stare at her. Oriane held her breath.

“You play your hand well, Lady Oriane,” he said in the end.

She bowed her head, but did not speak. He got up and walked towards her.

“I accept your proposal,” he said, handing her a goblet.

This time, she took it.

“There is one thing more, my lord,” she said. Within Viscount Trencavel’s party is a chevalier , Guilhem du Mas. He is the husband of my sister. It would be advisable, if this is within your power, to take steps to contain his influence.“

“Permanently?”

Oriane shook her head. “He may yet have a part to play in our plans. But it would be advisable to limit his influence. Viscount Trencavel favours him and, with my father gone…”

Evreux nodded and dispatched Francois. “Now, my Lady Oriane,” he said, as soon as they were alone. “No more prevarication. Tell me what you have to offer.”

“Alais! Alais! Wake up!”

Someone was shaking her shoulders. That was wrong. She was sitting on the bank of the river, in the peace and dappled light of her private glade. She could feel the cool water trickling between her toes, cold and fresh, and the soft touch of the sun caressing her cheek. She could taste the strong Corbieres wine on her tongue and her nose was full of the intoxicating aroma of the warm white bread she lifted to her mouth.

Beside her, Guilhem was lying asleep in the grass.

The world was so green, the sky so blue.

She jolted awake, to find herself still in the dank, semi-gloom of the tunnels. Sajhe was standing over her.

“You must wake up, Dame.”

Alais scrambled into a sitting position. “What’s happened? Is Esclarmonde all right?”

“Viscount Trencavel has been taken.”

“Taken,” she said in bewilderment. “Taken where? By whom?”

“They are saying by treason. People are saying that the French tricked him into their camp, and then took him by force. Others, that he has given himself to save the Ciutat . And…”

Sajhe broke off. Even in the half-light, Alais could see he was flushing.

“What is it?”

They are saying Dame Oriane and Chevalier du Mas were of the Viscount’s party.“ He hesitated. ”They, too, have not returned.“

Alais got to her feet. She glanced at Esclarmonde, who was sleeping calmly. “She’s resting. She will be fine without us for a while. Come. We must find out what is happening.”

They ran swiftly along the tunnel and climbed the ladder. Alais flung the trap door open and hauled Sajhe up after her.

Outside, the streets were crowded, filled with bewildered people rushing aimlessly backwards and forwards.

“Can you tell me what’s happening?” she shouted at a man running by.

He shook his head and kept running. Sajhe took her hand and dragged her into a small house on the opposite side of the street.

“Gaston will know.”

Alais followed him in. Gaston and his brother, Pons, rose as she entered.

“Dame.”

“Is it true that the viscount has been captured?” she asked.

Gaston nodded. “Yesterday morning the Count of Auxerre came to propose a meeting between Viscount Trencavel and the Count of Nevers, in the presence of the Abbot. He went with a small entourage, your sister among them. As to what happened after that, Dame Alais, nobody knows. Either our lord Trencavel gave himself up of his own accord to purchase our freedom or else he was deceived.”