Kate Mosse - Labyrinth

Oriane was determined not to make the same mistake again. This time, when a rumour had surfaced about a woman, of the right age, the right description, Oriane had come south with one of her sons under cover of the Crusade.

This morning she thought she had seen the book burn in the purple light of dawn. To be so close and yet to fail had sent her into a rage that neither her son Louis nor her servants could assuage. But during the course of the afternoon, Oriane had started to revise her interpretation of the morning’s events. If it was Alais she had seen – and she was even questioning that – was it likely she would allow the Book of Words to burn on an Inquisitional pyre?

Oriane decided not. She sent her servants out into the camp for information and learned that Alais had a daughter, a girl of nine or ten, whose father was a soldier serving under Pierre-Roger de Mirepoix. Oriane did not believe her sister would have entrusted so precious an object to a member of the garrison. The soldiers would be searched. But a child?

Oriane waited until it was dark before making her way to the area where the women and children were being held. She bought her passage into the compound. No one questioned or challenged her. She could feel the disapproving looks from the Black Friars as she passed, but their ill judgement did not move her.

Her son, Louis, appeared in front of her, his arrogant face flushed. He was always too desperate for approval, too eager to please.

“ Oui ?‘ she snapped. ” Qu’est-ce que tu veux?“

“ll y a une fille que vous devez voir, Maman.”

Oriane followed him to the far side of the enclosure, where a girl lay sleeping a little apart from the others.

The physical resemblance to Alais was striking. But for the passage of years, Oriane could be looking at her sister’s twin. She had the same look of fierce determination, the same colouring as Alais at the same age.

“Leave me,” she said. “She will not trust me with you standing here.”

Louis’ face fell, irritating her even more. “Leave me,” she repeated, turning her back on him. “Go prepare the horses. I have no need of you here.”

When he’d gone, Oriane crouched down and tapped the girl on the arm.

The girl woke immediately and sat up, her eyes bright with fear.

“Who are you?”

“Una amiga ,” she said, using the language she had abandoned thirty years ago. “A friend.”

Bertrande didn’t move. “You’re French,” she said stubbornly, staring at Oriane’s clothes and hair. *You weren’t in the citadel.“

“No,” she said, trying to sound patient, “but I was born in Carcassona, just like your mother. We were children together in the Chateau Comtal. I even knew your grandfather, Intendant Pelletier. I’m sure Alais has talked often of him.”

“I’m named for him,” she said promptly.

Oriane hid a smile. Well, Bertrande. I’ve come to get you away from here.“

The girl frowned. “But Sajhe told me to stay here until he came for me,” she said, a little less cautiously. “He said not to go with anyone else.”

“Sajhe said that, did he?” Oriane said, smiling. “Well, he said to me that you were good at looking after yourself, that I should give you something to persuade you to trust me.”

Oriane held out the ring she had stolen from her father’s cold hand. As she expected, Bertrande recognised it and reached for it.

“Sajhe gave you this?”

“Take it. See for yourself.”

Bertrande turned the ring, examining it thoroughly. She stood up.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” she said, frowning furiously. “Unless…”

“Yes?” Bertrande looked up at her.

“Do you think he meant you should go home?”

Bertrande thought for a moment. “He might,” she said doubtfully.

“Is it far?” asked Oriane casually.

“A day on horseback, perhaps more at this time of year.”

“And does this village have a name?” she said lightly.

“Los Seres,” Bertrande replied, “although Sajhe told me not to tell the Inquisitors.”

The Noublesso de los Seres . Not just the name of the Grail guardians but the place where the Grail would be found. Oriane had to bite her tongue to stop herself laughing.

“Let us get rid of this to start with,” she said, leaning over and pulling the yellow cross from Bertrande’s back. We don’t want anyone to guess that we’re runaways. Now, do you have anything to bring with you?“

If the girl had the book with her, there was no need to go any further. The quest would end here.

Bertrande shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Very well, then. Quietly now. We don’t want to attract attention.”

The girl was still cautious, but as they walked through the sleeping compound, Oriane talked about Alais and the Chateau Comtal. She was charming, persuasive and attentive. Little by little, she won the girl over.

Oriane slipped another coin into the guard’s hand at the gate, then led Bertrande to where her son was waiting at the outskirts of the camp with six soldiers on horseback and a covered cart already prepared.

“Are they coming with us?” Bertrande said, suddenly suspicious.

Oriane smiled as she lifted the child into the caliche . We need to be protected from bandits on the journey, don’t we? Sajhe would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you.“

Once Bertrande was settled, she turned to her son.

“What about me?” he said. “I want to accompany you.”

“I need you to stay here,” she said, restless now to be gone. “You, if you have not forgotten, are part of the army. You cannot simply disappear. It will be easier and quicker for us all if I go alone.”

“But-”

“Do as I say,” she said, keeping her voice low so Bertrande could not hear. “Look after our interests here. Deal with the girl’s father as discussed. Leave the rest to me.”

All Guilhem could think about was finding Oriane. His purpose in coming to Montsegur had been to help Alais and to keep Oriane from harming her. For nearly thirty years, he’d watched over her from afar.

Now Alais was dead, he had nothing to lose. His desire for revenge had grown year by year. He should have killed Oriane when he had the chance. He would not let this opportunity pass by.

With the hood of his cloak pulled down over his face, Guilhem slipped through the Crusaders camp, until he saw the green and silver of Oriane’s pavilion.

There were voices inside. French. A young man giving orders.

Remembering the youth sitting beside Oriane in the stalls, her son, Guilhem pressed himself against the flapping side of the tent and listened.

“He’s a soldier in the garrison,” Louis d’Evreux said in his arrogant voice. “Goes by the name of Sajhe de Servian. The one who created the disturbance earlier. Southern peasants,” he said with contempt. “Even when they’re treated well, they behave like animals.” He gave a sharp laugh. “He was taken to the enclosure near the pavilion of Hugues des Arcis, away from the other prisoners in case he incited any more trouble.”

Louis dropped his voice so Guilhem could barely hear. “This is for you,” he said. Guilhem heard the clinking of coins. “Half now. If the peasant’s still alive when you find him, remedy the situation. The rest when the job is done.”

Guilhem waited until the soldier came out, then slipped in through the unguarded opening.

“I told you I did not want to be disturbed,” he said abruptly, without turning round. Guilhem’s knife was at his throat before the man had a chance to call out.

“If you make a sound, I’ll kill you,” he said.

“Take what you want, take what you want. Don’t harm me.”