Kate Mosse - Labyrinth

He was sick in conscience. He’d spent a lifetime first envying Guilhem, then hating him, and finally learning to forget about him. He had taken Guilhem’s place at Alais’ side, but never in her heart. She had remained constant to her first love. It had endured, despite absence and silence.

Sajhe knew of Guilhem’s courage, his fearless and long struggle to the Crusaders from the Pays d’Oc, but he did not want to find himself liking Guilhem, admiring him. Nor did he want to feel pity for him. He could see how he grieved for Alais. His face spoke of deep loss, Sajhe could not bring himself to speak. But he hated himself for not doing so.

They waited all day, taking it in turns to sleep. Close to dusk a sudden flurry of crows took flight lower down the slopes, flying up into the air like ash from a dying fire. They wheeled and hovered and cawed, beating the air with their wings.

“Someone’s coming,” said Sajhe, immediately alert.

He peered out from behind the boulder, which was perched on the narrow ledge above the entrance to the cave, as if placed there by some giant hand.

He could see nothing, no movement lower down. Cautiously, Sajhe came out of his hiding place. Everything ached, everything was stiff, a combination of the after-effects of the beating and inactivity. His hands were numb, the raw knuckles red and cracked. His face was a mass of bruises and ragged skin.

Sajhe lowered himself over the rocky ledge and dropped to the ground. He landed badly. Pain shot up from his injured ankle.

“Pass me my sword,” he said, holding up his arm.

Guilhem handed him the weapon, then came down and joined him as he stood looking out over the valley.

There was a burst of distant voices. Then, faintly in the fading light, Sajhe saw a thin wraith of smoke winding up through the sparse cover of the trees.

He looked to the horizon, where the purple land and the darkening sky met.

They’re on the southeastern path,“ he said, ”which means Oriane’s avoided the village altogether. From that direction, they won’t be able to come any further with the horses. The terrain is too rough. There are gulleys with sheer drops on both sides. They’ll have to continue on foot.“

The thought of Bertrande, so close by, was suddenly too much to bear.

“I’m going down.”

“No!” Guilhem said quickly, then more quietly. “No. The risk is too great. If they see you, you’ll put Bertrande’s life in danger. We know Oriane will come to the cave. Here, we have the element of surprise. We must wait for her to come to us.” He paused. “You must not blame yourself, friend. You could not have prevented this. You serve your daughter by holding fast to our plan.”

Sajhe shook Guilhem’s hand from his arm.

“You don’t have any idea what I’m feeling,” he said, his voice shaking with fury. “How dare you presume to know me?”

Guilhem put up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m sorry.”

“She’s only a child.”

“How old is she?”

“Nine,” he replied abruptly.

Guilhem frowned. “So old enough to understand,” he said, thinking aloud. “So even if Oriane did persuade her, rather than force her, to leave the camp, it’s likely by now Bertrande will realise something’s wrong. Did she know Oriane was in the camp? Does she even know she has an aunt?”

Sajhe nodded. “She knows Oriane is no friend to Alais. She would not have gone with her.”

“Not if she knew who she was,” agreed Guilhem. “But if she didn’t?”

Sajhe thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Even then, I can’t believe she would go with a stranger. We were clear that she had to wait for us-”

He broke off, realising he had nearly given himself away, but Guilhem was following his own train of thought. Sajhe gave a sigh of relief.

“I think we will be able to deal with the soldiers after we have rescued Bertrande,” Guilhem said. “The more I think about it, the more likely I think it is that Oriane will leave her men in the camp and continue on alone with your daughter.”

Sajhe started to listen. “Go on.”

“Oriane has waited more than thirty years for this. Concealment is as natural to her as breathing. I don’t think she’ll risk anybody else knowing the precise location of the cave. She would not want to share the secret and since she believes no one, except her son, knows she is here, she will not be expecting any opposition.”

Guilhem paused. “Oriane is-” He broke off. “To gain possession of the Labyrinth Trilogy Oriane has lied, murdered, betrayed her father and her sister. She has damned herself for the books.”

“Murdered?”

“Her first husband, Jehan Congost, certainly, although it was not her hand that wielded the knife.”

“Francois,” murmured Sajhe“, too soft for Guilhem to hear. A shaft of memory, the screaming, the desperate thrashing of the horse’s hooves as man and beast were sucked down into the boggy marsh. ”

“And I’ve always believed she was responsible for the death of a woman very dear to Alais,” Guilhem continued. “Her name is lost to me this far after the event, but she was a wise woman who lived in the Ciutat . She taught Alais everything, about medicines, healing, how to use nature’s gift for good.” He paused. “Alais loved her.”

It was obstinacy that had stopped Sajhe from revealing his identity. It was obstinacy and jealousy that prevented him confiding anything of his life with Alais.

“Esclarmonde did not die,” he said, no longer able to dissemble. Guilhem went very still.

“What?” he said. “Does Alais know this?”

Sajhe nodded. “When she fled from the Chateau Comtal, it was to Esclarmonde – and her grandson – that Alais turned for help. She left-”

The sound of Oriane’s sharp voice, authoritative and cold, interrupted the conversation. The two men, mountain fighters both, dropped down to the ground. Without a sound, they drew their swords and took up their positions close to the entrance of the cave. Sajhe concealed himself behind a section of rock slightly below the entrance, Guilhem behind a ring of hawthorn bushes, their spiked branches sharp and menacing in the dusk.

The voices were getting nearer. They could hear the soldiers’ boots, armour and buckles, as they clambered over the flint and stone of the rocky path.

Sajhe felt as if he was taking every step with Bertrande. Every moment stretched an eternity. The sound of the footsteps, the echo of the voices, repeating over and over again yet never appearing to get any closer.

Finally, two figures emerged from the cover of the trees. Oriane and Bertrande. As Guilhem had thought, they were alone. He could see Guilhem staring at him, warning him not to move yet, to wait until Oriane was in striking distance and they could get Bertrande safely away.

As they got closer, Sajhe clenched his fists to stop himself roaring out in anger. There was a cut on her cheek, red against her white frozen face.

Oriane had tied a rope around Bertrande’s neck, which ran down her back to her hands bound at the wrists behind her waist. The other end was in Oriane’s left hand. In her right, she had a dagger, which she used to jab Bertrande in the back to keep her moving.

Bertrande was walking awkwardly and stumbled often. He narrowed his eyes and saw that, beneath her skirts, her ankles were tied together. The loose measure of rope between them allowed no more than a stride.

Sajhe forced himself to remain still, waiting, watching until they reached the clearing that lay directly beneath the cave.

“You said it was beyond the trees.”

Bertrande murmured something too quiet for Sajhe to hear.

“For your sake, I hope you’re telling the truth,” Oriane said.