Kate Mosse - Labyrinth

“Guilhem,” said Alice, knowing it was true.

“There was a terrible thundering. I saw the stone ledge above the entrance collapse. The boulder was sent crashing to the ground in a welter of stone and flint and dirt, trapping her inside. I couldn’t get to her,” he said, his voice trembling. “To them.”

Then it stopped. Everything was suddenly quiet, still.

“I didn’t know,” he said again in anguish. “I had given my word to Alais if anything happened to her I would ensure the Book of Words was safe, but I didn’t know. I didn’t know if Oriane had the book or where she was.” His voice faded to a whisper. “Nothing.”

“So the bodies I found were Guilhem and Alais,” she said, a statement, not a question.

Sajhe nodded. We found Oriane’s body a little way down the hillside. The book was not with her. Only then did I know.“

“They died together saving the book. Alais wanted you to live, Sajhe. To live and care for Bertrande, your daughter in every way but one.”

He smiled. “I knew you would understand,” he said. The words slipped from between his lips like a sigh. “I have lived too long without her. Every day I felt her absence. Every day I wished I had not been cursed, to be forced to live my life, while all those whom I love grow old and die. Alais, Bertrande…”

He broke off. Her heart ached for him.

“You must not feel guilty any longer, Sajhe. Now you know what happened, you must forgive yourself.”

Alice could feel him slipping from her.

Keep him talking. Don’t let him go to sleep.

“There was a prophecy,” he said, “that in the lands of the Pays d’Oc, in our times, one would be born whose destiny was to bear witness to the tragedy that overtook these lands. Like those before me – like Abraham, Methuselah, Harif -I did not wish it. But I accepted it.”

Sajhe gasped for breath. Alice drew him closer, cradling his head in her arms. When?“ she tried to say. ”Tell me.“

“Alais summoned the Grail. Here. In this very chamber. I was twenty five years old. I had returned to Los Seres, believing my life was about to change. I believed I could woo Alais and be loved by her.”

“She did love you,” Alice said fiercely.

“Harif taught her to understand the ancient language of the Egyptians,” he continued, smiling. “It seems that some trace of that knowledge lives yet in you. Using the skills Harif had taught her and from her knowledge of the parchments, we came here. Like you, when the time came, Alais knew what to say. The Grail worked through her.”

“How…” Alice stumbled. What happened?“

“I remember the smooth touch of the air on my skin, the flicker of the candles, the beautiful voices spiralling in the dark. The words seemed to flow from her lips, hardly spoken. Alais stood before the altar, Harif with her.”

“There must have been others.”

There were, but… you will think it strange, but I can hardly remember. All I could see was Alais. Her face, rapt in concentration, a slight line between her eyes where she frowned. Her hair flowed down her back like a sheet of water. I saw nothing but her, was aware of nothing but her. She held the cup in her hands and spoke the words. Her eyes flew open in a single moment of illumination. She gave the cup to me and I drank.“

His eyelids were fluttering open and shut rapidly, like the beating of a butterfly’s wings.

“If your life was such a burden to you, why did you carry on without her?”

“Perque? he said with surprise. Why? Because it was what Alais wanted. I had to live to tell the story of what happened to the people of these lands, here within these mountains and the plains. To make sure that their story did not die. That is the purpose of the Grail. To help those to bear witness. History is written by the victorious, the liars, the strongest, the most determined. Truth is found most often in the silence, in the quiet places.”

Alice nodded. “You did this, Sajhe. You made a difference.”

“Guilhem de Tudela wrote a false record of the Crusade against us for the French. La Chanson de la Croisade, he called it. When he died, an anonymous poet, one who was sympathetic to the Pays d’Oc instead, completed it. La Canso . Our story.”

Despite everything, Alice found herself smiling.

“Los mots, vivents, ‘ he whispered. Living words. ”It was the beginning. I vowed to Alais I would speak the truth, write the truth, so that future generations would know of the horror that once was done in the lands in their name. That they were remembered.“

Alice nodded.

“Harif understood. He had walked the lonely path before me. He had travelled the world and seen how words were twisted and broken and turned into lies. He too lived to bear witness.” Sajhe drew in his breath.

“He lived for only a short time after Alais, although he was more than eight hundred years old when he died. Here, in Los Seres, with Bertrande and me at his side.”

“But where have you lived, all these years? How have you lived?”

“I watched the green of spring give way to the gold of summer, the copper of autumn give way to the white of winter as I have sat and waited for the fading of the light. Over and over again I have asked myself why? If I had known how it would feel to live with such loneliness, to stand, the sole witness to the endless cycle of birth and life and death, what would I have done? I have survived this long life with emptiness in my heart, an emptiness that over the years has spread and spread until it became bigger than my heart itself”.“

“She loved you, Sajhe,” she said, softly. “Not in the way you loved her, but truly and deeply.”

A look of peace had come over his face. “ Es vertat . Now I know it.”

“If…”

Another flurry of coughing overtook him. This time, specks of blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth. Alice wiped them away with the hem of her robe.

He struggled to sit. “I have written it all down for you, Alice. My last testament. It is waiting for you in Los Seres. In Alais’ house, where we lived, which now I pass to you.”

In the distance, Alice thought she heard the sound of sirens piercing the still night of the mountain.

“They’re nearly here,” she said, keeping her grief in check. “I said they’d come. Stay with me. Please don’t give up.”

Sajhe shook his head. “It is done. My journey is ended. Yours is just beginning.”

Alice smoothed his white hair away from his face.

“I am not her,” she said softly. “I am not Alais.”

He gave a long, soft sigh. “I know. But she lives on in you… and you in her.” He stopped. Alice could see how much it hurt him to talk. “I wish we could have had longer, Alice. But to have met you, to have shared these hours with you. It is more than ever I hoped.”

Sajhe fell silent. The last vestiges of colour drained from his face, from his hands, until there was nothing left.

A prayer, one spoken a long time ago, came to her mind.

“Payre sant, Dieu dreyturier de bons esperits.” The once familiar words fell easily from her lips. “Holy Father, legitimate God of good spirits, grant us to know what Thou knowest, and to love what Thou lovest.”

Biting back her tears, Alice held him in her arms while his breathing became lighter, softer. Finally, it stopped altogether.

Los Seres

SUNDAY 8 JULY 2OO7

It is eight o’clock in the evening. The end of another perfect summer’s day.

Alice walks over to the wide, casement window and opens the shutters to let in the slanting orange light. A slight breeze skims her bare arms.

Her skin is the colour of hazelnuts and her hair is tied in a single plait down her back.