Kate Mosse - Labyrinth

It couldn’t have been here long. Francois tidied the room each morning and would have noticed if it had been there then. No other servants were allowed in and the room had been locked all day.

Pelletier glanced around, looking for other signs of an intruder. He felt uneasy. Was it his imagination or were the objects on his desk slightly out of place? Had his bed coverings been disarranged? Everything alarmed him tonight.

“Paire?”

Alai’s spoke softly, but she startled him all the same. Hastily, he pushed the buckle into his pouch. “Father,” she repeated. “You sent for me?”

Pelletier collected himself. “Yes, yes, I did. Come.”

“Will there be anything else, Messire ?” asked Francois from the doorway.

“No. But wait outside in case I have need of you.”

He waited until the door was shut, then beckoned Alais to take a seat at the table. He poured her a cup of wine and refilled his own, but did not settle.

“You look tired.”

“I am a little.”

“What are people saying of the Council, Alais?”

“No one knows what to think, Messire. There are so many stories. Everyone prays that things are not as bad as they seem. Everyone knows that the viscount rides for Montpelhier tomorrow, accompanied by a small entourage, to seek audience with his uncle, the count of Toulouse.” She raised her head. “Is it true?”

He nodded.

“Yet it is also claimed that the tournament will go ahead.”

“Also true. It is the viscount’s intention to complete his mission and return home within two weeks. Before the end of July certainly.”

“Is the viscount’s mission likely to succeed?”

Pelletier did not answer but just continued to pace up and down. His anxiety was spreading to her.

She took a gulp of wine for courage. “Is Guilhem one of the party?”

“Has he not informed you himself?” he said sharply.

“I’ve not seen him since the Council adjourned,” she admitted.

“Where in the name of Sant-Foy is he?” Pelletier demanded.

“Please just tell me yes or no.”

“Guilhem du Mas has been chosen, although I have to say that it is against my wishes. The viscount favors him.”

“With reason, Paire ,” she said quietly. “He is a skilled chevalier .”

Pelletier leaned across and poured more wine into her goblet. “Tell me, Alais, do you trust him?”

The question caught her off guard, but she answered without hesitation. “Should not all wives trust their husbands?”

“Yes, yes. I would not expect you to answer otherwise,” he said dismissively, waving his hand. “But did he ask you what had happened this morning at the river?”

“You commanded me to speak of it to no one,” she said. “Naturally, I obeyed you.”

“As I trusted you to keep your word,” he said. “But, still, you have not quite answered my question. Did Guilhem ask where you’d been?”

“There has not been the opportunity,” she said defiantly. “As I told you, I have not seen him.”

Pelletier walked over to the window. “Are you scared that war will come?” he said, his back to her.

Alais was disconcerted by the abrupt change of subject, but replied without skipping a beat.

“At the thought of it, yes, Messire,” she replied cautiously. “But surely it won’t come to that?”

“No, it might not.”

He placed his hands on the window ledge, seemingly lost in his own thoughts and oblivious to her presence. “I know you think my question impertinent, but I asked it for a reason. Look deep into your heart. Weigh your answer carefully. Then, tell me the truth. Do you trust your husband? Do you trust him to protect you, to do right by you?”

Alais understood the words that mattered lay unsaid and hidden somewhere beneath the surface, but she feared to answer. She did not want to be disloyal to Guilhem. At the same time, she could not bring herself to lie to her father.

“I know he does not please you, Messire,” she said steadily, “although I do not know what he has done to offend you-”

“You know perfectly well what he does to offend me,” Pelletier said impatiently. “I’ve told you often enough. However, my personal opinion of du Mas, for good or ill, is neither here nor there. One can dislike a man and yet see his worth. Please, Alais. Answer my question. A very great deal depends on it.”

Images of Guilhem sleeping. Of his eyes, dark as lodestone, the curve of his lips as he kissed the intimate inside of her wrist. Memories so powerful they made her dizzy.

“I cannot answer,” she said eventually.

“Ah,” he sighed. “Good. Good. I see.”

“With respect, Paire, you see nothing,” Alais flared up. “I have said nothing.”

He turned round. “Did you tell Guilhem I had sent for you?”

“As I said, I have not seen him and… and it is not right that you should question me in this manner. To make me choose between loyalty to you and to him.” Alais moved to rise. “So unless there is some reason you require my presence, Messire, at this late hour, I beg you give me leave to withdraw.”

Pelletier made to calm the situation. “Sit down, sit down. I see I have offended you. Forgive me. It was not my intention.”

He held out his hand. After a moment, Alais took it.

“I do not mean to speak in riddles. My hesitation is… I need to make things clear in my own mind. Tonight I received a message of great significance, Alai’s. I have spent the past few hours trying to decide what to do, weighing the alternatives. Even though I thought I had resolved on one course of action and sent for you, nonetheless doubts remained.”

Alai’s met his gaze. “And now?”

“Now my path lies clear before me. Yes. I believe I know what I must do.”

The color drained from her face. “So war is coming,” she said, her voice suddenly soft.

“I think it inevitable, yes. The signs are not good.” He sat down. “We are caught up in events far bigger than we have the power to control, for all our attempts to persuade ourselves otherwise.” He hesitated. “But there is something more important than this, Alai’s. And if things go ill for us in Montpelhier, then it is possible I might never have an opportunity to… to tell you the truth.”

“What can be more important than the threat of war?”

“Before I speak further, you must give me your word that everything I tell you tonight will remain between us.”

“Is this why you asked about Guilhem?”

“In part, yes,” he admitted, “although that was not the whole reason. But, first, give me your assurance that nothing I tell you will go outside of these four walls.”

“You have my word,” she said, without hesitation.

Again, Pelletier sighed, but this time she heard relief not anxiety in his voice. The die was cast. He had made his choice. What remained was determination to see things through whatever the consequences.

She drew closer. The light from the candles danced and flickered in her brown eyes.

“This is a story,” he said, “that begins in the ancient lands of Egypt several thousand years ago. This is the true story of the Grail.”

Pelletier talked until the oil in the lamps had burned out.

The courtyard below had fallen silent, as the revelers had taken themselves off to sleep. Alai’s was exhausted. Her fingers were white and there were purple shadows, like bruises, beneath her eyes.

Pelletier too had grown old and tired as he talked.

“In answer to your question, you do not have to do anything. Not yet, perhaps not ever. If our petitions tomorrow are successful, it will give me the time and opportunity I need to take the books to safety myself as I am bound to do.”