Kate Mosse - Labyrinth

While they were talking, a table had been set in the center of the hall covered with bread, meats, cheese, fruit and wine.

“Messire,” said the suzerain. “I would be honored if you would avail yourself of my hospitality while we wait.”

Pelletier saw his chance. He slipped forward and spoke quietly into Viscount Trencavel’s ear.

“Messire, could you spare me? I would check on our men myself. See that they have all they need. Make sure that their tongues are still and their spirits steady.”

Trencavel looked up at him with astonishment. “Now, Bertrand?”

“If you please, Messire .”

“I have no doubt our men are being well cared for,” he said, smiling at his host. “You should eat, rest a while.”

“With my humble apologies, I would still ask to be excused.”

Raymond-Roger scanned Pelletier’s face for an explanation but found none.

“Very well,” he said in the end, still puzzled. “You have one hour.”

The streets were noisy and growing ever more crowded as rumors spread. A mass of people was gathering in the main square in front of the cathedral.

Pelletier knew Beziers well, having visited many times with Viscount Trencavel in the past, but he was going against the flow and only his size and authority stopped him from being knocked down in the crush. Holding Harif’s letter tight in his fist, as soon as he reached the Jewish quarter he asked passersby if they knew of Simeon. He felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see a pretty dark-haired, dark-eyed child.

“I know where he lives,” she said. “Follow me.”

The girl led him into the commercial quarter where the moneylenders had their businesses and through a warren of seemingly identical side streets crammed with shops and houses. She came to a halt outside an unremarkable door.

He cast his eyes around until he’d found what he was looking for. The sign of a bookbinder carved above Simeon’s initials. Pelletier smiled with relief. It was the right house. Thanking her, he pressed a coin into the girl’s hand and sent her away. Then he lifted the heavy brass knocker and struck the door three times.

It had been a long time, more than fifteen years. Would there still be the easy affection between them?

The door opened a fraction, enough to reveal a woman staring suspiciously at him. Her black eyes were hostile. She was wearing a green veil that covered her hair and the lower part of her face, and the traditional wide, pale trousers gathered at the ankle worn by Jewish women in the Holy Land. Her long, yellow jacket reached down to her knees.

“I wish to speak with Simeon,” he said.

She shook her head and tried to shut the door, but he wedged it open with his foot.

“Give him this,” he said, easing the ring from his thumb and forcing it into the woman’s hands. “Tell him Bertrand Pelletier is here.”

He heard her gasp. Straight away, she stood back to let him enter. Pelletier followed her through a heavy red curtain, decorated with golden coins stitched top and bottom.

“ Attendez ,” she said, gesturing he should stay where he was.

The bracelets around her wrist and ankles chinked as she scuttled down the long corridor and disappeared.

From the outside, the building looked tall and narrow, but now he was inside, Pelletier could see it was deceptive. Rooms led off the central corridor to both left and right. Despite the urgency of his mission, Pelletier gazed around with delight. The floor was laid with blue and white tiles rather than wood, and beautiful rugs hung from the walls. It reminded him of the elegant, exotic houses of Jerusalem. It had been many years, but the colors, textures and smells of that alien land still spoke to him.

“Bertrand Pelletier, by all that’s sacred in this tired old world!”

Pelletier turned toward the sound to see a small figure in a long purple surcoat rushing toward him, his arms outstretched. His heart leaped at the sight of his old friend. His black eyes twinkled as bright as ever. Pelletier was nearly knocked over by the force of Simeon’s embrace, even though he was a good head taller.

“Bertrand, Bertrand,” Simeon said affectionately, his deep voice booming through the silent corridor. “What took you so long, eh?”

“Simeon, my old friend,” he laughed, clasping Simeon’s shoulder as he got his breath back. “How it does my spirit good to see you, and so well. Look at you,” he said, tugging his friend’s long black beard, always Simeon’s greatest vanity. “A little gray here and there, but still as fine as ever! Life has treated you well?”

Simeon raised his shoulders. “Could be better, it could be worse,” he said, standing back. “And what of you, Bertrand? A few more lines on your face, maybe, but still the same fierce eyes and broad shoulders.” He patted him on the chest with the flat of his hand. “Still as strong as an ox.”

His arm around Simeon’s shoulder, Pelletier was taken to a small room at the rear of the house overlooking a small courtyard. There were two large sofas, covered with silk cushions of red, purple and blue. Several ebony tables were set around the room decorated with delicate vases and large flat bowls filled with sweet almond biscuits.

“Come, take off your boots. Esther will bring us tea.” He stood back and looked Pelletier up and down again. “Bertrand Pelletier,” he said again, shaking his head. “Can I trust these old eyes? After so many years are you really here? Or are you a ghost? A figment of an old man’s imagination?”

Pelletier smiled. “I wish I was here under more auspicious circumstances, Simeon.”

He nodded. “Of course. Come, Bertrand, come. Sit.”

“I’ve come with our Lord Trencavel, Simeon, to warn Besiers of the army approaching from the north. Listen to the bells calling the city fathers to council.”

“It’s hard to ignore your Christian bells,” Simeon replied, raising his eyebrows, “although they do not usually ring for our benefit!”

“This will affect the Jews as much-if not more-than those they call heretics, you know that.”

“As it ever does,” he said mildly. “Is the Host as large as they are saying?”

“Twenty thousand strong, maybe more. We cannot fight them in open combat, Simeon, the numbers against us are too great. If Besiers can hold the invaders here for some time, then at least it will give us the chance to raise a fighting force in the west and prepare the defenses of Carcassona. All who wish it will be offered refuge there.”

“I have been happy here. This city has treated me- us -well.”

“Besiers is no longer safe. Not for you, not for the books.”

“I know it. Still,” he sighed, “I will be sorry to go.”

“God willing, it will not be for long.” Pelletier paused, confused by his friend’s unflinching acceptance of the situation. “This is an unjust war, Simeon, preached out of lies and deceit. How can you accept it so easily?”

Simeon spread his hands wide. “Accept it, Bertrand? What would you have me do? What would you have me say? One of your Christian saints, Francis, prayed that God should grant him the strength to accept those things he could not change. What will happen will happen, whether I wish it or no. So, yes, I accept. It does not mean that I like it or wish it were not otherwise.”

Pelletier shook his head.

“Anger serves no purpose. You must have faith. To trust in a greater meaning, beyond our lives or knowledge, requires a leap of faith. The great religions each have their own stories-Holy Scripture, the Qur’an, the Torah-to make sense of these insignificant lives of ours.” He paused, his eyes sparkling in mischief. “The Bans Homes, now they do not seek to make sense of the evil men do. Their faith teaches them that this is not God’s earth, a perfect creation, but instead an imperfect and corrupt realm. They do not expect goodness and love to triumph over adversity. They know that in our temporal lives they will not.” He smiled. “And yet here you are, Bertrand, surprised when Evil meets you face to face. It is strange that, no?”