Kate Mosse - Labyrinth

As he walked out of the Tour Pinte into the courtyard, Pelletier found his thoughts once more turning to Simeon. Twice he had sent Francois to the Jewish quartier for news, but both times he had returned empty handed and Pelletier’s anxiety increased with each passing day.

He took a quick look around the courtyard and decided he could be spared for a few hours.

He headed for the stables.

Pelletier followed the most direct route across the plains and through the woods, very aware of the Host camped in the distance.

Although the Jewish quarter was crowded and people were on the streets, it was unnaturally quiet and hushed. There was fear and apprehension on every face, young and old. Soon, they knew, the fighting would begin. As Pelletier rode through the narrow alleys, women and children looked up at him with anxious eyes, looking for hope in his face. He had nothing to offer them.

No one had any news of Simeon. He found his lodgings easily enough, but the door was barred. He dismounted and knocked on the house opposite.

“I seek a man called Simeon,” he said, when a woman came fearfully to door. “Do you know of whom I speak?”

She nodded. “He came with the others from Besiers.”

“Can you remember when last you saw him?”

“A few days back, before we heard the news of Besiers, he went to Carcassona. A man came for him.”

Pelletier frowned. “What manner of man?”

“A high-born servant. Orange hair,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“Simeon appeared to know him.”

Pelletier’s bafflement deepened. It sounded like Francois, except how could it be? He said he had not found Simeon.

“That was the last time I saw him.”

You are saying Simeon did not return from Carcassona?“

“If he’s got any sense, he’ll have stayed. He will be safer there than here.”

“Is it possible Simeon could have come back without you seeing him?” he said desperately. “You might have been sleeping. You might not have noticed him return.”

“Look, Messire ,” she replied, pointing to the house across the street.

“You can see for yourself. Vueg .” Empty.

Oriane tiptoed along the corridor to her sister’s chamber.

“Alais!” Guirande was sure her sister was once again with their father, but she was cautious. “ Sorre ?”

When no one answered, Oriane opened the door and stepped inside.

With the skill of a thief, she quickly began to search Alais’ possessions.

Bottles, jars and bowls, her wardrobe, drawers filled with cloth and perfumes and sweet-smelling herbs. Oriane patted the pillows and found a lavender posy, which didn’t interest her. Then she checked over and beneath the bed. There was nothing but dead insects and cobwebs.

As she turned back to face the room, she noticed a heavy brown hunting cloak lying over the back of Alais’ sewing chair. Her threads and needles were spread all around. Oriane felt a spark of excitement. Why a winter cloak at this time of year? Why was Alais mending her clothes herself?

She picked it up and immediately felt something was wrong. It was lopsided and hung crookedly. Oriane lifted the corner and saw something had been sewn into the hem.

Quickly, she unpicked the stitching, pushed her fingers inside and pulled out a small, rectangular object, wrapped in a piece of linen.

She was about to investigate, when a noise in the corridor outside drew her attention. Quick as a flash, Oriane concealed the parcel beneath her dress and returned the cloak to the back of the chair.

A hand descended heavily on her shoulder. Oriane jumped.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he said.

“Guilhem,” she gasped, clasping her hand to her chest. You startled me.“

“What are you doing in my wife’s chamber, Oriane?”

Oriane raised her chin. “I could ask you the same question.”

In the darkening room, she saw his expression harden and knew the dart had hit home.

“I have every right to be here, whereas you do not…” He glanced at the cloak, then back to her face.

“What are you doing?”

She met his gaze. “Nothing that concerns you.”

Guilhem kicked the door shut with his heel.

You forget yourself, Dame,“ he said, grabbing her wrist.

“Don’t be a fool, Guilhem,” she said in a low voice. “Open the door. It will go ill for both of us if someone comes and finds us together.”

“Don’t play games with me, Oriane. I’m in no mood for them. I’m not letting you go unless you tell me what you are doing here. Did he send you here?”

Oriane looked at him with genuine confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Guilhem, on my word.”

His fingers were digging deep into her skin. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice,?? I saw you together, Oriane.”

Relief flooded through her. Now she understood the reason for his temper. Provided Guilhem had not recognised her companion, she could, turn the misunderstanding to her advantage.

“Let me go,” she said, trying to twist out of his grasp. “If you remember, Messire , you were the one who said we could meet no longer.” She tossed tier black hair and glared at him, eyes flashing. “So if I choose to seekcomfort elsewhere, how can it concern you? You have no right over me.”

“Who is he?”

Oriane thought quickly. She needed a name that would satisfy him. “Before I tell you, I want you to promise that you will not do anything unwise,” she pleaded, playing for time.

“At this moment, Dame, you are not in a position to set terms.”

“Then at least let us go elsewhere, to my chamber, the courtyard, anywhere but here. If Alais should come…”

From the expression on his face, Oriane knew she had got him. His greatest fear now was that Alais would discovery his infidelity.

“Very well,” he said roughly. He flung open the door with his free hand, half pushed, half dragged her along the corridor. By the time they eached her chamber, Oriane had gathered her thoughts.

“Speak, Dame,” he commanded.

Her eyes fixed on the ground, Oriane confessed she had accepted the attentions of a new suitor, the son of one of the Viscount’s allies. He had admired her.

“Is this the truth?” he demanded.

“I swear it is, on my life,” she whispered, glancing up at him through tear-stained lashes.

He was still suspicious, but there was a flicker of indecision in his eyes.

“This does not answer why you were in my wife’s chamber.”

“Safe-guarding your reputation only,” she said. “Returning to its rightful place something of yours.”

“What manner of thing?”

“My husband found a man’s buckle in my chamber.” She made a shape with her hands. “About so big, fashioned from copper and silver.”

“I have lost such a buckle,” he admitted.

“Jehan was determined to identify the owner and publish his name. Knowing it to be yours, I decided the safest thing was to return it to your chamber.”

Guilhem was frowning. “Why not return the buckle to me?”

“You are avoiding me, Messire, ” she said softly. “I did not know when, even if, I would see you. Besides, if we had been noticed together, it could have been proof of what once was between us. Judge my actions foolish. But do not doubt the intention behind them.”

Oriane could see he was not convinced, but dared not push the matter further. His hand went to the blade at his waist.

“If you breathe a word of this to Alais,” he said, “I will kill you, Oriane, God strike me down if I don’t.”

“She will not learn of it from me,” she said, then smiled. “Unless, of course, I find myself with no choice. I must protect myself. And,” she paused. Guilhem drew a deep breath. “And as it happens,” she continued, “there is a favour I would ask of you.”