by Kate Mosse
Minou woke before dawn, for a moment not sure where she was. Then she reached out and her hand found Piet, sleeping in their humble, chaste bed of straw, and she remembered.
They had been travelling for three days and nights, resting the horses when they could, sometimes joining other refugees on the road, at other times keeping themselves to themselves. After a day, noticing the sideways glances, Minou had twisted a piece of twine around her ring finger and introduced Piet as her husband. They looked too unalike to be brother and sister.
This barn on the outskirts of Chalabre, on the banks of the river Blau, was the most comfortable place they had yet stayed. Piet had persuaded the farmer to let them rest for the night. He had asked no questions, and they had offered no explanation, but he had sent his daughter Jeannette to offer them fresh milk, bread and slices of salted ham. A pretty, plump girl, she had been glad of their company. As they ate, she talked about her forthcoming marriage to a soldier in the neighbouring village of Puivert, in service at the castle, and of a prisoner who’d been teaching Guilhem to write French words, so they could take over the smallholding from her father.
As Minou listened, she had not been able to stop herself wondering if it was possible that Guilhem’s teacher was her father. In the second of the letters Madame Montfort had kept from her, he had written that he was travelling to Puivert. And she remembered how faithful Bérenger, and so many other soldiers of the garrison in La Cité, had come to their little house to learn how to read. Minou tried not to let her imagination run away with her, but in her heart, she felt a spark of hope.
God willing, she would know soon enough.
Careful not to wake Piet, Minou crept quietly out of the barn and down to the river. She splashed her face with the cold water, then cupped her hands and drank. In the distance, she could hear the sound of goats, their bells ringing light in the early morning air. The hillside was dotted with hundreds of tiny meadow flowers, pink and yellow and white, and when she breathed in she caught the scent of wild garlic on the air. It was the most beautiful landscape she’d ever seen and, for a moment, she forgot why she came to be here at all.
PUIVERT
The bells were striking ten o’clock, a thin single note.
‘I tell you, Aunt, that is my father’s mare, Canigou,’ Aimeric repeated. ‘I’d know her anywhere. She has a bald patch on her withers, from an accident when she was a foal.’ He pointed. ‘Look, can’t you see? And grey whiskers around her mouth, like an old lady.’
The old horse was tethered, grazing on common ground at the edge of the village beyond the church, beside a low, white-washed cottage. Two oxen and a small herd of goats in a makeshift wooden pen shared the land.
Madame Boussay looked at him. ‘You are quite certain, Nephew?’
‘Certain,’ he said. ‘It’s the only horse my father ever owned.’
‘Well, then, help me down.’
While Aimeric offered his hand, he marvelled at the change that had come over their goose-brained, chattering aunt.
When they had parted company with Minou at the covered bridge in Toulouse, Aimeric had dreaded being responsible for Madame Boussay. At Pech David, while they waited in vain for Minou to join them, she had been bewildered. Weeping, demanding to be taken back home, terrified of her husband coming after her, making plaintive enquiries about her dead sister.
But although it had been a battle to persuade her into the country carriage-and-pair that Piet had arranged, once they were on their way into the Lauragais, the open land to the south-east of Toulouse, she had become a different person. Like a caged bird offered liberty, Madame Boussay was at first cautious, but then curious. And the light came back into her eyes.
On the second night, they had reached Mirepoix and found a comfortable inn with the money Minou had given him. They remained there for a few days, to allow his aunt’s bruises and cuts time to heal. On the third morning, she was awake before him, and she proved to be an amusing and witty companion. He had even taught her Piet’s trick with the knife. By the time they set off again – though he was loath to admit it – Aimeric was enjoying being in her company.
‘In which case, Nephew,’ Madame Boussay said, ‘let us go and discover how this gentleman comes to have possession of your father’s horse.’
They walked the length of the street and knocked on the door of the white cottage closest to the common land. There was no answer there, so Madame Boussay tried the adjacent house. She rapped sharply on the door.
‘Ah. And what might your name be?’
Aimeric could only assume the man was so surprised to find such a finely dressed lady on his step at ten o’clock in the morning that he blurted out his name without question.
‘Achille Lizier, Madama.’
‘Good morrow, Lizier. This is my nephew, Aimeric Joubert. Now, what I would like to know, is how you come to have possession of my brother-in-law’s mare.’
‘Caval? The horse, Canigou?’
‘Told you,’ Aimeric said.
‘The horse, yes,’ Madame Boussay replied. ‘It belongs to my brother-in-law.’
‘Joubert?’ another voice called sharply from inside the house. A young man in guard’s livery appeared on the threshold. The family resemblance was evident. ‘Joubert, did you say?’
‘And you are?’ she asked.
‘Sorry, Madama. This is my nephew, Guilhem. He is in service in the garrison in the castle, much against my wishes.’
‘Uncle,’ Guilhem muttered in Occitan.
Madame Boussay took no notice of the interruption. ‘You recognise the name Joubert? How so?’
‘He looks much like her,’ Guilhem replied, gesturing at Aimeric.
‘Who looks like me?’
‘The lady hasn’t come to listen to your gossip, Nephew,’ Lizier interrupted, ‘she’s asking about the horse. Madama, I swear I came by the mare honestly. Back a few weeks, before the spring had rightly come, a man arrived looking for the midwife.’
‘The midwife,’ Madame Boussay echoed, bewildered.
‘Old Anne Gabignaud, who was murdered some weeks ago now. The point is, the gentleman asked me to look after his horse for a few days. Wouldn’t say where he was going, only that he’d be back. Haven’t seen hide nor tail of him in six weeks. Old mare’s been pining.’
‘You never told me about this,’ Guilhem said.
‘When would I, Nephew? You’re never here to tell.’
‘I can’t come and go as I please, Uncle. You know that.’
Aimeric pushed himself forward. ‘What do you mean, I look like her? Look like who?’
Guilhem nodded up towards the castle. ‘The little girl up there. A mass of black curls, same as you.’
‘About seven years old. So high?’
‘I’d say taller, but then I’ve only seen her from a distance. There’s no mistaking that hair, though. The apothecary saw her when he was called to treat Lady Blanche a week ago.’
‘Here’s something you never thought to tell me,’ Lizier interrupted, ‘so I reckon that makes us equal.’
‘Lizier, please,’ Madame Boussay said. ‘Let Guilhem finish.’
‘It’s Cordier’s opinion the little girl saved her mistress’s life, though she got no thanks for it.’
‘Cordier!’ Aimeric cried. ‘But that’s what Madame Noubel—’
‘The point of what I’m saying,’ Guilhem continued doggedly, ‘is she told apothecary Cordier her name was Joubert, Alis Joubert. Lively little thing, he said. Tried to persuade him to take her with him when he left the castle.’
‘It’s her,’ Aimeric said, spinning round to face his aunt. ‘Alis is here.’
‘Less haste, Nephew,’ she murmured, then returned her attention to the old man. ‘Lizier, though I would not want to trespass further on your time – nor yours, Guilhem – might we continue this conversation in private? It seems there is much to discuss.’
CHALABRE
‘Minou, wake up!’
Sh
e felt the pressure of a hand on her shoulder. The last thing she remembered was coming back from the river to find Piet still sleeping in the barn. She had lain down beside him again, only for a moment.
‘What hour is it?’ she asked, quickly sitting up.
‘Past midday,’ Piet said. ‘You were so weary, I couldn’t bring myself to wake you.’
‘Oh no.’ Minou scrabbled to sit up. ‘We should have left at first light. We promised.’
‘Don’t worry, Jeannette knows we’re still here. Her father doesn’t mind. A couple of soldiers came by and he sent them on their way.’
‘All the same, I wish we had gone earlier.’
‘It is better we waited. Jeannette says the castle is set at the highest point overlooking the valley, as you’d expect, but there is open land all around. There are woods to the north. If we want to approach unobserved, we’ll have to wait until dusk.’
‘Unobserved? But I have the letter inviting me to Puivert. We would be given safe passage.’
‘You call it an invitation!’ Piet gave a low laugh. ‘The letter is precisely why we must plan to get into the castle without being seen.’
Minou shook her head. ‘I must go to Alis. I cannot delay.’
Piet put his hands on her shoulders. ‘You seem to think that Blanche de Bruyère will behave with honour. That if you present yourself to her, she will hand Alis into your care and allow you both to leave. But why would she, Minou? A woman who kidnaps a child and holds her hostage has no honour. You cannot trust her. If you walk unprotected to her gates, where’s the guarantee that she won’t then imprison you as well? Or worse. We’ve got to find a way of smuggling Alis away before Blanche knows we have ever been near Puivert.’
‘I’m not a fool.’ Minou shook off his embrace. ‘I know it’s dangerous, but I can’t risk her hurting Alis. If I offer myself in place of my sister, there is a chance she will be set free. It’s me Blanche wants, no one else.’
‘I beg you to reconsider, Minou.’
‘I have to try.’
‘At least hear me out. We will go directly to Puivert. Jeannette says the chatelaine is hated in the village, as was the late Seigneur, so there might be people prepared to aid us but we must proceed with care. Her soldiers regularly patrol her lands, looking for heretics and poachers, and are known for their harshness.’
‘But what’s to be gained –’
‘Jeannette also says that her betrothed, Guilhem, might be able to help, depending which of the soldiers are on duty at the castle. He is part of the garrison and says there are some more loyal to their mistress than others. Before we do anything, I will reconnoitre the castle and find out where Alis is being held.’
Minou touched her finger to his lips.
‘Piet, please. Everything you say is true, but I have no choice. The thought of Alis, alone, haunts me. I can’t stop thinking that she might have no medicine, that she’s being held in terrible conditions. But the worst is imagining her believing I have forsaken her.’
‘I cannot believe she would ever think that.’
‘I don’t care what happens to me, so long as she is safe.’
Piet sighed, the fight going out of him. ‘But what of me, Minou? I care what happens to you. Does that not count for anything?’
Minou pressed her hand against his cheek. ‘Of course, but she’s only a child. She needs me.’
‘I need you too.’
Flushing a deep crimson, he suddenly strode away from her.
‘Piet, I’m sorry. Please understand.’
He pushed open the barn doors, as if seeking solace in the world outside, then turned back.
‘Minou –’ he began.
‘Come back. Sit with me.’
‘I cannot. I will lose the courage to speak.’
Minou’s heart stumbled. Why was he suddenly so nervous?
‘What do you mean, courage? Please, Piet, come back inside. Someone might see you.’
‘Let them.’ He sighed. ‘I would rather have wooed you like a true suitor. The fact of the matter is I was intending to wait until a sweeter time.’
She frowned. ‘You are talking in riddles. A sweeter time for what? Your words obscure your meaning.’
‘Forgive me. What I want to say is this . . .’ He rushed his words like a tongue-tied schoolboy. ‘I would have you for my wife.’
Minou caught her breath. ‘Are you asking me to marry you?’
‘On— Only if it pleases you,’ he stammered. ‘I would ask your father for your hand, as soon as this is over and, God willing, we are safe. And I don’t have much to offer, and he might hold that against me. Everything I owned was destroyed in Toulouse, but . . .’ Piet stopped again, his face as pale as previously it had been flushed. ‘That is, if you would have me for your husband. Do you, could you, love me?’
The question was so unnecessary, Minou almost laughed. ‘Can you doubt it?’
The look of agony started to fade. ‘You do?’
‘I do.’
‘And you would consider taking me . . .’
‘My answer is yes, mon coeur. Of course.’
And now Minou could see every true emotion – joy, desire, hope, love – lighting his face. Then his arms were around her, too tight, but when finally he did release her, she laughed and so did he. Their expressions mirrored one another.
Two halves of the same coin.
‘And I give you my word, lieverd,’ he said, touching the scrap of twine on her finger, ‘my own love, that when we speak our vows before the altar it will be with a ring worthy of you.’
‘I don’t care about finery, it means nothing.’
‘And when I’ve put my petition to your father – and if, God willing, he looks kindly on me – we can live in Carcassonne, perhaps even Toulouse, wherever you wish. Alis and Aimeric, your father too, should make their home with us, if that pleases you.’ He hesitated. ‘From everything you told me, I do not think he would baulk at a Huguenot for a son-in-law.’
She met his gaze. ‘Or even a daughter.’
‘What do you mean?’ he said slowly.
She laughed, emboldened by something she had not known she was going to say until the words were in the air.
‘I don’t know, only . . . My mother and father raised me to respect those who took another path to God from my own. After what I saw in Toulouse, I am not sure I can stand with those who believe God is found at the tip of a sword.’
‘There was evil done on both sides,’ Piet cautioned.
‘I know. Even so, to pray in French, would not that be wonderful?’
Piet stepped back. ‘I would never ask you to change your faith. We would find a way.’
On the rare occasions Minou had imagined herself a bride, she thought she would be married in their local church in La Cité. Nothing grand or important. But now? She had never even stepped foot inside a Huguenot temple.
Then she heard the goat bells on the hillside, and their horses pawing the ground, restless, and thoughts of marriage faded.
‘We have many hours ahead of us,’ she said, reaching for his hand.
In gentle silence, they packed the saddlebags and bridled the horses, then set out on the road south from Chalabre.
‘Will you agree to what I propose?’ Piet asked. ‘To go to the village of Puivert first?’
‘There is a great deal of sense in what you say – there might be news in the village about my father and Alis, but . . .’ Minou’s voice cracked. She took a deep breath. ‘But yet I fear we would be seen, and our presence quickly reported to Blanche de Bruyère. Then we lose any chance of approaching the castle unseen.’
‘You are still determined to go directly to the château?’ Piet asked.
‘To the woods to the north of the castle, yes. We can wait there until the sun sets,’ she said. ‘Once there, I’m sure it will become clear what to do for the best.’
Minou smiled to reassure him, but she felt as if there was an iron band around her ribs.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
PUIVERT VILLAGE
‘Lizier,’ Madame Boussay said, with a courteous bow, ‘my nephew and I are most grateful for your time.’
Aimeric stood beside his aunt, impressed at how she had established a fellow feeling with the old villager and his nephew so swiftly. All the same, his nerves jangled. Not only did it seem that Alis was still alive, but, possibly, they had found his father too. Guilhem knew the prisoner only by his Christian name – Bernard – but who else could he be?
If only Minou would come. She’d be proud of him.
Aimeric pushed away the ugly thought she might never know how well he’d done, that she and Piet might not have survived the battle for Toulouse.
‘Accept this for your trouble,’ his aunt was saying, pressing a coin into old Lizier’s hands. ‘Not least for the stabling of my brother-in-law’s horse.’
‘Most generous, Madama.’
‘Your discretion will also be much appreciated.’
‘Of course. I am glad to have been of service.’
‘I will not forget your assistance. Now, I will take my leave. There are things to be done. I’m sure it is all a mere misunderstanding. Perhaps Bernard was taken unwell visiting the château and is being cared for there.’
Aimeric pulled a face. ‘In the dungeon, Aunt?’
She took no notice. ‘Or perhaps it was he who requested little Alis be sent for, to keep him company in his distress.’
Achille Lizier tapped his nose. ‘Most likely.’
‘In fact,’ Madame Boussay continued, ‘it also seems possible to me that this apothecary – Paul Cordier did you say? – misunderstood the situation. You said he only saw the child fleetingly?’
Guilhem nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘But—’
She turned to look at him. ‘Yes, Nephew?’
Aimeric shrugged. ‘Nothing, Aunt.’
‘Very well, then.’
‘Madame Boussay,’ said Guilhem, addressing her directly for the first time, ‘I am due to return to the château by sunset this evening. If that might be of help.’
She tilted her head to one side. ‘Are you indeed?’