by Kate Mosse
Minou sighed. ‘It does exist, I have it. Mother concealed it within Marguerite’s bible, and sent it to her sister in Toulouse.’
‘To Salvadora?’ Cécile said. ‘How extraordinary.’
‘Does Madame Boussay still have it in her possession?’ asked Bernard.
‘Yes, at least she did until a few days ago. My aunt also lived in terror of her husband. When the gift arrived, Monsieur Boussay refused to allow her to keep a Protestant bible. For once, she defied him and hid it in the church opposite their house in Toulouse, where it remained until I retrieved it no more than a week ago. I sewed it into the lining of my cloak, along with . . . something else of value, and gave the cloak into Aimeric’s care when we were stopped trying to leave Toulouse.’ She paused. ‘I pray he still has possession of it.’
Madame Noubel clapped her hands. ‘That green woollen cloak, I thought I recognised it. Aimeric was wearing it when we met yesterday in the village, and very odd it looked on him. A silver dagger at his waist too.’
Minou smiled, remembering how proud her brother had been when Piet gave him the gift of the knife.
‘The pity of it is that I would never have made a claim on the estate. I would have been content to sign over my rights to her.’
There was a noise in the passageway, and they all turned towards the door of the cell.
‘Someone’s coming,’ Cécile whispered.
‘It could be Guilhem,’ Bernard said hopefully. ‘Or the changing of the guard at first light.’
‘Or she has finally come for me.’ Minou stood up. ‘I am ready.’
It is dawn. I have ordered her to be brought to me in the forest.
I have left Valentin sleeping in my chamber – and he will sleep a while longer. He dreams of power and majesty and glory. He imagines himself on the bishop’s throne. Toulouse today, then Lyon tomorrow, perhaps even Rome. He sees himself interpreting Holy Scripture and leading our Mother Church.
He has raised himself higher than God.
The voices in my head are loud, persistent now. They tell me I should no longer trust him. Valentin says if he can barely tell the replica from the original, then what chance any other will? He says once the counterfeit Shroud is placed behind glass, none will know it for what it is.
An illusion.
But God will know. He sees everything.
It has taken me a long time to see it, but now I understand. For all his talk of serving God, it is actually the man he wants, not the recovery of God’s precious relic. Piet Reydon has become an obsession with him. Valentin cannot bear that he was outwitted – and by one once so close to his heart. When love turns to hate, it is the strongest and most violent of emotions. I knew this when I killed my father. My late husband knew this when I murdered him, too.
Minou Joubert is my enemy.
Were it not for Valentin staying my hand, I would have killed her at the moment of her capture. He spares her only because he thinks she will bring him to Reydon. He would play the inquisitor until she gives him the information he wants.
What I want is her death. God has told me to do this. He speaks to me, and I listen. It is He who guides my hand.
It must be death by fire. The burning chambers, the purification of the soul. If her spirit is pure then it will fly to heaven. If it is not, then the Devil will take her.
Is it not written that there is a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance?
This is where it ends. In fire and in flame.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
‘It’s nearly light,’ Piet said, drawing up his knees and wrapping his cloak around his legs. ‘Something must happen soon.’
‘Maybe.’ Bérenger yawned. ‘Maybe not.’
They had spent the night hiding in the woods. It was Bérenger who had knocked Piet down – assuming he was part of the Puivert garrison – and Piet who had swung at Bérenger, thinking him the killer of the young soldier he now knew to be Guilhem Lizier.
As the dogs and the flaming torches of the search party had come closer to their hiding place, then closer still, they had been forced deeper into the wood, lower down the hill. In the end, they had decided to wait until morning before trying to find out what had happened.
‘I’ve seen a fair few mornings,’ Bérenger said, ‘though none as fine as this. This is wonderful country.’
‘You’re a man of the city?’
‘Carcassonnais born and bred. Travelled around with the garrison, of course. I spent six months in the Italian Wars, but otherwise never stayed anywhere longer than a month or two. In the end, La Cité always called me back.’ He coughed, expelling the night air from his lungs. ‘What about you? A city boy yourself?’
Piet nodded. ‘My father was French, from Montpellier. I never knew him. My mother never said a bad word about him, though the truth of the matter is he abandoned her in Amsterdam.’
‘She was Dutch?’
‘Yes. She died when I was seven, but I was lucky enough to be taken up by a Catholic gentleman, a rare Christian who carried the teachings of the Bible into his daily life. He paid for me to study and I was quick at lessons, so later he sent me to college in Toulouse. He even left me a generous legacy in his Will.’
‘But you are not a Catholic,’ Bérenger said.
‘I was then.’
‘A Huguenot now, though.’
‘Yes.’
Silence fell between them.
‘And what does Madomaisèla Minou think her father will have to say about that?’ Bérenger asked eventually.
As the extent of the old soldier’s admiration for the Joubert family had become clear during the course of the night, Piet had found himself confiding in Bérenger about his love for Minou.
‘I don’t know,’ he said honestly. ‘What do you think, Bérenger? You know what manner of man he is. Do you think Bernard Joubert might look favourably on me, even though I’m not Catholic?’
Bérenger gave an earthy laugh. ‘If we survive this, my friend, and bring Minou home, I warrant he will grant you anything.’
Piet stared at him, then laughed. ‘Well said, my friend. I hope you’re right.’
Then suddenly, he stopped.
‘Did you hear something?’ Piet drew his dagger and got to his feet. ‘Coming from over there.’
Bérenger stood up and drew his sword, then stepped silently into the shadow of the tree on the opposite side of the woodland track.
For a moment, they heard nothing more. Then, the creep of footsteps on the dry leaves at the fringes of the woods, a stone kicked out of place and the sharp snap of a dry branch.
Piet held up one finger.
They waited until the stranger drew level with the trees, then Piet leapt out and had the flat of his dagger against the man’s throat before he had a chance to cry out.
‘If you make a sound, I’ll kill you.’
Alis heard the dogs outside, and saw the flickering of the torches in the woods through her window, and cried to be released. No one came and finally she fell asleep on the hard chair, her head lolled back against the top rail and her wrists still bound to the seat.
A noise woke her. She opened her eyes and saw the sun was rising, filling the chamber with pale yellow light. She was stiff and cold, her neck hurt and she was in desperate need of the pot. She was also hungry and realised that, although she was still frightened, things did not feel quite so bleak as they had in the dark of the night.
She was alone in the room now. The nurse was gone and there was no sign of Monsignor Valentin’s manservant, the one with the scar on his face. Then Alis remembered he had been sent to escort the apothecary back to the village.
She shivered. What if no one came back? What if they forgot all about her and she was left to starve to death? Would someone find her here in years to come, a pile of bones? Quickly, to push the dark thoughts away, Alis shut her eyes and thought of her tabby kitten. It wouldn’t be a kitten anymore. She hoped Rixende and Madame Noubel
were being kind and that it wouldn’t have forgotten her. She could no longer bear to think of Minou or Aimeric or her father. The pain of being separated for so long pulled too hard at her heart.
She heard a noise in the passageway outside. Her heart leapt with relief.
‘Hello?’
The door opened. Alis blinked. Blanche was dressed all in white – white gown, with a silver fleur-de-lys, and a white cloak with a satin trim. She looked like an angel. How strange someone who was so beautiful could be so bad.
‘It is time to go,’ she said.
‘Where are we going?’
Blanche didn’t answer. She tied a cord around Alis’s neck, like a noose, to stop her from running away, before cutting the ties on her wrists with her knife.
‘If you try to run away, I will kill you,’ she said, her voice strange and flat. Then she looked up to the sky. ‘I will kill her.’
‘Who are you talking to?’ Alis asked.
Blanche did not answer.
‘Where are we going?’ she repeated.
Blanche gave a slow, strange smile. ‘Didn’t I tell you your sister would come for you? Well, now she is here. God has brought her to me. Minou is here. She is waiting for you in the woods.’
Caught between hope and terror, Alis felt her stomach lurch. She wanted it to be true, at the same time prayed it was not.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I’m going to take you to her,’ Blanche said, in the same dead voice.
Alis feared Blanche was mad. Her eyes were so bright, but yet she did not seem to be looking at anything. Her hands kept clenching and unclenching, then fanning out across her swollen belly.
‘Why can’t Minou come here to the logis?’ Alis managed to say.
‘She is in the woods. I’m going to take you to her.’
‘For pity’s sake, boy,’ Bérenger said, ‘keep your voice down.’
‘Aimeric,’ hissed Piet, ‘by all that’s holy! What the Devil are you playing at!’
‘Piet. You got out. You’re alive!’
‘So are you, though you were seconds from being dead. What are you doing skulking about the woods like this? Are you trying to get yourself killed?’
‘Madame Noubel and Bérenger were supposed to come back to the village with Alis. They didn’t. I was getting worried, so I thought I’d come to see. Aunt Boussay didn’t want me to go.’ He raised his eyes and fixed Piet with a stare. ‘But is Minou with you, Piet? Is she safe?’
Piet felt instantly guilty for being so harsh. ‘I don’t know. We left Toulouse together and followed you here. You have Minou’s cloak, I see.’
‘She told me not to let it out of my sight, so I haven’t. But where is Minou? She’s all right, isn’t she?’
Piet put his hand on Aimeric’s shoulder. ‘We were together last night until it got dark. I heard something in the woods and went to investigate. There I found a man dead. He’d been stabbed.’
‘Guilhem Lizier,’ Bérenger said quietly.
‘Oh.’
‘Bérenger and I found one another,’ Piet continued. ‘He was waiting for Madame Noubel. By the time I returned to where I’d left Minou, she had gone.’
‘They are both taken?’ Aimeric said, his face falling.
‘We don’t know that,’ Bérenger said.
‘Perhaps,’ said Piet.
All three looked back through the pale dappled light of the woods in the direction of the castle walls.
‘In there, do you think?’ Aimeric said.
‘We don’t know, but we intend to find out.’ Piet hesitated, then held out his hand. ‘Will you help us?’
‘You’re going to let me come with you?’ Aimeric said.
‘Better than leaving you out here on your own causing trouble,’ Bérenger said gruffly.
‘I will do my best.’
Piet shook his hand. ‘I think you’ve earnt it. You’re not a bad swordsman now.’
Bérenger cuffed him on the shoulder. ‘Though mind you do as you’re told. None of your usual tricks.’
Aimeric’s hand went to the silver blade at his waist. ‘One day, I’ll be as good as you, Piet. Maybe better.’
‘Where are you taking me?’
The two soldiers had led her from the cell in silence. In the watery morning light, they had walked into a large courtyard, ringed by grey stone walls set with high lookout towers. They crossed the courtyard to the squat gatehouse that stood at the main entrance to the castle.
Minou didn’t understand. She could see the keep, towering high into the air behind them. Her father had said that was where the family’s lodgings were. Where Blanche de Bruyère had her chambers. Why wasn’t she being taken there?
They pushed her forward over a wooden drawbridge. They seemed to be heading back to the woods where she and Piet had taken refuge last night.
Then she saw two other soldiers standing at the edge of the forest. One had a coil of rope over his arm, the other what looked like a pile of rags. Both also held flaming torches. As they got nearer, Minou picked up the smell of oil on the still morning air.
‘What’s happening?’ she said. Her voice sounded as if it was coming from a long way away. One of the men looked like he wanted to speak, but when she met his eye, he looked away. ‘Tell me. Please, I –’
Her courage wavered. She had expected to be questioned. To be taken before Blanche de Bruyère. To be allowed to see Alis.
But this? Was she to be executed? No chance to speak or defend herself? No chance to say goodbye to those she loved?
She tried to gather her strength. The dew was seeping through her boots and her feet were wet, but the light was dappling through the green canopy of leaves and the forest was beautiful. For a fleeting moment, Minou imagined herself with Piet, side by side, and thought how wonderful it would be to live their lives together in a place such as this.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Madame Boussay was sick with worry. Not only had Bérenger and Madame Noubel failed to return with little Alis, but she had woken to find Aimeric had vanished, too.
‘I didn’t see him go, but I wager he’s gone to the castle,’ Achille Lizier said, when roused from sleep. ‘The young gentleman didn’t appreciate being left behind last evening. He made no secret of it.’
‘He is a restless boy,’ she said.
She had carefully listened to everything Cécile Noubel, Bérenger and Guilhem Lizier had discussed the previous evening. On balance, she had come to the conclusion that they had all been too quick to assume the worst. The facts spoke against their interpretation of things. Blanche de Bruyère was a devout and pious Catholic, on that everyone agreed. She even had her own priest-confessor. Her patronage and good works for the churches in Puivert and villages further afield were well known. She was a gentlewoman, the chatelaine of a large and rich estate, and she was expecting her first child within weeks. In the light of all these considerations, Madame Boussay found it hard to imagine that such a person would be involved in the kidnapping of a child or the imprisonment of Bernard Joubert. Her brother-in-law was a moderate man, a bookseller and – despite the regrettable range of the works he sold – a faithful Catholic.
‘Lizier,’ she said, ‘I intend to go to the château myself and pay my respects to Lady Bruyère in person. I’m certain this is all a misunderstanding and can quickly be resolved.’
Lizier frowned, caught between deference and common sense.
‘Forgive me, Madama, but is that wise? Cécile Cordier was—’
‘Madame Noubel is a fine woman,’ she said sharply. ‘No doubt she believes her fears justified. But Alis is my niece. And if, as you suggest, my nephew Aimeric has now taken it upon himself to go to the castle, then I should be with them.’
‘But –’
‘Make the arrangements, please.’
Reluctantly, Lizier hurried into the village. Within a quarter of an hour, the groom had been roused from his bed and a horse was bridled. As the sun came up over the
distant hillside and lit the valley, the church bell rang for six o’clock. The carriage was already rattling its way up the switchback track towards the castle gates.
‘Only through fire can we be redeemed and purified,’ Blanche said, forcing Alis forward with the point of a knife. ‘We are all sinners. Fallen, corrupted by the Devil’s work. But we can be saved. The Burning Chambers, though the Huguenots denounce them, are a beautiful gift. It is the only way to save those who have turned their face from God, from salvation, from the endless damnation of their heresy.’
Alis didn’t speak and kept her head bowed, though her eyes were darting to left and right. The cord was loose around her neck, and she thought that if she could take Blanche by surprise, she might be able to snatch the end of the tether from her hands and run into the woods.
But if she did manage to escape and it was true that Minou was waiting for her, what would happen then?
‘Only with fire can sin be defeated,’ Blanche was muttering, as if talking to herself. ‘Evil will be vanquished. God’s kingdom on earth will be made pure again. We will drive them out, the heretics and the blasphemers and those who disobey His laws.’
Alis thought Blanche had lost her wits. Her mood seemed to swing from ecstatic in the one moment to anguish in the next. She kept looking up to the sky, conducting a conversation with the clouds, just like poor Charles Sanchez in Carcassonne.
They left the shadow of the castle and stepped out into the morning. The sun was starting to paint the valley golden.
‘You said Minou would be here,’ Alis said.
‘They are bringing her,’ Blanche said, pushing her forward. ‘She will be so pleased to see you. You can be together in the life everlasting.’
Vidal woke to find the bed empty and Blanche gone.
Quickly, he sat up, setting his head spinning. A wave of nausea rocked him, like water at the bottom of a scuttled boat. When the chamber stopped spinning, he picked up the goblet beside the bed and sniffed the dregs of the liquid. He felt heavy, weighted down, as if his limbs did not belong to him.