Labyrinth

by Kate Mosse

  Oriane leaned forward to take him in her mouth, but he pushed her back on the bed and knelt down beside her.

  ‘So what enjoyment do you wish for from me, my lady?’ he said, gently parting her legs. ‘This?’

  She murmured as he bent forward and kissed her. ‘Or this?’

  His mouth crept lower, to her hidden, private space. Oriane held her breath as his tongue played across her skin, biting, licking, teasing.

  ‘Or this, maybe?’ She felt his hands, strong and tight around her waist as he pulled her to him. Oriane wrapped her legs around his back.

  ‘Or maybe this is what you really want?’ he said, his voice straining with desire as he plunged deep inside her. She groaned with satisfaction, scratching her nails down his back, claiming him.

  ‘So your husband thinks you’re a whore, does he,’ he said. ‘Let us see if we can prove him right.’

  CHAPTER 10

  Pelletier paced the floor of his chamber, waiting for Alaïs.

  It was cooler now, but there was sweat on his broad forehead and his face was flushed. He should be down in the kitchens supervising the servants, making sure everything was in hand. But he was overwhelmed by the significance of the moment. He felt he was standing at a crossroads, paths stretching out in every direction, leading to an uncertain future. Everything that had gone before in his life, and everything that was yet to come, depended on what he decided to do now.

  What was taking her so long?

  Pelletier tightened his fist around the letter. Already he knew the words off by heart.

  He turned away from the window and his eye was caught by something bright, glinting in the dust and shadows behind the door frame. Pelletier bent down and picked it up. It was a heavy silver buckle with copper detail, large enough to be the fastening for a cloak or a robe.

  He frowned. It wasn’t his.

  He held it to a candle to get a better look. There was nothing distinctive about it. He’d seen a hundred just like it for sale in the market. He turned it over in his hands. It was of good enough quality, suggesting someone of comfortable rather than wealthy circumstances.

  It couldn’t have been here long. François 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?’

  Alaïs 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 François from the doorway.

  ‘No. But wait outside in case I have need of you.’

  He waited until the door was shut, then beckoned Alaïs 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, Alaïs?’

  ‘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 Montpelhièr 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 favours him.’

  ‘With reason, Paire,’ she said quietly. ‘He is a skilled chevalier.’

  Pelletier leaned across and poured more wine into her goblet. ‘Tell me, Alaïs, 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.

  Alaïs 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?’

  Alaïs 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, Alaïs. Answer my question. A very great deal depends on it.’

  Images of Guilhem sleeping. Of his eyes, dark as lode-stone, 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,’ Alaïs 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.’ Alaïs 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, Alaïs 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, Alaïs. 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.’

  Alaïs met his gaze. ‘And now?’

 
‘Now my path lies clear before me. Yes. I believe I know what I must do.’

  The colour 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, Alaïs. And if things go ill for us in Montpelhièr, 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 revellers had taken themselves off to sleep. Alaïs 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.’

  ‘But if they are not, Messire? What if something happens to you?’

  Alaïs broke off, fear catching in her throat.

  ‘All may yet be well,’ he said, but his voice was dead.

  ‘But if it is not?’ she insisted, refusing to be soothed. ‘What if you do not return? How will I know when to act?’

  He held her gaze for a moment. Then he searched in his pouch until he’d found a small package of cream-coloured cloth.

  ‘If something happens to me, you will receive a token like this.’

  He laid the package on the table and pushed it towards her.

  ‘Open it.’

  Alaïs did as she was told, unfolding the material section by section until she had revealed a small disc of pale stone with two letters carved on it. She held it up to the light and read the letters aloud.

  ‘NS?’

  ‘For Noublesso de los Seres.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A merel, a secret token, which is passed between thumb and forefinger. It has another, more important purpose also, although you need not know of it. It will indicate to you if the bearer is to be trusted.’ Alaïs nodded. ‘Now turn it over.’

  Engraved on the other side was a labyrinth, identical to the pattern carved on the back of the wooden board.

  Alaïs caught her breath. ‘I’ve seen this before.’

  Pelletier twisted the ring from his thumb and held it out. ‘It is engraved on the inside,’ he said. ‘All guardians wear such a ring.’

  ‘No, here, in the Chateau. I bought cheese in the market today and took a board from my room to carry it on. This pattern is engraved on the underside.’

  ‘But that’s impossible. It cannot be the same.’

  ‘I swear it is.’

  ‘Where did the board come from?’ he demanded. ‘Think, Alaïs. Did someone give it to you? Was it a gift?’

  Alaïs shook her head. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know,’ she said desperately. ‘All day I’ve tried to remember, but I can’t. The strangest thing was that I was sure I’d seen the pattern somewhere else, even though the board itself was not familiar to me.’

  ‘Where is it now?’

  ‘I left it on the table in my chambers,’ she said. ‘Why? Do you think it matters?’

  ‘So anyone could have seen it,’ he said with frustration.

  ‘I suppose so,’ she replied nervously. ‘Guilhem, any of the servants, I cannot say.’

  Alaïs looked down at the ring in her hand and suddenly the pieces fell into place. ‘You thought the man in the river was Simeon?’ she said slowly. ‘He is another guardian?’

  Pelletier nodded. ‘There was no reason to think it was him, but yet I felt so sure.’

  ‘And the other guardians? Do you know where they are?’

  He leaned over and closed her fingers over the merel. ‘No more questions, Alaïs. Take good care of this. Keep it safe. And hide the board with the labyrinth where no prying eyes can see it. I will deal with it when I return.’

  Alaïs rose to her feet. ‘What of the board?’

  Pelletier smiled at her persistence. ‘I will give it some thought, Filha.’

  ‘But does its presence here mean someone in the Chateau knows of the existence of the books?’

  ‘No one can know,’ he said firmly. ‘If I thought there was any question of it, I would tell you. On my word.’

  They were brave words, fighting words, but his expression gave them the lie.

  ‘But if — ’

  ‘Basta,’ he said softly, raising his arms. ‘No more.’

  Alaïs let herself be enveloped in his giant embrace. The familiar smell of him brought tears to her eyes.

  ‘All will be well,’ he said firmly. ‘You must be brave. Do only what I have asked of you, no more.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘Come bid us farewell at dawn.’ Alaïs nodded, not daring to speak.

  ‘Ben, ben. Now, make haste. And may God keep you.’

  Alaïs ran down the dark corridor and out into the courtyard without drawing breath, seeing ghosts and demons in every shadow. Her head was spinning. The old familiar world seemed suddenly a mirror image of its former self, both recognisable and utterly different. The package concealed beneath her dress seemed to be burning a hole in her skin.

  Outside the air was cool. Most people had retired for the night, although there were still a few lights shining in the rooms overlooking the Cour d’Honneur. A burst of laughter from the guards at the gatehouse made her jump. For a moment, she imagined she saw a person silhouetted in one of the upper rooms. But then a bat swooped in front of her, drawing her gaze, and when she looked again the window was dark.

  She walked faster. Her father’s words were spinning around in her head, all the questions she should have asked and had not.

  A few more steps and she started to feel a prickling at the back of her neck. She glanced over her shoulder.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  Nobody answered. She called out again. There was malice in the darkness, she could smell it, feel it. Alaïs walked faster, certain now she was being followed. She could hear the soft shuffle of feet and the sound of heavy breathing.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she called again.

  Without warning, a rough and calloused hand, reeking of ale, clamped itself over her mouth. She cried out as she felt a sudden, sharp blow on the back of her head and she fell.

  It seemed to take a long time for her to reach the ground. Then there were hands crawling all over her, like rats in a cellar, until they found what they wanted.

  ‘Aquies.’ Here it is.

  It was the last thing Alaïs heard before the blackness closed over her.

  CHAPTER 11

  Pic de Soularac Sabarthès Mountains Southwest France

  MONDAY 4 JULY 2005

  ‘Alice! Alice, can you hear me?’

  Her eyes flickered and opened.

  The air was chill and damp, like an unheated church. Not flo
ating, but lying on the hard, cold ground.

  Where the hell am I? She could feel the dank earth rough and uneven beneath her arms and legs. Alice shifted position. Sharp stones and grit rubbed abrasively against her skin.

  No, not a church. A glimmer of memory came back. Walking down a long, dark tunnel into a cave, a stone chamber. Then what? Everything was blurred, frayed around the edges. Alice tried to raise her head. A mistake. Pain exploded at the base of her skull. Nausea sloshed in her stomach, like bilge water at the bottom of a rotting boat.

  ‘Alice? Can you hear me?’

  Someone was talking to her. Worried, anxious, a voice she knew.

  ‘Alice? Wake up.’ She tried to lift her head. This time, the pain wasn’t so bad. Slowly, carefully, she raised herself a little.

  ‘Christ,’ muttered Shelagh, sounding relieved.

  She was aware of hands beneath her arms helping her into a sitting position. Everything was gloomy and dark, except for the darting circles of light from the torches. Two torches. Alice narrowed her eyes and recognised Stephen, one of the older members of the team, hovering behind Shelagh, his wire-framed glasses catching in the light.

  ‘Alice, talk to me. Can you hear me?’ said Shelagh.

  I’m not sure. Maybe.

  Alice tried to speak, but her mouth was crooked and no words came out. She tried to nod. The exertion made her head spin. She dropped her head between her knees to stop herself passing out.

  With Shelagh on one side and Stephen on the other, she edged herself back until she was sitting on the top of the stone steps, hands on her knees. Everything seemed to be shifting backwards and forwards, in and out, like a film out of focus.

  Shelagh crouched down in front of her, talking, but Alice couldn’t make out what she was saying. The sound was distorted, like a record played at the wrong speed. Another wave of nausea hit her as more, disconnected memories came flooding back: the noise of the skull as it fell away into the dark; her hand reaching out for the ring; the knowledge that she had disturbed something that slumbered in the deepest recesses of the mountain, something malevolent.