Labyrinth (54 page)

“So, my friends,” Trencavel concluded. Who will accompany me on this journey?“

Guilhem felt Oriane’s sharp finger in his back. He found himself stepping forward. He knelt down, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and offered his service. As Raymond-Roger clasped him on the shoulder in gratitude, Guilhem burned with shame.

“You have our great thanks, Guilhem. Who, now, will go with you?”

Six other
chevaliers
joined Guilhem. Oriane slipped between them and bowed before the Viscount.

“
Messire
, by your leave.”

Congost had not noticed his wife in the mass of men. He flushed red and flapped his hands in embarrassment, as if shooing crows from a field.

“Withdraw, Dame,” he stammered in his shrill voice. “This is no place for you.”

Oriane ignored him. Trencavel raised his hand and summoned her forward. What is it that you want to say, Dame?“

“Forgive me,
Messire
, honoured
chevaliers
, friends… husband. With your leave and God’s blessing, I want to offer myself as a member of this party. I have lost a father and now, it appears, a sister too. Such grief is heavy to bear. But if my husband will release me, I would like to redeem my loss and show my love for you,
Messire
, by this act. It is what my father would wish.”

Congost looked as if he would like the ground to open up and swallow him. Guilhem stared at the ground. Viscount Trencavel could not hide his surprise.

“With respect, Dame Oriane, this is not a woman’s office.”

“In which case, I offer myself as a willing hostage,
Messire
. My presence will be proof of your fair intentions, as clear an indication as any that Carcassona will abide by the conventions of the parley.”

Trencavel considered for a moment, and then turned to Congost. “She is your wife. Can you spare her in our cause?”

Jehan stuttered and rubbed his sweaty hands on his tunic. He wanted to refuse his permission, but it was clear the proposal had merit in the Viscount’s eyes.

“My wishes are but the servants to yours,” he mumbled.

Trencavel bid her rise. “Your late father, my esteemed friend, would be proud of what you do today.”

Oriane looked up at him from under her dark lashes. “And with your leave, may I take Francois with me? He too, united as we all are in grief for my worthy father, would be glad of the chance to serve.”

Guilhem felt the bile rising in his throat, unable to believe any of the listeners would be convinced by Oriane’s show of filial affection, but they were. Admiration showed in every face, bar her husband’s. Guilhem grimaced. He and Congost alone knew Oriane’s true worth. All others were beguiled by her beauty, her gentle words. As once he had been.

Sickened to the bottom of his heart, Guilhem glanced to where Francois stood impassive, his face a perfect mask, on the outskirts of the group.

“If you believe it will aid our cause, Dame,” Viscount Trencavel replied, “then you have my permission.”

Oriane curtseyed once more. “Thank you,
Messire
.”

He clapped his hands. “Saddle the horses.”

Oriane kept close to Guilhem as they rode across the devastated land to the pavilion of the Count of Nevers, where the parley was to take place. From the Cite, those with the strength to climb the walls stood in silence and watched them go.

The moment they entered the camp, Oriane slipped away. Ignoring the lewd and rough calls of the soldiers, she followed Francois through the sea of tents and colours, until they found themselves in the green and silver of Chartres.

“This way, Dame,” murmured Francois, pointing to a pavilion set a little apart from everyone else. The soldiers stood to attention as they approached and held their pikes across the opening. One of them acknowledged Francois with a nod.

“Tell your master that Dame Oriane, daughter of the late steward of Carcassona, is here and wishes audience with Lord Evreux.”

Oriane was taking a terrible risk coming to him. From Francois, she knew of his cruelty and quick temper. She was playing for high stakes.

“On what matter?” demanded the soldier.

“My lady will speak to none but Lord Evreux himself.”

The man hesitated, then he ducked beneath the opening and disappeared into the tent. Moments, later, he came out and beckoned them to follow.

Her first sight of Guy d’Evreux did nothing to allay her fears. He had his back to her as she entered the tent. He turned and flint grey eyes burned in his pale face. His black hair was oiled back from his forehead in the French style. He had the look of a hawk about to strike.

“Lady, I have heard much about you.” His voice was calm and steady, at there was a hint of steel behind it. “I did not expect to have the pleasure of meeting you in person. What can I do for you?”

“I hope it will be a question of what I can do for you, my lord,” she said.

Before she knew it, Evreux had taken hold of her wrist.

“I advise you not to bandy words with me, Lady Oriane. Your pleasant southern ways will do you no good here.” Behind her, she felt Francois trying not to react. “Do you have news for me, yes or no?” he said. “Speak.”

Oriane held her nerve. “This is an ill way to treat one who brings you at most you desire,” she said, meeting his gaze.

Evreux raised his arm. “I could beat the information out of you, as soon as be kept waiting and save us both time.”

Oriane held her gaze. “Then you will learn only part of what I have to say,” she said as steadily as she could. “You have invested much in your quest for the Labyrinth Trilogy. I can give you what you want.”

Evreux stared at her a moment, then lowered his arm.

“You have courage, Lady Oriane, I give you that. Whether you also have wisdom remains to be seen.”

He clicked his ringers and a servant brought a tray of wine. Oriane’s hands were shaking too hard to risk taking a cup.

“No thank you, my lord.”

“As you wish,” he said, gesturing to her to sit. “What is it you want, my lady?”

“If I deliver to you what you seek, I wish you to take me north when you return home.” From the look on his face, Oriane knew she had finally succeeded in surprising him. “As your wife.”

“You have a husband,” Evreux said, looking over her head to Francois for confirmation. Trencavel’s scribe, I heard. Is that not the case?“

Oriane held his gaze. “I regret to say my husband was killed. Struck down within the walls whilst doing his duty.”

“My condolences for your loss.” Evreux pressed his long, thin fingers together, making a church of his hands. “This siege could yet last years. What makes you so sure that I will return north?”

“It is my belief, my Lord Evreux,” she said, choosing her words with care, “that your presence here is for one purpose. If, with my assistance, you are able to conclude your business in the south speedily, I can see no reason you would wish to stay beyond your forty days.”

Evreux gave a tight smile. “You have no faith in your lord Trencavel’s power to persuade?”

“With all due respect to those under whose banner you march, my lord, I do not believe the revered Abbot’s intention is to conclude this engagement by diplomatic means.”

Evreux continued to stare at her. Oriane held her breath.

“You play your hand well, Lady Oriane,” he said in the end.

She bowed her head, but did not speak. He got up and walked towards her.

“I accept your proposal,” he said, handing her a goblet.

This time, she took it.

“There is one thing more, my lord,” she said. Within Viscount Trencavel’s party is a
chevalier
, Guilhem du Mas. He is the husband of my sister. It would be advisable, if this is within your power, to take steps to contain his influence.“

“Permanently?”

Oriane shook her head. “He may yet have a part to play in our plans. But it would be advisable to limit his influence. Viscount Trencavel favours him and, with my father gone…”

Evreux nodded and dispatched Francois. “Now, my Lady Oriane,” he said, as soon as they were alone. “No more prevarication. Tell me what you have to offer.”

CHAPTER 62

“Alais! Alais! Wake up!”

Someone was shaking her shoulders. That was wrong. She was sitting on the bank of the river, in the peace and dappled light of her private glade. She could feel the cool water trickling between her toes, cold and fresh, and the soft touch of the sun caressing her cheek. She could taste the strong Corbieres wine on her tongue and her nose was full of the intoxicating aroma of the warm white bread she lifted to her mouth.

Beside her, Guilhem was lying asleep in the grass.

The world was so green, the sky so blue.

She jolted awake, to find herself still in the dank, semi-gloom of the tunnels. Sajhe was standing over her.

“You must wake up, Dame.”

Alais scrambled into a sitting position. “What’s happened? Is Esclarmonde all right?”

“Viscount Trencavel has been taken.”

“Taken,” she said in bewilderment. “Taken where? By whom?”

“They are saying by treason. People are saying that the French tricked him into their camp, and then took him by force. Others, that he has given himself to save the
Ciutat
. And…”

Sajhe broke off. Even in the half-light, Alais could see he was flushing.

“What is it?”

They are saying Dame Oriane and Chevalier du Mas were of the Viscount’s party.“ He hesitated. ”They, too, have not returned.“

Alais got to her feet. She glanced at Esclarmonde, who was sleeping calmly. “She’s resting. She will be fine without us for a while. Come. We must find out what is happening.”

They ran swiftly along the tunnel and climbed the ladder. Alais flung the trap door open and hauled Sajhe up after her.

Outside, the streets were crowded, filled with bewildered people rushing aimlessly backwards and forwards.

“Can you tell me what’s happening?” she shouted at a man running by.

He shook his head and kept running. Sajhe took her hand and dragged her into a small house on the opposite side of the street.

“Gaston will know.”

Alais followed him in. Gaston and his brother, Pons, rose as she entered.

“Dame.”

“Is it true that the viscount has been captured?” she asked.

Gaston nodded. “Yesterday morning the Count of Auxerre came to propose a meeting between Viscount Trencavel and the Count of Nevers, in the presence of the Abbot. He went with a small entourage, your sister among them. As to what happened after that, Dame Alais, nobody knows. Either our lord Trencavel gave himself up of his own accord to purchase our freedom or else he was deceived.”

“None has returned,” added Pons.

“Either way, there will be no fighting,” said Gaston quietly. “The garrison has surrendered. The French have already taken possession of the main gates and towers.”

“What!” Alais exclaimed, looking in disbelief from face to face. What are the terms of the surrender?“

That all citizens, Cathar, Jew and Catholic, will be allowed to leave Carcassona without fear of our lives, carrying nothing but the clothes we stand up in.“

“There are to be no interrogations? No burnings?”

“It seems not. The entire population is to be exiled, but not harmed.”

Alais sank down in a chair before her legs gave way from under her.

“What of Dame Agnes?”

“She and the young prince are to be given safe conduct into the custody of the Count of Foix, provided she renounces all claims on behalf of her son.” Gaston cleared his throat. “I am sorry for the loss of your husband and sister, Dame Alais.”

“Does anyone know the fate of our men?”

Pons shook his head.

“Is it a trick, think you?” she said fiercely.

“There is no way of knowing, Dame. Only when the exodus begins will we see if the French are as good as their word.”

“Everyone is to leave through one gate, the Porte d’Aude to the west of the Cite at the ringing of the bells at dusk.”

“It is over then,” she said, almost in a whisper. “The
Ciutat
has surrendered.”

At least my father did not live to see the viscount in French hands.

“Esclarmonde improves daily, but she is still weak. Can I impose upon you further and ask if you could accompany her from the
Ciutat
? She paused. ”For reasons I dare not confide, for your sake as much as Esclarmonde’s, it would be wisest if we travelled separately.“

Gaston nodded. “You fear those who inflicted these appalling injuries in the first instance might yet be looking for her?”

Alais looked at him in surprise. “Well, yes,” she admitted.

“It will be an honour to help you, Dame Alais.” He flushed red. “Your father… He was a fair man.”

She nodded. “He was.”

As the dying rays of the setting sun painted the outer walls of the Chateau Comtal with a fierce orange light, the courtyard, the walkways and the Great Hall were silent. Everything was abandoned, empty.

At the Porte d’Aude, a mass of frightened and bewildered people were herded together, desperately trying to keep sight of their loved ones, averting their eyes from the contemptuous faces of the French soldiers, who stared at them as if they were less than human. Their hands rested on the hilts of their swords as if only waiting for an excuse.

Alais hoped her disguise would be good enough. She shuffled forward, awkward in men’s boots several times too big for her, keeping close to the man in front. She had strapping around her chest to flatten her and to conceal the books and parchments. In breeches, shirt and a nondescript straw hat, she looked like any other boy. She had pebbles in her mouth, which altered the shape of her face, and she’d cut her hair and rubbed mud in it to darken it.

The line moved forward. Alais kept looking down, for fear of catching the eye of anyone who might recognise her and give her away. The line thinned to a single file the closer they got to the gate. There were four Crusaders on guard, their expressions dull and resentful. They were stopping people, forcing them to remove their clothes to prove they were smuggling nothing underneath.