Labyrinth (8 page)

Sajhe walked past the stalls selling grain and salt, white meats, ale from casks and wine, until he found himself at a stand selling herbs and exotic spices. In front of the table was a merchant. Sajhe had never seen a man so tall, so black. He was dressed in long, shimmering blue robes, a shining silk turban and red and gold pointed slippers. His skin was darker even than that of the gypsies that traveled from Navarre and Aragon over the mountains. Sajhe guessed he must be a Saracen, although he’d never me one before.

The merchant had laid out his display in the shape of a wheel: green and yellows, oranges, browns and reds, ocher. At the front were rosemary and parsley, garlic, marigold and lavender, but at the back there were more expensive spices, such as cardamom, nutmeg and saffron. Sajhe didn’t recognize any of the others, but he was already looking forward to telling hi grandmother what he had seen.

He was about to step forward to get a better look, when the Saracen roared in a voice like thunder. His heavy dark hand grabbed the skinny wrist of a cutpurse who’d tried to steal a coin from the embroidered purse that hung from a twisted red cord around his waist. He cuffed the boy around the head, sending him flying back into a woman standing behind, who started shouting. Straight away a crowd started to gather. Sajhe slipped away. He didn’t want to get caught up in any trouble.

Sajhe wandered out of the square toward the
taberna Sant Joan dels Evangelis.
Since he had no money with him, at the back of his mind was the idea he could offer to run errands in exchange for a cup of
brout.
Then he heard someone calling his name.

Sajhe turned and saw one of his grandmother’s friends, Na Marti, sitting with her husband at their stall, waving to attract his attention. She was a weaver and her husband was a carder. Most weeks they could be found in the same spot, spinning and combing, preparing their wool and threads.

Sajhe waved back. Like Esclarmonde, Na Marti was a follower of the new church. Her husband, Senher Marti was not a believer, although he had come to Esclarmonde’s house with his wife at Pentecost to hear the
Bans Homes
preach.

Na Marti ruffled his hair.

“How are you, young man? You’re getting so tall, these days, I hardly recognize you.”

“Fine, thank you,” he replied, smiling at her, then turned to her husband who was combing wool into skeins ready to sell.
“Bonjorn, Senher.”

“And Esclarmonde?” Na Marti continued. “She’s keeping well too? Keeping everyone in order as usual?”

He grinned. “She’s the same as always.”

“
Ben, ben
.” Good.

Sajhe sat himself down cross-legged at her feet and watched the spinning wheel as it turned round and round.

“Na Marti?” he said, after a while. “Why don’t you come to pray with us anymore?”

Senher Marti stopped what he was doing and exchanged a worried glance with his wife.

“Oh, you know how it is,” Na Marti replied, avoiding his eye. “We’re so busy these days. It’s hard to make the journey to Carcassonne as often as we’d like.”

She adjusted her bobbin and continued to spin, the rocking of the treadle filling the silence that had fallen between them.

“
Menina
misses you.”

“I miss her too, but friends can’t always be together.”

Sajhe frowned. “But then why—”

Senher Marti tapped him sharply on the shoulder.

“Do not talk so loudly,” he said in a low voice. “This sort of thing is be kept to ourselves.”

“What’s best kept to ourselves?” he said, puzzled. “I only—”

“We heard, Sajhe,” said Senher Marti, glancing over his shoulder. “The whole market heard. Now, no more about prayer, ?”

Confused about what he’d done to make Senher Marti so angry, Sajhe scrambled to his feet. Na Marti turned on her husband. They seemed have forgotten all about him.

“You’re being too harsh on him, Rogier,” she hissed. “He’s just a boy.”

“And it only takes one person with a loose tongue and we’ll be round* up with the others. We can’t afford to take risks. If people think we associate with heretics—”

“Heretic, indeed,” she snapped back. “He’s only a child!”

“Not the boy. Esclarmonde. It’s common knowledge she’s one of them. And if it gets out that we go to pray in her house, they’ll accuse us of following the
Bons Homes
too and we’ll be persecuted.”

“So we abandon our friends? Just because of a few scare stories you heard.”

Senher Marti dropped his voice. “I’m just saying we should be careful. You know what people are saying. That an army is coming to drive’t heretics out.”

“They’ve been saying that for years. You are making too much of it.. for the legates, these ”men of God‘ have been strolling around the countryside for years now, drinking themselves into the grave and nothing ever come of it. Let the bishops argue it out amongst themselves and let the rest of us to get on with our lives.“

She turned away from her husband. “Take no notice,” she said, putting her hand on Sajhe’s shoulder. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Sajhe looked at his feet, not wanting her to see him cry.

Na Marti continued in an unnaturally bright voice. “Now then, were you saying the other day that you wanted to buy a present for Alais? Why don’t we see what we can find?”

Sajhe nodded. He knew she was trying to reassure him, but he felt muddled and embarrassed.

“I don’t have any means to pay,” he said.

“Well, don’t you worry about that. I’m sure we can overlook that j this once. Now, why don’t you take a look.” Na Marti ran her fingers over the colorful rows of thread. “What about this? Do you think she’d like it? It’s a perfect match for her eyes.”

Sajhe fingered the delicate copper-brown thread. I’m not sure.

“Well, I think she will. Shall I wrap it for you?”

She turned away to look for a square of cloth to protect the thread. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, Sajhe tried to think of something safe to say.

“I saw her earlier.”

“Alais, yes? How was she? With that sister of hers?”

He pulled a face. “No. But she didn’t look very happy all the same.”

“Well,” said Na Marti, “if she was upset before, then this is just the right time to give her a present. It will cheer her up. Alais usually comes to market in the morning, doesn’t she? If you keep your eyes open and your wits about you, I’m sure you’ll find her.”

Glad to be excused from the strained company, Sajhe tucked the package under his tunic and said his goodbyes. After a couple of steps, he turned to wave. The Martis were standing side by side, looking after him, but saying nothing.

The sun was now high in the sky. Sajhe wandered around, asking after Alais. No one had seen her.

He was hungry now and had decided he might as well go home, when he suddenly caught sight of Alais standing at a stall offering goat’s cheese for sale. He broke into a run and crept up on her, throwing his arms around her waist.

“Bonjorn.”

Alais spun round, rewarding him with a wide smile when she saw who it was.

“Sajhe,” she said, ruffling his hair. “You gave me a surprise!”

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he grinned. “Are you all right? I saw you earlier. You looked upset.”

“Earlier?”

“You were riding into the chateau with your father. Just after the messenger.”

“Ah, earlier,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. I’d just had a tiring morning. How lovely to see your lively face, though.” She gave him a kiss on the top of his head, making Sajhe scarlet. He stared furiously at his feet, not wanting her to see. “Anyway, since you’re here, help me choose a good cheese.”

The smooth round tablets of fresh goat’s cheese were laid out in a perfect pattern on a bed of straw pressed tight inside wooden trays. Some looked dry with a yellowish skin. These were stronger flavored and might be a fortnight old. Others, made more recently, glistened wet and soft. Alai’s asked the prices, pointing at this portion and that, asking Sajhe’s advice, until at last they had chosen the piece she wanted. She gave him a coin from her purse to hand to the seller, while she pulled out a small polished wooden board on which to carry the cheese.

Sajhe’s eyes flared wide with surprise when he glimpsed the pattern on the reverse. Why did Alai’s have it? How? In his confusion, he dropped the coins on the ground. Embarrassed, he dived under the table, playing for time. When he stood up again, to his relief Alai’s appeared not to have noticed anything amiss, so Sajhe put the matter out of his mind. Instead, once the transaction was complete, he plucked up the courage to give Alai’s her present.

“I have something for you,” he said shyly, thrusting the package abruptly into her hands.

“How kind,” she said. “Is it from Esclarmonde?”

“No, from me.”

“What a lovely surprise. May I open it now?”

He nodded, face serious, but eyes sparkling with anticipation as Alai’s carefully unwrapped the parcel.

“Oh, Sajhe, it’s beautiful,” she said, holding up the shiny, brown thread. “It’s absolutely beautiful.”

“I didn’t steal it,” he said quickly. “Na Marti gave it to me. I think she was trying to make it up to me.”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Sajhe regretted them.

“Make up to you for what?” said Alai’s quickly.

Just then, a shout went up. A man close by was pointing up at the sky. A flock of large, black birds was flying low across the Cite, from west to east, in the shape of an arrow. The sun seemed to glance off their sleek, dark feathers, like sparks from an anvil. Somebody close by said it was an omen, although nobody could agree if it was a good one or a bad one.

Sajhe did not believe in such superstitions, but today it made him shiver. Alai’s seemed to feel something too, because she put her arm around his shoulder and pulled him close.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“
Res
,” she said, too quickly. Nothing.

High above them, unconcerned with the human world, the birds continued on their way, until they were no more than a smudge in the sky.

CHAPTER 5

By the time Alais had shaken off her faithful shadow and made her way back to the Chateau Comtal, the midday bells were ringing out from Sant-Nasari.

She was exhausted and tripped several times going up the stairs, which seemed steeper than usual. All she wanted was to lie down in the privacy of her own chamber and rest.

Alais was surprised to find her door closed. By now, the servants should have been in and finished their tasks. The curtains around the bed were still drawn. In the half-light, Alais saw Francois had put her
panier
on the low table beside the hearth as she’d asked him.

She put the cheese board down on the nightstand, then walked to the window to pin back the shutter. It should have been opened well before now to air the chamber. Daylight flooded in, revealing a layer of dust on the furniture and the patches on the bed curtains where the material had grown thin.

Alais walked over to the bed and pulled back the curtains.

To her astonishment Guilhem was still lying there, sleeping just as she’d left him before dawn. She gaped in surprise. He looked so perfectly at ease, so fine. Even Oriane, who had little good to say about anyone, admitted Guilhem was one of the finest looking of Viscount Trencavel’s
chevaliers.

Alais sat down on the bed next to him and ran her hand over his golden skin. Then, feeling unaccountably bold, she dipped a finger into the soft wet goat’s cheese and spread a tiny amount on her husband’s lips. Guilhem murmured and stirred beneath the bedclothes. He did not open his eyes, but he smiled languidly and reached out his hand.

Alais caught her breath. The air around her seemed to vibrate with expectation and promise as she allowed him to pull her down toward him.

The intimacy of the moment was shattered by the sound of heavy feet in the corridor. Somebody was bellowing Guilhem’s name, a familiar voice, distorted by anger. Alais sprang up, mortified at the thought of her father witnessing so private a scene between them. Guilhem’s eyes snapped open, just as the door was flung open and Pelletier strode into the room, Francois at his heels.

“You’re late, du Mas,” he roared, snatching a cloak from the nearest chair and hurling it at his son-in-law’s head. “Get up. Everybody else is already in the Great Hall, waiting.”

Guilhem scrambled upright. “The hall?”

“Viscount Trencavel summons his
chevaliers,
yet here you lie in bed. Do you think that you can just please yourself?” He was standing over Guilhem. “Well? What have you got to say for yourself?”

Pelletier suddenly noticed his daughter standing at the far side of the bed. His face softened. “Excuse me,
Filha.
I did not see you. Are you feeling better?”

She bowed her head. “Pleasing you,
Messire
, I am quite well.”

“Feeling better?” asked Guilhem with confusion. “Are you unwell? Is something wrong?”

“Get up!” Pelletier yelled, switching his attention back to the bed. “You have as much time as it takes me to walk down the stairs and cross the courtyard, du Mas. If you are not in the Great Hall by then, it will be the worse for you!” Without another word, Pelletier spun on his heel and stormed out of the chamber.

In the painful silence that followed his departure, Alai’s felt rooted to the spot with embarrassment, although whether for herself or her husband, she could not tell.

Guilhem exploded. “How dare he burst in here as if he owns me? Who does he think he is?” With a savage kick, he launched the covers to the floor and hurled himself out of bed. “Duty calls,” he said sarcastically. “It wouldn’t do to keep the great Intendant Pelletier waiting.”

Alai’s suspected that anything she said would make Guilhem’s temper worse. She wanted to tell him what had happened at the river, at least to take his mind off his own anger, but she had given her father her word she would speak to no one.

Guilhem had already crossed the room and was getting dressed with his back to her. His shoulders were tense as he pulled on his tabard and fastened his belt.