Labyrinth (44 page)

Simeon barely had time to recognise the leader of the ambush, when he was grabbed by the arms and thrown on his knees in front of the Frenchman.

Slowly, Simeon raised his eyes. The man had a cruel, thin face and expressionless eyes the colour of flint. His tunic and trousers were of good quality, cut in the northern style, although they gave no indication of his status or position.

“Where is it?” he demanded.

Simeon raised his head. “I don’t understand,” he replied in Yiddish.

The kick took him by surprise. He felt a rib snap and he fell backwards, his legs buckling under him. Simeon felt rough hands beneath his armpits propping him back in position.

“I know who you are, Jew,” he said. “There is no sense in playing this game with me. I will ask you once again. Where is the book?”

Simeon raised his head once more and said nothing.

This time, the man went for his face. Pain exploded inside his head as his mouth split open and teeth cracked in his jaw. Simeon could taste blood and saliva, stinging, on his tongue and throat.

“I have pursued you like an animal, Jew,” he said, “all the way from Chartres, to Beziers, to here. Tracked you down, like an animal. You have wasted a great deal of my time. My patience is growing thin.”

He took a step closer so that Simeon could see the hate in his grey, dead eyes. “Once more: where is the book? Did you give it to Pelletier?
C’est ca?
”

Two thoughts came simultaneously into Simeon’s mind. First, that he could not save himself. Second, that he must protect his friends. He still had that power. His eyes were swollen shut and blood pooled in the torn hollows of his lids.

“I have the right to know the name of my accuser,” he said through a mouth too broken for speech. “I would pray for you.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Make no mistake, you will tell me where you have hidden the book.”

He jerked his head.

Simeon was hauled to his feet. They ripped the clothes from him and threw him flat over a cart, one man holding his hands, the other his legs to expose his back. Simeon heard the sharp crack of the leather in the air just before the buckle connected with his bare skin. His body jerked in agony. “Where is it?” Simeon closed his eyes as the belt whipped down again through the air. “Is it in Carcassonne already? Or do you still have it with you, Jew?” He was shouting in time with the stroke. “You will tell me. You. Or them.”

Blood was flowing from the lacerations on his back. Simeon began to pray in the custom of his fathers, ancient, holy words thrown out into the darkness, keeping his mind from the pain.

“
Ou — est — le – livre
? the man insisted, another strike for every word.

It was the last thing Simeon heard before the darkness reached out and took him.

CHAPTER 49

The Crusade’s advance guard arrived within sight of Carcassonne on the Feast Day of Sant-Nasari, following the road from Trebes. The guards at the Tour Pinte lit the fires. The alarum bells were rung.

By the evening of the first of August, the French camp on the far side of the river had grown until there was a rival city of tents and pavilions, banners and golden crosses glittering in the sun. Barons from the north, Gascon mercenaries, soldiers from Chartres and Burgundy and Paris, sappers, longbowmen archers, priests, camp followers.

At Vespers, Viscount Trencavel ascended the ramparts, accompanied by Pierre-Roger de Cabaret, Bertrand Pelletier and one or two others. In the distance, trails of smoke spiralled up into the air. The river was a ribbon of silver.

“There are so very many.”

“No more than we expected,
Messire
,” replied Pelletier.

“How long, think you, before the main army arrives?”

“It’s hard to be sure,” he replied. “So large a fighting force will travel slowly. The heat will hinder them too.”

“Hinder them, yes,” said Trencavel. “Stop them, no.”

We’re ready for them,
Messire
. The
Ciutat
is well stocked. The
hourds
are completed to protect the walls from their sappers; all broken sections or points of weakness have been repaired and blocked; all the towers are manned.“ Pelletier waved his hand. ”The hawsers holding the mills in place in the river have been cut and the crops burned. The French will find little to sustain them here.“

His eyes flashing, Trencavel suddenly turned to de Cabaret.

“Let’s saddle our horses and make a
sortie
. Before night arrives and the sun sets, let’s take four hundred of our best men, those most skilled with lance, and with sword, and chase the French from our slopes. They will not expect us to take the battle to them. What say you?”

Pelletier sympathised with his desire to strike first. He also knew it would be an act of supreme folly.

There are battalions on the plains,
Messire, routiers
, small contingents from the advance party.“

Pierre-Roger de Cabaret added his voice. “Do not sacrifice your men, Raymond.”

“But if we could strike the first blow…”

We have prepared for siege,
Messire
, not open battle. The garrison is strong. The bravest, most experienced chevaliers are here, waiting for their chance to prove themselves.“

“But?” Trencavel sighed.

“You would be sacrificing them for no gain,” he said firmly.

“Your people trust you, they love you,” Pelletier said. “They will lay down their lives for you if need be. But, we should wait. Let them bring the battle to us.”

“I fear it is my pride that has brought us to this place,” he said in a low voice. “Somehow, I did not expect it to come to this, so soon.” He smiled.

“Do you remember how my mother used to fill the Chateau with singing and dancing, Bertrand? All the greatest troubadours and jongleurs came to play for her. Aimeric de Pegulham, Arnaut de Carcasses, even Guilhem Fabre and Bernat Alanham from Narbonne. We were always feasting, celebrating.”

“I have heard it was the finest court in the Pays d’Oc” He put his hand on his master’s shoulder. “And will be again.”

The bells fell silent. All eyes were on Viscount Trencavel.

When he spoke, Pelletier was proud to hear all trace of self-doubt were gone from his lord’s voice. He was no longer a boy remembering his his childhood, but a captain on the eve of battle.

“Order the posterns to be closed and the gates to be barred, Bertrand, .andd summon the commander of the garrison to the
donjon
. We will be ready for the French when they come.”

“Perhaps also send reinforcements to Sant-Vicens,
Messire
,” suggested de Cabaret. When the Host attacks, they will start there. And we cannot afford to relinquish our access to the river.“

Trencavel nodded.

Pelletier lingered a while after the others had gone, looking out over the as if to imprint its image in his mind.

To the north, the walls of Sant-Vicens were low and sparsely defended by towers. If the invaders penetrated the suburbs, they would be able to approach within bowshot of the Cite walls under the cover of the houses. The southern suburb, Sant-Miquel, would hold longer.

It was true that the Carcassonne was ready for siege. There was plenty of food - bread, cheese, beans - and goats for milk. But there were too many people within the walls and Pelletier was concerned about the supply of water. On his word, a guard was set on each of the wells and rationing was in place.

As he walked out of the Tour Pinte into the courtyard, Pelletier found his thoughts once more turning to Simeon. Twice he had sent Francois to the Jewish
quartier
for news, but both times he had returned empty handed and Pelletier’s anxiety increased with each passing day.

He took a quick look around the courtyard and decided he could be spared for a few hours.

He headed for the stables.

Pelletier followed the most direct route across the plains and through the woods, very aware of the Host camped in the distance.

Although the Jewish quarter was crowded and people were on the streets, it was unnaturally quiet and hushed. There was fear and apprehension on every face, young and old. Soon, they knew, the fighting would begin. As Pelletier rode through the narrow alleys, women and children looked up at him with anxious eyes, looking for hope in his face. He had nothing to offer them.

No one had any news of Simeon. He found his lodgings easily enough, but the door was barred. He dismounted and knocked on the house opposite.

“I seek a man called Simeon,” he said, when a woman came fearfully to door. “Do you know of whom I speak?”

She nodded. “He came with the others from Besiers.”

“Can you remember when last you saw him?”

“A few days back, before we heard the news of Besiers, he went to Carcassona. A man came for him.”

Pelletier frowned. “What manner of man?”

“A high-born servant. Orange hair,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“Simeon appeared to know him.”

Pelletier’s bafflement deepened. It sounded like Francois, except how could it be? He said he had not found Simeon.

“That was the last time I saw him.”

You are saying Simeon did not return from Carcassona?“

“If he’s got any sense, he’ll have stayed. He will be safer there than here.”

“Is it possible Simeon could have come back without you seeing him?” he said desperately. “You might have been sleeping. You might not have noticed him return.”

“Look,
Messire
,” she replied, pointing to the house across the street.

“You can see for yourself.
Vueg
.” Empty.

CHAPTER 50

Oriane tiptoed along the corridor to her sister’s chamber.

“Alais!” Guirande was sure her sister was once again with their father, but she was cautious. “
Sorre
?”

When no one answered, Oriane opened the door and stepped inside.

With the skill of a thief, she quickly began to search Alais’ possessions.

Bottles, jars and bowls, her wardrobe, drawers filled with cloth and perfumes and sweet-smelling herbs. Oriane patted the pillows and found a lavender posy, which didn’t interest her. Then she checked over and beneath the bed. There was nothing but dead insects and cobwebs.

As she turned back to face the room, she noticed a heavy brown hunting cloak lying over the back of Alais’ sewing chair. Her threads and needles were spread all around. Oriane felt a spark of excitement. Why a winter cloak at this time of year? Why was Alais mending her clothes herself?

She picked it up and immediately felt something was wrong. It was lopsided and hung crookedly. Oriane lifted the corner and saw something had been sewn into the hem.

Quickly, she unpicked the stitching, pushed her fingers inside and pulled out a small, rectangular object, wrapped in a piece of linen.

She was about to investigate, when a noise in the corridor outside drew her attention. Quick as a flash, Oriane concealed the parcel beneath her dress and returned the cloak to the back of the chair.

A hand descended heavily on her shoulder. Oriane jumped.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he said.

“Guilhem,” she gasped, clasping her hand to her chest. You startled me.“

“What are you doing in my wife’s chamber, Oriane?”

Oriane raised her chin. “I could ask you the same question.”

In the darkening room, she saw his expression harden and knew the dart had hit home.

“I have every right to be here, whereas you do not…” He glanced at the cloak, then back to her face.

“What are you doing?”

She met his gaze. “Nothing that concerns you.”

Guilhem kicked the door shut with his heel.

You forget yourself, Dame,“ he said, grabbing her wrist.

“Don’t be a fool, Guilhem,” she said in a low voice. “Open the door. It will go ill for both of us if someone comes and finds us together.”

“Don’t play games with me, Oriane. I’m in no mood for them. I’m not letting you go unless you tell me what you are doing here. Did he send you here?”

Oriane looked at him with genuine confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Guilhem, on my word.”

His fingers were digging deep into her skin. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice, ?? I saw you together, Oriane.”

Relief flooded through her. Now she understood the reason for his temper. Provided Guilhem had not recognised her companion, she could , turn the misunderstanding to her advantage.

“Let me go,” she said, trying to twist out of his grasp. “If you remember,
Messire
, you were the one who said we could meet no longer.” She tossed tier black hair and glared at him, eyes flashing. “So if I choose to seekcomfort elsewhere, how can it concern you? You have no right over me.”

“Who is he?”

Oriane thought quickly. She needed a name that would satisfy him. “Before I tell you, I want you to promise that you will not do anything unwise,” she pleaded, playing for time.

“At this moment, Dame, you are not in a position to set terms.”

“Then at least let us go elsewhere, to my chamber, the courtyard, anywhere but here. If Alais should come…”

From the expression on his face, Oriane knew she had got him. His greatest fear now was that Alais would discovery his infidelity.

“Very well,” he said roughly. He flung open the door with his free hand, half pushed, half dragged her along the corridor. By the time they eached her chamber, Oriane had gathered her thoughts.

“Speak, Dame,” he commanded.

Her eyes fixed on the ground, Oriane confessed she had accepted the attentions of a new suitor, the son of one of the Viscount’s allies. He had admired her.

“Is this the truth?” he demanded.

“I swear it is, on my life,” she whispered, glancing up at him through tear-stained lashes.

He was still suspicious, but there was a flicker of indecision in his eyes.

“This does not answer why you were in my wife’s chamber.”

“Safe-guarding your reputation only,” she said. “Returning to its rightful place something of yours.”