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.
Alais could see the guards had stopped Esclarmonde’s litter. Clutching a kerchief over his mouth, Gaston was explaining his mother was very ill.
The guard pulled back the curtain and immediately stepped back. Alais hid a smile. She had sewed rotting meat into a pig’s bladder and wrapped stained, bloodied bandages around her feet.
The guard waved them through.
Sajhe was several families behind, travelling with Senher and Na Couza and their six children, who had similar colouring. She had rubbed dirt into his hair to darken it too. The only thing she could not disguise were his eyes, so he was under strict instruction not to look up if he could help it.
The line lurched forward once more. It’s my turn. They’d agreed she would pretend not to understand if anyone spoke to her.
2›Toi! Paysan. Qu’est-ce que tu portes la?“ 2›
She kept her head down, resisting the temptation to touch the strapping around her body.
2›“Eh, toi!” 2›
The pike cut through the air and Alais braced herself for a blow that never came. Instead, the girl in front of her was knocked to the ground.
She scrambled in the dirt for her hat. She raised her frightened face to her accuser.
“Canhot.”
What’s she say?“ the guard muttered. ”I can’t understand a word they say.“
“Chien. She’s got a puppy.”
Before any of them knew what was happening, the soldier had hauled the dog out of her arms and run it through with his spear. Blood splattered over the front of the girl’s dress.
“Allez! Vite.”
The girl was too shocked to move. Alais helped her to her feet and encouraged her to keep moving, steering her through the gate, fighting the impulse to turn around and check on Sajhe. Soon, she was out.
Now I see them.
On the hill overlooking the gate were the French barons. Not the leaders, who Alais presumed were waiting until the evacuation was over before making their entrance into Carcassonne, but knights wearing the colours of Burgundy, Nevers and Chartres.
At the end of the row, closest to the path, a tall, thin man sat astride a powerful grey stallion. Despite the long southern summer, his skin was still as white as milk. Beside him was Francois. Next to him, Alais recognised Oriane’s familiar red dress.
But not Guilhem.
Keep walking, keeping your eyes fastened on the ground.
She was so close now that she could smell the leather of the saddles and bridles of the horses. Oriane’s eyes seemed to be burning into her.
An old man, with sad eyes full of pain, tapped her on the arm. He needed help on the steep slope. Alais gave him her shoulder. It was the luck she needed. Looking to all the world like a grandson and grand father, she passed directly beneath Oriane’s gaze without being recognised.
The path seemed to last forever. Finally, they reached the shaded area at the bottom of the slope where the ground levelled out and the woods and marshes began. Alais saw her companion reunited with his son and daughter-in-law, then detached herself from the main crowd and slipped into the trees.
As soon as she was out of sight, Alais spat the stones from her mouth.
The inside of her cheeks were raw and dry. She rubbed her jaw, trying to ease the discomfort. She took her hat off and ran her fingers through her stubbly hair. It felt like damp straw, prickly and uncomfortable on the back of her neck.
A shout at the gate drew her attention.
No, please. Not him.
A soldier was holding Sajhe by the scruff of the neck. She could see him kicking, trying to get free. He was holding something in his hands. A small box.
Alais’s heart plummeted. She couldn’t risk going back up, so was powerless to do anything. Na Couza was arguing with the soldier, who struck her round the head, sending her sprawling back into the dirt. Sajhe took his chance. He wriggled out of the man’s grasp and scrambled down the slope. Senher Couza helped his wife to her feet.
Alais held her breath. For a moment, it seemed as if it was going to be all right. The soldier had lost interest. But then Alais heard a woman shouting. Oriane was shouting and pointing at Sajhe, ordering the guards to stop him.
She’s recognised him.
Sajhe might not be Alais, but he was the next best thing.
There was an immediate outburst of activity. Two of the guards set off down the slopes after Sajhe, but he was a fast runner, sure-footed and confident. Weighted down by their weapons and armour, they were no match for an eleven-year-old boy. Silently, Alais urged him on, watching as he darted this way and that, jumping and leaping over the uneven patches of ground, until he reached the cover of the woods.
Realising she was about to lose him, Oriane sent Francois to follow.
His horse thundered down the track, slipping and skidding on the steep, dry earth, but he covered the ground quickly. Sajhe hurtled into the undergrowth, Francois hard on his heels.
Alais realised Sajhe was heading for the boggy marshland where the Aude split into several tributaries. The ground was green and looked like a meadow in spring, but it was lethal underneath. Local people stayed away.
Alais pulled herself up into a tree for a better view. Francois either didn’t realise where Sajhe was going or didn’t care, because he spurred his horse on. He’s gaining on him. Sajhe stumbled and nearly lost his footing, but he managed to keep running, zigzagging through the thicket, leading them through blackberry bushes and thistles.
Suddenly, Francois let out a howl of anger, which turned immediately to alarm. The sinking mud had wrapped itself around the hind legs of his horse. The terrified animal was baying, flailing its legs. Every desperate attempt only hastened its descent into the treacherous mud.
Francois threw himself from the saddle and tried to swim to the edges of the bog, but his body sank lower and lower, clawed down into the mud, until only the tips of his fingers could be seen.
Then, there was silence. It seemed to Alais as if even the birds had stopped singing. Terrified for Sajhe, she dropped down to the ground, just as he came back into view. He was ashen faced, his bottom lip trembling with exertion, and he was still clutching the wooden box.
“I led him into the marsh,” he said.
Alais put her hand on his shoulder. “I know. That was clever.”
“Was he a traitor too?”
She nodded. “I think that was what Esclarmonde was trying to tell us.” Alais pursed her lips together, glad her father had not lived to know it was Francois who had betrayed him. She shook the thought from her mind. “But what were you thinking, Sajhe? Why on earth were you carrying this box? It almost got you killed.”
“Menina told me to keep it safe.”
Sajhe“ stretched his fingers across the bottom of the box until he was able to press both sides at once. There was a sharp dick, then he turned the base, to reveal a flat, concealed drawer. He reached in and pulled out a piece of cloth.