The girl frowned. “But Sajhe told me to stay here until he came for me,” she said, a little less cautiously. “He said not to go with anyone else.”
“Sajhe said that, did he?” Oriane said, smiling. “Well, he said to me that you were good at looking after yourself, that I should give you something to persuade you to trust me.”
Oriane held out the ring she had stolen from her father’s cold hand. As she expected, Bertrande recognised it and reached for it.
“Sajhe gave you this?”
“Take it. See for yourself.”
Bertrande turned the ring, examining it thoroughly. She stood up.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” she said, frowning furiously. “Unless…”
“Yes?” Bertrande looked up at her.
“Do you think he meant you should go home?”
Bertrande thought for a moment. “He might,” she said doubtfully.
“Is it far?” asked Oriane casually.
“A day on horseback, perhaps more at this time of year.”
“And does this village have a name?” she said lightly.
“Los Seres,” Bertrande replied, “although Sajhe told me not to tell the Inquisitors.”
The Noublesso de los Seres. Not just the name of the Grail guardians but the place where the Grail would be found. Oriane had to bite her tongue to stop herself laughing.
“Let us get rid of this to start with,” she said, leaning over and pulling the yellow cross from Bertrande’s back. We don’t want anyone to guess that we’re runaways. Now, do you have anything to bring with you?“
If the girl had the book with her, there was no need to go any further. The quest would end here.
Bertrande shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Very well, then. Quietly now. We don’t want to attract attention.”
The girl was still cautious, but as they walked through the sleeping compound, Oriane talked about Alais and the Chateau Comtal. She was charming, persuasive and attentive. Little by little, she won the girl over.
Oriane slipped another coin into the guard’s hand at the gate, then led Bertrande to where her son was waiting at the outskirts of the camp with six soldiers on horseback and a covered cart already prepared.
“Are they coming with us?” Bertrande said, suddenly suspicious.
Oriane smiled as she lifted the child into the caliche. We need to be protected from bandits on the journey, don’t we? Sajhe would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you.“
Once Bertrande was settled, she turned to her son.
“What about me?” he said. “I want to accompany you.”
“I need you to stay here,” she said, restless now to be gone. “You, if you have not forgotten, are part of the army. You cannot simply disappear. It will be easier and quicker for us all if I go alone.”
“But-”
“Do as I say,” she said, keeping her voice low so Bertrande could not hear. “Look after our interests here. Deal with the girl’s father as discussed. Leave the rest to me.”
All Guilhem could think about was finding Oriane. His purpose in coming to Montsegur had been to help Alais and to keep Oriane from harming her. For nearly thirty years, he’d watched over her from afar.
Now Alais was dead, he had nothing to lose. His desire for revenge had grown year by year. He should have killed Oriane when he had the chance. He would not let this opportunity pass by.
With the hood of his cloak pulled down over his face, Guilhem slipped through the Crusaders camp, until he saw the green and silver of Oriane’s pavilion.
There were voices inside. French. A young man giving orders.
Remembering the youth sitting beside Oriane in the stalls, her son, Guilhem pressed himself against the flapping side of the tent and listened.
“He’s a soldier in the garrison,” Louis d’Evreux said in his arrogant voice. “Goes by the name of Sajhe de Servian. The one who created the disturbance earlier. Southern peasants,” he said with contempt. “Even when they’re treated well, they behave like animals.” He gave a sharp laugh. “He was taken to the enclosure near the pavilion of Hugues des Arcis, away from the other prisoners in case he incited any more trouble.”
Louis dropped his voice so Guilhem could barely hear. “This is for you,” he said. Guilhem heard the clinking of coins. “Half now. If the peasant’s still alive when you find him, remedy the situation. The rest when the job is done.”
Guilhem waited until the soldier came out, then slipped in through the unguarded opening.
“I told you I did not want to be disturbed,” he said abruptly, without turning round. Guilhem’s knife was at his throat before the man had a chance to call out.
“If you make a sound, I’ll kill you,” he said.
“Take what you want, take what you want. Don’t harm me.”
Guilhem cast his eyes around the opulent tent, at the fine carpets and warm blankets. Oriane had achieved the wealth and status she’d always desired. He hoped it had not brought her happiness.
“Tell me your name,” he said in a low, savage voice.
“Louis d’Evreux. I don’t know who you are, but my mother will-”
Guilhem jerked his head back. “Don’t threaten me. You sent your guards away, remember? There’s no one to hear you.” He pressed the blade harder against the boy’s pale northern skin. Evreux went completely still. “That’s better. Now. Where is Oriane? If you do not answer, I will cut your throat.”
Guilhem felt him react at the use of Oriane’s name, but fear loosened his tongue. “She’s gone to the women’s compound,” he gabbled.
“For what purpose?”
“In search of… a girl.”
“Don’t waste my time, nenon,” he said, jerking his neck back again.
What manner of girl? Why does she matter to Oriane?“
The child of a heretic. My mother’s… sister,“ he said, as if the word was poison in his mouth. ”My aunt. My mother wished to see the girl for herself.“
“Alais,” Guilhem whispered in disbelief. “How old is this child?”
He could smell the fear on Evreux’s skin. “How do I know? Nine, ten.”
“And the father? Did he die too?”
Evreux tried to move. Guilhem increased the pressure around his neck and turned the blade so the tip was pressing beneath Evreux’s left ear, ready.
“He’s a soldier, one of Pierre-Roger de Mirepoix’s men.”
Guilhem straight away understood. “And you’ve sent one of your men to make sure he doesn’t live to see the sun rise,” he said.
The blade of Guilhem’s dagger flashed as it caught the light from the candle.
“Who are you?”
Guilhem ignored him. Where is Lord Evreux? Why is he not here?“
“My father is dead,” he said. There was no grief in his voice, only a sort boastful pride Guilhem could not understand. “I am master of the Evreux estates now.”
Guilhem laughed. “Or, most likely, your mother is.”
The boy flinched as if he had been struck.
“Tell me, Lord Evreux,” he said with contempt, stressing the word, what does your mother want with the girl?“
“What does it matter? She’s the child of heretics. They should’ve them all.”
Guilhem felt Evreux’s regret at his momentary loss of control the instant the words were spoken, but it was too late. Guilhem flexed his arm and dragged his knife from ear to, ear, slitting the youth’s throat.
“Per lo Miegjorn,” he said. For the Midi.
The blood gushed in spurts on to the fine carpets along the line of the cut. Guilhem released his hold and Evreux fell forward.
“If your servant comes back quickly, you may live. If not, you had better pray your God will forgive your sins.”
Guilhem pulled his hood back over his head and ran out. He had to find Sajhe de Servian before Evreux’s man did.
The small group jolted its uncomfortable way through the cold night.
Already, Oriane regretted deciding to take the caleche. They would have been quicker on horseback. The wooden wheels banged and scraped against the flints and the hard, icy ground.