“Oui, merci,” she said, as she got to the desk and paid for the printing she’d done. Nearly thirty sheets in all.
As she emerged on to the steps of the library the bells of Saint-Etienne were striking seven. She’d been in there longer than she realized.
Keen to be on her way now, Alice hurried back to where she’d parked the car on the far side of the river. She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the man from the queue following her along the river walkway, keeping a safe distance. And she didn’t notice him take a phone from his pocket and make a call as she pulled out into the slow-moving traffic.
THE GUARDIANS OF THE BOOKS
CHAPTER 26
Besiers
JULHET 1209
Dusk was falling as Alais reached the plains outside the town of Coursan.
She had made good speed, following the old Roman road through the Minervois toward Capestang, across the sweeping hemp fields, the canabieres, and the emerald seas of barley.
Each day since setting out from Carcassonne, Alai’s had ridden until the sun became too fierce. Then she and Tatou took shelter and rested, before traveling on until dusk when the air was filled with biting insects and the cries of night jays, owls and bats.
The first night she’d found lodgings in the fortified town of Azille with friends of Esclarmonde. As she traveled farther east, she saw fewer people in the fields and villages and those that she did see were suspicious, wariness showing in their dark eyes. She heard rumors of atrocities committed by renegade bands of French soldiers or by routiers, mercenaries, bandits. Each tale was more bloody, more wicked than the last.
Alai’s pulled Tatou to a walk, not sure if she should press on to Coursan or look for shelter close by. The clouds were marching fast across an increasingly angry gray sky and the air was very still. In the distance, there was the occasional rumble of thunder, growling like a bear waking from a winter sleep. Alai’s did not want to risk being caught in the open when the storm hit.
Tatou was nervous. Alai’s could feel her tendons bristling beneath her coat and twice she shied away from sudden movements of hare or fox in hedgerows at the roadside.
Ahead Alai’s could see there was a small copse of oak and ash. It wasn’t dense enough to be the natural summer habitat of larger animals, such as wild boar or lynx. But the trees were tall and generous and the tops of their branches looked to be woven tightly together, like entwined fingers, which would provide good cover. The fact there was a clear path, a winding ribbon of dry earth worn away by countless feet, suggested the wood was a popular local shortcut to the town.
Tatou shifted uneasily beneath her as a flicker of lightning momentarily lit the darkening sky. It helped her make up her mind. She would wait until the storm had passed over.
Whispering encouragement, Alai’s persuaded the mare forward into the dark green embrace of the wood.
The men had lost their quarry some time earlier. Only the threat of a storm prevented them doubling back and returning to camp.
After several weeks of riding, their pale French skin was tanned dark by the fierce southern sun. Their traveling armor and surcoats, bearing the arms of their master, lay hidden in the thicket. They hoped yet to retrieve something from their abortive mission.
A sound. The crack of a dried branch, the rolling gait of a bridled horse, the iron of its hooves striking occasional pieces of stone.
A man with a mouthful of jagged, blackened teeth crawled forward to get a better look. Some way off he could see a figure on a small, chestnut Arab threading its way through the woods. He leered. Perhaps their sortie was not going to be a waste of time after all. The rider’s clothes were plain and worth little, but a horse of that calibre would fetch a good price.
He threw a stone at his companion hidden on the other side of the track.
“Leve-toi!” “he said, jerking his head toward Alai’s. ”Regarde.“
“Would you look at that,” he muttered. “Une femme. Et seule.”
“Are you certain she’s alone?”
“I can’t hear any others.”
The two men picked up the ends of the rope that lay across the path, concealed under the leaves, and waited for her to come to them.
Alai’s’ courage ebbed as she rode deeper into the wood.
The topsoil was damp, although the ground beneath was still hard. The leaves at the side of the path rustled beneath Tatou’s feet. Alai’s tried to concentrate on the reassuring sounds of the birds in the trees, but the hairs on her arms and on the back of her neck were standing on end. There was threat in the silence, not peace.
It is but your imagination only.
Tatou sensed it too. Without warning, something flew up out of the ground, with the sound of an arrow from a bow.
A woodcock? A snake?
Tatou reared up on her hind legs, slashing wildly at the air with her hooves and whinnying in terror. Alai’s had no time to react. Her hood flew back off her face and her arms came away from the reins as she was thrown backwards out of her saddle. Pain exploded in her shoulder as she hit the ground hard, knocking the breath clean out of her. Panting, she rolled on to her side and tried to stand. She had to try to hold Tatou before she bolted.
“Tatou, docament” she cried, staggering to her feet. “Tatou!”
Alai’s staggered forward, then stopped. There was a man standing in front of her on the path, blocking her way. He was smiling through blackened teeth. In his hand was a knife, its dull blade discolored brown at the tip.
There was a movement to her right. Alai’s’ eyes darted sideways. A second man, his face disfigured by a jagged scar running from his left eye to the corner of his mouth, was holding Tatou’s bridle and waving a stick.
“No,” she heard herself cry out. “Leave her.”
Despite the pain in her shoulder, her hand found the hilt of her sword. Give them what they want and they may yet not harm you. He took a step toward her. Alai’s drew her blade, slicing through the air in an arc. Keeping her eyes on his face, she fumbled in her purse and threw a handful of coins down on the path.
“Take it. I have nothing else of value.”
He looked at the scattering of silver on the ground, then spat contemptuously. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he took another step closer.
Alai’s raised her sword. “I warn you. Do not approach,” she shouted, making a figure of eight in the air with the blade so he couldn’t get near.
“Ligote-la,” he ordered to the other.
Alai’s turned cold. For an instant, her courage faltered. They were French soldiers, not bandits. The stories she’d heard on her journey flashed into her mind.
Then she gathered herself and swung the sword again.
“Come no closer,” she shouted, her voice stiff with fear. “I will kill you before I-”
Alai’s spun round and hurled herself at the second man, who had come round behind her. Screaming, Alais sent the stick flying from his hand. Pulling a knife from his belt, he roared and dived toward her. Grasping her sword with both hands, Alais plunged it down on his hand, stabbing at him like a bear at a baiting. Blood spurted from his arm.
She pulled her arms back for a second strike when stars suddenly exploded in her head, purple and white. She staggered forward at the force of the blow, then pain brought tears to her eyes as she was jerked back to her feet by her hair. She felt the cold point of a blade at her throat.
“Putain,” he hissed, striking her across the face with his bleeding hand.
“Laisse-tomber.” Drop it.