There were others, she knew, who offered more dangerous magic, black charms to bewitch or to harm faithless suitors. Esclarmonde warned her against such dark powers, the obvious manifestation of the Devil’s dominion over the world. No good could ever come of such ill.
Today, for the first time in her life, Alais had a flicker of understanding of what might drive women to such desperate measures.
“Filha.”
Alais jumped up.
“Where have you been?” said Pelletier, out of breath. “I have searched everywhere for you.”
“I did not hear you, Paire,” she said.
“Work to prepare the Ciutat will begin as soon as Viscount Trencavel has been reunited with his wife and son. There will be little time to draw breath in the days ahead.”
“When are you expecting Simeon to arrive?”
“A day or two more yet.” He frowned. “I wish I could have persuaded him to travel with us. But, he believes he will be less conspicuous among his own people. He may well be right.”
“And once he is here,” she pressed on, “you will decide what is to be done? I have an idea about-”
Alais stopped, realizing she would rather test her theory first before making a fool of herself in front of her father. And him.
“An idea?” he said.
“It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “I was just going to ask if I could be present when you and Simeon meet to talk.”
Consternation flickered across his lined face. She could see him struggling to decide.
“In the light of the service you have performed so far,” he said in the end, “you may hear what we have to say. However”-he held up a finger in warning-“on the clear understanding that you are there as an observer only. Any active participation in this matter is at an end. I will not have you putting yourself at risk again.”
A bubble of excitement inside her grew. I will persuade him otherwise when the time comes.
She lowered her eyes and folded her hands meekly in her lap. “Of course, Paire. I will obey your wishes.”
Pelletier shot her a look, but did not pursue it. “There is one more service I must ask of you, Alais. Viscount Trencavel will make a public celebration of his safe return to Carcassona, while the news of our failure to agree to terms with Toulouse is not yet widely known. Dame Agnes will observe Vespers in the cathedral church of Sant-Nasari this evening rather than in the chapel.” He paused. “I wish you to attend. Your sister too.”
Alais was astounded. Although she attended services in the chapel of the Chateau Comtal from time to time, her father had not challenged her decision to abstain from services in the cathedral.
“I know you must be weary, but Viscount Trencavel believes it important that no just criticism could be made of his conduct-and that of those closest to him-at this time. If there are spies within the Ciutat-and I have no doubt that there are-we do not wish our spiritual failings, as they might be interpreted, to reach the ears of our enemies.”
“It’s not a question of fatigue,” she said furiously. “Bishop de Rochefort and his priests, they’re hypocrites. They preach one thing but do another.” Pelletier turned red, whether through anger or embarrassment, she could not be sure. “By this token, will you be attending also?” she demanded.
Pelletier did not meet her eye. “You will appreciate I will be occupied with Viscount Trencavel.”
Alais glared at him. “Very well,” she said at last. “I will obey you, Paire. But do not expect me to kneel before the figure of a broken man on a cross of wood and pray.”
For a moment, she thought she had been too outspoken. Then, to her astonishment, her father began to laugh.
“Quite right,” he said. “I would expect nothing less of you. Just be careful, Alais. Do not express such views unwisely. They may be watching.”
Alais passed the next few hours in her chamber. She made a poultice of fresh wild marjoram for her stiff neck and shoulder. At the same time, she listened to her servant’s good-natured chatter.
According to Rixende, opinion was divided over Alais’ early morning flight from the chateau. Some expressed admiration for Alais’ fortitude and bravery. Others, Oriane among them, criticized her. She had made a fool of her husband by acting in so rash a manner. Worse, she had jeopardized the success of the mission. Alai’s hoped this was not what Guilhem felt, although she feared it was. His thoughts tended to run along well-trodden paths. More than that, his pride was easily hurt and Alai’s knew from experience his desire to be admired, to be celebrated within the household, sometimes led him to say and do things contrary to his true nature. If he felt himself humiliated, there was no saying how he would react.
“But they can hardly say so now, Dame Alai’s,” Rixende said, as she cleared away the remains of the compress. “All have returned safely. If that doesn’t prove God is on our side, then what does!”
Alai’s gave a pale smile. She suspected Rixende would see things in a different light once news of the true state of affairs spread through the Cite.
The bells were clamoring and the sky was flecked pink and white as they walked from the Chateau Comtal toward Sant-Nasari. At the head of the procession was a priest, decked in white and holding a golden cross high in the air. The other priests, nuns and monks followed.
Behind them, came Dame Agnes, the wives of the consuls, her ladies-in-waiting bringing up the rear. Alai’s was obliged to partner her sister.
Oriane did not address a single word to her, good or ill. As always, she drew the eyes and admiration of the crowd. She was wearing a deep red dress, with a delicate gold and black girdle pulled tight to accentuate her high waist and rounded hips. Her black hair was washed and oiled and her hands were clasped in front of her in an attitude of piety, perfectly displaying the alms purse that dangled from her wrist.
Alai’s assumed the purse was a gift from an admirer, a wealthy one at that judging by the pearls set around the neck and the motto embroidered in gold thread.
Beneath the ceremony and display, Alai’s was aware of an undercurrent of apprehension and suspicion.
She didn’t notice Francois until he tapped her lightly on the arm.
“Esclarmonde has returned,” he whispered in her ear. “I have come directly from there.”
Alai’s spun round to face him. “Did you speak with her?”
He hesitated. “Not really, Dame.”
Immediately, she stepped out of the line. “I will go.”
“May I suggest, Dame, you wait until after the service is finished?” he suggested, glancing to the door. Alai’s followed his eyes. Three black-hooded monks were standing guard, clearly noting who was present and who was not. “It would be unfortunate if your absence reflected badly on Dame Agnes or your father. It could be interpreted as a sign of your sympathy for the new church.”
“Of course, yes.” She thought a moment. “But please tell Esclarmonde I will be with her as soon as I can.”
Alais dipped her fingers in the benitier and crossed herself with holy water, in case anyone was watching.
She found a space in the tightly packed north transept, as far away as she could get from Oriane without attracting attention. Candles flickered high above the nave from chandeliers suspended from the roof. From below, they looked like huge wheels of steel that might at any time come crashing down upon the sinners below.
Although surprised to find his church full after so long empty, the bishop’s voice was thin and insubstantial, barely audible over the mass of people breathing and shuffling in the heat. How different it was from the simplicity of Esclarmonde’s church.