“I need you to fetch the parfaits. They were about the courtyard earlier. Tell them there is one who wishes to receive the consolament.”
Rixende looked terrified.
“No blame will attach itself to you for carrying a message,” she said, trying to reassure the girl. “You do not have to return with them.”
A movement from her father drew her attention back to the bed.
“Quick, Rixende. Make haste.”
Alais bent down. What is it, Paire? I’m here with you.“
He was trying to speak, but the words seemed to shrivel in his throat before he could utter them. She tipped a little wine into his mouth and wiped his desiccated lips with a wet cloth.
“The Grail is the word of God, Alais. This is what Harif tried to teach me, although I did not understand.” His voice stuttered. “But without the merel… the truth of the labyrinth, it is a false path.”
What about the merel? she whispered urgently, not understanding.
You were right, Alais. I was too stubborn. I should have let you go when there was still a chance.“
Alais was struggling to make sense of his meandering words. “What path?”
“I have not seen it,” he was murmuring, “nor will I now. The cave… few have seen it.”
Alais spun round to the door in despair.
2›Where is Rixende? 2›
In the corridor outside was the sound of running feet. Rixende appeared, followed by two parfaits. Alais recognised the elder, a dark featured man with a thick beard and a gentle expression who she’d met once at Esclarmonde’s house. Both were wearing dark blue robes and twisted rope belts with metal buckles in the shape of a fish.
He bowed. “Dame Alais.” He looked past her to the bed. “It is your father, Intendant Pelletier, who has need of consolation?”
She nodded.
“He has the breath to speak?”
“He will find strength to do so.”
There was another disturbance in the corridor as Viscount Trencavel appeared on the threshold.
“Messire-” she said in alarm. “He requested the parfaits… my father wishes to make a good end, Messire.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes, but he ordered the door to be closed.
“Nevertheless,” he said. “I will stay.”
Alais stared at him for a moment, then turned back to her father as the officiating parfait summoned her.
“Intendant Pelletier is in great pain, but his wits are strong still and his’t courage holds.” Alais nodded. “He has done nothing to harm our church nor owes us a debt?”
“He is a protector of all friends of God.”
Alais and Raymond-Roger stood back as the parfait walked over to the and leaned over the dying man. Bertrand’s eyes flickered as he whispered the melhorer, the blessing.
“Do you vow to follow the rule of justice and truth and to give yourself to God and to the Church of the Bons Chretiens?”
Pelletier forced the words from his lips. “I – do.”
The parfait placed the parchment copy of the New Testament on his, “May God bless you, make a Good Christian of you and lead you to end.” He recited the Benedicte, then the Adoremus three times.
Alais was moved by the simplicity of the service. Viscount Trencavel looked straight ahead. He seemed to be keeping himself under control with an enormous effort of will.
“Bertrand Pelletier, are you ready to receive the gift of the Lord’s Prayer?”
Her father murmured his assent.
In a clear, true voice, the parfait spoke the paternoster seven times over, pausing only to allow Pelletier to make his responses.
“This is the prayer that Jesus Christ brought into the world and taught to the Bons Homes. Never eat or drink again without repeating this prayer first; and if you fail of this duty, you must need do penance again.”
Pelletier tried to nod. The hollow whistling in his chest was louder now, like the wind in autumn trees.
The parfait began to read from the Gospel of John.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God.“ Pelletier’s hand jerked above the covers as the parfait continued to read.”… And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.“
His eyes suddenly flew open.“ Vertat,” he whispered. “Yes, the truth.”
Alais grabbed his hand in alarm, but he was slipping away. The light had gone from his eyes. She was aware the parfait was speaking faster now, as if he feared there was not enough time to complete the ritual.
“He must speak the final words,” he urged Alais. “Help him.”
“Paire, you must…” Grief took her voice from her.
“For every sin… I have committed… by word or deed,” he rasped, “I… I ask pardon of God and the Church… and all here present.”
With evident relief, the parfait placed his hands on Pelletier’s head and gave him the kiss of peace. Alais caught her breath. A look of release had transformed her father’s face as the grace of the consolament descended to him. It was a moment of transcendence, of understanding. His spirit was ready, now, to leave his sick body and the earth that held him.
“His soul is prepared,” said the parfait.
Alais nodded. She sat on the bed, holding her father’s hand. Viscount Trencavel stood on the other. Pelletier was barely conscious, although he seemed to feel their presence.
2›“Messire? 2›
“I’m here, Bertrand.”
“Carcassona must not fall.”
“I give you my word, in honour of the love and obligation that has been between us these many years, I will do all I can.”
Pelletier tried to lift his hand from the blanket. “It has been an honour to serve you.”
Alais saw the Viscount’s eyes were filled with tears. “It is I who should thank you, my old friend.”
Pelletier tried to raise his head. “Alais?”
“I’m here, Father,” she said quickly. The colour had gone from Pelletier’s face now. His skin hung in grey folds under his eyes. “No man ever had such a daughter.”
He seemed to sigh as the life left his body. Then, silence.
For a moment, Alais did not move, breathe, react in any way. Then she felt a wild grief building within her, taking her over, possessing her, until she broke down in an agony of weeping.
CHAPTER 59
A soldier appeared in the doorway. “Lord Trencavel?”
He turned his head. What is it?“
“A thief, Messire. Stealing water from the Place du Plo.”
He signalled he would come. “Dame, I must leave you.”
Alais nodded. She had worn herself out with weeping.
“I will see him buried with the honour and ceremony that befits his status. He was a valiant man, both a loyal counsellor and trusted friend.”
“His church does not require it, Messire. His flesh is nothing. His spirit is already gone. He would wish you to think only of the living.”
“Then, see it as an act of selfishness on my part, that I wish to pay my last respects in accordance with the great affection and esteem in which I held your father. I will have his body moved to the capela Santa Maria.”
“He would be honoured by such evidence of your love.”
“Can I send anyone to sit with you? I cannot spare your husband, but your sister? Women to help you with the laying out?”
Her head darted up, realising only now that she had not thought of Oriane once. She had even forgotten to inform her their father had been taken sick.