Authors: Kate Mosse
Then, spoiling it, another voice.
“Turn round.”
Will realised the roaring was inside his head, the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears, thick and heavy. The sound of the bullets reverberating again and again in his memory.
He swallowed hard and tried to catch his breath. The pungent smell of the leather in his nose and mouth was too strong. It turned his stomach.
How many shots had he heard? Two? Three?
His two bodyguards got out. Will could hear them talking, arguing with Francois-Baptiste perhaps. Slowly, careful not to draw attention, he levered himself up a little on the back seat of the car. In the light of the headlights, he could see Francois-Baptiste standing over Authie’s dead body, arm hanging by his side, the gun still in his hand. It looked as if someone had thrown a can of red paint over the door and bonnet of Authie’s car. Blood, tissue and shards of bone. What remained of Authie’s skull.
The nausea rose in his throat. Will swallowed again. Forced himself to keep looking. Francois-Baptiste started to bend down, hesitated, then quickly turned back instead.
“Even though the repeated doses of the drug had left his arms and legs unresponsive, Will felt his body stiffen. He dropped back on the seat, grateful at least they hadn’t put him back in the claustrophobic box in the box of the car.
The door closest to his head was jerked open and Will felt the familiar callused hands on his arms and neck, dragging him across the seat and ; him on to the ground.
The night air was cool on his face and bare legs. The robe they’d dressed him in was long and wide, although tied at the waist. Will felt self-conscious, vulnerable. And terrified.
He could see Authie’s body lying motionless on the gravel. Next to it, tucked behind the front wheel of the car, he could see a tiny red light blinking on and off.
“Portez-le jusqu’a la grotte!
Francois-Baptiste’s voice drew Will back.
‘Vous nous attendez dehors. En face de I’ouverture.
” He paused.
’Il est dix heures moins cinq maintenant. Nous allons rentrer dans quarante, peut etre cinquante minutes.“
Nearly ten o’clock. He let his head hang as the man took hold beneath his arms. As they started to drag him up the slope towards the cave, he wondered if he’d still be alive at eleven.
“Turn round,” Marie-Cecile repeated.
A harsh, arrogant voice, Audric thought. He stroked his hand once more across Shelagh’s head, and then slowly he drew himself to his full height. His relief at finding her alive had been short-lived. She was in a very bad condition. Without medical help soon, Audric feared she would die.
“Leave the torch there,” Marie-Cecile ordered him. “Come down here where I can see you.”
Slowly, Audric turned round and stepped down from behind the altar.
She was holding an oil lamp in one hand, a pistol in the other. His first thought was how alike they were. The same green eyes, the black hair curling around the beautiful, austere face. With the gold headdress and necklace, the amulets circling her upper arms and her lean, tall body encased in the white robe, she looked like an Egyptian princess.
“You have come alone, Dame?”
“I hardly think it necessary to be accompanied everywhere I go,
Monsieur
, besides…”
He dropped his eyes to the gun. You do not think I will trouble you,“ he nodded. ”I am old, after all,
oc?
“ Then he added: ‘But also you do not want anyone else to hear.”
A suggestion of a smile crossed her lips. “Strength lies in secrecy.”
“The man who taught you that is dead, Dame.”
Pain sparked in her eyes. “You knew my grandfather?”
“I knew of him,” he replied.
“He taught me well. Never confide in anyone. Never trust anyone.”
“A lonely way to live, Dame.”
“I do not find it so.”
She had moved round, circling him like an animal stalking its prey, until she had her back to the altar and he was standing in the centre of the chamber, near a dip in the ground.
The grave, he thought. The grave where the bodies were found.
“Where is she?” Marie-Cecile demanded.
He did not answer. “You are much like your grandfather. In character, your features, your persistence. Also, like him, you are misguided.”
Anger flickered across her face. “My grandfather was a great man. He honoured the Grail. He devoted his life to the quest to find the
Book of Words
, the better to understand.”
“Understand, Dame? Or exploit?”
“You don’t know anything about him.”
“Ah, but I do,” he said softly. “People do not change so very much.” He hesitated. “And he was so close, was he not?” he continued, dropping his voice even further. “A few kilometres further to the west and it would have been him who found the cave. Not you.”
“It makes no difference now,” she said fiercely. “It belongs to us.”
“The Grail belongs to no one. It is not something that can be owned or manipulated or bargained with.”
Audric stopped. In the light of the oil lamp burning on the altar he looked straight into her eyes.
“It would not have saved him,” he said.
From across the chamber, he heard her draw her breath.
“The elixir heals and extends life. It would have kept him alive.”
“It would have done nothing to save him from the illness stripping the flesh from his bones, Dame, any more than it will give you what you desire.” He paused. The Grail will not come for you.“
She took a step towards him. You hope it will not, Baillard, but you’re not sure. For all your knowledge, all your research, you do not know what will happen.“
“You are mistaken.”
“This is your chance, Baillard. After all your years of writing, studying, ; wondering. Like me, you have devoted your lifetime to this. You want to see this done as much as I do.”
“And if I refuse to cooperate?”
She gave a sharp laugh. “Come now. You hardly need to ask. My son will kill her, you know that. How he does so - and how long it takes - is up to you.”
Despite the precautions he’d taken, a shiver ran down his spine. Provided Alice stayed where she was, as she had promised, there was no need for alarm. She was safe. It would be over before she realised what was happening.
Memories of Alais - Bertrande too - rushed unbidden into his mind.
Their impetuous nature, their reluctance to ever obey an order, their foolhardy courage.
Was Alice made of the same metal?
“Everything is ready,” she said. “The
Book of Potions
and the
Book of Numbers
are here. So if you will just give me the ring and tell me where the
Book of Words
is concealed…”
Audric forced himself to concentrate on Marie-Cecile, not Alice.
“Why are you certain it is still in the chamber?”
She smiled. “Because you are here, Baillard. Why else would you come? You want to see the ceremony performed, just once before you die. You will put on the robe,” she shouted, suddenly impatient. She gestured with the gun to the piece of white material sitting at the top of the steps. He shook his head and, for a fraction of a second, he saw doubt in her face. “Then you will get me the book.”
He noticed that three small, metal rings had been sunk into the floor of the lower section of the chamber. And he remembered that it was Alice who discovered the skeletons in the shallow grave.
He smiled. Soon, he would have the answers he sought.
“Audric,” Alice whispered, feeling her way down the tunnel.
2>Why doesn’t he answer? 2>
She felt the ground sloping down beneath her feet as before. It seemed further this time.
Ahead, in the chamber, she could see a faint glow of yellow light.
“Audric,” she called again, her fears growing.
She walked faster, covering the last few metres at a run, until she burst into the chamber and then stopped dead.
This cannot be happening.
Audric was standing at the foot of the steps. He was wearing a long white robe.
I remember this.
Alice shook the memory from her head. Audric’s hands were tied in front of him and he was tethered to the ground, like an animal. On the far side of the chamber, lit by an oil lamp flickering on the altar, was Marie Cecile de l’Oradore.
“That’s far enough, I think,” she said.
Audric turned, regret and sorrow in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, realising she had ruined everything. “But I had to warn you…”
Before Alice had realised what was happening, someone had grabbed her from behind. She screamed and kicked out, but there were two of them.
It happened like this before.
Then someone called her name. Not Audric.
A wave of nausea swept over her and she started to fall.
“Catch her, you idiots,” Marie-Cecile shouted.
CHAPTER 81
Pic de Soularac
MARC 1244
Guilhem couldn’t catch Alais. She was already too far ahead.
He staggered down the tunnel in the dark. Pain pierced his side where his ribs were cracked, stopping him breathing easily. Alais’ words reeling in his head and fear hardening in his chest kept him going.
The air seemed to be getting colder, chill, as if the life was being sucked out of the cave. He didn’t understand. If this was a sacred place, the labyrinth cave, why did he feel in the presence of such malevolence?
Guilhem found himself standing on a natural stone platform. A couple of wide, shallow steps directly in front led down to an area where the ground was flat and smooth. A
calelh
was burning on a stone altar, giving a little light.
The two sisters were standing facing one another, Oriane still holding the knife to Bertrande’s throat. Alais was completely still.
Guilhem ducked down, praying Oriane had not seen him. As quietly as he could, he started to edge around the wall, hidden in the shadows, until he was close enough to hear and see what was happening.
Oriane tossed something down on the ground in front of Alais.
“Take it,” she shouted. “Open the labyrinth. I know the
Book of Words
is concealed here.”
Guilhem saw Alais’ eyes widen in surprise. With shame, he recognized Oriane’s supercilious expression.
“Did you never read the
Book of Numbers
? You astound me, sister. The explanation is there for the key.”
Alais hesitated.
The ring, with the
merel
inserted in it, unlocks the chamber within the heart of the labyrinth.“
Oriane jerked Bertrande’s head back, so the skin on her neck was pulled tight. The blade glinted in the light.
“Do it now, sister.”
Bertrande cried out. The noise seemed to run right through Guilhem’s head like a knife. He looked at Alais, frowning, her bad arm hanging uselessly at her side.
“Let her go first,” she said.
Oriane shook her head. Her hair had come unbound and her eyes were wild, obsessive. Holding Alais’ gaze, slowly, with deliberation, she made a small incision on Bertrande’s neck.
Bertrande cried again as blood began to trickle down her neck.
The next cut will be deeper,“ Oriane said, her voice shaking with hatred. ”Get the Book.“
Alais bent down and picked up the ring, then walked to the labyrinth.
Oriane followed, dragging Bertrande with her. Alais could hear her daughter’s breath coming faster and faster and she was losing consciousness, staggering with her feet still tied.
For a moment, she stood, her thoughts spiralling back in time to the moment when first she had seen Harif perform the same task.
Alais pressed her left hand on the rough stone labyrinth. Pain shot up her damaged arm. She needed no candle to see the outline of the Egyptian symbol of life, the ankh as Harif had taught her to call it. Then, shielding her actions from Oriane with her back, she inserted the ring into a small opening at the base of the central circle of the labyrinth, directly in front of her face. For Bertrande’s sake, she prayed it would work. Nothing had been spoken; nothing had been prepared as it should have been. The circumstances could not be more different from the only other time she had stood as a supplicant before the labyrinth of stone.
“Di ankh djet,
‘ she murmured. The ancient words felt as ashes in her mouth. There was a sharp click, like a key in a lock. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then, from deep in the wall, there was the noise of something shifting, stone against stone. Then Alais moved and, in the half-light, Guilhem saw that a compartment had been revealed at the very centre of the labyrinth.
“Pass it to me,” ordered Oriane. “Put it there, on the altar.”
Alais did as she was told, never taking her eyes from her sister’s face.
“Lether go now. You don’t need her any more.”
“Open it,” shouted Oriane. “I want to make sure you’re not deceiving me.”
Guilhem edged closer. Shimmering in gold on the first page was a symbol he had never seen before. An oval, more like a tear in shape, set atop a kind of cross, like a shepherd’s crook.
“Keep going,” said Oriane. I want to see it all.“
Alais’ hands were shaking as she turned the pages. Guilhem could see a mixture of strange drawings and lines, row after row of tightly drawn symbols covering the entire sheet.
“Take it, Oriane,” said Alais, struggling to keep her voice steady. “Take the book and give me back my daughter.”
Guilhem saw the blade glint. He realised what was going to happen the instant before it did, that Oriane’s jealousy and bitterness would lead her to destroy everything Alais loved or valued.
He threw himself at Oriane, knocking her sideways. He felt his cracked ribs give and he nearly passed out with the pain, but he’d done enough to force her to loosen her hold on Bertrande.
The knife dropped from her hand and skidded away out of sight, in the shadows behind the altar. Bertrande was thrown forward in the collision.
She screamed, and banged her head on the corner of the altar. Then, she was still.
“Guilhem, take Bertrande,” Alais screamed at him. “She’s hurt, Sajhe’s hurt. Help them. There’s a man called Harif waiting in the village. He will help you.”