Labyrinth

CHAPTER 49

The Crusade’s advance guard arrived within sight of Carcassonne on the Feast Day of Sant-Nasari, following the road from Trebes. The guards at the Tour Pinte lit the fires. The alarum bells were rung.

By the evening of the first of August, the French camp on the far side of the river had grown until there was a rival city of tents and pavilions, banners and golden crosses glittering in the sun. Barons from the north, Gascon mercenaries, soldiers from Chartres and Burgundy and Paris, sappers, longbowmen archers, priests, camp followers.

At Vespers, Viscount Trencavel ascended the ramparts, accompanied by Pierre-Roger de Cabaret, Bertrand Pelletier and one or two others. In the distance, trails of smoke spiralled up into the air. The river was a ribbon of silver.

“There are so very many.”

“No more than we expected, Messire,” replied Pelletier.

“How long, think you, before the main army arrives?”

“It’s hard to be sure,” he replied. “So large a fighting force will travel slowly. The heat will hinder them too.”

“Hinder them, yes,” said Trencavel. “Stop them, no.”

We’re ready for them, Messire. The Ciutat is well stocked. The hourds are completed to protect the walls from their sappers; all broken sections or points of weakness have been repaired and blocked; all the towers are manned.“ Pelletier waved his hand. ”The hawsers holding the mills in place in the river have been cut and the crops burned. The French will find little to sustain them here.“

His eyes flashing, Trencavel suddenly turned to de Cabaret.

“Let’s saddle our horses and make a sortie. Before night arrives and the sun sets, let’s take four hundred of our best men, those most skilled with lance, and with sword, and chase the French from our slopes. They will not expect us to take the battle to them. What say you?”

Pelletier sympathised with his desire to strike first. He also knew it would be an act of supreme folly.

There are battalions on the plains, Messire, routiers, small contingents from the advance party.“

Pierre-Roger de Cabaret added his voice. “Do not sacrifice your men, Raymond.”

“But if we could strike the first blow…”

We have prepared for siege, Messire, not open battle. The garrison is strong. The bravest, most experienced chevaliers are here, waiting for their chance to prove themselves.“

“But?” Trencavel sighed.

“You would be sacrificing them for no gain,” he said firmly.

“Your people trust you, they love you,” Pelletier said. “They will lay down their lives for you if need be. But, we should wait. Let them bring the battle to us.”

“I fear it is my pride that has brought us to this place,” he said in a low voice. “Somehow, I did not expect it to come to this, so soon.” He smiled.

“Do you remember how my mother used to fill the Chateau with singing and dancing, Bertrand? All the greatest troubadours and jongleurs came to play for her. Aimeric de Pegulham, Arnaut de Carcasses, even Guilhem Fabre and Bernat Alanham from Narbonne. We were always feasting, celebrating.”

“I have heard it was the finest court in the Pays d’Oc” He put his hand on his master’s shoulder. “And will be again.”

The bells fell silent. All eyes were on Viscount Trencavel.

When he spoke, Pelletier was proud to hear all trace of self-doubt were gone from his lord’s voice. He was no longer a boy remembering his his childhood, but a captain on the eve of battle.

“Order the posterns to be closed and the gates to be barred, Bertrand,.andd summon the commander of the garrison to the donjon. We will be ready for the French when they come.”

“Perhaps also send reinforcements to Sant-Vicens, Messire,” suggested de Cabaret. When the Host attacks, they will start there. And we cannot afford to relinquish our access to the river.“

Trencavel nodded.

Pelletier lingered a while after the others had gone, looking out over the as if to imprint its image in his mind.

To the north, the walls of Sant-Vicens were low and sparsely defended by towers. If the invaders penetrated the suburbs, they would be able to approach within bowshot of the Cite walls under the cover of the houses. The southern suburb, Sant-Miquel, would hold longer.

It was true that the Carcassonne was ready for siege. There was plenty of food – bread, cheese, beans – and goats for milk. But there were too many people within the walls and Pelletier was concerned about the supply of water. On his word, a guard was set on each of the wells and rationing was in place.

As he walked out of the Tour Pinte into the courtyard, Pelletier found his thoughts once more turning to Simeon. Twice he had sent Francois to the Jewish quartier for news, but both times he had returned empty handed and Pelletier’s anxiety increased with each passing day.

He took a quick look around the courtyard and decided he could be spared for a few hours.

He headed for the stables.

Pelletier followed the most direct route across the plains and through the woods, very aware of the Host camped in the distance.

Although the Jewish quarter was crowded and people were on the streets, it was unnaturally quiet and hushed. There was fear and apprehension on every face, young and old. Soon, they knew, the fighting would begin. As Pelletier rode through the narrow alleys, women and children looked up at him with anxious eyes, looking for hope in his face. He had nothing to offer them.

No one had any news of Simeon. He found his lodgings easily enough, but the door was barred. He dismounted and knocked on the house opposite.

“I seek a man called Simeon,” he said, when a woman came fearfully to door. “Do you know of whom I speak?”

She nodded. “He came with the others from Besiers.”

“Can you remember when last you saw him?”

“A few days back, before we heard the news of Besiers, he went to Carcassona. A man came for him.”

Pelletier frowned. “What manner of man?”

“A high-born servant. Orange hair,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“Simeon appeared to know him.”

Pelletier’s bafflement deepened. It sounded like Francois, except how could it be? He said he had not found Simeon.

“That was the last time I saw him.”

You are saying Simeon did not return from Carcassona?“

“If he’s got any sense, he’ll have stayed. He will be safer there than here.”

“Is it possible Simeon could have come back without you seeing him?” he said desperately. “You might have been sleeping. You might not have noticed him return.”

“Look, Messire,” she replied, pointing to the house across the street.

“You can see for yourself. Vueg.” Empty.