Labyrinth

CHAPTER 61

Guilhem stood beneath the shade of the great elm in the centre of the Cour d’Honneur.

On the behalf of the Abbot of Citeaux, the Count of Auxerre had ridden up to the Porte Narbonnaise and offered safe conduct to parley. With this surprise proposition Viscount Trencavel’s natural optimism had returned. It was evident in his face and his bearing as he addressed the household. His hope and fortitude rubbed off a little on those listening.

The reasons behind the Abbot’s sudden change of mind were debatable. The Crusaders were making little progress, but the siege had only lasted a little over a week, which was nothing. Did the Abbot’s motive matter? Viscount Trencavel claimed not.

Guilhem was barely listening. He was trapped in a web of his own making and could see no way out, neither through words nor the sword. He lived on a knife-edge. Alais had been missing for five days. Guilhem had sent discreet search parties out into the Cite and scoured the Chateau Comtal, but was no nearer to finding where Oriane was keeping her prisoner. He was trapped in a web of his own deceit. Too late had he ed how well Oriane had prepared the ground. If he did not do what she wanted, he would be denounced as a traitor and Alais would suffer.

“So, my friends,” Trencavel concluded. Who will accompany me on this journey?“

Guilhem felt Oriane’s sharp finger in his back. He found himself stepping forward. He knelt down, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and offered his service. As Raymond-Roger clasped him on the shoulder in gratitude, Guilhem burned with shame.

“You have our great thanks, Guilhem. Who, now, will go with you?”

Six other chevaliers joined Guilhem. Oriane slipped between them and bowed before the Viscount.

“Messire, by your leave.”

Congost had not noticed his wife in the mass of men. He flushed red and flapped his hands in embarrassment, as if shooing crows from a field.

“Withdraw, Dame,” he stammered in his shrill voice. “This is no place for you.”

Oriane ignored him. Trencavel raised his hand and summoned her forward. What is it that you want to say, Dame?“

“Forgive me, Messire, honoured chevaliers, friends… husband. With your leave and God’s blessing, I want to offer myself as a member of this party. I have lost a father and now, it appears, a sister too. Such grief is heavy to bear. But if my husband will release me, I would like to redeem my loss and show my love for you, Messire, by this act. It is what my father would wish.”

Congost looked as if he would like the ground to open up and swallow him. Guilhem stared at the ground. Viscount Trencavel could not hide his surprise.

“With respect, Dame Oriane, this is not a woman’s office.”

“In which case, I offer myself as a willing hostage, Messire. My presence will be proof of your fair intentions, as clear an indication as any that Carcassona will abide by the conventions of the parley.”

Trencavel considered for a moment, and then turned to Congost. “She is your wife. Can you spare her in our cause?”

Jehan stuttered and rubbed his sweaty hands on his tunic. He wanted to refuse his permission, but it was clear the proposal had merit in the Viscount’s eyes.

“My wishes are but the servants to yours,” he mumbled.

Trencavel bid her rise. “Your late father, my esteemed friend, would be proud of what you do today.”

Oriane looked up at him from under her dark lashes. “And with your leave, may I take Francois with me? He too, united as we all are in grief for my worthy father, would be glad of the chance to serve.”

Guilhem felt the bile rising in his throat, unable to believe any of the listeners would be convinced by Oriane’s show of filial affection, but they were. Admiration showed in every face, bar her husband’s. Guilhem grimaced. He and Congost alone knew Oriane’s true worth. All others were beguiled by her beauty, her gentle words. As once he had been.

Sickened to the bottom of his heart, Guilhem glanced to where Francois stood impassive, his face a perfect mask, on the outskirts of the group.

“If you believe it will aid our cause, Dame,” Viscount Trencavel replied, “then you have my permission.”

Oriane curtseyed once more. “Thank you, Messire.”

He clapped his hands. “Saddle the horses.”

Oriane kept close to Guilhem as they rode across the devastated land to the pavilion of the Count of Nevers, where the parley was to take place. From the Cite, those with the strength to climb the walls stood in silence and watched them go.

The moment they entered the camp, Oriane slipped away. Ignoring the lewd and rough calls of the soldiers, she followed Francois through the sea of tents and colours, until they found themselves in the green and silver of Chartres.

“This way, Dame,” murmured Francois, pointing to a pavilion set a little apart from everyone else. The soldiers stood to attention as they approached and held their pikes across the opening. One of them acknowledged Francois with a nod.

“Tell your master that Dame Oriane, daughter of the late steward of Carcassona, is here and wishes audience with Lord Evreux.”

Oriane was taking a terrible risk coming to him. From Francois, she knew of his cruelty and quick temper. She was playing for high stakes.

“On what matter?” demanded the soldier.

“My lady will speak to none but Lord Evreux himself.”

The man hesitated, then he ducked beneath the opening and disappeared into the tent. Moments, later, he came out and beckoned them to follow.

Her first sight of Guy d’Evreux did nothing to allay her fears. He had his back to her as she entered the tent. He turned and flint grey eyes burned in his pale face. His black hair was oiled back from his forehead in the French style. He had the look of a hawk about to strike.

“Lady, I have heard much about you.” His voice was calm and steady, at there was a hint of steel behind it. “I did not expect to have the pleasure of meeting you in person. What can I do for you?”

“I hope it will be a question of what I can do for you, my lord,” she said.

Before she knew it, Evreux had taken hold of her wrist.

“I advise you not to bandy words with me, Lady Oriane. Your pleasant southern ways will do you no good here.” Behind her, she felt Francois trying not to react. “Do you have news for me, yes or no?” he said. “Speak.”

Oriane held her nerve. “This is an ill way to treat one who brings you at most you desire,” she said, meeting his gaze.

Evreux raised his arm. “I could beat the information out of you, as soon as be kept waiting and save us both time.”

Oriane held her gaze. “Then you will learn only part of what I have to say,” she said as steadily as she could. “You have invested much in your quest for the Labyrinth Trilogy. I can give you what you want.”

Evreux stared at her a moment, then lowered his arm.

“You have courage, Lady Oriane, I give you that. Whether you also have wisdom remains to be seen.”

He clicked his ringers and a servant brought a tray of wine. Oriane’s hands were shaking too hard to risk taking a cup.

“No thank you, my lord.”

“As you wish,” he said, gesturing to her to sit. “What is it you want, my lady?”

“If I deliver to you what you seek, I wish you to take me north when you return home.” From the look on his face, Oriane knew she had finally succeeded in surprising him. “As your wife.”

“You have a husband,” Evreux said, looking over her head to Francois for confirmation. Trencavel’s scribe, I heard. Is that not the case?“

Oriane held his gaze. “I regret to say my husband was killed. Struck down within the walls whilst doing his duty.”

“My condolences for your loss.” Evreux pressed his long, thin fingers together, making a church of his hands. “This siege could yet last years. What makes you so sure that I will return north?”

“It is my belief, my Lord Evreux,” she said, choosing her words with care, “that your presence here is for one purpose. If, with my assistance, you are able to conclude your business in the south speedily, I can see no reason you would wish to stay beyond your forty days.”

Evreux gave a tight smile. “You have no faith in your lord Trencavel’s power to persuade?”

“With all due respect to those under whose banner you march, my lord, I do not believe the revered Abbot’s intention is to conclude this engagement by diplomatic means.”

Evreux continued to stare at her. Oriane held her breath.

“You play your hand well, Lady Oriane,” he said in the end.

She bowed her head, but did not speak. He got up and walked towards her.

“I accept your proposal,” he said, handing her a goblet.

This time, she took it.

“There is one thing more, my lord,” she said. Within Viscount Trencavel’s party is a chevalier, Guilhem du Mas. He is the husband of my sister. It would be advisable, if this is within your power, to take steps to contain his influence.“

“Permanently?”

Oriane shook her head. “He may yet have a part to play in our plans. But it would be advisable to limit his influence. Viscount Trencavel favours him and, with my father gone…”

Evreux nodded and dispatched Francois. “Now, my Lady Oriane,” he said, as soon as they were alone. “No more prevarication. Tell me what you have to offer.”