CHAPTER 52
Audric Baillard stood on the railway station platform at Foix with Jeanne, waiting for the Andorra train.
‘Ten minutes,’ Jeanne said, glancing at her watch. ‘It’s not too late. You could change your mind and come with me?’
He smiled at her persistence. ‘You know I cannot.’
She waved her hand impatiently. ‘You’ve devoted thirty years to telling their story, Audric. Alaïs, her sister, her father, her husband — you have spent your life in their company.’ Her voice softened. ‘But what of the living?’
‘Their life is my life, Jeanne,’ he said with a quiet dignity. ‘Words are our only weapons against the lies of history. We must bear witness to the truth. If we do not, those we love die twice over.’ He paused. ‘I will not find peace until I know how it ended.’
‘After eight hundred years? The truth might be buried too deep.’ Jeanne hesitated. ‘And perhaps it is better that way. Some secrets are better for remaining hidden.’
Baillard was looking ahead at the mountains. ‘I regret the sorrow I have brought into your life, you know that.’
‘That’s not what I meant, Audric.’
‘But to discover the truth and set it down,’ he continued, as if she had not spoken. ‘It is that I live for, Jeanne.’
‘Truth! But what about those you fight, Audric? What are they seeking? The truth? I doubt it.’
‘No,’ he admitted in the end. ‘I do not think that is their purpose.’
‘Then what?’ she said, impatient. ‘I am going, as you advised me to do. What possible harm can it do to tell me now?’
Still he hesitated.
Jeanne persisted. ‘Are the Noublesso Véritable and the Noublesso de los Seres but different names for the same organisation?’
‘No,’ the word escaped from his lips more severely than he’d intended. ‘No.’
Well then?’
Audric sighed. ‘The Noublesso de los Seres were the appointed guardians of the Grail parchments. For thousands of years they fulfilled this role. Until, indeed, the parchments were separated.’ He paused, choosing his words with care. ‘The Noublesso Véritable, on the other hand, was formed only one hundred and fifty years ago, when the lost language of the parchments began to be understood once more. The name Véritable — meaning true or real guardians — was a deliberate attempt to give validity to the organisation.’
‘So the Noublesso de los Seres no longer exists?’
Audric shook his head. ‘Once the Trilogy was separated the reason for the guardians’ existence was gone.’
Jeanne frowned. ‘But did they not attempt to regain the lost parchments?’
‘At first, yes,’ he admitted, ‘but they failed. In time, it became more foolhardy to continue, for fear of sacrificing the one remaining parchment for the sake of regaining the other two. Since the ability to read the texts was lost by all, the secret could not be revealed. Only one person . . .’ Baillard faltered. He felt Jeanne’s eyes on him. ‘The one person with the knowledge to read the parchments chose not to pass on his learning.’
‘What changed?’
‘For hundreds of years, nothing. Then in 1798 the Emperor Napoleon sailed for Egypt, taking savants and scholars with him as well as soldiers. They discovered there the remains of the ancient civilisations that had ruled those lands thousands of years ago. Hundreds of artefacts, sacred tables, stones, were brought back to France. From that moment on, it was only a matter of time before the ancient languages — demotic, cuneiform, hieroglyphs — were deciphered. As you know, Jean-François Champollion was the first to realise that hieroglyphs should be read, not as symbols of ideas or scripts, but as a phonetic script. In 1822, he cracked the code, to use the vulgar expression. To the ancient Egyptians, writing was a gift from the Gods — indeed the word hieroglyph means divine speech.’
‘But if the Grail parchments are written in the language of ancient Egypt . . .’ she tailed off. ‘If you are saying what I think you are, Audric . . .’ She shook her head. ‘That such a society as the Noublesso existed, yes. That the Trilogy was believed to contain an ancient secret, then again, yes. But, for the rest? It’s inconceivable.’
Audric smiled. ‘But how better to protect a secret than allow it to be concealed beneath another? To appropriate or assimilate the powerful symbols, the ideas of others, is the way civilisations survive.’
What do you mean?’
‘People dig for the truth. They think they have found it. They stop, never imagining that something more astounding lies beneath. History is full of religious, ritualistic, social signifiers, stolen from one society to help build up another. For example, the day Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus the Nazarene, December the twenty-fifth, is actually the feast of the Sol Invictus, as well as the winter Solstice. The Christian cross, just like the Grail, is actually an ancient Egyptian symbol, the ankh, appropriated and modified by the Emperor Constantine. In hoc signo vinces — by this sign shalt thou conquer — words attributed to him when seeing a symbol in the shape of a cross appear in the sky. More recently, followers of the Third Reich appropriated the swastika to symbolise their order. It is in fact an ancient Hindu symbol of rebirth.’
‘The labyrinth,’ she said, understanding.
‘L’antica simbol del Miègjorn.’ The ancient symbol of the Midi.
Jeanne sat in thoughtful silence, hands folded in her lap, her feet crossed at the ankles. ‘And what of now?’ she said at last.
‘Once the cave was opened, it was only ever a matter of time, Jeanne,’ he said. ‘I am not the only one who knows this.’
‘But the Sabarthès Mountains were excavated by the Nazis during the war,’ she said. ‘The Nazi Grail hunters knew the rumours that the Cathar treasure was buried somewhere in the mountains. They spent years excavating every site of possible esoteric interest. If this cave is of such significance, how was it not discovered sixty years ago?’
We made sure that they did not.’
‘You were there?’ she said, her voice sharp with surprise.
Baillard smiled. ‘There are conflicts within the Noublesso Véritable,’ he said, avoiding her question. ‘The leader of the organisation is a woman called Marie-Cécile de l’Oradore. She believes in the Grail and would regain it. She believes in the Quest.’ He paused. ‘However, there is another within the organisation.’ His face grew sombre. ‘His motives are different.’
‘You must speak to Inspector Noubel,’ she said fiercely.
‘But what if, as I said, he is working for them also? It is too great a risk.’
The shrill blast of the horn split the quiet of the station. They both turned towards the train drawing into the station with a screech of brakes. The conversation was over.
‘I don’t want to leave you here alone, Audric.’
‘I know,’ he said, taking her hand to help her up into the train. ‘But this is how it is supposed to end.’
‘End?’
She slid open the window and reached for his hand. ‘Please take care. Do not gamble too much of yourself.’
All along the platform the heavy doors slammed shut and the train pulled away, slowly at first, then picking up speed until it had disappeared into the folds of the mountains.
CHAPTER 53
Shelagh could sense there was someone in the room with her.
She struggled to lift her head. She felt sick. Her mouth was dry and there was a dull thudding in her head, like the monotonous hum of an air-conditioning unit. She couldn’t move. It took a few seconds for her to identify the fact she was sitting on a chair now, her arms pulled tight behind her back and her ankles strapped to the wooden legs.
There was a slight movement, a creak of the bare floor-boards as someone shifted position.
Who’s there?’
Her palms were slippery with fear. A trickle of sweat ran down the small of her back. Shelagh forced her eyes open, but she still couldn’t see. She panicked, shaking her head, blinking, trying to bring back the light until she realised the hood was back on her head. It smelled of earth and mould.
Was she still in the farmhouse? She remembered the needle, the surprise of the sharp injection. The same man who brought her food. Surely someone would come and save her? Wouldn’t they?
Who’s there?’ No one answered, although she could feel them close. The air was greasy with the smell of aftershave and cigarettes. What do you want?’
The door opened. Footsteps. Shelagh felt the change in atmosphere. An instinct for self-preservation kicked in and she struggled wildly for a moment to get free. The rope only tightened, putting more pressure on her shoulders, making them ache.
The door shut with an ominous, heavy thud.
She fell still. For a moment, there was silence, then the sound of someone walking towards her, closer and closer. Shelagh shrank back in her chair. He stopped right in front of her. She felt her entire body contract, as if there were thousands of tiny wires pulling at her skin. Like an animal circling his prey, he walked round the chair a couple of times, and then dropped his hands on her shoulders.
Who are you? Please, take this blindfold off at least.’
We need to have another talk, Dr O‘Donnell.’
A voice she knew, cold and precise, cut through her like a knife. She realised it was him she had been expecting. Him she feared.
He suddenly jerked the chair back.
Shelagh screamed, plummeting backwards, powerless to stop herself falling. She never hit the ground. He stopped her, inches above the floor, so she was lying almost flat, her head tipped back and her feet suspended in the air.
‘You’re not in a position to ask for anything, Dr O’Donnell.’
He held her in that position for what seemed like hours. Then, without warning, he suddenly righted the chair. Shelagh’s neck snapped forward with the force of it. She was becoming disorientated, like a child in a game of blind man’s bluff.
Who are you working for, O‘Donnell?’
‘I can’t breathe,’ she whispered.
He ignored her. She heard him click his fingers and the sound of a second chair being placed in front of her. He sat down and pulled her towards him so his knees were pressing against her thighs.
‘Let’s take it back to Monday afternoon. Why did you let your friend go to that part of the site?’
‘Alice has got nothing to do with this,’ she cried. ‘I didn’t let her work there, she just went of her own accord. I didn’t even know. It was just a mistake. She doesn’t know anything.’
‘So tell me what you know, Shelagh.’ Her name in his mouth sounded like a threat.
‘I don’t know anything,’ she cried. ‘I told you everything I knew on Monday, I swear it.’
The blow came out of nowhere, striking her right cheek and slamming her head back. Shelagh could taste blood in her mouth, sliding over her tongue and down the back of her throat.
‘Did your friend take the ring?’ he said in a level voice.
‘No, no, I swear she didn’t.’
He squeezed harder. ‘Then who? You? You were on your own with the skeletons for long enough. Dr Tanner told me that.’
‘Why would I take it? It’s worth nothing to me.’
‘Why are you so sure Dr Tanner didn’t take it?’
‘She wouldn’t. She just wouldn’t,’ she cried. ‘Lots of other people went in. Any of them could have taken it. Dr Brayling, the police — .’ Shelagh abruptly stopped.
‘As you say, the police,’ he said. She held her breath. ‘Any one of them could have taken the ring. Yves Biau, for example.’
Shelagh froze. She could hear the rise and fall of his breathing, calm and unhurried. He knew.
‘The ring wasn’t there.’
He sighed. ‘Did Biau give the ring to you? To give to your friend?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she managed to say.
He hit her again, this time with his fist, not the flat of his hand. Blood spurted from her nose and poured down her chin.
‘What I don’t understand,’ he was saying, as if nothing had happened, ‘is why he didn’t give you the book as well, Dr O’Donnell.’
‘He gave me nothing,’ she choked.
‘Dr Brayling says you left the site house on Monday night carrying a bag.’
‘He’s lying.’
Who are you working for?’ he said softly, gently. ‘This will stop. If your friend isn’t involved, there’s no reason for her to be harmed.’
‘She’s not,’ she whimpered. ‘Alice doesn’t know . . .’
Shelagh flinched as he placed his hand on her throat, stroking her at first in a parody of affection. Then he started to squeeze, harder and harder, until it felt like an iron collar tightening around her neck. She thrashed from side to side, trying to get some air, but he was too strong.
‘Were you and Biau both working for her?’ he said.
Just as she could feel herself starting to lose consciousness, he released her. She felt him fumbling with the buttons on her shirt, undoing them one by one.
What are you doing?’ she whispered, then flinched at his cold, clinical touch on her skin.
‘No one’s looking for you.’ There was a click, then Shelagh smelled lighter fuel. ‘No one’s going to come.’
‘Please don’t hurt me . . .’
‘You and Biau were working together?’
She nodded.
‘For Madame de l’Oradore?’
She nodded again. ‘Her son,’ she managed to say. ‘François-Baptiste. I only talked to him . . .’
She could feel the flame close to her skin.
‘And what about the book?’
‘I couldn’t find it. Yves neither.’
She sensed him react, then he pulled his hand back.
‘So why did Biau go to Foix? You know he went to Dr Tanner’s hotel?’
Shelagh tried to shake her head, but it sent a new wave of pain shuddering through her body.
‘He passed something to her.’
‘It wasn’t the book,’ she managed to say.
Before she could choke out the rest of the sentence, the door opened and she heard muffled voices in the corridor, then the combination of the smell of aftershave and sweat.
‘How were you supposed to get the book to Madame de l’Oradore?’
‘François-Baptiste.’ It hurt to speak. ‘Meet him at the Pic de — I had a number to ring.’ She recoiled at the touch of his hand on her breast.
‘Please don’t — ’
‘You see how much easier it is when you cooperate? Now, in a moment, you’re going to make that call for me.’
Shelagh tried to shake her head in terror. ‘If they find out I’ve told you, they’ll kill me.’
‘And I will kill you and Mademoiselle Tanner if you don’t,’ he said calmly. ‘It’s your choice.’
Shelagh had no way of knowing if he had Alice. If she was safe or here too.
‘He is expecting you to call when you have the book, yes?’
She no longer had the courage to lie. She nodded. ‘They are more concerned with a small disc, the size of the ring, than the ring itself.’
With horror, Shelagh realised she’d told him the one thing he hadn’t known.
What’s the disc for?’ he demanded.
‘I don’t know.’
Shelagh heard herself screaming as the flame licked her skin.
‘What — is — it — for?’ he said. There was no emotion in his voice. She was freezing cold. There was a dreadful smell of burning flesh, sweet and sickly.
She could no longer distinguish one word from another as the pain started to carry her away. She was drifting, falling. She felt her neck giving way.
We’re losing her. Get the hood off.’
The material was dragged off, catching on the cuts and split skin.
‘Fits inside the ring . . .’
Her voice sounded as if it was coming from underwater. ‘Like a key. To the labyrinth . . .’
Who else knows about this?’ he was shouting at her, but she knew he couldn’t reach her now. Her chin dropped down on to her chest. He jerked her head back. One of her eyes was swollen shut, but the other flickered open. All she could see was a mass of blurred faces, moving in and out of her line of vision. ‘She doesn’t realise . . .’
‘Who?’ he said. ‘Madame de l’Oradore? Jeanne Giraud?’
‘Alice,’ she whispered.