17
I
It was going to be a long day: they both knew that. Bronson wanted to reach the Hamptons’ house in Italy that evening, a journey of a thousand miles or so, which was just about possible if they stayed on the autoroutes. They got up at seven, eschewed the hotel breakfast, paid for the rooms and dinner in cash and then left.
When Bronson had gone to his room the previous evening, Angela sat up in hers, searching through the books she’d bought in Cambridge. She was tired, but the idea that had come to her while she’d been staring at the computer screen in the third cybercafe’ in Cambridge was now making more sense.
Now, while Bronson drove, she explained her theory, referring occasionally to a pocket book in which she’d recorded some notes in her small, neat handwriting.
“I think Jeremy was right,” she began. “At least part of this puzzle is about the Cathars and the Albigensian Crusade, though perhaps not in the way he imagined. If we assume for the moment that the verses in the second inscription were written about, or perhaps even by, the Cathars, some of the references do begin to make sense. The most obvious example is the ‘safe mountain.’ That’s an unusual expression, and there’s no obvious reason why anyone should talk about any mountain as being ‘safe,’ unless you’re a Cathar. If you are, the words are immediately recognizable as a direct reference to the citadel of Montse’gur: the name actually means ‘safe mountain’ in Occitan. It was the last major stronghold of the religion, and it fell to the crusaders in 1244.
“If you look at the first verse of the inscription, not only do the words ‘safe mountain’ make sense, but the first two lines probably describe the end of the siege itself: From the safe mountain truth did descend, Abandoned by all save the good.
“We talked a bit about this last night, remember? There were two general categories of Cathar. The priests were known as parfaits or perfecti, and the believers were called credentes, but what’s interesting is that neither of them called themselves Cathars. In fact, there are some suggestions that the name—it’s thought to derive from the Greek ‘Katharoi,’ meaning ‘the pure ones’—was only used by people outside the religion. The Cathars almost always referred to themselves as ‘Bons Hommes’ or ‘Bonnes Femmes’—good men or good women—so when Montségur finally fell, you really could say that it had been ‘abandoned by all save the good,’ because the parfaits never left—they were executed on the spot.”
“And the ‘truth’ that descended?” Bronson asked. “What the hell does that mean?”
Angela smiled at him. “I’ve got an idea about that, but there are a few other things you need to understand first.”
“OK, Professor. Let’s hear it.”
“Right, so I assumed that these verses did have something to do with the Cathars, and worked on that premise. I started at the beginning, with the title, the ‘GB PS DDDBE.’ You remember Jeremy thought these letters probably referred to an expression that would have been in common use in the fourteenth century or thereabouts, something as clear and obvious to people then as, say, ‘RIP’ is to us today?
“I wondered if the expression had been corrupted, its meaning altered or distorted, again like ‘RIP.’ Ask most people today what those letters stand for, and they’ll say ‘rest in peace,’ but they don’t. The initials refer to the Latin expression ‘requiescat in pace.’ ”
“But that means pretty much the same, doesn’t it?” Bronson asked.
“Yes—‘may he rest in peace’—but my point is that most people aren’t even aware that when they say ‘RIP’ they’re actually quoting a Latin expression, not an English one. So I wondered if this, too, was an old Latin expression that had been corrupted. But I was wrong. It wasn’t. It was pure Occitan, and pure Cathar.
“I started with the ‘GB,’ but that didn’t get me anywhere. Then I looked at the other initials, and particularly the last five, the ‘DDDBE.’ Once I made sense of those, the ‘PS’ was obvious, and then it was just a matter of finding out who ‘GB’ was, and that wasn’t too difficult once I’d decoded the other letters.”
“So those initials referred to a person?” Bronson asked.
Angela nodded. “I think ‘GB’ was Guillaume Be’libaste.”
“Never heard of him.”
“You wouldn’t have, unless you’ve studied the history of medieval France. Guillaume Bélibaste was the last known Cathar parfait, and he was burned alive in 1321. That was the method of execution preferred by the Vatican for dangerous heretics, which, in the Middle Ages, simply meant anyone who disagreed with the Pope.”
“So what does the title mean?”
“When any Cathar was about to die,” Angela replied, looking down at her notebook, “prayers were said, prayers that started with a particular Occitan expression: ‘Payre sant, Dieu dreiturier dels bons esperits. ’ The initial letters of that expression spell ‘PS DDDBE.’ That roughly translates as ‘Holy Father, true God of pure souls,’ somewhat analogous to the beginning of the Lord’s Prayer: ‘Our Father, which art in heaven.’
“It was a common expression at the time, because you can still see it at several different locations in the Languedoc region of France. According to the books, there’s a particularly clear example carved on a stone at Minerve in Herault, where a group of Cathars took refuge after the massacre at Béziers, where about twenty thousand people were slaughtered by the crusaders. But it was only a temporary reprieve. In 1210 some one hundred and eighty parfaits were burned alive there by the advancing crusaders.”
“Is that what the Spanish called an auto-da-fé?”
“No. The execution of heretics never took place during the auto-da-fe’. The expression simply meant an ‘act of faith’ and was conducted by the Inquisition. It was a very public spectacle that lasted for hours, sometimes days, and often involved thousands of spectators. It began with a mass, then prayers, followed by a procession of those found guilty of heresy and a reading of their sentences. Punishment would only be administered after the auto-da-fe’ had finished.”
“Did people just come forward and confess, then?”
Angela laughed. “No, or not very often anyway. According to the records, most so-called heretics were snitched on by their neighbors, and it’s reasonably certain the arrival of the Inquisition offered a wonderful opportunity to settle old scores. The problem the accused faced was that they were in a no-win position. If they admitted to whatever charges the Inquisitors leveled at them, they could face death at the stake. If they denied the accusations, they’d be tortured until they did confess.
“As far as the Inquisitors were concerned, there was no question of an accused person being innocent—the fact that an accusation had been made was sufficient proof of guilt, and all they had to do then was obtain a signed confession from the heretic. That almost always involved prolonged and inventive torture and took place in private, in specially equipped torture chambers. The Inquisitors were forbidden to spill blood, during either questioning or execution, so they made liberal use of the rack and the strappado to dislocate joints. They also roasted limbs over slow fires, usually the feet because the heretic had to be able to sign a confession once it was all over.”
“Nice people,” Bronson observed drily.
“Their aim was to cause the maximum possible pain for prolonged periods of time, and they specialized in methods that involved little effort on the part of the interrogators, so they had plenty of time to pray for guidance. Lighting a fire, for example, or hauling a victim up using the strappado took just a few minutes, but the heretic would be in agony for hours or days.
“One of their favorites was the iron boot. They’d put the victim’s foot in an iron boot, then hammer wooden wedges all around the leg, crushing the shin and ankle. That was bad enough, but it was only the first stage. As a refinement, they’d pour water into the boot and leave the man overnight. The wooden wedges would absorb the water and expand, steadily increasing the pressure on the lower leg. After a few hours, while the interrogators were sleeping soundly or kneeling in prayer, the bones of the shin and ankle would be shattered, the muscles ripped to shreds, and for sure the man would never walk again.
“If execution was necessary, the only method approved by the Vatican was burning at the stake, again because that wouldn’t spill the victim’s blood, but even then there were refinements. Recanting at the last moment earned the condemned the mercy of being garrotted before the pyre was lit. Heretics who refused to do so would be made to suffer for even longer by the use of slow-burning wood. The executioners could also add fuel like wet or green wood that would generate choking fumes intended to kill the victims before the fire reached them—a small mercy. As a method of execution, burning offered considerable variety, and the Spanish and Portuguese were apparently very good at it. And they had plenty of victims to practice on.”
“And the French?”
“My guess is they just chained their victims to wooden posts, lit the fire and waited for the screaming to stop.”
Angela fell silent as the Renault Espace sped along the autoroute, heading southeast for the Italian border, with the back still full of the boxes they’d bought from B&Q.
“OK,” Bronson conceded, “but I still don’t see how any of that helps us. The Hamptons’ house is in Italy, not France, and even if you’re right and the second inscription does relate to the Cathars, the other one is written in Latin and is maybe fifteen hundred years older. So what possible connection could there be between them?”
“Well, I have a theory. It’s a crazy idea, but it does answer at least one of our questions.”
“Try me.”
“First, we have to go back to 1244 and the end of the siege of Montségur, when the garrison of the fortress eventually surrendered. It had been a long, hard siege, but realistically there was only ever going to be one result, and everyone knew it. On the first of March that year, facing overwhelming odds and with food and drink reserves running low, the defenders finally capitulated.
“Now, this siege had occupied a significant number of men-at-arms for months, and had incurred huge costs for the crusaders. Plus, the Pope had initiated the Albigensian Crusade with the specific intention of completely destroying the Cathar heresy, and it was known that some two hundred parfaits had taken refuge in the fortress. In almost every other case, the defenders of towns and castles taken by the crusaders were slaughtered without mercy. So what terms do you think the crusaders offered?”
“Probably a choice between beheading, hanging or burning at the stake?”
“Exactly,” Angela said. “That’s more or less what any impartial observer would have guessed. Would you like to know what terms they actually offered?”
“Worse than that?”
Angela shook her head, and referred again to her small notebook. “Listen to this. First, the men-at-arms—that’s the mercenary soldiers and others employed as the bulk of the garrison at Montségur—were to be allowed to walk away with all their goods and equipment, and would receive full pardons for their part in the defense of the fortress.”
“Well,” Bronson said slowly, “I suppose they weren’t actually part of the heresy. I mean, they weren’t Cathars, were they, just people employed by them?”
“I agree,” Angela said. “Ever heard of a place called Bram?”
“No.”
“It was another Cathar stronghold that fell in 1210 after a three-day siege, and there was nothing very significant in that. But shortly afterward, when the crusaders under Simon de Montfort tried to—”
“Simon who?” Bronson asked.
“Simon de Montfort. He was the commander of the crusaders at the time, and was trying to capture the four castles at Lastours, just north of Carcassonne, but he’d met furious resistance. To persuade the defenders to give up the fight, Simon’s men took one hundred of the prisoners they’d captured at Bram and cut off their lips, noses and ears. Then they blinded them all apart from one man who only had one eye put out, so he could lead his companions in a bloody parade in front of the castles.”
“Dear God,” Bronson murmured. “Did the tactic work?”
“Of course not. It only made the defenders more determined to fight on, if only to avoid the same fate. The castles did fall, but not until a year later. That’s just one example of ‘God’s mercy’ as it was interpreted during the Albigensian Crusade.
“Or take the massacre at Béziers, where some twenty thousand men, women and children were slaughtered in the name of God and Christian charity. Before the attack, Bishop Arnaud Armaury, the Papal Legate and the Pope’s personal representative, was asked by the crusaders how they could identify the heretics, because there were believed to be only about five hundred Cathars in the town. His reply in Latin was recorded as: ‘Cædite eos. Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius.’ That translates as, ‘Kill them all. God will know his own.’ And that’s exactly what they did.”
“I didn’t know any of this,” Bronson said. “It’s just unbelievable. Anyway, back to Montségur. The crusaders were lenient with the soldiers, but I presume not with the Cathars themselves?”
“Wrong again,” Angela said. “The parfaits were told that if they renounced their beliefs and confessed their sins to the Inquisition they would be allowed to go free, but they would have to leave all their possessions behind.”
“In other words,” Bronson interjected, “both the Cathars and their soldiers were handed ‘get out of jail free’ cards. But why?”
“You haven’t heard the best bit yet. The first anomaly was the leniency of the surrender terms. The defenders requested a two-week truce to consider the terms—terms that, if they’d been accepted, would have allowed the entire garrison to walk away from Montse’gur unharmed. That’s the second anomaly: you wouldn’t have thought they’d have needed more than two minutes to consider their options, not two weeks. Anyway, surprisingly, the crusaders agreed to this.” She paused.
“And this is where it gets really peculiar. When the truce expired on the fifteenth of March, not only did all the parfaits reject the surrender terms unequivocally, but at least twenty of the non-Cathar defenders elected to receive the ultimate Cathar vow—the consolamentum perfecti—so condemning themselves to a certain and horrendously painful death.”
“When they could have just walked away, they opted for death?”
“Right. At dawn on the sixteenth of March 1244, more than two hundred parfaits were taken out of the fortress and escorted down to the foot of the mountain. There, they were pushed into a hastily built wood-filled stockade and burned alive. None of them recanted their heresy, despite being offered every opportunity to do so.”
For a few moments Bronson was silent. “That really doesn’t make sense. Why would they reject the surrender terms after asking for two weeks to think about it? And, especially, why did the Cathars—and, from what you say, twenty-odd non-Cathars—decide their best option was to scream their way to death in the flames instead of simply walking away?”
“That’s the interesting part. It’s also worth pointing out that even when chained to the stake, the heretics were always given one last chance to recant.”
“And then they could walk away?” Bronson asked.
“No, not at that stage. But as I said before, they would then be garrotted as an act of mercy rather than be burned alive. So what made the Cathars so sure of their faith that they were prepared to die in just about the most painful way imaginable rather than repudiate it?”
Bronson rubbed his chin. “They must have had one hell of a reason.”
“There’s a persistent story—I’ve found references to it both on the Internet and in the books I’ve studied—that suggests there was a definite reason for the delay in the Cathars’ decision to accept or reject the surrender terms, and also for their willingness to perish in the flames. They were protecting their treasure.”
Bronson glanced at Angela to see if she was joking, but her expression remained deadly serious.
“Treasure? But how could the deaths of two hundred Cathars by fire possibly help protect it?”
“I think—and this really is conjecture—that the Cathars were prepared to sacrifice themselves as a kind of diversion. They thought that once they’d died in the flames, the crusaders would be less inclined to mount a proper guard on Montse’gur and that would allow a few of their number to escape with their most precious possessions.
“And I don’t believe we’re talking about a typical treasure. No gold or jewels, nothing like that. I think their treasure was some kind of religious relic, an object of undeniable provenance that proved the veracity of the Cathar faith beyond any doubt. That might be enough, not only to persuade the committed members of the order to accept death at the hands of the crusaders, but also to convince the twenty non-Cathars to join them.”
“So the treasure wasn’t really a treasure at all, in the usual sense of the word?” Bronson interjected. “It was probably completely worthless in intrinsic terms—just an old bit of parchment or something—but priceless in what it proved?”
“Exactly.”
“But what could it be?”
“Impossible to say for sure, but we can infer certain things about it from what we do know. If the sources I’ve looked at have got it right, sometime during that last night at Montse’gur, as the flames of the huge pyre at the foot of the mountain died away to a dull red glow, the last four parfaits escaped. They’d been hidden in the fortress by the garrison, and chose an extremely hazardous, but almost undetectable, route, using ropes to descend the sheer west face of the mountain.
“They took this risk because they were carrying the treasure of the Cathars. They reached the foot of the mountain and then vanished both into the night and from the pages of history. No one knows what they were carrying, where they went or what happened to them.
“If there’s any truth in that story, then there are at least two points worth making. First, whatever the ‘treasure’ comprised, it had to be fairly small and not too heavy, because otherwise the four men couldn’t have carried it during their perilous descent. Second, it had to be a physical object, not simply knowledge, or the four parfaits could have disguised themselves as soldiers or servants and left the fortress with the men-at-arms the following day.
“Now, this is all guesswork, unsupported by a single shred of verifiable evidence, but it does provide a plausible explanation for what happened when the siege of Montse’gur ended. But what happened next on the mountain is in the historical record.
“Once the fortress was deserted, the crusaders, acting on the specific instructions of the Pope, tore it apart in a desperate search for some object, some ‘treasure.’ But whatever it was they were looking for, they clearly didn’t find it, because they dismantled the castle, quite literally stone by stone. It’s not generally known, but the citadel that now stands at Montse’gur was actually erected early in the seventeenth century, and no part of the original Cathar castle now remains at the site.
“For the next half-century, Rome ordered all traces of the Cathar heresy to be expunged from the landscape. As well as executing every parfait they could lay their hands on, the crusaders also continued their search for whatever had been secreted at Montségur, but without result. Eventually, memory of the ‘treasure of the Cathars’ passed into the mists of legend. And that’s the story of Montse’gur as we know it today: a mix of historical fact, rumor and conjecture.”
“But what the hell has that got to do with a six-hundred-year-old farmhouse on the side of a hill in Italy?” Bronson asked, waving his arm in frustration.
“It’s all in the inscription,” Angela explained. “The first verse of the Occitan poem can be interpreted as a specific reference to the end of the siege.”
She read Goldman’s translation of the verse from her notebook:
“ ‘From the safe mountain truth did descend
Abandoned by all save the good
The cleansing flames quell only flesh
And pure spirits soar above the pyre
For truth like stone forever will endure.’
“The second line could describe the surrender of the garrison of Montse’gur, and the third and fourth the mass execution when the Cathars were burned alive. But I think the expressions ‘truth did descend’ and ‘truth like stone forever will endure’ refer to the escape of the four remaining parfaits, carrying with them some document or relic upon which the core of their faith—their unarguable ‘truth’—relied. Whatever the object, it was so compelling in its implications that Cathars would rather die at the stake than renounce their beliefs.”
“And the second verse?” Bronson asked.
“That’s just as interesting, and again some lines seem to refer to the Cathars.”
Again, she read the verse aloud:
“ ‘Here oak and elm descry the mark
As is above so is below
The word becomes the perfect
Within the chalice all is naught
And terrible to behold.’
“The expression in the second line was commonly used by the Cathars, and the ‘word’ referred to in the third line could be the ‘truth’ that guided the beliefs of the parfaits. The first line’s nothing to do with the Cathars, but I think it’s possible that the reference to the two species of tree indicates a hiding place.”
“And the last couple of lines? About the chalice?”
“I’m guessing—I’ve been guessing all along, but now I’m really guessing—that they mean the object was secreted in some kind of a vessel—a chalice—and that it’s dangerous.”
Bronson began to reduce speed. He was approaching Vierzon, where the autoroute divided, and turned southeast for Clermont-Ferrand.
“So what you’re suggesting,” Bronson said, “is that the Cathars had some kind of relic, something that confirmed their beliefs, and that quite probably would have been seen as dangerous by other religions? And the Pope started the crusade to recover or destroy it?”
“Exactly. The Albigensian Crusade was instigated by Pope Innocent III—and rarely was any pope so misnamed—in 1209.”
“Right. So you think the Pope knew about this relic and believed it was secreted somewhere at Montse’gur? And that was why he ordered the different treatment of the Cathars and garrison there, and why, after the massacre, his crusaders demolished the fortress?”
“Yes. And if my reading of these verses is right, I think we may well find that the Cathar treasure was hidden somewhere in Mark’s house in Italy!”
II
Back at their hotel near Gatwick, Mandino and Rogan had spent hours using their laptops to study the search strings the intercept system had recovered from the Cambridge cybercafe’s.
They seemed to have exhausted all their other options. They’d waited outside Angela Lewis’s building, but her apartment lights had remained switched off, and neither her phone nor her doorbell was answered. Bronson’s house was just as obviously deserted, and Mandino had now realized that both of them had disappeared. The intercept system was all they had left.
The biggest problem they’d faced was the sheer volume of information they had to work with. Carlotti, Mandino’s deputy who’d remained in Italy, had sent them three Excel files. Two contained the searches input at the cybercafe’s he believed Bronson had visited, while the third and much larger file listed the search strings from the other half dozen Internet cafés within the five-mile radius which Mandino had requested.
He and Rogan ran internal searches for words they knew their quarry had been looking for, including “LDA,” “consul,” “senator” and so on. Each time either of them got a hit, they copied the following fifty search strings and saved them in separate files.
Just doing that took a long time, and at the end of it they were really no further forward.
“We’re not getting anywhere with this,” Mandino said in irritation. “We already knew that Bronson had probably worked out what the additional letters meant on the Latin inscription. What I haven’t found yet is anything that looks like it might refer to the second inscription.”
Rogan leaned back from his laptop. “Same here,” he said.
“I think what we need to do is try to second-guess Bronson,” Mandino mused. “I wonder . . .”
He did have one powerful weapon in his armory. The book he held in his safe in Rome contained the first few lines of the Latin text of the lost relic. More important, it had a potentially useful couple of pages that detailed the Vatican’s attempts to trace the document’s location through the ages.
“The house in Italy,” he asked, turning to face Rogan. “Did you find the exact date it was built?”
His companion shook his head. “No. I did a search in the property register in Scandriglia, and turned up several records of sales, but they were all quite recent. The earliest reference I could find was a house shown in that location on a map of the area dated 1396, so we know it’s been standing for at least six hundred years. There was also an earlier map from the first half of the fourteenth century that doesn’t show any building on the site. Why, capo?”
“Just an idea,” Mandino said. “There’s a section in that book I was given by the Vatican that lists the groups that might have possessed the relic through the ages. The likely candidates include the Bogomils, the Cathars and Mani, who founded Manichaeism.
“Now,” Mandino went on, “I think that Mani and the Bogomils were too early, but the Cathars are a possibility because that house must have been constructed shortly after the end of the Albigensian Crusade in the fourteenth century.
“And there’s something else. That crusade was one of the bloodiest in history—thousands of people were executed in the name of God. The Vatican’s justification for the massacres and wholesale looting was the Pope’s determination to rid the Christian world of the Cathar heresy. But the book suggests that the real reason was the growing suspicion by the Pope that the Cathars had somehow managed to obtain the Exomologesis.”
“The what?”
“The lost relic. Pope Vitalian called it the Exomologesis de assectator mendax, which means ‘The confession of sin by the false disciple,’ but eventually it became known inside the Vatican just as the Exomologesis.”
“So why did they think the Cathars had found it?”
“Because the Cathars were so implacably opposed to Rome and the Catholic Church, and the Vatican believed they had to have some unimpeachable document as the basis for their opposition. The Exomologesis would have fitted the bill very well. And the Albigensian Crusade was only half successful. The Church managed to eliminate the Cathars as a religious movement, but they never found the relic. From what I’ve read, the crusaders probably came close to recovering it at Montse’gur, but it somehow slipped through their hands.
“Now,” Mandino continued, “looking at the dates— which seem to fit—I wonder if a Cathar placed the second inscription in the Italian house, or perhaps even built it. We know from what Hampton told us that the verses were written in Occitan. Why don’t you try searching for words like ‘Montségur,’ ‘Cathar’ and ‘Occitan,’ and I’ll check for Cathar expressions.”
Mandino logged onto the Internet and rapidly identified a dozen Occitan phrases, and their English translations, and then turned his attention to the search strings. Almost immediately he got two hits.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Here we are. Bronson—or someone at that cybercafé—looked for ‘perfect,’ and then the expression ‘as is above, so is below.’ I’ll just try ‘Montse’gur.’ ”
That didn’t generate a hit, but “safe mountain” did, and when he checked, Mandino found that all three searches had originated from a single computer at the second cybercafe’ he believed Bronson had visited in Cambridge.
“This is the clincher,” he said, and Rogan leaned over to look at the screen of his laptop. “The third expression he searched for was a complete sentence: ‘From the safe mountain truth did descend.’ I’m certain that refers to the end of the siege of Montségur, and it also implies that the Cathars had possessed the Exomologesis—their ‘truth’—and managed to smuggle it out of the fortress.”
“And the searches are all in English,” Rogan pointed out.
“I know,” Mandino agreed, “which means that Bronson must have obtained a translation of the inscription from Goldman almost as soon as he got back to Britain. If he hadn’t been hit by that taxi, we’d have had to kill him anyway.”
They searched for another half hour, but found nothing further of interest.
“So what now, capo?”
“We’ve got two choices. Either we find Bronson as quickly as possible—and that doesn’t look likely to happen—or we go back to Italy and wait for him to turn up and start digging in the garden, or wherever he thinks the Exomologesis is hidden.”
“I’ll book the tickets,” Rogan said, turning back to his laptop.
III
“You’re kidding,” Bronson said.
“I’m not,” Angela retorted. “Look at the dates. You told me that the Hamptons’ house was built roughly in the middle of the fourteenth century. That was around a hundred years after the fall of Montse’gur, and about twenty-five years after the last known Cathar parfait was executed.
“And once in Italy, their first priority would have been to secrete their ‘treasure’—the ‘truth’ they’d managed to smuggle out of Montségur at the end of the siege—somewhere safe. They needed a permanent hiding place, somewhere that would endure, not just a hole in the ground somewhere. I think they decided to hide the relic in something permanent, or as near as possible, and one obvious choice would be a substantial house, probably in the foundations, so that routine alterations to the property wouldn’t uncover it.
“But they also wouldn’t want to bury it beyond recovery, because it was the most important document they possessed, and they must have hoped that one day their religion would be revived. So whoever hid the relic would have needed to leave a marker, a clue of some kind, that would later enable someone, someone who understood the Cathar religion and who would be able to decipher the coded message, to retrieve it. If I’m right, then that was the entire purpose of the Occitan inscription.”
Bronson shifted his attention from the unwinding autoroute in front of him and glanced across at his ex-wife. Her cheeks were flushed pink with the excitement of her discovery. Although he’d always had enormous respect for her analytical ability and professional expertise, the way she’d dissected the problem and arrived at an entirely logical—albeit almost unbelievable—solution, amazed him.
“OK, Angela,” he said, “what you say does make sense. You always made sense. But what are the chances that the Hamptons’ second home in Italy was the chosen location? It just seems so—I don’t know—unlikely, somehow.”
“But treasure—real treasure—turns up all the time, and often in the most unlikely places. Look at the Mildenhall Hoard. In 1942 a plowman turned up what is probably the greatest collection of Roman silver ever found, in the middle of a field in East Anglia. How unlikely is that?
“And what other explanation can you offer for the carved stone? The dates fit very well; the stone would seem to be Cathar in origin, and has been in the house since the place was built. The fact that the inscription’s written in Occitan provides an obvious link to the Languedoc, and the contents of the verses themselves only make sense if you understand the Cathars. There’s also the strong likelihood that a Cathar ‘treasure’ was smuggled out of Montségur. If it was, it had to be hidden somewhere. So why not in that house?”