Lia tugged at the iron bell-pull of the Belcastel mansion and stood tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for someone to answer.
Pons opened the door to her.
‘Oh. Demoiselle Maury. You were not expected.’
There was something awkward, almost unwelcoming in his manner, but she pushed past him, running into the hall, calling out as she went, ‘Where’s Berengar? I must speak with him.’
Pons followed after her.
‘Dem’selle.’ His voice was hushed as though he didn’t want to be overheard. ‘Dem’selle, there’s something you ought to –’
A figure appeared in the doorway. Lia started forward, words of relief and greeting on her lips, only to see it was neither Beranger nor Alissende but the forbidding figure of the Dowager; stooped, stiff, clutching her ebony walking stick in one gnarled hand, a letter in the other.
‘Lia Maury. Well, well, child. I’m surprised you have the impudence to show your face here.’
Lia hesitated. The Dowager’s eyes did not look on her kindly; they glittered, hard and cold as hailstones.
‘How well you deceived us! And how well we were taken in! To think the wedding might have gone ahead –’
‘Wedding?’ Lia echoed, falteringly.
‘All here. In this document. Tsiyonim!’ hissed the Dowager, shaking the paper in Lia’s face. ‘Read it. Deny it to my face if you dare.’
‘H-how did you come by this?’ Lia took the document, hastily scanning the neatly penned lines. Ithamar … that name again. The name she had only heard for the first time yesterday, at the head of a family tree filled with the names of strangers, all unfamiliar save for one. The last, at the bottom of the tree: ‘Zillah, daughter of Ithamar and Liah of Tolonada.’
‘Deny that is your mother’s name.’ The Dowager snatched the document back before Lia could read any more. ‘Well? Well?’ Her lips set in a smile of grim satisfaction. ‘As I thought! Your silence confirms it.’
‘I didn’t know –’ Lia burst out.
‘You may consider the contract null and void. All gifts exchanged between the two of you will be returned. And you may tell your mother to expect a visit from my lawyer.’
One mottled hand reached out and grabbed the Belcastel emerald, tugging hard; Lia felt the thin chain snap.
‘And Berengar? He has no say in the matter?’ she managed, almost speechless with fury.
‘My grandson will do what I wish him to do. He will do what is in the family’s best interests.’ The Dowager clutched the emerald to her breast possessively, the broken ends of the chain trailing from her claw-like fingers. ‘And you, dem’selle, will leave my house this instant. I have instructed the servants that you are not to be re-admitted. Not under any circumstances.’
Lia felt tears in her eyes, burning tears of rage and humiliation that threatened to spill out. But she would not cry in front of the hateful old woman. She would leave with what little dignity and courage she could muster. She would turn her back, walk out whilst the Dowager was still spitting insults at her.
Somehow, through the haze of tears, she found her way to the door and fumbled for the heavy latch.
‘Lia,’ she heard someone whisper, so faintly she thought she had imagined it. ‘Lia!’
Blindly, she turned around and saw Alissende frantically beckoning her from a doorway.
‘I’m sorry,’ Alissende said. She had been crying too; her milky skin was red and blotched. ‘I’m so, so sorry, Lia –’
‘Pons? Pons?’ came the Dowager’s voice, sharply imperious. ‘See that Lia Maury is escorted off the premises. She is not to have any further communication with my granddaughter. See to it now!’
‘Stand up to her!’ Lia said through her tears. ‘Alissende – you don’t have to do as she says. Stand up for yourself.’
She saw Alissende hesitate.
‘Alissende,’ Lia implored. ‘Do all our years as friends count as nothing?’
‘Don’t answer her!’ cried the Dowager.
Alissende opened her mouth to reply – and then closed it again, her lips twisting in an anguish of indecision.
‘Remove that young woman, Pons!’
Pons came down the hall towards Lia.
‘Lissi,’ Lia said, slipping back into childhood names, ‘oh Lissi, I hoped you – you’d stand by me –’
Alissende turned away, shaking her head.
‘Pons!’ screeched the Dowager. ‘Get her out!’
Pons opened the door. His gaze met Lia’s for one moment, then slid apologetically away.
‘I was just going,’ Lia said with as much hauteur as she could manage. She stepped down into the rain-washed street and walked away without a backward glance.
Only when she had turned the corner did she stop, choked by tears of rage and humiliation.
Berengar would defend her. Berengar was the sole inheritor of his father’s estates – he was Lord of Belcastel.
She dried her eyes on a corner of her hem and straightened her dress.
Who was the Dowager anyway? Just a sour, ill-tempered beldame. Lia Maury would not let a crabbed old woman get the better of her. She would send Peire into the city to find Berengar – and then they would see who held the most influence in the Belcastel household! She hesitated, tempted to go herself – but glancing up at the sky she saw that the cloudy twilight was fast fading to night. She shivered, remembering her mother’s advice: ‘No woman of good repute ventures abroad after dark in Arcassanne without an escort.’
She began to hasten her pace, still glancing uneasily around, fearing that there were prowlers lurking in every alleyway, waiting to molest her.
Just as she was almost in sight of home, she felt a sharp stab in the sole of her right foot. Stopping to shake out her shoe to see if she had picked up a stone, she heard the tread of marching feet approaching.
Her first impulse was to rush out to see if it was Berengar with the Watch – but some instinct made her hold back. She slipped into a doorway and waited.
A small detachment of the Watch passed by: eight men walking briskly, arms swinging. And in their midst – Lia pressed her hand to her mouth to stop herself from crying out aloud – was Zillaïs.
Jaufré d’Orbiel had arrested her mother!
*
The back door was open. Warily Lia put her head around the door, listening.
From inside the unlit house came the faint, muffled sound of weeping.
‘Emmenza?’ Lia crept inside.
Emmenza sat on the stairs, her apron over her face, rocking to and fro, speechless with grief.
‘Emmenza?’ Lia ventured closer, one hand extended to pat her on the shoulder.
Emmenza lowered her apron just enough to peep at Lia.
‘Lia?’ She burst into even louder sobs. ‘Oh Lia, Lia … they took your poor mother…’
‘Why did they take her?’
‘Because she was – is Emmenza could hardly say the word through her sobs. ‘One of them.’
‘Tsiyonim?’ Lia dared to say the word aloud, not knowing how Emmenza would react.
‘As if it mattered!’ Emmenza gave an outraged snort. ‘She’s been a good mistress to me all these years. I said I’d stand by her. And stand by her I will, no matter what people say.’ She blew her nose loudly. ‘But why aren’t you with the Belcastels, my pet? Your mother was sure you’d be safe there.’
‘I was turned away,’ Lia said. ‘The Dowager won’t have anything more to do with me.’
‘That evil, spiteful old woman!’ cried Emmenza. “The Belcastels are snobs. Nothing but puffed-up, self-regarding snobs.’ She started to cry again.
Lia sank down on the stair below Emmenza and let her head rest against the old woman’s knee. Suddenly all the fight had drained out of her. She felt weak with emotional exhaustion.
‘What shall we do, ‘Menza?’ she whispered. ‘What shall we do?’
She felt Emmenza’s hand on her head, stroking the straying hairs from her forehead as if she were still a little girl.
‘Don’t fret now. We’ll think of something.’
There came a distant tremor of movement deep below the stairs. Emmenza started.
‘Lady love us, what was that?’
Rahab. Lia had forgotten all about him until now. He was still in the under-cellar – and it sounded as if he was trying to get out.
‘What was what?’ she said vaguely.
The sound came again; a faint, grinding rumble as if someone were moving the liqueur casks.
‘There!’ Emmenza stood up. ‘You must have heard it this time. In the cellar. Someone’s in the cellar.’
‘Rats?’ Lia said.
‘I’m going for Peire. I’ll get him to bring his pitchfork.’
‘Emmenza – wait –’
‘You come with me, Lia. That could be a thief, though Lady knows how he broke in –’
‘I’ve a better idea,’ Lia said, desperately trying to think of a way to distract Emmenza. ‘You go get the pitchfork. Send Peire to find Lord Berengar.’
‘I’m not leaving you alone here.’
‘I’ll barricade the cellar door with the kitchen bench. I’ll be safe.’
‘And if he has accomplices –’
‘Take a lantern.’ Lia shooed Emmenza down the stairs towards the darkened kitchen. Striking a tinder, she lit two lanterns, one for herself, one for Emmenza, and propelled the cook towards the unlit garden.
The turbulence in Rahab’s mind slowly ebbed away, stormclouds drifting apart, breaking up to let through the last light of the sun. But in their place, in the unearthly calm that followed the storm, all Rahab felt was emptiness. The calm was a void.
He came back to himself to find he was lying in musty blackness.
Dear God. They must have thought he was dead – and buried him.
He flailed around in a panic until his scrabbling hands hit against something large, wooden … barrel-shaped?
He sniffed the air. There was a faint hint of … spirits. The rich, mature smell of old grape liqueur, the burned-wood savour of oak casks …
Strange tomb … He had heard of pickling bodies in spirits to preserve them – but there was not a drop of spirits on him …
Not buried – but imprisoned, then. Orbiel’s Hawks must have caught him and flung him into this horrible lightless oubliette.
‘Help!’ he shouted, struggling to his knees, crashing against a cask, hearing the liquid inside sloshing around. ‘Help! Let me out!’
‘Rahab?’
He froze, listening, certain he had heard a faint answering call.
Someone was outside; he could see a thin trace of light outlining the shape of a door.
‘Here!’ he called. ‘In here!’
The door creaked open and lanternlight spilled into his musty prison.
‘Quick!’ someone hissed. ‘You’ve got to get out!’
In the dazzle of lanternlight, Rahab could just make out the pale face of – of Lia Maury. He could also see the wine casks and barrels of spirits lining the walls.
What was he doing in her cellar?
Confused, he stumbled towards the light, crawling out on hands and knees.
‘Hurry!’
He wanted to hurry but his legs would not cooperate. He felt sick and light-headed, as if he had been ill in bed for days with fever.
‘You’ve got to get away from here. They’ve just arrested my mother.’
In the lanternlight he saw that her face was dirty with streaks of dried tears, her hair in disarray. Sudden flashes of memory illuminated the void in his mind.
‘Your mother,’ he said slowly.
‘You’ve got to go to Tifereth. Remember? To get help?’
‘How?’ he said forlornly. ‘I don’t even know where Tifereth is.’
He heard her stifled exclamation of exasperation.
‘At least get those things out of my house. Out of the city. They’ve brought us nothing but ill luck.’
What things? She was pointing at his hands. He looked down and saw he was holding a piece of crumpled red felt. Inside he caught a gleam of enamelled metal, colours darkly rich as gemstones.
The Guardian Amulets.
He looked up again and saw that she was watching him with a curious expression; half-pitying, half-scornful.
‘Oh, all right then. I’ll see you to the Aude Gate. Come on.’
Berengar yawned hugely as he waited for Pons to open the door.
Supper – and then bed. No … bed. He was exhausted.
The door opened.
‘Bring bread and boiled ham to my chamber, Pons,’ Berengar said – and then stopped, seeing the Dowager sitting bolt upright in her chair in the hall, one jewelled hand on her stick, watching the door.
‘At last you deign to return home, Berengar. Where have you been? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. Look at the state of you – your face is dirty, your clothes ruined –’
‘I’ve been putting out a fire, Gran’mère.’
‘Well, you’ve no time to change. You’re needed on the estate. There’s storm damage to be assessed.’
Berengar yawned again; he was not in the least interested in riding out to Belcastel.
‘Can’t Thibaud do it? Isn’t that what stewards are meant to do?’
‘These are your lands, your tenants, your inheritance. Thibaud is a paid servant – you’re the master.’ The Dowager bristled with indignation.
‘At least let it wait until I’ve had some breakfast.’
‘You’ve no time for breakfast. Saddle up Arbutus and ride out to the farm.’
‘But Gran’mère, I –’
‘Your father would not have said but. Your father would not have needed the prompting. He would have put his estates first.’
‘Damn it all!’ Berengar knew there would be no peace from her nagging until he acceded. ‘Pons! Don’t take the bread and ham to my chamber. Wrap it and put it in my saddle bags.’
Lia grabbed her father’s old jacket from the back of the cellar door and draped it around Rahab’s shoulders. It was the patched, mildewed garment Auger kept for working in the cellar or the garden – and was several sizes too big for the tailor. No matter. It would have to serve as a disguise.
When she looked back at him, he was shambling aimlessly around the kitchen. What had become of the brave, bitter man who had risked his life to save his family? Had the Guardian taken his wits as well as his strength?
And then she checked herself. What was she doing? Why had she taken pity on him?
She was just ridding herself of incriminating evidence, that was all. It wouldn’t help her mother’s case if the Watch were to find the wanted man sheltering in their cellar.
Her mother’s straw gardening hat lay on the table; as Lia bustled Rahab into the hall, she snatched it, jamming it on her head. She patted her belt to check her little purse was still attached and felt a reassuring bulge of coins.
‘Lia? Where are you, pet?’
She heard Emmenza puffing and wheezing as she came back into the kitchen.
‘I couldn’t find the fork but I’ve brought a hoe –’
Lia opened the front door and pushed Rahab out into the unlit street.
Rahab stumbled, almost missing his footing. She gripped hold of him by the arm.
‘Can’t you go any faster?’
‘S-sorry …’ He slurred his words as if he was drunk. That might work to their advantage; two staggering figures propping each other up was not an uncommon sight in the city after dark. But drunkards were also easy prey for thieves – and the wick in her lantern was already guttering. Heavens – suppose it should go out before they reached the Gate?
‘For heaven’s sakes, at least try.’
In the distance she could still make out Emmenza’s voice plaintively calling her name into the night.
It was downhill from the top of the lane to the river; a winding, cobbled path that was too steep for carts. Weeds had sprung up through the cobbles, thick-spined thistles and coarse-leaved clumps of yellow ragwort. And since the storm, the cobbles were slimy with channels of mud washed down from the steep hillside above, making the descent treacherous and difficult to negotiate.
A breeze shivered through the knotted willow branches overhead, peppering them with raindrops. Far away, a dog bayed – and another answered. Lia glanced around uneasily. Had they brought dogs to track Rahab down? She could just make out the glint of water far below where a looping bend in the river Aude encircled the wooded western flank of Arcassanne. The Aude Gate lay beneath them; she could just make out the watchfires burning on the ramparts.
Unsupported, Rahab sank slowly down on to the muddy path, legs awkwardly folding under him like a newborn foal.
Lia gazed at him scornfully. He did not look much of a hero now. Yet what he had dared was, she supposed, heroic. Or, at least, heroic for a tailor.
And now he sat slumped amongst the weeds, unable to put one foot in front of the other. How was he ever to make his way alone across country into the mountains?
She shrugged the question aside. She would buy him passage on a riverboat going upstream. And there her involvement would end. She would have done her best to ensure her mother’s amulet did not fall into the wrong hands.
The lanternflame trembled in a sudden damp shiver of breeze. Lia lifted up the lantern and examined the wick; it had curled round on itself, with maybe no more than a few minutes’ burning time left.
‘Come on,’ she said, prodding Rahab. ‘Before this lantern goes out and we’re left blundering around in the dark.’
‘And where d’you think you’re going?’
A voice rang out, challenging them as they approached the looming shadow of the Gate.
Rahab seemed not to hear and kept shuffling mechanically forwards.
‘Hola, there!’ bellowed the guard. ‘Are you deaf? Stop!’
Lia tugged on Rahab’s arm until he came to a halt. She kept hold of him, hoping he would not fall over, as the guard at the Gate came strolling out of the guardroom.
‘It’s after sunset. The Gate’s shut till dawn. On your way.’
‘But you’ll let us through, won’t you?’ Lia smiled coquettishly at the guard.
‘I said the Gate’s shut. Wait till dawn like everyone else.’ The guard turned on his heel and started back towards the guardroom.
‘But we’ve got to get out of the city.’ Lia cast around for a credible excuse. She ran up to the guard, leaving Rahab swaying on his feet. ‘We’re eloping.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘I’m to be married tomorrow to – to a man I hate!’ Lia said, improvising wildly. ‘An old man. Rich. A widower.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Incapable in a … a certain capacity. Ra –’ she remembered in time to alter his name, ‘Rahere and I, we love each other. But he’s poor. If we don’t get out of Arcassanne tonight, our lives will be ruined. Forever.’ She paused to snatch a breath, trying to make out the guard’s expression in the lanternlight. Had her breathless plea moved him? Or was he still unconvinced?
The guard cleared his throat. She saw that his hand was outstretched, empty palm upwards.
Ah. She understood. A bribe.
She felt for her little purse, untying the ribbon strings, shaking out the coins into her palm. Thirty-seven oboles. She would need money to pay for Rahab’s passage upriver; could she risk offering the man a whole ten oboles to let them through?
Smiling sweetly, she counted out ten coins into the man’s outstretched hand. Without another word, he walked over to the side door and unlocked it.
She grabbed Rahab by the arm and hustled him forward, tugging him through the door.
It was not until she heard the door clang shut behind her – and the scrape of the key in the lock – that she realised she was on the wrong side. She was locked out of the city until daybreak.
A sharp pain pierced her foot. She swore under her breath. Another stone in her shoe? Had the stitching come undone between sole and uppers? This was not the time to discover she needed to visit the cobbler’s. How far could she walk in shoes that needed mending?
‘Wait.’ She sat down on a mounting outside the Gate and tugged off the shoe, probing it with her fingers to find the hole. Rahab slumped down on to the damp gravel beside her, leaning his head back against the stone. The fast-moving clouds scudded aside to reveal a sliver of moon, casting a pale, wavering light on the river-path.
It was as she was holding the shoe up to the moonlight, squinting to try to make out the damage, that she heard the voices from behind the Gate. Loud voices, self-important, not caring whose sleep they disturbed.
‘A girl’s gone missing. Merchant’s daughter. Abducted.’
Lia held her breath, straining to hear the guard’s reply – but it was inaudible.
‘Captain Orbiel wants her found. Yes, there’s a reward.’
Orbiel. Lia felt a chill, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Not Lord Belcastel, her betrothed – but Jaufré d’Orbiel. The man who had arrested her mother.
‘And a new edict from Comte Aymon. No Tsiyonim to be allowed to leave the city. They’re to be turned back. Any trouble – and you have full authority to arrest them.’
She had planned on returning to plead her mother’s case before Comte Aymon. But now she began to realise that Aymon might not listen to her.
‘Not allowed to leave?’ Rahab raised his head. ‘Not even the women and children?’
‘Or my mother?’ Lia pulled her shoe back on and started to lace it.
‘We put our trust in Aymon,’ Rahab muttered. ‘We believed he would uphold the treaty his father signed with us. We believed he would protect us.’
‘Now what do I do?’ Lia said. ‘Do I go back – or do I go on?’
‘For a few years, they tolerate us. Then something goes wrong – and we get the blame.’ Rahab appeared not to have heard her. ‘I told you – we’re scapegoats. How could we be anything else? We’re the ones who lost our homeland – we’re obviously the bringers of ill-luck.’
‘But what do I do now?’ Lia snapped. The tension was beginning to gnaw away at her self-composure. ‘They think you’ve abducted me. They’ll come after us.’
Moonlight shimmered on to the path … and faded away again as the clouds skimmed across the dark sky.
‘Go back, then,’ Rahab said. His voice was slurred with weariness. ‘I’m not asking you to come with me. Just don’t count on your Gentile friends to protect you.’
‘And what precisely do you mean by that?’ Lia’s voice rose sharply; she clapped her hand to her mouth, glancing fearfully up at the moonlit walls.
The side door scraped open and voices drifted down to where they sat.
‘A girl and a young man. Can’t have gone far.’
‘Rahab!’ Lia whispered. ‘Do you hear?’
‘It might not be the same girl. Abducted. You said abducted. These two were courting.’
‘Just think of the reward –’
‘Courting couples are always coming out of a night in summertime.’
‘On a fine night, yes! But it’s too wet to be cuddling on the riverbank. Go on – how much did they give you?’
‘I never accept bribes.’
‘Tell that to Captain d’Orbiel.’
Oh, all right, I’ll split it with you. Half each. But what’s the point in searching tonight? In this dark, we’d need the dogs …’ The voices faded into the night.
‘Quick!’ Lia plucked at Rahab’s sleeve. ‘Off the path! There must be somewhere we can hide …’
Brambles tore their clothes; they slithered and slipped, grasping frantically at roots and tree branches to stop themselves from falling. Lia, gripping on to a knotted tree root with both hands, feared they might plummet off the steep hillside straight into the river far beneath.
‘Lia –’ came Rahab’s voice close by in the darkness.
‘Ssh!’ Lia whispered, straining to hear if there were any sounds of pursuit. In the dank darkness, all she could hear was the monotonous whirr of crickets and the bizarre bubbling trills of little frogs.
‘I think there may be – a cave – in the bank up here –’
Lia pulled herself back up the bank, clutching at the coils of ivy for support. Rahab had crawled into the gap between two ivy-hung boulders; it was barely wide enough for one, let alone two.
‘That’s not a cave!’ Her palms stung from the wiry friction of the ivy coils; she rubbed them on her skirts to try to cool them. ‘That’s a hole,’ She wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘A horrible smelly hole.’
Rahab did not contradict her. He seemed to have fallen asleep.
‘Damn it,’ she said softly. She sat down outside, propping herself against the rough stone. The air here was clammy with the river’s chill; her arms were soon prickly with gooseflesh. She hugged them around herself, trying to stop her teeth from chattering.
‘Rahab?’ she said.
When he did not reply, she pinched her nose to keep out the fetid odour of the hole and quietly crept in beside him.
At first light, Lia and Rahab left their hiding-place. Stiff and cramped, they made their way slowly down the stony path towards the landing-stage.
Lia stopped once and gazed back at the city. From the pepperpot towers of the Belcastel mansion, pennants fluttered, blue and white against the dawn sky. She felt a sudden pang of homesickness. There was still time to change her mind …
The river Aude gleamed, a green sheen of silk through the rising gauze of the morning mist.
The path wound down through drooping willows and alders to the river-bank. Thick clouds of black flies buzzed in the sunlit grass-patches beneath the branches. Lia shuddered, holding her skirts close to her legs.
The riverboat crew were making ready to cast off. They had been cooking hot oats and honey and the clover-sweet scent of the honey only reminded Lia how desperately hungry she was. She untied her purse and shook out the remaining coins into her palm.
‘Good morning to you, dem’selle.’ One of the oarsmen looked up from the rope he was coiling as she approached. ‘Better weather today.’
‘Good morning to you.’ She forced a smile, aware that after a sleepless night wandering the riverbank, she must look a fright. ‘I want passage upstream for myself and my servant. How much?’
‘Depends how far you want to go.’
‘How far do you go?’
‘We’re going as far as the Gorge. No further. The river’s swollen with rainwater. The Gorge is treacherous after a storm.’
‘The Gorge it is, then.’
‘That’ll be twenty oboles for the two of you.’
Lia counted out twenty oboles into the man’s hand. That left only seven; little enough to pay for food or lodgings. If there were lodgings to be had in mountain country …
Her empty stomach griped again; she narrowed her eyes against the brightness of the morning sun, feeling dizzy with hunger. The porridge smelt so good and she had not eaten since … since …
‘How much for two bowls of porridge?’ she heard herself asking.
‘Passengers usually bring their own victuals,’ the oarsman said, surprised.
‘We had to leave early. My stupid servant forgot to pack the supplies.’ Lia glanced at Rahab but to her relief he appeared not to have heard.
‘I’d let him go hungry, then!’ said the oarsman, laughing. ‘Teach him a lesson he won’t forget!’
‘One bowl, then,’ Lia said, unable to take her eyes from the steaming pot.
‘One obole.’
One obole? With extra honey for one obole!’
She was so ravenous that she burned her tongue as she spooned down the thick, creamy oats – and didn’t care. But as she looked up over the rim of the bowl and saw Rahab sitting, propped against the end of the landing-stage, she felt a little ashamed of her greediness. She went over to him and silently offered what was left – a thin scraping at the bottom of the bowl.
The boat slipped through the cloudy waters, rocking gently as the oarsmen began to pull against the current.
Lia raised her head, shading her eyes against the glinting sun. The city was already behind them, rising from the misty river plain like a mirage. The Belcastel pennants had become insubstantial, distant gossamer shadows.
‘Adieu, sweet Alissende, dearest Berengar,’ Lia whispered. ‘If only …’ Her words trailed to silence.
The oarsmen pulled against the gentle flow of the river-current, onwards, upwards towards the distant mountains, still hidden from view by heat and cloudhaze.
Somewhere far beyond in that vague cloudhaze, Rahab had told her, lay Tifereth, their only hope of shelter in a world suddenly turned upside-down.