While Pelletier had been talking, Simeon had opened an ornately carved wooden chest that stood on the far side of the room. Alais edged closer. The lid was lined with deep crimson velvet, gathered in deep folds like the curtains around a bed.

Simeon shook his head. “I will not ride with you. I will follow with my people. So, for safety’s sake, you should take this.”

Alais watched Simeon slide his hand along the bottom of the chest. There was a click, then a small drawer sprung open at the base. When he straightened up, Alais saw he was holding an object enclosed in a sheepskin chemise.

The two men exchanged glances, then Pelletier took the book from Simeon’s outstretched hand and concealed it beneath his cloak.

“In his letter, Harif mentions a sister in Carcassona,” said Simeon.

Pelletier nodded. “A friend to the Noublesso is my interpretation of his words. I cannot believe he means more.”

“It was a woman who came to take the second book from me, Bertrand,” Simeon said mildly. “Like you, at the time I confess I assumed she was no more than a courier, but in the light of your letter…”

Pelletier dismissed the suggestion with a wave of his hand. “I cannot believe Harif would appoint a woman guardian, whatever the circumstances. He would not take the risk.”

Alais almost spoke, but bit her tongue.

Simeon shrugged. “We should consider the possibility.”

“Well, what manner of woman was she?” Pelletier said impatiently. “Someone who could reasonably be expected to take custody of so precious an object?”

Simeon shook his head. “Truthfully, she was not. She was neither highborn nor in the lowest station of life. She was past the age of childbearing, although she had a child with her. She was traveling to Carcassona via Servian, her hometown.”

Alais sat up straight.

“That is a meager amount of information,” complained Bertrand. “She did not give you her name?”

“No and nor did I ask it, since she bore a letter from Harif. I gave her bread, cheese, fruit for the journey, then she left.”

They were now arrived at the door to the street.

“I do not like to leave you,” Alais said abruptly, suddenly fearful for Simeon.

Simeon smiled. “I shall be fine, child. Esther will pack those things I wish to take with me to Carcassona. I will travel anonymously in the crowd. It will be safer for us all if I do so.”

Pelletier nodded. “The Jewish quarter lies on the river, to the east of Carcassona, not far from the suburb of Sant-Vicens. Send word when you arrive.”

“I will.”

The two men embraced, then Pelletier stepped out into the now crowded street. Alais went to follow, but Simeon put his hand on her arm to hold her back.

“You have great courage, Alais. You have been steadfast in your duty to your father. To the Noublesso too. But watch over him. His temper can lead him astray and there will be difficult times, difficult choices ahead.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Alais dropped her voice so her father couldn’t hear. “What was the nature of the second book taken by this woman to Carcassona? The book that yet is unfound?”

“The Book of Potions” he replied. “A list of herbs and plants. To your father was entrusted the Book of Words, to me the Book of Numbers.”

To each their own skill.

“I think that tells you what you wanted to know?” Simeon said, looking knowingly at her from under his bushy eyebrows. “Or perhaps confirms a thought?”

She smiled. “Benleu.” Perhaps.

Alais kissed him, and then ran to catch her father up.

Food for the journey. A board too, perhaps.

Alais resolved to keep her idea to herself for now, until she was sure, even though she was now all but certain she knew where the book would be found. All the myriad connections that ran through their lives like a spider’s web were suddenly clear to her. All the tiny hints and clues missed, because not looked for.

As they hurried back through the town, it was clear that already the exodus had begun.

Jews and Saracens were moving toward the main gates, some on foot, some with carts laden down with belongings, books, maps, furniture; financiers with horses saddled and carrying baskets, chests and scales for weighing, rolls of parchment. Alais noticed a few Christian families in the crowd too.

The courtyard of the suzerain’s palace was bleached white in the morning sun. As they passed through the gates, Alais saw the look of relief on her father’s face as he realized the Council was not yet concluded.

“Does anyone else know you are here?”

Alais stopped dead in her tracks, horrified to realize she’d not thought of Guilhem at all. “No. I came straight to find you.”

She was irritated by the look of pleasure that flashed across her father’s face.

He nodded. “Wait here. I will inform Viscount Trencavel of your presence and ask his permission for you to ride with us. Your husband, also, should be told.”

Alais watched as he disappeared into the shadows of the house. Dismissed, she turned and looked around. Animals stretched out in the shade, their fur flattened against the cool, pale walls, unconcerned by the affairs of men. Despite her experiences and the stories Amiel de Coursan had told her, here, in the tranquility of the palace, Alais found it hard to believe the threat was as imminent as they claimed.

Behind her, the doors were flung open and a tide of men flooded down the steps and across the courtyard. Alais pressed herself against a pillar to avoid being caught up in the rush.

The courtyard erupted with the sound of shouting, commands, orders issued and obeyed, ecuyers running to fetch their masters’ horses. In a heartbeat the palace was transformed from the seat of administration to the heart of the garrison.

Through the commotion, Alai’s heard someone calling her name. Guilhem. Her heart leaped into her mouth. She turned, straining to see where his voice was coming from.

“Alais,” he cried in disbelief. “How? What are you doing here?”

Now she could see him, striding through the crowds, clearing a path, until he was lifting her into his arms, squeezing her so hard that she thought every last breath would be driven out of her body. For an instant, the sight of him, the smell of him, drove everything from her mind. All was forgotten, all was forgiven. She felt shy almost, captivated by his obvious pleasure and delight to see her. Alai’s closed her eyes and imagined them alone, returned miraculously to the Chateau Comtal, as if the tribulations of the past few days were but the stuff of bad dreams.

“How I’ve missed you,” said Guilhem, kissing her neck, her throat, her hands. Alai’s winced.

“Mon cor, what is it?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly.

Guilhem lifted her cloak and saw the angry purple bruising across her shoulder. “Nothing, by Sant-Foy. How in the name of-”

“I fell,” she said. “My shoulder took the worst of it. It is worse than it looks. Please, do not concern yourself.”

Now Guilhem looked uncertain, caught between concern and doubt. “Is this how you fill your hours when I am away?” he said, suspicion forming in his eyes. He took a step back. “Why are you here, Alai’s?”

She faltered. “To bring a message to my father.”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Alai’s realized she had said the wrong thing. Her intense pleasure immediately turned to anxiety. His brow darkened.

“What message?”

Her mind went blank. What might her father have said? What possible excuse could she give?

“I-”

“What message, Alai’s?”

She caught her breath. More than anything, she wanted there to be lightness between them, but she had given her word to her father.