His eyes flashing, Trencavel suddenly turned to de Cabaret.

“Let’s saddle our horses and make a sortie. Before night arrives and the sun sets, let’s take four hundred of our best men, those most skilled with lance, and with sword, and chase the French from our slopes. They will not expect us to take the battle to them. What say you?”

Pelletier sympathised with his desire to strike first. He also knew it would be an act of supreme folly.

There are battalions on the plains, Messire, routiers, small contingents from the advance party.“

Pierre-Roger de Cabaret added his voice. “Do not sacrifice your men, Raymond.”

“But if we could strike the first blow…”

We have prepared for siege, Messire, not open battle. The garrison is strong. The bravest, most experienced chevaliers are here, waiting for their chance to prove themselves.“

“But?” Trencavel sighed.

“You would be sacrificing them for no gain,” he said firmly.

“Your people trust you, they love you,” Pelletier said. “They will lay down their lives for you if need be. But, we should wait. Let them bring the battle to us.”

“I fear it is my pride that has brought us to this place,” he said in a low voice. “Somehow, I did not expect it to come to this, so soon.” He smiled.

“Do you remember how my mother used to fill the Chateau with singing and dancing, Bertrand? All the greatest troubadours and jongleurs came to play for her. Aimeric de Pegulham, Arnaut de Carcasses, even Guilhem Fabre and Bernat Alanham from Narbonne. We were always feasting, celebrating.”

“I have heard it was the finest court in the Pays d’Oc” He put his hand on his master’s shoulder. “And will be again.”

The bells fell silent. All eyes were on Viscount Trencavel.

When he spoke, Pelletier was proud to hear all trace of self-doubt were gone from his lord’s voice. He was no longer a boy remembering his his childhood, but a captain on the eve of battle.

“Order the posterns to be closed and the gates to be barred, Bertrand,.andd summon the commander of the garrison to the donjon. We will be ready for the French when they come.”

“Perhaps also send reinforcements to Sant-Vicens, Messire,” suggested de Cabaret. When the Host attacks, they will start there. And we cannot afford to relinquish our access to the river.“

Trencavel nodded.

Pelletier lingered a while after the others had gone, looking out over the as if to imprint its image in his mind.

To the north, the walls of Sant-Vicens were low and sparsely defended by towers. If the invaders penetrated the suburbs, they would be able to approach within bowshot of the Cite walls under the cover of the houses. The southern suburb, Sant-Miquel, would hold longer.

It was true that the Carcassonne was ready for siege. There was plenty of food – bread, cheese, beans – and goats for milk. But there were too many people within the walls and Pelletier was concerned about the supply of water. On his word, a guard was set on each of the wells and rationing was in place.

As he walked out of the Tour Pinte into the courtyard, Pelletier found his thoughts once more turning to Simeon. Twice he had sent Francois to the Jewish quartier for news, but both times he had returned empty handed and Pelletier’s anxiety increased with each passing day.

He took a quick look around the courtyard and decided he could be spared for a few hours.

He headed for the stables.

Pelletier followed the most direct route across the plains and through the woods, very aware of the Host camped in the distance.

Although the Jewish quarter was crowded and people were on the streets, it was unnaturally quiet and hushed. There was fear and apprehension on every face, young and old. Soon, they knew, the fighting would begin. As Pelletier rode through the narrow alleys, women and children looked up at him with anxious eyes, looking for hope in his face. He had nothing to offer them.

No one had any news of Simeon. He found his lodgings easily enough, but the door was barred. He dismounted and knocked on the house opposite.

“I seek a man called Simeon,” he said, when a woman came fearfully to door. “Do you know of whom I speak?”

She nodded. “He came with the others from Besiers.”

“Can you remember when last you saw him?”

“A few days back, before we heard the news of Besiers, he went to Carcassona. A man came for him.”

Pelletier frowned. “What manner of man?”

“A high-born servant. Orange hair,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“Simeon appeared to know him.”

Pelletier’s bafflement deepened. It sounded like Francois, except how could it be? He said he had not found Simeon.

“That was the last time I saw him.”

You are saying Simeon did not return from Carcassona?“

“If he’s got any sense, he’ll have stayed. He will be safer there than here.”

“Is it possible Simeon could have come back without you seeing him?” he said desperately. “You might have been sleeping. You might not have noticed him return.”

“Look, Messire,” she replied, pointing to the house across the street.

“You can see for yourself. Vueg.” Empty.

Oriane tiptoed along the corridor to her sister’s chamber.

“Alais!” Guirande was sure her sister was once again with their father, but she was cautious. “Sorre?”

When no one answered, Oriane opened the door and stepped inside.

With the skill of a thief, she quickly began to search Alais’ possessions.

Bottles, jars and bowls, her wardrobe, drawers filled with cloth and perfumes and sweet-smelling herbs. Oriane patted the pillows and found a lavender posy, which didn’t interest her. Then she checked over and beneath the bed. There was nothing but dead insects and cobwebs.

As she turned back to face the room, she noticed a heavy brown hunting cloak lying over the back of Alais’ sewing chair. Her threads and needles were spread all around. Oriane felt a spark of excitement. Why a winter cloak at this time of year? Why was Alais mending her clothes herself?

She picked it up and immediately felt something was wrong. It was lopsided and hung crookedly. Oriane lifted the corner and saw something had been sewn into the hem.

Quickly, she unpicked the stitching, pushed her fingers inside and pulled out a small, rectangular object, wrapped in a piece of linen.

She was about to investigate, when a noise in the corridor outside drew her attention. Quick as a flash, Oriane concealed the parcel beneath her dress and returned the cloak to the back of the chair.

A hand descended heavily on her shoulder. Oriane jumped.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he said.

“Guilhem,” she gasped, clasping her hand to her chest. You startled me.“

“What are you doing in my wife’s chamber, Oriane?”

Oriane raised her chin. “I could ask you the same question.”

In the darkening room, she saw his expression harden and knew the dart had hit home.

“I have every right to be here, whereas you do not…” He glanced at the cloak, then back to her face.

“What are you doing?”

She met his gaze. “Nothing that concerns you.”

Guilhem kicked the door shut with his heel.

You forget yourself, Dame,“ he said, grabbing her wrist.

“Don’t be a fool, Guilhem,” she said in a low voice. “Open the door. It will go ill for both of us if someone comes and finds us together.”

“Don’t play games with me, Oriane. I’m in no mood for them. I’m not letting you go unless you tell me what you are doing here. Did he send you here?”

Oriane looked at him with genuine confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Guilhem, on my word.”

His fingers were digging deep into her skin. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice,?? I saw you together, Oriane.”