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-Francois 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 Miegjorn.‘ 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 Sabarthes 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 Veritable,” he said, avoiding her question. “The leader of the organisation is a woman called Marie-Cecile 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.

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 floorboards 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.