5 Safe House

Ximene Trencavel – 22 June 1355

Ximene stared open-eyed at the aggressive trader. The only option seemed to be to urge the horses on regardless, but the road was crowded, they were unlikely to escape.

Guillam appeared unconcerned. ‘My produce has already been bought by the Bishops of Albi, for their summer palace at Mazerou, please do not delay us, we are required to deliver today.’

The belligerent trader backed away instantly, even giving his apologies.

As they moved north Ximene looked over her shoulder and watched as the trader moved slowly back towards the town. She looked admiringly at Guillam. ‘ Well done, but why did he give up so easily?’

Guillam forced a smile. ‘The safe house we were heading to is more of a palace than a castle, which is surprising considering how close to the Aragonese border it lies. Apparently, it was used by the Franks for secret negotiations with the Aragonese. It was riddled with hidden passageways and secret entrances so that meetings could be held without even the servants being aware of them. There is a belief that in earlier times it was owned by the Trencavels, your ancestors.

The Château now belongs to the Bishops of Albi, who use it infrequently as a summer retreat. The bishops have long used a local appointee to manage the estate for them. In exactly the same way that Sabastien gained control of Monsegur, an agent of Don Fernandino has effective control of Mazerou. It is now managed and staffed by people who work for the agent.

The passageways were blocked off long ago but, importantly, large cellars, which cannot now be accessed from the house can still be reached by one remaining secret passageway. That is where we will hide you whilst John is treated.’

‘I still don’t understand. That man? Why did he leave us so quickly?’

‘Because the bishops are known to rule with a rod of iron or rather a rod of grace. They excommunicate anyone who crosses them. The whole town of Quillan has been excommunicated on more than one occasion!’

‘And that really matters?’

‘That really matters the way the Roman Church presents it. Without grace from the sacraments and particularly without burial in holy ground, one is condemned to eternal damnation!’

They left Quillan behind and with great relief, just after midday, arrived within sight of Château Mazerou. Guillam turned to Ximene and frowned. ‘Nearly six hours, longer than I would have hoped for.’

Guillam quickly established his credentials with the manager of the Château.

Maurice, the manager, seemed excessively jolly for someone with such a potentially stressful task. ‘Everything is ready but the bishops are due to arrive from Albi anytime now, so you will be unable to use any of the Château facilities, not even the stables.’

He nodded towards a relatively modern structure across the courtyard from which a row of horses were watching with great curiosity.

Maurice guided them down a track to a deserted, dilapidated farm. Behind the farm ran a small stream. They were lead across what had been an enclosed farmyard, A huge barn was built out of the side of the hill. Having threaded their way through piles of decrepit farm equipment, the manager led them into the barn and into a large tackle room where harnesses and saddles could be hung.

One wall was lined with cupboards, but when opened the middle cupboard was empty. Maurice carefully removed the shelving and pushed against the back wall. It disappeared into a dark recess, opening to a long tunnel. The first part of the tunnel was equipped as private stables, which could not be seen from the tackle room once the door was closed.

It was then necessary to make a stretcher. The manager took one end of the stretcher and Guillam took the other. The tunnel ran possibly a tenth of a league before they emerged into a rather elegant arched cellar lit with many torches. There was a bed already made up with mattresses and John was gently lifted on to it.

Ximene sniffed the air. ‘Incense? I know the smell from Foix, but why here?’

Almost immediately, a slim man emerged from a staircase, he limped slightly but looked otherwise well and rested. He wore his hair pulled back and tied at the back of his neck, simulating a ponytail, which accentuated both the height of his forehead and the length of his thin nose.

As he entered the cellar he carried a guitar. Not just any guitar but a guitar inlaid with marquetry outlined in shining silver. Ximene looked at him with a look of incredulity. This was Don Fernandino, the legend? This was the man who had supernatural powers? He was dressed simply as a troubadour with a white ruffled chemise and tight black hose. He sauntered across to the bed and dangled the guitar from one hand as he raised John’s cover with the other. He winced.

Despite the circumstances Ximene was fascinated by Don Fernandino’s hands; his fingers were exceptionally long and slender and his fingernails carefully manicured, not at all like a man’s hands. Close up she now saw that his face was covered with a network of fine lines.

A life of stress, premature ageing? But many of the lines were clustered around the corners of his eyes; She realised there was much laughter in his life!

When Don Fernandino spoke he created a totally different image, his voice was clipped but strong. ‘Don Fernandino at your service… and you, my dear, must be Ximene. You were asking about the incense. It is readily available here. Remember the Château upstairs is owned by the bishops of Albi. I find I quite like the smell but if it disturbs you…’ He bowed slightly.

Ximene shook her head. ‘ No it is fine I am sure I will get used to it. there are higher priorities’ she waved her hand towards where John was lying.

Don Fernandino nodded. ‘This young man is in a bad way, could you boil some water and clean him from head to toe whilst I go to find the physician?’ He obviously expected to be obeyed. He turned away, guitar still dangling from one hand and threw the other arm around Guillam.

‘Good to see you old friend. So you managed to get her out without bothering me.’

Guilliam nodded towards the bed. ‘This young man played no small part’ he lowered his voice, ‘and may pay for it with his life.’

Don Fernandino put down the guitar and lifted a black cloak from the wall. ‘Well then, we must save him’

The transformation was complete. From troubadour to a soldier in a second! He strode quickly across the room to where Ximene was filling a large pan with water. He gently compressed her shoulders between his hands. Ximene glanced over her shoulder, startled by his strength.

‘We will save him, my dear, the physician who will return with me is capable of miracles!’


Don Fernando returned within the hour. His face now looked hard; as if it had been hewn from granite. ‘There is nothing I can do.’ he said in a voice which said there should have been something he could do. ‘The physician, who is otherwise occupied cannot come before evening.’

He looked embarrassed, obviously, he considered that he had failed Ximene, who still busied herself attending to John and for no particular reason washed him for a second time.

Ximene asked Don Fernandino about his own injury.

‘Almost totally recovered, and I have only been here a week. The physician comes close to being a wizard. It has been quite pleasant and there is always my music.’

She asked Don Fernandino about the Guitar.

‘ I am an entertainer. I sing and play the guitar. It enables me to move from place to place without attracting attention.’ I have known Estevan for many years. He is not only a doctor but a scientist and mathematician. He has provided me with an arrangement which makes my act unique.

It is an assembly of candles, mirrors and lenses which can focus the light from the candles into a beam. It all can be manipulated by a system of strings. When an entertainer performs under such a beam of light everyone sees him, everyone uses their imagination to make the entertainer the person they want him to be. Then at the end of the performance, when the beam is extinguished, the person they have created vanishes, he ceases to exist; until the beam focuses on him again, in some other place, at some other time.’

Ximene stared at him, reflecting how close his own explanation was to the legends which were told about him, the ability to simply disappear. ‘And as a singer, how are you known?’
I am known as The Shadow.
‘Just The Shadow, nothing else?’
‘ That is so my dear, I am The Shadow without a name.

The most dangerous woman in the world

The Treasure of Trencavel

List of Characters

Table Of Contents

References

characters

List of Places

Table of Contents

Reference

Extract from The Prisoner of Foix--Chapter 43 -The EntranceNo need to buy a Kindle. Read it on your computer or tablet

John Stanley-26th April 1355

 

'Looks like we are going to see a bit of excitement, John. The Captain tried to get an agreement from the Prince that if there is surf running across the channel to Arcachon we will turn back to Bordeaux, but the Prince would hear none of it. Instead, he has offered to provide insurance for all three ships. If they are damaged or sunk, the owners will be compensated and every sailor who makes the passage will be given a bounty payment. What none of this seems to take into account is that if we sink in rough, fast-flowing waters we might all drown.'

John raised his eyebrows. 'But that is what we are going to do?'

'Yes, despite the fact that surf running accross the entrance is not uncommon and the deep water channel moves continually. In the end, the Prince attacked their captains on their weakest point, their professional pride! He threw down the gauntlet. He offered to take the Sally first through the channel, and to take control during the passage.' He raised his brow. 'We are going into the Bay of Arcachon, come what may! '

Extract from The Eagle of Carcassone -- Chapter 24-- A Real GoddessNo need to buy a Kindle. Read it on your computer or tablet

John Stanley - 22 July 1355

An hour later John walked with Ximene close to the river along the valley below St Feriole. It was the very essence of a summer’s day. The sun was fierce but in the shadow of the trees, it was cool and fragrant. The trees and shrubs along the riverbank hid their progress, from the Château, from St Feriole.

Eventually they reached a point where John thought it was safe to emerge from cover. To his satisfaction the stream extended into a pool with a sandy beach, shaded by trees. Where the stream entered the pool there was a flat grassy area, almost circular. Behind this, the bulk of two mountain ridges provided a splendid backdrop. 

He looked around once more ‘Not just a good training ground but a great training ground. If the Greek heroes knew about this they might be tempted to join me, to train with me’

Ximene laughed out loud. He turned to look at her. She had removed her outer clothes and was wearing a white chemise, cut short so that it barely reached her knees. Around her waist, she wore a plaited leather belt, obviously fashioned from the multitude of leather straps to be found in the tackle room.

She ran her hands down over her breasts. ‘When you were unconscious I heard you muttering about gods and goddesses, so  I have decided that from now on, for you, I will be the goddess.’