In the meantime the inferno had progressed. The roof caught alight and the thirteenth-century monastery that had survived revolutions and purges, ruin and desecration, now began its last song as the roof rafters caved in, one after the other, sending clouds of sparks into the cold air.
Eva was sitting beside him, wiping her face. She was a little breathless but otherwise unhurt, and even seemed exhilarated. ‘I once saw a fire like this,’ she said wistfully, sadly. ‘It burnt the most beautiful building in the world, my building! The twisted metal of the musical instruments created the most wondrous colours and one could hear it like music whistling in the flames. Isn’t it interesting?’ She looked at him, coming out of her contemplation, her eyes still distant but only for a moment. ‘Are you alright?’
‘You mean, aside from my manly ego? Yes, I’ll be fine, but you know, I was the one who was supposed to save the damsel from the fire of the dragon – not the other way around.’
‘Don’t worry, in saving you I am also saving myself – remember?’ Rahn smiled a little.
‘How did we get out?’ Deodat said, panting.
‘All medieval monasteries have at least one underground passage leading to the outside. Elementary!’ she said to him.
‘Now you’re sounding like me!’ Deodat smiled weakly.
‘What are you doing here anyway?’ Rahn asked. ‘I thought you would be halfway to Italy by now.’
‘Italy? Why would you think that? No, I was waiting for you to wake up.’ But he didn’t have time to ask her what she meant because she stood. ‘Come on – we have to leave before the fire brigade arrives with the gendarmes . . .’
‘Did you see anyone?’ Rahn stood with his head light and his legs weak.
‘Yes. Three men. I think they’re going to the hermitage we went to that day.’
‘The hermitage of Galamus?’ Deodat said. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Just a hunch.’
Rahn frowned. ‘You and your hunches.’
‘We have to follow them,’ Deodat made a grab for Rahn’s arm and Rahn helped him up. Rahn was too exhausted to argue.
In a moment all four of them had left the Maison de Cros’s sacrificial burning behind them and Eva was leading them to where she’d hidden the auto-car. Inside the Peugeot, Eva’s single-minded profile was lit up by the reflection of the headlamps and this gave her, to Rahn’s mind, an otherworldly look. Once again she exuded a detachment that seemed unnatural.
‘How do you feel?’ Rahn asked Deodat, who was coughing and wheezing in the back seat beside the traitor La Dame.
‘My chest feels like I’ve been breathing in hot peppers but otherwise I’ll be fine.’
Rahn passed a hand over his face full of cuts. He could smell smoke in his hair. ‘You never mentioned what made you come back for us, Mademoiselle Fleury,’ he said.
She looked at him a moment; her darkling eyes staring out from that pale face were as deep as the well of Democritus. She was remarkably beautiful, almost too beautiful to be real He fancied, in his exhausted state, that she was Joan of Arc: a mighty female warrior, her eyes replete with the visions of archangels and her heart full of strange tempers.
She shrugged.
She’s an enigma!
‘You followed us?’ Rahn said.
‘Yes . . .’
‘Well . . . this entire hunt’s been for nothing anyway. All we’ve managed to do is to lead them to it,’ Rahn’s words tasted sour.
‘Do you mean the Cathar treasure – the key?’ Eva asked, serenely, as if it didn’t matter.
‘Yes, it’s a book. Cros had always kept it at Bugarach in plain sight. But the English Lodges have it now – it’s all over!’
‘No, they don’t,’ she said.
Rahn blinked. ‘What?’
‘When those men left the house there were others outside waiting for them.’
‘Others?’ It was the traitor, La Dame, speaking now, and it irritated Rahn.
‘They looked like priests, but they were carrying guns. Two large men came out first and they were shot immediately, a third man exchanged shots with them but in the end he was wounded. They bundled him into the Citroën at gun point and took off,’ Eva said, rounding a corner too fast for Rahn’s liking.
‘Where were you?’
‘I was hiding in the bushes.’
Deodat grabbed the back of Rahn’s seat and sat forward.
‘We’ve got to get it from them, Rahn!’ he said.
La Dame cleared his throat. ‘I guess this is where my character exits then – stage left. I’ve been written out of the film, I’m afraid,’ he announced. ‘Look, this has always been your script, Rahn. You’re the leading man and I’m just the greatest dolt in the world. I’ve always had the bit parts and I’m afraid I’ve come to realise that’s all I’m cut out for. So, mademoiselle, if you would be so kind as to drop me off at the next town I’ll catch a ride to back to Couiza and from there I’ll find my way home. I’m going to lay low for a while . . . in the mountains. You know where I live, Rahn, if you should ever trust me again, I’d love you to come for a visit. I shall wish you a fair adventure, “O dear Rahn, perpetual discoverer of the antipodes, torch of the world, eye of Heaven, sweet stimulator of the water-coolers!”’