After her mother died the twin sisters Rosamunda and Blanche took over her rearing and she had travelled with them whenever they visited the good Bishop Guilhabert de Castres, usually nearing Easter and the Festival of Bema. They said the bishop had lived for twelve years as a hermit in a cave to make penance for the sins of the world. Some said he was given to drink from the cup called the Holy Grail in that cave; the cup from which the Lord Himself had drunk at the Last Supper. There were many tales about him, but Isobel knew him as a teacher. He came to Montsegur now and again to teach and to counsel and to prepare for a momentous occasion he had seen in his visions, which he referred to as an Apocalypse – the end of the world.
The wind swirled the brambles and bracken now and shook their wiry arms. Ignoring the temper of nature Isobel followed her mistresses up the steep-edged path holding on to the trunks of the boxwood trees that grew all around. Isobel knew that this journey to Montsegur had something to do with the Apocalypse the good bishop was expecting. After all, they had come here to prepare for it and to safeguard the treasure that Rosamunda had carried under her skirt all these years. Yes, the world was darkening and war was once again upon them. That is why the bishop had asked the noble Raymond de Parella to donate Montsegur to the cause, so that it could be made ready for the dark time, when the dragon of the church would come to steal the Holy Grail. She also sensed excitement in those around her for the child she was carrying, the child of the gallant young noble she had married when she was seventeen. She had known her husband only two months before he died at the hands of the inquisitors, and now she would soon have his child. She was afraid.
Her thinking had taken her to the top of the mountain, tearful and breathless. At the gate built into the great wall she turned around to see the mountains, mist laden and quiet, before her. She wondered if this would be the last time she would see them and was afraid for what would become of her child in a world that was soon to end. The painful thought made a tremble pass through her body and a strange and unwelcome wetness moved downwards over her legs. ‘My child?’ she said, making the sisters turn around to look at her. A terrible cramping pain now seized her and the thoughts for her child and the world came together with the thoughts of God and snapped shut on her mind like two opposing blades making a final cut. When she looked down she saw blood on the earth at her feet and she gave a sob of fear.
The sisters were at her side, each taking her by an arm and carrying her to Bishop Guilhabert, who was then instructing the children. When the bishop saw her he knew what to do. He took Isobel to the keep and ordered the women to get some hot water. And so it was that upon a bed of straw, Isobel strained for all her life’s worth to give birth to the child. She knew she must be screaming and yet she did not hear anything except her child’s heart beating in her ears. The world was a confusion of sounds and light. The only face she recognised was Bishop Guilhabert’s when he came to her and said, ‘It is a boy, my dear, a beautiful boy. Listen, child, you have done a good thing. He is our master born again . . . he will live!’
She felt herself smile, but all her strength had gone out from her, leaving her feeling like a naked limb in winter, trembling with the slightest breeze; she was the breeze that shook it and the sun that made it grow and the water that fed it. A voice whispered in her ear that her name Isobel meant ‘Beautiful Isis’. Somehow she knew what this meant.
For a moment the troubadour Matteu’s face stared down into hers. She heard the voice calling in the distance . . . the blackness came.
19
A Key, a List, and a Sign
‘However that may be, the young lady was very decidedly carried away.’
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, ‘A Case of Identity’
Bugarach, 1938
When Rahn came to his senses he found a face staring down into his. He remembered words . . . something to do with a book, an author and a master . . . but nothing more.
He sensed he was being spoken to but this was just a distant murmur. He felt a gentle slapping on his cheek. His shoulder ached and his head felt like a bowl of jelly.
He heard Deodat say, ‘Wake up, Rahn!’ and then someone was trying to lift him to a sitting position. He could see a face. He put two and two together and made five – five beautiful faces.
What is Louise Brooks doing here? Am I on a film set?
‘You were coming at me like a maniac!’ Louise Brooks kindly informed him.
He thought he sensed a note of humour in her voice.
What an actress!
The five faces became one and he held his skull to prevent them from separating again.
‘What happened?’ he said to her.