Labyrinth Read Online Free PDF Page B

The cut’s too deep.”
    She suddenly realised that the noise level had dropped. She glanced up to see the entire kitchen was eavesdropping on their conversation. The younger boys were propped on their elbows at the table, staring open-mouthed at the sight of their quick-tempered master being told off. And by a woman.
    Pretending not to notice, Alais dropped her voice.
    “Why don’t I return later to do it, in return for this?” She patted the loaf. “It can be our second secret, oc? A fair exchange?”
    For a moment, she thought she had been over-familiar and presumed too much. But, after a moment’s hesitation, Jacques grinned.
    “Ben,” she said. Good. “I will come back when the sun is high and see to it. Dins d’abord .” Soon.
    As Alais left the kitchen and climbed back up the stairs, she heard Jacques bellowing at everybody to stop gawping and get back to work, pretending the interruption had never happened. She smiled.
    Everything was as it should be.
    Alais pulled open the heavy door that led into the main courtyard and stepped out into the newborn day.
    The leaves of the elm tree that stood in the centre of the enclosed courtyard, under which Viscount Trencavel dispensed justice, looked black against the fading night. Its branches were alive with larks and wrens, their voices warbling shrill and clear in the dawn.
    Raymond-Roger Trencavel’s grandfather had built the Chateau Comtal, more than a hundred years ago, as the seat from which to rule his expanding territories. His lands stretched from Albi in the north and Narbonne in the south, to Beziers in the east and Carcassonne in the west.
    The Chateau was constructed around a large rectangular courtyard and incorporated, on the western side, the remains of an older castle. It was part of the reinforcement of the western section of the fortified walls that enclosed the Cite´, a ring of solid stone that towered high above the river Aude and the northern marshlands beyond.
    The donjon, where the Consuls met and significant documents were signed, was in the southwest corner of the courtyard and well guarded. In the dim light, Alais could see something propped against the outside wall. She looked harder and realised it was a dog, curled up asleep on the ground. A couple of boys, perched like crows on the edge of the goose pen, were trying to wake the animal up by flicking stones at it. In the stillness, she could hear the regular dull thud, thud of their heels banging against the wooden railings.
    There were two ways in and out of the Chateau Comtal. The wide arched West Gate gave directly on to the grassy slopes that led to the walls and was mostly kept closed. The Eastern Gate, small and narrow, was tucked between two high gate towers and led straight into the streets of the Ciutat, the Cite´, itself.
    Communication between the upper and lower floors of the gatehouse towers was only possible by means of wooden ladders and a series of trap doors. As a girl, one of her favourite games was to scramble up and down between the levels with the boys from the kitchen, trying to evade the guards. Alais was fast. She always won.
    Pulling her cloak tightly about her, she walked briskly across the courtyard. Once the curfew bell had rung, the gates barred for the night and the guard set, nobody was supposed to pass without her father’s authorisation. Although not a consul, Bertrand Pelletier occupied a unique and favoured position in the household. Few dared disobey him.
    He had always disliked her habit of slipping out of the Cite´ in the early morning. These days, he was even more adamant that she should stay within the walls of the Chateau at night. She assumed her husband felt the same, although Guilhem had never said so. But it was only in the stillness and anonymity of the dawn, free from the restrictions and limitations of the household, that Alais felt really herself. Nobody’s daughter, nobody’s sister, nobody’s wife. Deep down, she had always