The Secret Of The Cathars (2011) (6 page)

“
Not necessarily a qualification for a digger.”

“
I accept that. But they do seem very anxious to please.”

“
Are you sure it’s their technical capabilities that you’re interested in?”

“
Well, we’ve had several pleasant evenings in the bar with them. At least we know what we’ll be taking on.”

She considered the suggestion. “I suppose Armand would be a good guy to get on our side. But somehow Jeanette doesn’t seem quite right. She’s too much of a city girl. I can’t imagine her liking the idea of getting her hands dirty.”

“
I didn’t think of her as a digger,” admitted Jolyon. “Marie Blande joins us to start cleaning and cataloguing finds on Monday, doesn’t she? Perhaps Jeanette can help her while Armand does the digging.” He shrugged. “In any case, there’s no reason why we can’t ask them. They can only say no.”

“
OK.” She smiled. “You can ask your little Paris
poule
.”

“
I’m pretty sure Armand would like to have a go at digging,” Andre continued. “He’s been up here almost every day - checking on progress and looking at what we’ve dug up. I’d say we’ll have a definite recruit there.”

“
But we’ll need more people than Armand.”

“
Maybe. But the trenches won’t be very deep up in the residential area. There’s much less accumulated soil. It’s going to be mainly a question of moving fallen masonry and the local labourers can do that under our supervision.” He had a sudden thought. “There will also be plenty of photography. Maybe Jeanette would be good with a camera.”

“
All right. I’ve already agreed,” said Jacqueline. “You can ask them if they want to join us - only at the usual student rates though.”

“
I don’t think that will be a problem.” Andre raised a cautionary finger. “First, I’ll get them both checked out by Paris. I think it’s essential to do that with all future recruits.”

“
How long will that take?”

“
No more than twenty-four hours. I’ll ring up as soon as we get back to the hotel.”

“
I don’t think there are likely to be any problems.”

“
No, but we have to be careful.” He straightened up. “I’ll also put the word out for some labourers to help with humping and to push barrows to do the backfilling. I expect you’ll want to keep an eye on those guys to make sure there aren’t any finds in the spoil heaps which we might have missed.”

“
I’m not too worried about that,” she said. “I can’t believe there’s anything important in that pile of rubble.”

Jolyon took a satisfied breath. “In that case we’ll abandon this trench as of now, if you agree. Gaston will be delighted. It’s been a real struggle to keep him digging. He doesn’t like being ‘down in a hole below ground’ as he puts it. I’ve been promising him some better action in the near future.”

“
He’s not really a cerebral archaeologist.”

“
No, but tomorrow we’ll start to clear the residential area. That’s what he’s been waiting for. It will be easiest if we start from the top and work down.”

She put her head on one side. “Be careful, Jo. It’s exposed up there.”

“
We’ve got it all safely roped up.”

“
I know. But make sure that you’re wearing safety harnesses and see that they’re properly clipped on all the time - both of you. I don’t want any free climbing just to reach something that you couldn’t get to when you were connected to a safety rope.”

“
Don’t worry. We’ll be careful. And don’t forget this is Gaston’s special area of expertise. It’s what we hired him for, if you remember.”

“
It’s not Gaston I’m worried about. I know that he can look after himself. It’s you that I’m not so sure about. You know that these series of ours wouldn’t be the same without you in the background. I rely on you far too much.”

“
I’ve said I’ll be careful.” He patted her shoulder. “Wait until I tell Gaston about the new plans. He’ll be delighted to be up in the fresh air again. Mind you - so will I.”

She smiled at his sudden new-found enthusiasm.

“
I suggest, Jackie, that we start on the eastern end first. That area’s mainly masked by trees so it’s unlikely to excite too much comment from the locals. We’ll do a stretch about fifty metres long by ten metres wide, then work our way down from the ridge in parallel strips. Within a few days we should have the labourers available to help with moving the larger rocks and accretions of rubble.”

She was carried along by his enthusiasm as he chattered. This was the excited young Andre as she remembered him. He’d been getting more dismal and morose as the entrance trench went deeper without any significant finds. Now he was being released on to the main site.

“
I’ve also been intending to talk to you about that journalist who showed up the other day,” said Jacqueline. “What was she called? Cesar something - unusual name.”

“
I know who you mean. She left me her card. I have it here somewhere.” He scrabbled around in his various pockets and produced it after a prolonged search. He peered at it. “Here we are - Cesar Renoir.”

“
That’s it.”

“
A Lyons address and phone number.”

“
Do you think she’s likely to go public about our excavations here?”

He shook his head. “Not according to what she told me. She didn’t seem that interested in what we were actually doing. She claims she’s a freelance. She’s got this job for the summer. She’s producing a guide book about the more obscure Cathar castles. She says her research has turned up precious little about le Bezu - just a few historical references and several local legends about the place. She seemed to be saying that she’d be grateful for any information we could give her.”

“
Who are her employers?”

“
According to this it’s the Languedoc newspaper group in Toulouse. They seem to have given her a free hand to go wherever she fancies.”

“
She should have plenty of locations to look at. There must be dozens of Cathar strongholds in the area.”

“
That’s right.” He stood back and folded his arms. “When I told her that whatever we found would be published later in the year, it seemed to satisfy her. She didn’t hang around asking lots of questions. I think she regarded it as lucky that we might be able to give her some additional information. She simply said she might pop back later to see whether we had anything more we could tell her. In any case the book won’t be published before the autumn.”

Jacqueline shrugged and turned away. “Nothing important. Well, that’s it for tonight, Jo. Let’s lock the gate and go for dinner.”

He followed her down the hillside in the gathering evening gloom. The path had been cleared and graded and was now much more easy to negotiate. It took less than ten minutes to reach the car and they headed back to Quillan in companionable silence.

- 7 -

Alain Hebert had taken a six-month lease on a holiday cottage on the outskirts of Rennes-les-Bains under his assumed name. He drove there in a small Citroen which had been contract-hired by a friend for the same period. He spent the first week calling in to local shops and bars and chatting with anyone who would listen to him in order to establish his credentials.

He was letting it be known that he was a writer researching the history of the Knights Templar in the region, with the intention of publishing a book on the subject in the next two years and enjoying a summer sabbatical from his job as a lecturer at one of the Paris universities - a story which had some approximation to the truth. He had postcards printed inviting anybody with suitable information to contact him. He felt this story would give him justification for taking walks around the area and especially up to the castle at le Bezu.

Back in Marseilles La Force had taken less than a week to come back and tell him they had accepted his proposal. They were working on the distribution system. They showed him the warehouse on the outskirts of the city where they would store the treasure. The premises was already the base for a business providing spare parts for car repairs all over Southern France. All sizes of vehicles delivered and collected goods at the warehouse. They could reverse vans inside, close the doors and leave them there overnight for loading and unloading. Because the car parts were valuable, the building was already surrounded by high fences and protected by a sophisticated security system. La Force was constructing an additional inside wall which would partition off part of the warehouse to provide a very safe store which nobody would suspect might hold a treasure of unique value. They had also shown him examples of forged paperwork to export items all over the world from the criminal-infested docks of Marseilles. He had been impressed by their efficiency, although he still had the feeling that Montlucon was only a front man.

In return for their efforts he had given them further evidence of his knowledge of mediaeval artefacts, their valuation and potential markets for the items of treasure which he expected to find. He believed he had convinced them that they would be wise to honour their agreement with him, because the twenty-five percent of the proceeds which he received would be more than recovered as a result of his specialist knowledge. Without releasing the exact location of the treasure, he had told them of his plans to spend the summer in Rennes-les-Bains.

All that remained after that was to arrange a suitable means of communication between Montlucon and himself. He had rejected their first proposal of the weasel-faced Mickey who had been his original, distasteful contact with their organisation. He pointed out that so obvious a petty crook would be an uncomfortable giveaway in an upper middle class area like Rennes-les-Bains. So they came back to him two days later with a much better contact - a journalist named Cesar Renoir. They told him that Renoir would contact him some time after his arrival at Rennes.

He had been sitting outside his rented cottage three days after taking up residence and enjoying the evening sun when he first saw a tall woman striding up the road towards him. He guessed she was in her early forties. She was slim and looked fit for her age. She was dressed in a grey linen shirt and dark blue, tight-fitting jeans. Her dark hair was drawn back in a tight ponytail and she wore very little make-up. However she was a striking woman.

She stopped in front of him and appraised him carefully.

“
Alain Hebert?” she asked.

“
Yes.”

“
I am Cesar Renoir.” She held out her hand.

He rose in surprise and took it. The handshake she gave him was firm.

“
I was expecting a man,” he confessed.

“
I know. The Christian name fools most people. When my father gave me the name I think it was because he was disappointed I wasn’t a boy. But I’ve been able to live up to it since - in my way.”

“
Your father?”

“
I believe you have already met him. He was that pathetic wreck you saw in Marseilles with half his face cut away. Camille Renoir used to be a force to be reckoned with but now he hides behind a self-important heap of crap called Montlucon.”

Alain decided not to commit himself to a comment at this stage. Instead he rose, offered his chair to her and went into the cottage to get another one for himself.

“
Would you like a glass of wine?”

She accepted and he opened a bottle and brought two glasses which he set on a small table between them. They sat in almost companionable silence for a short while, looking at the view and sipping their drinks.

She looked at him. “You’ve only just arrived from Paris?”

“
Three days ago.”

“
I’ve been here nearly a week. I’m doing a series of articles for ‘
l’Observateur’
on Cathar castles. I understand they intend to bring out a guide book later. It has given me a chance to look around.”

“
That seems a good idea.”

“
I’ve already visited four of the chateaux. I’ve been to see a nearby one today - one that nobody seems to know anything about - I suppose because it’s in a remote location. It’s called le Bezu.”

“
Really?” He was aware of a quickening of his pulse and hoped it didn’t show on his face.

“
Yes. It’s already swarming with archaeologists.” She had an infectious grin. “Well - six actually.”

“
Oh, my god!” He couldn’t prevent the exclamation slipping out. “What are they doing there?”

“
I don’t know - looking for some ancient remains of the Cathars, I believe. What do archaeologists ever look for? Old bones and pottery, it seems to me. But they’ve got a famous woman with them. Ever heard of Jacqueline Blontard?”

“
The one in the television series?”

“
That’s the one. Well, she’s leading this dig so I should think it’s reckoned to be quite important. I expect it’ll be her next series.” She suddenly caught the expression on his face. “Are you worried about having real archaeologists here?”

“
Not the archaeologists. But I don’t particularly welcome the prospect of television crews swarming all over the area.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry. There are no television cameras around - at least, not yet. And they’re not interested in the Templars. They told me the tales linking le Bezu to the Templars are purest myth.”

“
Who told you I was interested in the Templars?”

“
My father, of course.” It seemed to him that there was a slight withdrawal of the good humour he had previously enjoyed. “You must understand, monsieur, that I am his closest confidante since my mother died. You don’t have any need to worry. I know how to keep a secret.” She tossed her hair back. ” Mon dieu, I’ve been told enough in my time.”