No wonder the Church Fathers were so determined to wipe the peaceful Cathars off the face of the planet. According to the official history, always written by the victors, the Cathars believed in two separate gods. But perhaps there was more to their heretical dualism than the simplistic belief that the forces of good and evil, in the guise of the Light and Rex Mundi, were locked in eternal battle, mortal man caught in the crossfire. Perhaps the Cathars’ real crime was that they worshipped a female Egyptian deity.
Reaching into the ossuary, Cædmon removed the golden statuette.
Spellbound, he stared at the small, perfectly formed goddess. The Mother. Suddenly light-headed, he spread his feet wide to steady himself. The limestone sanctuary all but spun around him, stalagmites morphing into an unearthly coterie of female adherents.
‘The maiden phoenix, her ashes new create …’
To his surprise, tears rolled down his face. In that instant, he couldn’t distinguish between the sacred and the profane. Reason and desire. The inane and the arcane. What he knew about the Cathars and what he knew about the Egyptians was now jumbled together, separate strands of history that should not be tied together.
Yet here was the knotted proof cradled in his hands. A collision of two different cultures bound by the common worship of Isis. Woman primeval. Indeed, the Church Fathers in Rome had been horrified by the role that women played in Cathar society. In the Languedoc, women were not seen as the devil’s handmaidens, but as vibrant members of the community who participated equally with men in religious rites and political affairs.
His gaze fell on the miniature ankh that the figurine grasped in her right hand, so blatantly similar to the Cathar cross that had been carved at the cave entrance.
Bloody hell. The clues have been there all along. Staring me right in the face.
The Latin phrase incised on the back of the Montségur Medallion – Reddis lapis exillis cellis. The last two letters of each word spelled the phrase ‘Isis Isis’!
His curiosity running at full throttle, Cædmon wondered what other elements of the ancient Egyptian religion the Cathars might have incorporated into their religious practice. And what of the Lapis Exillis, the Holy Grail? Supposedly it had been ‘returned to the niche’. He knew that in the Middle Ages, the ‘aumbry’ was a niche, typically located to one side of the altar, specially designed to hold sacred vessels.
Replacing the figurine in the stone box, he anxiously shone the torch at the limestone wall behind the altar, which had been sanded smooth. In the angled beam of light, he saw a delicately carved image of a dove in flight. A Christian symbol for the Holy Spirit, the dove was also sacred to Isis. A bird of gentle disposition, it symbolized the ancient maternal instinct. Beneath the incised dove, a large rock had been wedged into a square recess.
Cædmon stepped towards the aumbry. Trembling with anticipation, he pulled the rock out of the recess.
As he caught his first glimpse of the Lapis Exillis, his breath hitched in his throat.
‘Un-bloody-believable.’
58
Hotel des Saints-Pères, Paris
2250 hours
Slipping on her robe, Kate tiptoed away from the bed.
Finn, sprawled on top of the tangled sheets, still dozed.
Achy all over, and discomfited about the reason for the sore muscles, she snatched an apple from a plastic shopping bag and limped over to the antique bureau. Seating herself in the upholstered Regency-style chair, she stared at the drawn curtains. Thoughts racing, she silently counted the pink peonies that patterned the heavy fabric.
In the last three hours, her relationship with Finn had undergone a major upheaval and she didn’t have a clue what would happen next. It was like driving down a winding mountain road, at night, with no headlights. While a collision might not ensue, there would be an aftermath. A repercussion. A consequence that neither had considered during the exuberant free-for-all. They’d shared something profoundly intimate; she couldn’t shrug it off and pretend that hadn’t happened.
Although, being a man, that might be exactly what Finn would try to do. So be it. She wasn’t going to make any demands. Didn’t even know what she would demand if she was so inclined, still grappling with her newfound feelings.
Given all that had transpired in the last four days, she wondered if her life would ever again be the same. At some point in time, would she be able to return to Washington and pick up where she’d left off? For the last two years, her few remaining friends had been urging her to make a change. Somehow she didn’t think this was what any of them had had in mind: being on the run in Paris.
Hearing a drawn breath, Kate turned her head. Finn, attired in a pair of low-slung cargo pants, stood next to the bureau.
‘I’m not sorry,’ he said without preamble. ‘And in the spirit of full disclosure, I’m thinking that was a couple of days overdue.’
Kate forced herself to meet his gaze, to get past the embarrassment of having writhed naked on the bed with him. ‘I’m not sorry either.’
‘Man, that’s a relief.’ Grabbing the twin to her chair, Finn pulled it over to the bureau and sat down.
‘Although … I owe you an apology,’ she said haltingly. ‘I didn’t mean to throw it in your face about Cædmon.’
To her surprise, Finn grinned good-naturedly. ‘Glad that you did, actually, seeing as how it got things kick-started between us. And I know you’re not the type to purposefully play the jealousy card. I just – um – overreacted. Talk about going ga-ga.’
Kate blushed, well aware that she was guilty of the same crime. On paper, they were an ‘odd couple’, hailing from different backgrounds, with little in common. But the paper trail wouldn’t show the deep-down, inexplicable sense of ‘rightness’ that she felt with him. Or the intense physical attraction.
Without asking, Finn took the apple out of her hand. Removing his penknife, he pulled out a blade and began to peel it for her.
The next few moments passed in companionable silence.
Extending a hand towards Finn’s chest, Kate lightly fingered the silver Celtic cross that he wore around his neck. ‘I’ve always thought that a Celtic cross on a treeless hillside was a hauntingly beautiful sight.’
‘The cheilteach belonged to my da.’ Finn stopped what he was doing, a red apple ribbon dangling from his knife blade. ‘Only keepsake I have. He died when I was fifteen years old. The Guinness finally got the better of him.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Finn sliced a wedge of peeled apple and offered it to her. ‘When we were at the houseboat in Washington, you mentioned that you were divorced.’
She dug her toes into the thick carpet pile, the conversation having just skidded off the runway.
Perturbed, Kate stared at the piece of fruit. She didn’t like to think, let alone talk, about her marriage to the soft-spoken, brilliant, boyishly handsome Jeffrey Zeller. A fellow cultural anthropologist, they’d met at a symposium at Johns Hopkins University. On the surface, they were the perfect couple. Behind closed doors, it was a different story entirely.
‘My marriage didn’t work out. I won’t bore you with the details,’ she intoned woodenly, head downcast, gaze still focused on the apple wedge.
‘Kate, don’t take this the wrong way, but …’ Finn’s brow furrowed slightly. ‘I noticed that you have a couple of stretch marks on your –’