The Secret Familiar by Catherine Jinks

Author:Catherine Jinks
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
ISBN: 9781741760828
Publisher: Allen & Unwin Pty Ltd
Published: 2010-05-27T04:00:00+00:00

XIV.

Tuesday of Holy Week

I hardly know where to begin. With my journal, perhaps. It has proven its worth beyond all doubt.

Having checked my previous entries in this journal, I now know why the name ‘Alegre’ is so familiar. It was my master who mentioned it during our last meeting. Alegre was the maiden name of Guillaume Hulart’s wife, Jacquette. Jacquette Alegre was a follower of the Beguin Rixende, some thirty years ago. Her husband was Vincent Hulart’s father—and Berengar Blanchi’s uncle.

So the priest from the Archbishop’s Chancellery may very well be related to Berengar Blanchi.

I cannot tell how important this connection might be. In my own native land, I have known Cistercian abbots and Cathar perfecti who have sprung from the same stock. I have known cousins who would happily kill each other, and cousins who would die for each other. In a city such as Narbonne, moreover, it is easy enough to avoid one’s relatives, as long as one lives in a different quarter and parish.

Besides, the connection between the priest and the heretic might be too remote to count as a connection at all.

It is worth keeping in mind, though. Sejan Alegre interests me. If he works for the Archbishop’s Chancellery, then he cannot live far from the Archbishop’s palace. In which case he might very well have a benefice at the cathedral of St-Just, next door. And if Sejan Alegre is attached to the cathedral, there could be a link between him and the man I finally found this morning, in the Hospital of St-Just for the Poor of Narbonne. Who knows? Nothing can be disregarded— not at this stage.

Happily, the search was not as long as it could have been. Though I was absent from my shop for an entire morning, it could easily have been a whole day; visiting all the hospitals in Narbonne would be a full day’s work. I had decided to disregard the city’s leprosaria, at least for the time being. Since they occupy sites outside the walls, I thought it more likely that my quarry would be working elsewhere. It must also be confessed that I was reluctant to visit a leprosarium, unless absolutely necessary. Such places are not for the faint of heart.

I began my search near the northernmost gate of Narbonne, at the hospital of St-Jacques, with the intention of moving southwards and ending at St-Paul. St-Jacques was an alarming sight. It had not occurred to me that Easter would fill it to bursting point; only when I reached it, and saw the mass of people spilling from its doors and silting up its rooms, did I recollect that St-Jacques is above all a place of lodging for pilgrims, and that pilgrims tend to be very much in evidence during Holy Week.

I cannot give the vaguest estimate of how many people were seeking shelter there. Had I tried to count them, the ceaseless movement would have defeated me. In the hall every bench and table was occupied by shrouded, sleeping forms.

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