She left the hotel and navigated the cobbled streets.
The town dated back to the first century, when it was a remote Roman settlement. Charlemagne invaded seven hundred years later and claimed control. It was captured during the Albigensian Crusade by Simon de Montfort, who eventually erected the outer walls and provided its iconic appearance. During the 19th century, her hero, Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, one of the founders of historic conservation, undertook a massive restoration project. Her master’s thesis had been on Viollet-le-Duc, focusing on his preservation of medieval architecture. That the city had once been a hotbed for the heretics had not been germane to her studies then.
But it was today.
Tourists were everywhere. A busy Sunday. The shops, many tucked into the alcoves that once sold necessities, now peddled souvenirs. She found her destination near the north wall. A red banner, attached to the front wall above an awning, read in gold letters Musée de l’inquisiton. A mannequin, dressed in medieval garb, added more camp to the local museum of torture.
She stepped inside and introduced herself, saying she would like to speak with Simone Forte. The young man excused himself and disappeared behind a curtain that guarded the start of the exhibits. A few moments later a slim woman, maybe in her late forties, early fifties, with beautiful green eyes and a face that bore few marks of life, appeared. Her blonde hair was drawn tight into a bun and a pair of bifocals sat perched on the tip of her nose. She wore an expensive black pantsuit with a crisp white blouse. Cassiopeia recognized the face from the photo in the books and introduced herself.
The older woman shook her offered hand with a firm grip.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Vitt. I’ve admired your restoration project for many years.”
She was surprised that the connection had been made. “I appreciate you noticing. You should come see it some time.”
“I would love that.”
The soft voice was like honey and carried an even tone, not uncommon for academics. But it also signaled all business.
“Is there a place where we could speak in private?” she asked. “I’ve come to show you something.”
“Now that’s rather mysterious. But, yes, we can talk in the back. I’ve been utilizing a room here as my field lab. I’m working with some archeologists who are digging not far from here. The owner of this museum is a friend and offered the space.”
She followed the woman into the museum.
A few visitors roamed inside.
“Despite the tourist flavor,” Forte said, “the exhibits are reasonably authentic. The dioramas are quite realistic, while the mannequins, God bless them, leave a bit to be desired.”
The place was reminiscent of a wax museum, but with added macabre touches like what appeared to be dried blood on the floor in one room and some entrails in another. Deeper in she saw a Judas chair made of nails which, a sign noted, was used primarily on witches. A hell cage hung from the ceiling, inside of which prisoners were once left naked in the elements until they died. A stretching ladder and breaking wheel, one to dislocate the limbs, the other to snap bones, sent a chill through her. In a long-vaulted gallery were axes, chastity belts, and old maniacal-looking medical instruments. At its far end, inside a low archway, hung an oak door.
“Here we are,” Forte said, inserting a skeleton key.
The room beyond was square with a window to the outside. After the dim light of the museum, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the sunlight. A roughhewn rectangular table filled the space, upon which lay a slab of rock.
“My workshop,” she said.
She admired the stone on the table. “Is this Cathar?”
The professor nodded. “I believe so. The carving was found at a dig near here.”
The slab was about a meter long and half that wide. Upon its face was the clear hewn image of a dove, carved all the way through.
“It may have come from Montségur,” Forte said. “We know from other accounts that the site was looted after the Cathars surrendered and the citadel was razed. This particular style is common in that region. The dove was the Cathars’ most powerful symbol.”
Cassiopeia found her phone and brought up several images of the Book of Hours that she’d taken earlier. Some of the cover, some inside, a few of the casket itself. “I have something else that may be Cathar. This was found at my construction site six days ago.”
She handed over the phone.
Forte studied each one with close scrutiny, then asked, “How many pages are in the book?”
“Seventy-three, all illustrated.”
Using two fingers, Forte enlarged the images to fill the phone’s screen and studied them again. Cassiopeia watched the other woman carefully, noting how she perused each with a careful examination.
Forte handed the phone back. “This is quite a find.”
“In what way?”
“Where is the book?”
Not an answer to her question. “Safe at my estate. We had a robbery attempt, and a private collector is pressuring me to either sell the book to him or allow him to examine it.”
“May I inquire who?”
“Your ex-husband.”
A look of shock filled Forte’s face. “Roland?”
She nodded. “It’s another reason why I’m here. Not only are you a recognized expert, but you also know him. I was hoping you might be able to tell me his real interest. He says it’s a conduit to a Cathar treasure, of some sort. The Path to Light.”
“You’ve spoken to Roland?”
“Twice.”
Forte stepped around to the far side of the table, opposite from her. The stone slab, with the dove, lay between them.
“Mademoiselle Vitt—”
“Cassiopeia. Please.”
“Then I’m Simone.”
She nodded in acceptance of the courtesy.
“My ex-husband is a most complex man. He and I have had little contact for the past decade. We said all there was to say when our marriage ended.”
“Interesting how a marriage that lasted for eleven years could be annulled.”
“Yes, it is. But the explanation is intensely personal and has nothing to do with you or your book.”
She accepted the rebuke with grace. She’d pushed to see how far she might be able to go, which had not been much. “I apologize. But I’m in investigatory mode, which makes me a bit nosey at times.”
“Quite understandable. And if you’ve engaged Roland twice, then you are aware of the frustration he can pose.”