Watermark by Vanitha Sankaran Read Free Book Online Page B

some in Carcassonne tomorrow.”
    She whipped her head around. We?
    He shrugged, voice still nonchalant. “I’ve business to attend, if you want to join me.”
    Is it safe?
    “Safe enough, I should think. And I want to keep you with me.” His smile was laced with sadness.
    Her only reply was to jump up and embrace him.
     
    They left the next morning, renting passage on a merchant cart heading west across a carpet of green grass and vineyards. Auda huddled in her cloak and peered into the misty rain, but seeing only blurs of color, she settled back in the wet straw. Despite the muddy ruts in the roads that made their wheels stick, she dozed until they arrived, early in the evening.
    Carcassonne was surrounded by a stone wall lined with turrets and arrow loops for archers. Seven large towers stood on the front side of the walls. The tops of further towers loomed behind the city like a studded crown atop the knoll.
    “Narbonne looks like a bunch of huts from here,” her father said, but Auda couldn’t discern the town from the vineyards far on the horizon.
    Martin pointed to their right. “The old Roman amphitheater. And beyond that, the Aude.”
    Squinting through the drizzle, she searched for the fat snake of gray that was her namesake. Their cart wound up thehill and stopped at the double drawbridge lowered over a full moat. Martin nudged her.
    Gathering her sack, which contained a heel of bread and a flagon of wine, she jumped off the cart and followed him across a set of bridges. She stepped quickly through wooden doors in the outer and inner walls and ducked under the hanging iron portcullis.
    Martin motioned for her to keep moving. “Stay near.”
    Larger than Narbonne and built on a hill to separate the nobles on high from their poorer neighbors, Carcassonne was still peopled with the usual vendors, Gypsies, and noblemen jostling each other in mutual chaos. Painted signs with colorful pictures hung above the shops, the odd torch burning inside some, hinting at an inner vivacity. But mostly the city’s luster was dampened by the same gloom that shrouded Narbonne, the same patter of rain.
    As at home, the clergy perched on trestles, chanting prayers to passersby amidst the heavy clanging of bells. A pair of priests shepherded chained penitents past Auda and Martin, followed by a column of self-flagellants carrying thick whips they used against their own bloodied flesh. Nearby cries heralded the sight of more prisoners, naked save for their loincloths and reeking of fear, prodded forward by guards with sharpened pikes.
    Auda turned her head. This was nothing like she’d expected. She heard the cruel snap of a switch hitting bare skin and hid her face.
    “It’s never been like this before,” Martin said, grim. He picked up the pace and led her along the narrow promenades, pointing out various artisan streets and the giant well where the lower city inhabitants drew their water. Prayer tokens and crosses hung on nearly every door.
    They arrived at a house squeezed between two others onParchmenter’s Lane. Through the milky animal skin covering the window, a bulky figure moved.
    Martin knocked. “Arnaud,” he called out, knocking again. A slot in the door opened and a pair of large eyes, rheumy with suspicion, appeared in the crack.
    “Martin!” The gray eyes softened and the door swung wide. A large man clasped hands with her father and showed them in. The house was small, not much larger than their own hearth room, but cozy and warm, exuding the faint scent of cooked meat.
    The man looked her over. His gaze lingered on her eyes, but he said nothing.
    Auda returned his look with sadness. Was this how it would always be for her, even among friends? Would anything change if she did marry the miller? Maybe she’d be better accepted then, if only for the wealth she married into.
    “Arnaud,” Martin said, “this is my youngest daughter, Auda. Auda, Arnaud and I have been friends for many years.”
    Arnaud