Free The Secret Of The Cathars (2011) by Michael Hillier

widened out. From this point he could see that a narrow path led off up the hillside towards the castle. There was a patch of steeply sloping meadow and a small notice board. Philip went up to look at it.
    This was certainly the place. The signboard described the chateau of le Bezu and gave a few details of its history. There was also a small, rather indistinct plan of the castle which stretched along the precipitous, rocky ridge high above. Philip found it difficult to compare the plan to the terrain frowning down upon him, especially when there was so little of the actual castle remaining.
    As he set off up the path he noticed that someone had recently cleared and widened it, even putting in timber pegs and supports to form steps in places where the going became difficult. Even so the slope was sufficiently steep to get him breathing heavily and make the blood pump through his veins. When he reached the woods he had to watch his footing to avoid tripping on tree roots and to keep his head down under the low-hanging branches.
    Emerging near the top he found himself in front of a couple of stretches of low rough wall with a gap between them. He guessed this must be an old entrance to the castle. He noticed the ground in this location had been recently trampled more or less flat and that there was very little vegetation. There was a rough timber and wire-mesh gate across the opening which stood half open. Philip pushed it wide and entered the castle.
    Which way now? He saw there was a small level terrace to his right at a slightly higher level. He scrambled up a low wall and went across the area to look at the splendid view.
    “ Hey!”
    He spun round in surprise. He found he was confronting a young man of medium height with dark hair and eyes.
    “ Qui etes vous?” The man’s attitude was rather less than friendly.
    “ Oh!” Philip hesitated. “Er - je suis Philip Sinclair.”
    “ Hah! Anglische?”
    “ English? Yes.”
    “ OK. I am Andre Jolyon. I am arch-y-ol-o-giste.” He indicated behind him. “This is arch-y-olo-giste site.”
    “ Oh? Right.”
    The man gesticulated vaguely. “You not permit here.”
    “ Qu’est-ce que c’est, Jo?”
    A young woman appeared at the other side of the terrace. Her beauty had Philip’s immediate attention. She was wearing jeans above short boots and her tight roll-neck sweater revealed an attractive figure. But it was her sparkling blue eyes which struck him most forcefully. Set in a beautiful face and framed by long dark hair they seemed to hold his gaze.
    “ C’est un anglais qui s’appel Phillipe Saint Claire.” He turned back to Philip. “Is correct?”
    “ More or less.”
    “ This is Mademoiselle Jacqueline Blontard. She is director of site.” He shook his head. “Sorry. You cannot come here.”
    “ Yes he can.” Jacqueline came forward. “We can’t exclude the public, Jo. We haven’t got an exclusive licence.”
    Andre Jolyon seemed not to take any notice of her. “But why you here?” he demanded. “We not allow any person who has not been checked.”
    Philip judged it was wise not to say too much at present. “I’m interested in the Cathars. I believe this was one of their strongholds.” He held up a guide book which he had purchased in Carcassonne but which he knew made no mention of le Bezu.
    When Jacqueline smiled it seemed to Philip that the day became brighter. “You won’t find much information here,” she said. “Perhaps, if you come back at the end of the summer when we have finished our excavations, we might be able to tell you some more.”
    “ Your English is excellent.” Philip shook his head. “I’m afraid my French is very basic.”
    She smiled her beautiful smile again. “Thank you. I was a keen language student at school.”
    “ And now you are an archaeologist.”
    “ Jacqueline Blontard is the most famous archaeologist in France,” interrupted Jolyon. “Didn’t you see the television films about her?”
    “ Were