Labyrinth – Kate Mosse

Have you ever felt that history leaves behind echoes, waiting for someone to uncover their meaning? // Kate Mosse’s Labyrinth takes us deep into the heart of southern France, where the past and present intertwine through mystery, faith, and destiny. // It’s a story about courage, secrets, and the search for meaning across centuries.

The novel follows two women: Alais, living in 13th-century France during the Crusades, and Alice, a modern-day archaeologist. // Though separated by time, their lives are mysteriously connected by a secret that could change the course of history — a secret tied to the Holy Grail and the hidden legacy of faith and knowledge. // As Alice unearths an ancient labyrinth symbol, she steps into a story much bigger than herself, uncovering truths buried for centuries.

Mosse draws us into a world where sacred history and human courage collide. // Alais, in her time, fights to protect a powerful secret amid war and religious persecution. // Alice, in the present, seeks to understand this legacy, confronting forces that will stop at nothing to keep the truth hidden. // The two narratives weave together, showing how the choices of one era ripple into another, shaping lives across time.

At its heart, Labyrinth explores themes of faith, loyalty, and the endurance of truth. // It invites us to reflect on how history speaks to us — not only through artifacts and ruins but through human stories of conviction and sacrifice. // The labyrinth itself becomes a symbol: of spiritual searching, moral courage, and the winding path toward understanding.

Philosophically, the novel suggests that the past is never truly gone; it lives within us, shaping our identities and our sense of purpose. // It asks: what truths are worth protecting? // What legacies define us? // And how do faith and history intertwine to guide the human spirit?

So — why read Labyrinth? // Because it offers more than mystery or adventure. // It’s a story that blends historical depth with spiritual reflection, perfect for those who love to uncover the layers of time, belief, and meaning hidden beneath the surface of ordinary life.

In the end, Kate Mosse gives us a tale where the courage of the past meets the curiosity of the present. // Labyrinth reminds us that the search for truth — like the labyrinth itself — is a journey of faith, perseverance, and the timeless human longing to understand the mysteries that shape our lives.

Reading 1 (Part 2)

Strands of hair, the colour of soft brown sugar, have come loose from

under her cap. She tucks them behind her ears and wipes her forehead

with her handkerchief, before twisting her ponytail back into a tight knot

at the nape of her neck.

Her concentration broken, Alice stands up and stretches her slim legs,

lightly tanned by the sun. Dressed in cut-off denim shorts, a tight white

sleeveless T-shirt and cap, she looks little more than a teenager. She used

to mind. Now, as she gets older, she sees the advantage of looking

younger than her years. The only touches of glamour are her delicate

silver earrings, in the shape of stars, which glint like sequins.

Alice unscrews the top of her water bottle. It’s warm, but she’s too

thirsty to care and drinks it down in great gulps. Below, the heat haze

shimmers above the dented tarmac of the road. Above her, the sky is an

endless blue. The cicadas keep up their unrelenting chorus, hidden in the

shade of the dry grass.

It’s her first time in the Pyrenees, although she feels very much at

home. She’s been told that in the winter the jagged peaks of the

Sabarthès Mountains are covered with snow. In the spring, delicate

flowers of pink and mauve and white peep out from their hiding places in

the great expanses of rock. In early summer, the pastures are green and

speckled with yellow buttercups. But now, the sun has flattened the land

into submission, turning the greens to brown. It is a beautiful place, she

thinks, yet somehow an inhospitable one. It’s a place of secrets, one that

has seen too much and concealed too much to be at peace with itself.

In the main camp on the lower slopes, Alice can see her colleagues

standing under the big canvas awning. She can just pick out Shelagh in

her trademark black outfit. She’s surprised they’ve stopped already. It’s

early in the day to be taking a break, but then the whole team is a bit

demoralised.

It’s painstaking and monotonous work for the most part, the digging

and scraping, the cataloguing and recording, and so far they’ve turned up

little of significance to justify their efforts. They’ve come across a few

fragments of early medieval pots and bowls, and a couple of late twelfthor early thirteenth-century arrowheads, but certainly no evidence of the

Palaeolithic settlement which is the focus of the excavation.

Alice is tempted to go down and join her friends and colleagues and

get her dressing sorted out. The cut smarts and her calves are already

aching from squatting. The muscles in her shoulders are tense. But she

knows that if she stops now, she’ll lose her momentum.

Hopefully, her luck’s about to change. Earlier, she’d noticed

something glinting beneath a large boulder, propped against the side of

the mountain, neat and tidy, almost as if it had been placed there by a

giant hand. Although she can’t make out what the object is, even how big

it is, she’s been digging all morning and she doesn’t think it will be much

longer before she can reach it.

Reading 2 (Part 3)

They had left the Crusaders’ camp outside Montpellier immediately.

Glancing up at the moon, Pelletier calculated that if they held their pace

they should reach Béziers by dawn. Viscount Trencavel wished to warn

the Biterois in person that the French army was no more than fifteen

leagues away and intent on war. The Roman road that ran from

Montpellier to Béziers lay wide open and there was no way of blocking

it.

He would bid the city fathers prepare for a siege, at the same time as

seeking reinforcements to support the garrison at Carcassonne. The

longer the Host could be delayed in Béziers, the longer he would have to

prepare the fortifications. He also intended to offer refuge in

Carcassonne to those who were most at risk from the French — Jews, the

few Saracen traders from Spain, as well as the Bons Homes. It was not

only seigneurial duty that motivated him. Much of the administration and

organisation of Béziers was in the hands of Jewish diplomats and

merchants. Under threat of war or no, he wasn’t prepared to be deprived

of the services of so many valued and skilled servants.

Trencavel’s decision made Pelletier’s task easier. He touched his hand

against Harif’s letter concealed in his pouch. Once they were in Béziers,

all he had to do was excuse himself for long enough to find Simeon.

A pale sun was rising over the river Orb as the exhausted men rode

across the great arched stone bridge.

Béziers stood proud and high above them, grand and seemingly

impregnable behind its ancient stone walls. The spires of the cathedral

and the great churches dedicated to Santa-Magdalena, Sant Jude and

Santa-Maria glittered in the dawn light.

Despite his fatigue, Raymond-Roger Trencavel had lost nothing of his

natural authority and bearing as he urged his horse up through the

network of alleyways and steep winding streets that led to the main

gates. The fall of the horses’ shoes against the cobbles roused people

from their sleep in the quiet suburbs that surrounded the fortified walls.

Pelletier dismounted and called to the Watch to open the gates and let

them enter. They made slow progress, news having spread that Viscount

Trencavel was in the city, but eventually they reached the Suzerain’s

residence.

Raymond-Roger greeted the Suzerain with genuine affection. He was

an old friend and ally, a gifted diplomat and administrator and loyal to

the Trencavel dynasty. Pelletier waited while the two men greeted each

other in the custom of the Midi and exchanged tokens of esteem. Having

completed the formalities with unusual haste, Trencavel moved straight

to business. The Suzerain listened with deepening concern. As soon as

the Viscount had finished speaking, he sent messengers to summon the

city’s consuls to council.

While they were talking, a table had been set in the centre of the hall

covered with bread, meats, cheese, fruit and wine.

‘Messire,’ said the Suzerain. ‘I would be honoured if you would avail

yourself of my hospitality while we wait.’

Reading 3 (Part 4)

Citeaux → "See-toe" (soft t, not too drawn out)

Auxerre → "Oh-sair" (rhymes with air)

Porte Narbonnaise → "Port Nar-bon-nez" (the z is pronounced softly)

Viscount Trencavel → "Vye-count Trenk-a-vel" (Vye like "eye")

On behalf of the Abbot of Citeaux, the Count of Auxerre had ridden

up to the Porte Narbonnaise and offered safe conduct to parley. With this

surprise proposition Viscount Trencavel’s natural optimism had returned.

It was evident in his face and his bearing as he addressed the household.

His hope and fortitude rubbed off a little on those listening.

The reasons behind the Abbot’s sudden change of mind were

debatable. The Crusaders were making little progress, but the siege had

only lasted a little over a week, which was nothing. Did the Abbot’s

motive matter? Viscount Trencavel claimed not.

Guilhem was barely listening. He was trapped in a web of his own

making and could see no way out, neither through words nor the sword.

He lived on a knife-edge. Alaïs had been missing for five days. Guilhem

had sent discreet search parties out into the Cite and scoured the Château

Comtal, but was no nearer to finding where Oriane was keeping her

prisoner. He was trapped in a web of his own deceit. Too late had he

realised how well Oriane had prepared the ground. If he did not do what

she wanted, he would be denounced as a traitor and Alaïs would suffer.

‘So, my friends,’ Trencavel concluded. ‘Who will accompany me on

this journey?’

Guilhem felt Oriane’s sharp finger in his back. He found himself

stepping forward. He knelt down, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and

offered his service. As Raymond-Roger clasped him on the shoulder in

gratitude, Guilhem burned with shame.

‘You have our great thanks, Guilhem. Who, now, will go with you?’

Six other chevaliers joined Guilhem. Oriane slipped between them and

bowed before the Viscount.

‘Messire, by your leave.’

Congost had not noticed his wife in the mass of men. He flushed red

and flapped his hands in embarrassment, as if shooing crows from a

field.

Withdraw, Dame,’ he stammered in his shrill voice. ’This is no place

for you.’

Oriane ignored him. Trencavel raised his hand and summoned her

forward. ‘What is it that you want to say, Dame?’

‘Forgive me, Messire, honoured chevaliers, friends. . . husband. With

your leave and God’s blessing, I want to offer myself as a member of this

party. I have lost a father and now, it appears, a sister too. Such grief is

heavy to bear. But if my husband will release me, I would like to redeem

my loss and show my love for you, Messire, by this act. It is what my

father would wish.’