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Jean Paul and Marie had flown the four hundred kilometers south from Paris to meet with her. In her father’s day the corporation had been headquartered in Barcelona. But she’d relocated after some unfavorable changes to Spanish tax laws. The French had been far more accommodating in offering an incentive package for a multi-billion euro corporate headquarters that employed over five hundred people. So she’d moved the company to France and changed its name to Terra. Earth. Her father would have surely approved, since he was the first to say what Virgil believed. Fortune sides with him who dares. Or, in this case, she who dares.
She led them into a comfortable den that had once been the chateau’s music room. The original gilded molding, consisting of violins, horns, and flutes scattered amongst garlands of flowers, drew the eye. It stood in contrast to the walls and ceiling, a shade of celadon green usually found in a cat’s eye. An oversize celadon carpet protected the centuries-old parquet floor. A tray of coffee and biscuits waited on a table. She served her guests, then inquired about their visit.
“We have a matter of concern,” Jean Paul said. “We’ve never seen anything like this before, so we thought it best to come in person.”
Nothing about that sounded good.
“Over the last forty-eight hours we’ve lost six major contracts that were under negotiation,” he said. “We’ve also been told that we are ineligible for a dozen more contracts here in France, Belgium, Holland, and Italy due to litigation that has been started against us.”
Cassiopeia looked over at Marie. “What are we being sued for?”
“Late deliveries, substandard materials, overcharging. Two even allege fraud.”
She was shocked. Never had the company faced such accusations.
“We came to assure you,” Jean Paul said, “before these matters become public, that we have not engaged in any of those irregularities.”
“All of the suits are frivolous,” Marie added. “I can deal with them, but it will take time and money to clear each off the court dockets. There will also be a public relations effect to our reputation. We could have some irreversible losses in the hundreds of millions of euros.”
“Tell me more,” she said.
Jean Paul opened his Louis Vuitton briefcase, removed a laptop, and found a spreadsheet. She leaned in, looked over his shoulder, and studied the information.
“The contracts at issue all deal with platinum and silver, two of the most popular metals we sell. Not overly large quantities, but expensive and highly profitable.”
“Let me guess,” she said. “All of these involve aviation?”
“That’s correct,” Marie said. “We are one of the major suppliers of precious metals to that industry, and have been for a long time. That’s why these cancellations are so surprising. They are from long-time customers.”
“Are any a subsidiary of Beláncourt Aeronautical?”
Marie scanned the list. “At least half.”
No surprise.
As you will soon learn, the ways I go about obtaining what I want are much more effective than robbery.
The guy had balls, she’d give him that.
“You look like you know what this is about,” Jean Paul said.
“Fortunately, I do.”
She spoke with Jean Paul and Marie for another hour, devising a strategy to defend against the onslaught. The lawsuits spanned three different jurisdictions across Europe, but Terra’s legal department was up to the challenge. She told them to answer the allegations, deny them all, and leave the rest to her. She explained nothing about Beláncourt’s threat, only that she knew the source of the problem and would be in touch. After they left she headed for her study, where the Book of Hours was locked away in a wall safe.
She retrieved the plastic bin and sat at her desk.
What made this volume so special?
Books of Hours were first created by monks for use by fellow monks, detailing the appropriate prayers for specific hours of the day, weeks, months, and seasons. She knew they always began with a liturgical calendar, a list of feast days in chronological order, which was also a way of calculating the date of Easter.
But this one had no such calendar.
Normally, each section of the prayers was also accompanied by an illustration to help the reader meditate on the subject. Biblical scenes, saints, slices from rural life, or displays of royal splendor were common. The illustrations were called miniatures, and not because the images were small. Instead, miniature had its origins in the Latin miniare, meaning “to illuminate.”
This one had few such images.
Instead symbols dominated.
An odd configuration of lines and circles.
Latin was also the preferred language. Yet this one was in Occitan, the language of the Languedoc, once favored by the troubadours. Eight hundred years ago most people in southern France would have spoken it. Today, it was far more parochial, but it had survived. Occasionally, some street signs or placards would appear in both French and Occitan. But, overall, it was not something heard in widespread use, more a form of communication used at home, between friends and family. She’d learned to speak it while at university, and it was regularly utilized by the workers at the construction site. Almost no manuscripts written in it from ancient times had survived.
Except this one.
Books of Hours were generally created on parchment or vellum, specially treated to receive the pigment. She also knew about the ink. Iron gall, made from the gallnuts on oak trees, where wasp larvae were laid, tinted through the use of various minerals. The writing was generally done with a feathered quill pen. The most vivid and expensive dye was lapis lazuli, a blue gemstone with gold flecks which, during the Middle Ages, was found only in present-day Afghanistan.
This tome seemed heavy with that blue.
Rare, but not unusual.
This book’s creators had used plenty of gold and silver leaf to marvelous effect, providing even more illumination to the pages.
Her radar screamed at full alert. Roland Beláncourt had gone to a lot of trouble to gain her undivided attention.
Just to acquire a book for his collection?
No way.
She reached for her cell phone and dialed the number on the card Beláncourt had left. An assis
tant connected her straight to him and she could almost see the smug smile on his face. No sense bothering with amenities. “All right. You have my attention.”
“I thought my message would be clear. Perhaps now we can have a more balanced conversation.”
“How far are you going to go with this?”
“Whatever is necessary.”
“Why is this book so important?”
He did not immediately answer her. Finally, he said, “I could hedge on that answer, or I could just lie to you. But I’m not going to do either. Let us say that the book has a great personal meaning to me. One that I take quite seriously.”
That was the second thing he’d said to her that she believed.
“Monsieur Beláncourt, you and I have clearly been thrust together. I assume you’re not going to leave this be, considering the legal efforts you’ve already made to force me to this point. I, of course, still do not want to sell. What do you suggest we do now?”
“I have a proposal. Will you allow me to show you something?”
She had no choice. “And what would that be?”
“May I have a half a day of your time tomorrow? If, after that, you no longer wish to sell, then I will allow this matter to drop.”
That sounded way too reasonable.
But, again, she had no choice.
“Wear comfortable clothes and boots fit for a climb and hike,” he said. “I’ll send a plane to pick you up in Lyon at 8 a.m.”
Chapter 8
The Perfecti entered the home and knelt. With both hands folded, she bowed three times saying “Bless me, Lord. Pray for me.”
The man who lived there answered her plea. “Lead us to our rightful end.”
