‘The archbishop is the mind behind this,’ Arnau said, turning to Balthesar, consciously ignoring the intimation of Templar masters’ involvement and focusing on the priest.
The old knight looked troubled, uncertain. ‘I am still not entirely convinced. He may have begun this, but I still cannot see him as doing so on his own. The archbishop has too much to lose. There are other fingers stirring this pot. Yet, having ruled out the involvement of the one man we know to have sought the fall of Rourell for more than a decade, I admit that I am at a loss.’
‘And I do not like to believe that brothers of our order would sink so low as to conspire against their own,’ Arnau added, adamant still.
At this, Montcada lowered his knife and swung around in his chair, his face filled with unexpected anger. ‘You do not? You think the order of the Temple free of corruption and blame?’
Arnau reeled at the sudden fierceness in the otherwise relaxed lord. ‘I…’
‘Dear Guillem,’ the baroness said, leaning over and patting her husband on the knee. ‘Do be calm.’
‘In good time, beloved,’ the man responded, fixing Arnau with a look. ‘When I fled this place after my uncle’s death, I fought with your men against the Saracen. I met Templars both good and bad, just as all men can be both, but it was hiding from the world in Occitania when I saw what your Order is truly capable of. My brother, the poor foolish child, subscribes to the doctrine of the Cathars, for which he will burn for eternity… but he was not always a follower of heresy. And at his castle, who did I find twisting his ideals and pulling strings, but brothers of the Temple, men of Aragon and Catalunya. The land of Occitania burns in its own crusade as the Pope’s men stamp out the heretics hiding within the bosom of Christendom, and I have watched butchery and sickening torture carried out at the hands of men of your red cross. No, my friend, the Order of the Temple is far from free of sin.’
Arnau tried to keep the shock from his face. The very notion that the Order could be involving themselves with heretics on the wrong side of a crusade called by the Pope was unthinkable. Yet as his mind whirled, he could not help but remember how many times he and his friends had spoken out for Moors and for Jews. Was it any different? Was the Order truly capable of supporting heresy against Rome, or was it some misunderstanding in which brothers had been attempting to draw people together in peace?
‘I fear we are somewhat straying from the point,’ Ramon butted in. ‘Apologies if we have stirred up old anxieties. It was not our intention. We simply seek anything we can use in an attempt to aid the preceptrix and save our preceptory.’
Montcada settled back, eyes narrowed. ‘The archbishop is as rotten in the soul as any man who ever held the post, and that is a large legacy to live up to. But he is powerful and has all the resources and connections of the Church behind him. I doubt you will make a dent. I have given the problem a cursory look myself, and the various accusations look genuine unless they can be proved otherwise. I very much doubt you will be able to unpick more than a few of the cases individually, even if you find ways to threaten or bribe the various nobles and landowners. If Guillema here cannot influence them, then there is little chance of you doing so.’ Balthesar nodded his understanding, and Montcada leaned forward. ‘That leaves only one avenue. If the archbishop is unassailable, and the nobles are unimportant, then this can only be resolved within your own order. Look within to find any thread to pull, that is my advice.’
Ramon stepped forward again. ‘It is sage advice, my lord Montcada, if unwelcome to men of the Temple. Still it is clear that however much we would wish it not to be the case, the Order is clearly involved in this.’
‘I will help in any way that I can,’ the baroness said.
‘No,’ answered both Balthesar and Montcada at the same time. The noble sat back, and the knight nodded. ‘The preceptrix was correct. In current circumstances your own position is not unassailable. If you bind yourself to the cause of Rourell you put yourself and your house at risk, and we cannot allow that.’
‘You are welcome to spend the day here,’ Montcada said. ‘And pass a night within these walls. However, you may be pushed to return to Rourell before nightfall.’
Balthesar shook his head. ‘We must leave. This entire business hangs by a thread and every day we delay places the preceptrix in further danger. Thank you for your time and your candour. I pray that we meet once again to celebrate our success.’
As the old knight bowed his head, Arnau stepped forward. ‘Are you aware that you are being watched, my lady?’
The other two knights turned surprised looks on him, and Arnau spread his hands. ‘There are men unloading a cart across the square from the castle, but I think you will find that they are men of arms, and not the labourers they appear. We feared they were something to do with us, but now that we know of your situation, it seems highly likely that someone who knows of your former involvement is keeping eyes upon you. I fear that your husband is quite right. Stay as far from this matter as you can.’
The baroness gave him a strange smile. ‘I have felt the eyes upon this house for more than a month now, sir knight. This comes as no surprise to me. But I am the Baroness de Castellvell, and I share blood with the royal court itself. My husband is a veteran of wars across the world and a born survivor. We shall weather this storm as any other. Very well, we shall remain quiet at Mora d’Ebre, but the moment we can be of use in your quest, you must feel open to come to us and seek our aid. You will find us willing to risk much to give it.’
* * *
Despite their being adamant that they needed to leave, and the pressing matter of the investigation back at Rourell, as the sun slid behind the hills in the west, Arnau was becoming increasingly of the opinion that they should have accepted the baroness’s offer. There were still miles to go in the fading light and, though the surrounding lands were familiar to them, they had not been in these hills for a number of years.
Moreover, something was nagging at him. He felt that sourceless itch between his shoulder blades. As they had departed the castle at Mora d’Ebre, he’d noticed that the cart had gone from the far side of the square, its workmen similarly disappeared. Still, Arnau had felt as though he was being watched all the way across the square and back through the streets of the town. Indeed, he had endured the same feeling of being observed all the way back into the wilds and along the road to the east. Now, as evening fell, he could sense it ever more acutely. Somehow he felt he couldn’t bring this to the attention of the others yet, though he couldn’t say why. He rode third in line, behind Balthesar and Ramon, with the squires following on and leading the pack animals, and as they clopped slowly along the winding road that followed the valley down into the Selva plain, Tristán cleared his throat.
‘Why do you keep looking around like that?’
‘Can you not sense something?’ he replied, allowing his gaze to wander once more. To their left the scrubby brown hillside climbed out of sight up the valley’s slope, while to the right it dropped down to the Riudecols River, little more than a stream, invisible through the woodland that up here showed itself only as tree tops upon which they looked down.
‘You mean we’re being followed?’
‘I think so.’
‘I thought I saw people keeping pace with us several miles back, while it was still light, riding along the hilltops above us. In the end I shrugged it off. Put it down to my imagination and just locals out hunting. Ballocks, but I wish I’d looked closer.’
‘I think they’ve been with us since Mora d’Ebre, but I think something is going to happen now. I don’t think they’re just following us any more. I think they pushed on past us to get ahead.’
‘If you two don’t shut up,’ Ramon hissed from ahead, ‘then they’ll know we’re onto them.’
Arnau blinked. ‘You knew?’
‘They’re not subtle. Mercenaries is my guess. Keep your hand near your sword. I think they’ll make a try before we leave the valley and g
et out to flat land.’
The six men rode on in tense silence, Arnau trying to keep his gaze on all the surrounding lands without appearing to do so. As Tristán whispered the word back to the other squires, Arnau noticed how the horses moved forward a little, bunching up more for protection. He hoped that, if the observers were watching, they were not bright enough to realise what that meant.
It came as no surprise to any of them when the attack happened. As they rounded a hillside, two men charged their horses out of the trees to the lower, right-hand side of the road, while four men scrambled and scattered down the scrubby hillside from above. Had the Templars been unprepared, still they would not have been in grave danger, with equal numbers and the enemy mostly on foot, the enemy stood no chance. As Balthesar and Ramon took on the two riders from the trees, Arnau ripped his sword from its sheath and looked up at the attackers falling upon them.
A man in a plain, stained grey tunic and hose with a pitted and dull blade and a poorly-shaven face leapt at him from above, hissing, trying to knock him from his horse. Seeing the man coming, Arnau carefully jammed his feet tight in the stirrups, settled himself as heavily in the saddle as he could, and brought his sword round. The man hit him full on, more intent on unhorsing him for now than wounding. Arnau took the blow and felt the pain, the air knocked from him, yet remained steady in the saddle, anchored by the stirrups. The man had clearly expected to knock Arnau clear and for the two of them to crash to the ground and tussle there. Instead, he hit Arnau and bounced off, tumbling to the ground alone.
Arnau leaned low and swung with his sword, but the man was lying in the dirt, too low to reach. Before he could recover and rise to a second attack, Arnau simply yanked on the reins and turned his horse. The heavy animal stepped onto the prone man and then walked forward, bringing his second hoof onto the man’s back. Arnau heard bones breaking, and walked his horse off the man, leaving him screaming.
He turned to help the others, but Tristán was already fighting like an enraged bear, trying to kill not only the man facing him, but the one attacking Ramon’s squire too. For a moment, Arnau almost went to lend a hand, but he had done as much for his squire before, and had learned that getting in the way of Tristán delivering a good beating was a sure way of taking a few blows in the process.
Unable to do much, he slipped from his horse and crossed to the fallen man, plunging his sword into flesh to finish the attacker off, then wiping the blade clean on the dying man’s tunic before pulling himself back up into the saddle once more. By the time he had slid his sword away and was looking around, he saw Tristán was busily disfiguring a dying man, the other two squires watching him with horrified fascination, and the two knights were looking down at the horsemen they’d dispatched.
A distant noise caught Arnau’s attention and he looked up the slope, just in time to see a figure on horseback disappear from sight. He couldn’t even have said what the figure was wearing, so swiftly had he gone; however, he sensed this man was no casual observer. He had watched until it was over and then left without, to his knowledge, being seen.
‘Shall we search them?’ Tristán asked.
Balthesar and Ramon looked at one another, shrugging.
‘No point,’ Arnau said.
‘What, Brother?’
‘Ramon said it. They’re mercenaries. Just poor cheap thugs. No skill and no training. Old blades. We’ll find nothing of value. Their master was up the slope and just vanished. I would be very surprised if he had allowed them to carry anything incriminating.’
Balthesar took a deep breath. ‘This was an attack of opportunity. Men who have been shadowing us, and sought to stop us while they could. It is not these poor hapless thugs we must condemn, but the man who ordered them to their death in a vain attempt to prevent us from reaching home. Whoever is behind this, it seems unthinkable that they are not connected to the matter we are investigating. I think we must consider ourselves fortunate that their numbers were small. I think we must press on for Rourell now. Our next step is to speak to the preceptrix and to confront this Brother de Mont.’
Chapter Three
De Mont
Rourell, 30th September 1212
Arnau had never before approached the preceptory, that had been his home for twelve years, with trepidation, yet that was the feeling that shivered through his senses as he set his sight upon that gate in the golden-stone walls at the end of a dusty drive.
Rourell had suffered a turbulent history. Upon his arrival as a young knight with his liege lady in search of sanctuary, the preceptory had weathered a siege in which it had been badly damaged and seriously depopulated. With an already faltering reputation due to the unorthodox nature of the place with its mixed personnel and female commander, the preceptory had looked doomed until Balthesar and Arnau had brought back a sainted relic and revitalised it. Then, new brothers and sisters had come to the house, bringing lands and donations with them, and Rourell had not only recovered but flourished. Perhaps it was that very success that had finally brought the Preceptrix Ermengarda and the house of Rourell to the forefront of their enemies’ attentions. Still, however this had come about, after twelve years of stability, once more Rourell was in danger.
What would they find within?
The gate remained steadfastly closed as they approached, and they were forced to rein in outside while Balthesar clanged the bell for attention. There was an extended pause and finally with a clunk and a rattle the gate of Rourell was pulled open. Before they could ride through, however, the gateway was blocked by two figures. A man Arnau did not recognise, in the white mantle of a full brother, stood beside Bernat, the sergeant in charge of the gate. The knight peered disapprovingly at them from a wide, squashed and unattractive face, one eyebrow rising.
‘Yes?’
Bernat turned to look at the knight and said in a careful tone, ‘These are the knights of Rourell, Brother Jaume, returned from crusade.’ The sergeant turned back to the travellers with a relieved smile and bowed his head. ‘It is good to see you, Brothers.’
He stepped aside out of their way; yet the knight, Brother Jaume, remained firmly in place, blocking their path while he looked them each up and down with apparent distaste. ‘This house continues to disappoint,’ he announced, as he too stepped aside.
Arnau tried not to give the man a sour look as they passed beneath the arch and into the courtyard of Rourell, though he was not at all sure he’d succeeded. Ramon did not even look at the man, and somehow Balthesar managed to produce a smile for him that emanated cold like a block of ice.
As they neared the belfry, the gate was shut behind them and the six men slid gratefully from their saddles, stamping life back into aching legs and feet before the three knights handed the reins over to their squires. The brothers took all the horses and made for the stables, leaving the three knights standing in the courtyard. Bernat hurried over with the stranger at his side and gestured to them. ‘Brothers Balthesar, Ramon and Arnau. This is Brother Jaume from Barbera, one of the staff Brother de Mont brought with him.’
‘Very pristine and well presented,’ Balthesar noted, looking Jaume up and down. ‘A pure white mantle and well-polished armour. You are to be commended.’ Arnau wondered for a moment at the compliment before he realised what the old knight was doing. The three new arrivals were dusty, travel-worn, with the dents and scratches of battle on their armour and old blood stained into the material. The unspoken undercurrent of the compliment suggested that Brother Jaume was less in some way; that his pristine appearance spoke of a lack of action or strain. Certainly the brother caught the meaning, for his eyes narrowed. Ramon smiled at the man as he took off his gloves and smacked them together, the resulting cloud of dust settling satisfyingly on the pristine white mantle.
Arnau had to fight himself not to chuckle as Brother Jaume’s lip wrinkled in irritation.
‘Brother de Mont will wish to see you,’ the man almost spat. ‘But nothing is so urgent that you should attend hi
m in such a state. Clean yourselves up and don a fresh tunic, and then visit the chapter house.’
As the man turned and marched away, still with that unpleasant expression, Ramon snorted. ‘I’ve half a mind to roll in the dust a bit more and then go see him.’
Arnau nodded. ‘It’s tempting, but we don’t know what we’re facing yet. Let’s not antagonise needlessly.’
‘Besides, I need to brush out my beard,’ Balthesar noted. ‘It feels as though things are living in it.’
The three men strolled into the stables where the squires were still busy ushering the horses into their stalls. With no unfriendly ears around, Balthesar hurried over to the sergeants while Ramon and Arnau gathered the three knights’ kit bags. ‘When you’re done, head to the kitchens. Find anyone we know and trust and make careful enquiries about the situation here. Don’t do anything to land yourselves in danger. Just conversation. Then get yourselves cleaned up and stay out of the way until we find you. I don’t want anyone we don’t know being able to order you around.’ He pointed at Arnau’s squire. ‘And you just keep that temper under control. In fact, try not to open your mouth at all until we’re somewhere safe.’
Tristán glared at the old knight, but all three nodded their understanding and agreement, and Balthesar swiftly rejoined his fellow knights and followed them to the washroom close to the dormitories. The wooden bathtub sat dry and empty, but the three men ignored it. It would take too long to fill and use, especially for all three of them in a row, and so instead they filled the long basin while they peeled off their dirty mantles and unfastened the chain hauberks, allowing them to fall to the floor with a metallic crunch. Stripping off the padded vests, woollen shirts and leggings, the three men stood side by side in just breeches and then grasped the bars of potash and olive oil Castile soap and rubbed up a lather. For over a quarter of an hour they cleaned off the worst of the days of travel and managed to achieve a level of hygiene once more. Dipping their heads into a barrel of fresh water, they each combed out their hair and beards and then excavated their packs for clean clothes.
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