Arnau nodded. Perhaps something would turn up, despite their apparent impotence.
As Ramon bent to his work once more, Arnau found a small lamp on the dusty and unused floor above and lit it for extra illumination. Just on the off-chance that de Mont had hidden incriminating evidence elsewhere in the generally unvisited belfry, he swiftly searched the room and continued up to the top. Having found nothing by the time he reached the bell, he concluded glumly that de Mont was hardly likely to allow them access to the tower if it contained anything incriminating.
Sullenly descending once more, he mused that at least this miserable failure was helping him connotate the belfry with something other than an innocent young nun plummeting to her death. Back in the room, Ramon was still going through record after record, carefully replacing them precisely where he’d found them.
Arnau returned to his shelves and flipped through them all, looking at the names. ‘There are a couple of cases here from low nobles who owed fealty to Santa Coloma. It may be that Sister Titborga remembers them and could throw some light upon them. At the very worst, I can probably produce reliable defence witnesses from the lands around my home. It’s a tiny hope for a very small victory, but it’s better than nothing.’
Ramon simply grunted his reply as he slammed down another folder and reached for the next. Arnau pulled out the file for a man he remembered from the court of Santa Coloma and looked through it. Apart from the endless torrents of unreadable legal text, he found two hand-drawn maps.
‘I remember riding across this land with the man behind the claim. We were young knights together, perhaps a year before I came to Rourell. He was a good man, as far as I remember, but I can tell you how false this claim is. I remember riding across a dry stream bed, and him telling me that his father had given to the Temple all the land to the west of that stream and as far to the east as a line of trees. This map shows only the land to the west. This map is false.’
‘Do you think you can persuade your old friend to admit that on oath?’
Arnau sagged again. ‘I’ve not seen the man for fourteen years. His father was old and I’m sure he must have died years ago, so this claim has to have come from the son. He is unlikely to damn himself. And although I know this to be false, I am hardly an impartial witness. I think that despite all I know this is another dead end. Lawyers would tear me apart over it.’
‘You’re beginning to understand how this works, sadly.’
Arnau grumbled and closed the file once more, deliberately sliding it back in five spaces along from the spot whence it came, in order to annoy de Mont.
The hours passed by in the guttering lamplight as Ramon went through record after record, becoming increasingly irritable and frustrated with each one; Arnau picking others from the shelves whenever a name or a location leapt to mind, always finding things that he was sure were lies but which he could not prove without the hand of God guiding him. Finally, Ramon slammed shut and replaced his latest file, stomped over to the door and pulled it open, heaving in breaths of fresh air. Both men were surprised to realise that the sun had gone down during their travails and that the preceptory outside was lit against the dark.
‘Balthesar is not coming fast, is he?’ Arnau murmured. ‘I hope nothing is amiss.’
Ramon shook his head. ‘The old man will be fine. I think we’re done here, though. Might as well return the key to de Mont. There is only one avenue that I think remains open to us.’
‘Oh?’
‘These files only have copied excerpts from the records at the mother house. I think we need to see those records in full.’
Arnau nodded suddenly. ‘You think that might hold the key? That de Mont is deliberately ignoring any evidence for the defence that the Order controls?’
‘It makes sense, does it not?’
‘Then tomorrow we should ride for Barbera and check them.’
‘Agreed,’ Ramon said. ‘But the first thing we should do is go to the mill and consult with Balthesar, Titborga and the preceptrix.’
Chapter Four
The mill
Rourell, 30th September 1212
Ramon and Arnau paused after delivering the key to Guillem to pass on to de Mont, and who had retreated to his chambers until the next service.
‘Let’s give the squires an evening of rest,’ Arnau suggested, and Ramon nodded his agreement. Traipsing over to the kitchens in the evening warmth, they sought the sergeants they had sent there. As they entered and looked around the busy place, Arnau was surprised that only one of the three was where he was supposed to be and it was Tristán. The squire glared at him the moment he entered, turning his attention from the two men who worked busily preparing the evening meal.
‘It is not Vallbona’s fault,’ Ramon said, placating the man. ‘I became wrapped up in legality and lost track of time. Good man for waiting for us, though.’
‘The others said I was stupid and went to bed.’
‘You are to be commended,’ Arnau said. ‘Did you learn anything of use?’
‘Not really. De Mont has three sergeants and a full brother here with him. It seems that he was the chief clerk to the master of Barbera, so de Mont effectively outranks most folk here. He seems to have been surprisingly fair since his arrival, yet still no one trusts him. He could have shuffled his men into control positions but instead has left Rourell’s chief male staff in place. He does disapprove of the women, though. He won’t have them in the same monastery as him. Essentially the Rourell staff are universally of the opinion that the end is coming. They think the preceptrix is done for and that the house will be stripped and sold. Each of them is already considering how they will move on. None will help the turd-bag from Barbera, but they are all preparing for the worst.’
Arnau nodded, glossing over the insult for now. ‘That is already helpful Tristán. I heartily recommend you join your fellows and get some rest. You’ve hardly stopped since Las Navas.’
‘And what will you be doing, Brother?’
‘We go to visit Balthesar and the preceptrix.’
‘Then I’m coming with you. Sleep is for old men like—’
‘Careful,’ advised Ramon. ‘We went through the battle just like you. It’s just that age brings wisdom and so we have a barrel load more sense.’
Tristán snorted. ‘Bet you a gold maravedi you’ll be glad I came.’
‘Wagers are forbidden in the Rule,’ Ramon smiled. ‘But I vow that I will repaint your shield for you if that’s the case.’
The squire grinned. ‘Good, as I’m feeling lucky, Brother.’
In the next moment, the three men were heading for Rourell’s lesser east gate. The gate itself was shut, a bar in position. Arnau remembered with a chill the last time he had used this entrance after dark. A dozen years ago, he’d followed a stupid, treacherous nun out here and ended up almost burning to death in the fire that had destroyed the mill. Well, times had moved on, and Arnau was no pup now.
The ruined mill lay roughly a quarter of a mile from the gate, along a dusty track to the river. The three men waited patiently until they saw a figure crossing the courtyard. Waving to Domingo, the sergeant in charge of the stables, Arnau gestured to the gate. ‘Do us a favour and lock up after us. We’ll be back for Compline, but we’ll come through the main gate with Brother Balthesar, so you can leave this one fastened.’
Domingo bowed his head and let them out, shutting the door with a clunk behind them. The three Templars, two in white and one in black, strode along the well-worn dusty track. The mill was visible in the distance as a low square shape with scattered trees to one side and the bushy undergrowth of the river banks beyond. Though the sky was now inky, the mill was easy to spot from the flickers of torchlight set by the occupants. Arnau felt for the preceptrix and the other ladies. A ruined mill, no matter how hastily patched up, was no residence for a woman. Or a man, for that matter.
‘We need to work out a way to search Rourell without appearing to do so,’ Arnau mu
rmured once they were out of earshot of the preceptory, strolling along the lane in the warm night.
‘Oh?’ Tristán frowned, and Ramon answered this time.
‘De Mont has been writing something. Notes perhaps, or messages. I need you to speak to Guillem. He delivers messages as part of his role here and he will be able to tell us if these writings of de Mont’s are letters that he has been conveying. From the marks on the table, though, and the clear usage of the ink, he must be writing several pages a day, and if Guillem was conveying that many letters a day he would have told us. He would hardly even be in the monastery itself, he’d be so busy on the road. That suggests that de Mont has notes stored somewhere. Somewhere in Rourell.’
Tristán’s eyes narrowed. ‘Wherever they are, we’ll find them. And with luck they’ll incriminate the bastard.’
‘Quite. I might suggest that you and the other squires begin that search tomorrow, as quietly and subtly as possible. And I mean quietly and subtly, Brother Tristán. Your usual bull-at-a-gate routine will be unproductive. You must learn to be more circumspect. Still, it is likely that you will be watched less hawkishly than Arnau, Balthesar and myself, and may be able to carry out a full search without arousing too much suspicion. Meanwhile, we will be visiting Barbera in an attempt to secure the full records that can be used to cross-examine these cases.’
The squire nodded and the three men walked on. The evening was warm and smelled of a mix of jasmine and broom, overlaid by the odours of harvest time; Arnau began to feel a little more relaxed, only now truly aware of how tense he had been since they walked through the gate and back into Rourell.
It was pure luck that he glanced around to the right as they walked towards the mill. Thinking back on his earliest days here, he peered off north, attempting to locate the farmhouse where he and Lütolf had been attacked. Then he saw the movement, quite by chance. Indeed, were he not a suspicious man these days, he might have brushed it off as something quite natural and uninteresting. But he knew now what it was, even as it disappeared. The shape of a man behind the bole of an almond tree, just ducking back out of sight.
‘We are not alone,’ he said quietly.
‘Where?’ Ramon asked.
‘One man behind a tree halfway across the field to our left, but I doubt he’s alone.’
‘Let’s pick up the pace a little.’
‘Or go back,’ Tristán suggested. ‘We’re still close to the preceptory. At least there are weapons and allies there.’
‘Enemies too, I might add. Domingo locked the lesser access behind us, and the main gate was locked even in the daytime when we arrived. It will take time to get inside. Besides, it may be the sisters that are in danger and not us, so I think we need to get to the mill instead. Let us move.’
The three men began to walk slightly faster, trying to increase their speed without looking as if they were doing so. Ramon was clearly starting to put aside the need for subtlety, for now his head snapped this way and that, looking for enemies behind every shadow. Arnau followed suit, and now spotted a second figure emerging from behind a small farm hut, walking at a tangent that made to cut them off. Back to the north he glanced, and his fears were confirmed as that first figure he’d spotted was now in the open and doing the same. Moonlight gleamed off steel.
‘Curses,’ Ramon snapped. ‘Come on. Run.’
The three men threw all dissemblance to the wind now and pelted along the track, raising a cloud of dust and running for the squat, heavy shape of the mill. Other figures were appearing and, to Arnau’s great concern, he could see more ahead, rising from the banks of the River Francoli near the mill.
‘They weren’t following us,’ he puffed as he ran. ‘They’re ahead at the mill as well. They’re watching the preceptrix.’
‘Or Balthesar,’ Ramon added.
All of them now pulled their swords from their sheaths as they ran, and between heaved breaths, Tristán reminded Ramon that it looked likely he would be repainting the squire’s shield in the coming days.
The three men moved as fast as their legs could carry them, closing in on the ruinous building. As they neared it, Ramon began to bellow Balthesar’s name. The door opened sharply, a golden rectangle of light in the black block, illumination spilling out into the night and suddenly lighting up half a dozen figures approaching from the far side. Balthesar ripped his sword from its scabbard and backed into the doorway, watching the enemy as they slowed now, closing on him in an arc, the old knight’s free hand beckoning the other Templars to hurry.
Arnau felt a moment’s relief as he realised they were going to make it. Now that the old knight was there and prepared, the enemy had slowed to a gradually tightening noose of men around the mill. They would reach the place and get inside before the enemy were on them. That relief evaporated instantly, as he realised what that meant. He was going to be trapped in the mill, just as he had been with Titborga over a decade ago. Lord, but how history liked to repeat itself to his detriment.
The three running men reached the mill and as they did so, Balthesar stepped away from the doorway to let them in, and then backed inside, closing the door behind him and quickly dropped the bar across it into the rests.
As the danger temporarily receded, Arnau looked around. Eleven cots had been brought into the place and were lined up along the wall. The place where the mill wheel had once been, overlooking the river, had left a hole in the wall, which had been hastily converted into a latrine with a wooden seat across the hole, and nearby a large basin stood, with towels awaiting use. In fact, though it was all basic and cobbled-together from nothing, the mill did at least contain all the facilities required of a hermit’s life, which de Mont would likely consider perfectly adequate for a sister of the Order.
The roof was of rough-sawn timber, gaps plugged with dry pitch. Horribly combustible, Arnau thought bitterly, remembering clambering up into the eaves to escape the inferno below. Any holes in the walls had been filled by stuffing old sacks into them to keep out the draft. The upper floor and all its contents were gone, and a heavy board now covered the trapdoor that led down into the workings below where the two of them had finally slipped out of the burning building to make their way along the river to safety.
He looked at the gathered womenfolk, bowing his head respectfully to the preceptrix. Ermengarda d’Oluja looked ten years older, the worry having etched itself into the lines of her face. She knew how bleak her prospects were, and that was clear. Close by, Titborga de Santa Coloma stood with a most determined frown, every bit the powerful, headstrong woman she had been when they had first come here a dozen years ago.
‘Brother Ramon,’ the preceptrix said with a forced smile. ‘Brothers Arnau and Tristán. It is a great relief to see you, though had I the wherewithal I would have advised you to stay in the south, far from here. I fear this matter is something of a personal crusade against me, and I shudder at the thought that it has grown to threaten so many other good people.’
Ramon bowed his head. ‘Mother Superior, I would battle demons and walk through fire to stand by your side, when wickedness and lies attempt to destroy you. The same is true for every brother or sister here. And we should discuss the matter at length, though now is not the time.’
Balthesar pulled a rag from a hole near the door and peered through, stuffing it back in and standing back. ‘They’re surrounding the doorway at a distance, though one of their number remains just outside. I counted twelve altogether, and can see no identifying mark, just like the men who attacked us in the hills.’
‘Thirteen of them,’ Ramon corrected. ‘There was a straggler I spotted lurking in the undergrowth, keeping as hidden as possible.’
‘Thirteen. A last supper, then. ’Tis a good job I shun superstition, eh?’
‘Who are they?’ Balthesar murmured. ‘Did they follow you?’
‘No,’ Arnau replied. ‘They were already at the mill. Perhaps they followed you?’
The preceptrix shook her head. ‘I
have been aware that we were being watched for days, now. I have seen figures on the far bank, moving in and out of the undergrowth. There has been no overt move against us, and I presumed we were simply being guarded by clandestine jailors, as though we were likely to attempt to flee. We have not left the mill since we were led here. Where would we go? That they have now moved to close in on the building suggests that something has changed, though.’
Balthesar nodded. ‘They have been watching to make sure that you are not colluding with anyone. Your enemies wish to keep you from anyone who might be able to help. That we have arrived and joined you has triggered something now. They look like they mean violence, but they may simply be attempting to present you with a visible threat. We were attacked by mercenaries on the road, but these men are on our lands and must be careful. Any move could be traced back to whoever sent them here, and so I think they will only cause violence as a last resort.’
‘They’re not from de Mont,’ Ramon noted.
‘What?’ Arnau frowned. ‘How can you know that?’
The older knight shrugged. ‘De Mont is subtle and he is a Templar, for all his involvement in this. He might work to bring a legal case to conclusion, and he might even break a few rules and issue a few untruths to achieve it, but you met the man. Does he look to you like the sort of man who would send killers after a nun?’
Arnau shook his head. ‘Maybe not, but that Brother Jaume is a different matter. I saw no such qualms in his eyes. And while I would love to think that all our Order are like that glorious Templar who led a fight by a river when I was young and inspired me to take the habit, I’m not so naïve any more. You heard Montcada, the baroness’s husband at Mora d’Ebre. If he’s right, then there are men in our order conspiring with heretics and opposing a papal bull. Templars fostering heresy, fighting the Church and displaying morals that go against everything we believe in. I don’t think in these troubled times we can assume our brothers are above anything.’
The Last Crusade Page 7
