Turning, he followed the instructions, three blocks down and then turning left. Moving slowly along this street, he kept an eye out for the next mark. It was still early in the morning and the streets were, while not deserted, far from their diurnal busyness. Seven houses down, he saw it. One vertical and a right. He passed the next side street, and then turned into the following one. He was truly in the arse end of Tarragona now. This alley was narrow enough that the sun barely penetrated it, and he had to strain to find the next mark. Following it, a single line now with the symbol of a bakery beneath it, so stylised that no one outside the societies could identify it, he crossed to the indicated door.
‘I’ve come for one small loaf,’ he announced as he knocked on the door. After a few moments’ pause, the door clicked open and he slipped inside. It was something of a relief to find the place, though he’d fully expected it to be here. Every city had such a gang, after all. The next step was the potential stumbling block. He glanced down at his attire as he entered. He was bare-headed and in just his black tunic and breeches, a swiftly-purchased rough wool cloak over the top. His only weapon was his misericorde dagger. It was well-enough hidden that the public would not have seen it as he passed through the streets, but he knew that the men here would already be aware of it.
Still having seen no one, including whoever had opened the door, he walked along the dark corridor and emerged into a tiny courtyard, the sun as yet failing to do more than provide a white square three storeys above. Four doors led off the dim, flagged patio, all closed, and he stood there patiently. You had to follow their rules in such places, and even though he didn’t know this gang, respect and patience would be part of it all.
Finally, a cracked and low voice issued from a window above. ‘I don’t know you. How did you come here? Who are you?’
‘I am a former brother from San Sebastiano. I and my friend are strangers here, but we find ourselves in need of assistance.’
‘You know our ways,’ the voice said, with no clear negativity as yet, ‘but we owe you nothing. Explain yourself if you wish to leave this place.’
Tristán straightened. There could be no dissembling now. After all, if he was to succeed, they would need to know the truth to some extent. ‘As I said, I am a former brother from the Garduña of San Sebastiano, though I now hold the rank of sergeant in the Order of the Temple, serving as squire to a brother of note.’
He’d half expected uproar, or at least a hiss of worry, but this was greeted with the same stoic silence as everything else and so, after a pause, he went on. ‘The Order is devoted not to punishing the wrongdoer, but to protecting the weak and the innocent. Our task in Tarragona is to secure documents that will save a good woman from a death sentence brought about by lies and corruption within the Court and the Church.’
Another pause and finally the man spoke again. ‘The Church in Tarragona is as wicked a pit of vipers as a man might find in this world. You intrigue me. What is it that you need?’
‘We must achieve entrance to the archbishop’s castle, slip through a locked door, secure a number of files, and then leave without being accosted.’
The disembodied voice now showed its first sign of emotion. A laugh. ‘You seek much.’
‘No,’ Tristán replied. ‘Brother Vallbona believes he has secured a method of entry to the castle, and we know the way to the room inside, as well as a tried and tested route of escape. All we need is to get through that door inside, to the documents we desire. That is why I have come.’
‘You seek a generic key?’
A shake of the head. ‘That was not my speciality in San Sebastiano. I have not the skill. And I have passed into a new world with new oaths that preclude such things. I need a man who can do it.’
‘And what will be your payment?’
‘I have but two gold maravedi to spare. We are, after all, the Poor Knights of Christ.’
This time the laughter was less ironic and came from several voices around the entire square. ‘A joke. I had not thought to hear a joke.’
Tristán nodded, smiling. ‘Paltry cash, I know, but I support this meagre payment with two more substantial offers.’
‘Oh?’
‘Salvation is hard to come by, but a brother of the Temple can grant absolution, washing a man’s sins away and opening the path to the Kingdom of Heaven.’
Another small burst of laughter issued now, but Tristán knew he was winning, for it was sourced from fewer voices and seemed less certain of itself.
‘And perhaps more importantly, a chance to hurt the Archbishop of Tarragona. I know how his taxes have been raping this region. I know that if he has not squeezed you, then at least your families or friends will owe him. He is a greedy man, and what we seek may not bring him down, but at the least it will damage him. I cannot provide a better offer. A small wage, absolution and a chance to hit back at the archbishop.’
The silence was drawn-out this time. Finally the voice spoke again. ‘What say you, Brothers? Does anyone feel like taking up this offer?’
The following pause was filled with subdued and inaudible murmurs, and finally a man stepped out of one of the doors. He was of middling height and middling build. Nondescript, with forgettable features, rough brown hair and a few old pock marks.
‘I’m your man,’ he said.
Tristán bowed his head and rummaged in his purse.
‘Keep your coins and I’ll keep my sins, but if the devil’s son that is Ramon de Rocaberti can be harmed or humiliated, then I am your man.’
Tristán smiled wickedly. ‘That much I promise you.’
* * *
Arnau sat at the table in a tavern on the edge of the cathedral square, occasionally glancing at the bag at his side. The relief when Tristán appeared in the doorway, followed by an ordinary-looking fellow, was almost overwhelming.
‘You were quicker than I expected,’ he said. ‘And you are considerably more alive than I expected, too. One day you will have to tell me how you know such things, son of a fisherman.’
The squire grinned. ‘We all have a past.’
‘Brother Arnau,’ the knight said, rising and offering a hand to the newcomer. The man threw a look at Tristán, who sighed. ‘He means well, but he doesn’t understand.’ Then to Arnau: ‘He’s not a friend and it is better for all of us if names go unspoken. He is here. He will do the job, then he will go, and you’ll never see him again.’
‘Unless you’re very unlucky,’ the man added in a tone that sent a shiver up Arnau’s spine.
‘I’ve been watching—’ Arnau began, but the stranger slumped into a seat opposite and motioned him to silence.
‘Amateurs,’ the man hissed. ‘The open world is full of ears, even if you cannot see them. Save your talk for somewhere private.’
Arnau smiled. This man was already irritating him, but it was nice to be able to one-up him.
‘This place is safe.’
‘An inn?’
‘There are no other customers this early, and the innkeeper works for the Order’s house in the city, his supplies from Temple lands and his profit is shared with the Order. There are no unfriendly ears here.’
‘If you believe that then you are both blind and over-trusting. Still, this is your job, Knight, and I will follow until it becomes untenable. But be aware that if you put me in unanticipated danger I will simply disappear.’
‘Good luck with that.’
Tristán leaned between them. ‘Could you stop bickering for a moment? Brother, tell us quickly.’
‘Monks and canons come and go between the cathedral and the archbishop’s castle periodically. There are some in variations of paraphernalia, such as a white habit with a black scapular, but the vast majority are in simple black habits. Acquiring three such habits was not a troublesome task, and they should fit us, since none of us could be described as giant or small. The majority of these priests make their way to and fro in accordance with the liturgical times, and so it is my intention
to wait until one such group returns from service, which we can see from here, slip into the habits I have beside me, and fall in with the rear of the line – a small trick we picked up lugging grain sacks in Cordoba earlier this year.’
The thief frowned at this and Arnau waved aside any questions as to what these two men might have been doing a hundred miles inside Almohad lands. ‘Once we are in through the gate, we slip away once more and make for the offices. There, you open the door for us, I will locate the files we need for I know the ones, while Tristán holds the bags and you keep watch. As soon as we’re done, we lock the door again and slip out through the servant quarters. Any questions?’
‘What, precisely, am I keeping watch for?’
‘Anyone at all. Any interruption will be critical. Worst of all would be the paborda or the archbishop, though any man in the green tree on gold of La Selva or in a priest’s robes will be trouble. Just make sure we are alone.’
The three men remained at the table, watching the square, occasionally sipping wine and not speaking. After the first half-hour passed, a tired-looking local made his way through the door, and the innkeeper bustled forward from the bar, waving at the man. ‘We’re closed. Come back later.’
The man looked surprised and irritated and flashed a look of incomprehension at the three men sitting and drinking wine at the table before leaving with low murmurs of dissatisfaction.
‘Safe inn,’ Arnau said once again. The thief gave a noncommittal shrug.
Time passed, the square becoming gradually more and more busy, and finally the cathedral bells began to toll as midday approached. To Arnau’s satisfaction, he saw a group of eight men in black habits making their serene way from the street that led towards the castle gate to the cathedral’s main door. ‘They’ll not be long. Sext is a short service and a minor one. That does mean that the archbishop will not be in attendance and will therefore likely be in the castle, but we are pressed for time, and so this is our chance. As they return from the service we join them.’
The three men watched the cathedral intently as the bells stopped ringing and the service began. At a nod from Arnau, they each took one of the black habits from the bench, and Tristán gathered up the sack they had been in and tucked it into his belt.
‘The rest of our things are still at the inn?’ he asked, aware that the two Templars were each armed with only their misericorde daggers.
Arnau shook his head. ‘Whatever happens, I fear we shall need to move speedily. Once the paborda becomes aware that his files are missing, everything will move fast, and he will undoubtedly head to Rourell, while having the city gates sealed hoping to prevent us leaving. Consequently, I have already packed all our gear and had our horses readied for departure at the stables. We secure the files and move straight to the stables, mount up and go. All as swiftly as possible.’
Tristán leaned back. ‘And then we have the evidence to bring these bastards down.’
‘Quite.’
They returned to a state of watchful silence now and as soon as the cathedral doors opened once more, Arnau began to pull the black habit over his head, the other two following suit. Standing, the two Templars adjusted the hang of the religious garments with the practised ease of men who had done so many times before, and then together adjusted the disguise on the thief so that he looked more natural. Appropriately attired, they moved to the doorway, slipped out and then ducked into the narrow, dark alley beside the tavern.
Most of the congregation had left the cathedral before the small column of black-robed figures emerged once more and crossed the sunlit square before plunging into the shadows and making for the southward street. Arnau watched them pass, faces lowered in humility, seemingly unaware of the world around them, and nimbly stepped out of the alley as they passed, taking three short hopping steps to fall in line with them. The others did the same, following on with less agility. Still, they had become an extension of the line of monks without apparently drawing any attention from the others. Several folk in the street would have seen the strange move, but it was in the nature of the public mind to smile at such things and dismiss them as irrelevant as they went about more important business. Consequently, as they moved on into the shadowed street, no one paid them the slightest attention.
Arnau kept his pace deliberately stately to match the men in front and was acutely aware of any misstep behind him, though they were few and small, for Tristán knew his church business, and the thief was light-footed, adaptable, and learned quickly. By the time they approached the castle, only the keenest eye would have separated them from the eight men who’d left the place for the service. The two guards at the door gave them all a cursory look as they descended upon the entrance, and Arnau prayed once again that this happened often enough that the guards would not bother keeping a tally on the visitors.
With his face lowered, both mimicking the humility of the brothers in front and conveniently hiding his features from the guards, Arnau followed them inside, praying for anonymity constantly as he walked. He had to suppress a sigh of relief as they passed into the dark hallway. The column continued on ahead and Arnau kept his eyes on the left side and saw the familiar large staircase approaching. The column walked on past it, and Arnau took a steadying, if silent, breath and readied himself. As the column of black robes passed the stairs, the last three men turned, following Arnau’s lead. They moved up the staircase at a sedate pace, not wanting to draw undue attention, and Arnau continued to keep his face lowered and arms folded as he had done thus far, hoping that the guards back at the door had not noticed them separating from the column, and that no other passer-by had spotted anything they might think odd.
There came no call of anger and no cry of surprise, and he cast up his thanks to the Lord of Hosts for his favour as they climbed the stairs away from immediate danger. As they emerged at the top of the stairs, his memory of the route kicked in, supplying him with the landmarks he’d noted on his last trip through these halls.
As they moved along corridors and around corners, they encountered only two other folk, one a man in a brown mantle with a tonsure and a leather book, the other a servant with a pile of linen. Neither seemed perturbed by the appearance of the three brothers in black, and indeed the monk had bowed respectfully as they passed, the three men returning the gesture. They rounded the final corner without incident and laid eyes upon the oriel window at the junction. Arnau heaved a sigh of relief, but too soon, he realised as voices echoed along the hall from ahead.
A moment of near panic ensued as Arnau tried to decide on the best course of action. If they marched on ahead, who knew who they would bump into? But could they afford to retreat now? As his ears pricked up, carefully sounding out the problem, he noted more voices behind them, duller and fainter, but there nonetheless. Someone else was only a corridor or so behind. That decided him. If they were going to face danger in either direction, better to go ahead and at least try to achieve their goal.
He could hear Tristán behind him whispering his fears in the lightest of breaths; an impressive feat for a man given more to loud outbursts than subtlety. He ignored the squire and willed the man to shut up, which he finally did as they approached the window. Arnau tried to hear the conversation ahead, but even as he concentrated and they finally came close enough, the talking ended, to be replaced by a shuffling of feet.
Damn it all, but the noises were coming from the paborda’s offices. Only one thing to do now, since he still couldn’t fly…
As they reached the window, he gave the scantest of glances right as he turned left, heading back towards the door to the room in which they’d hidden in last time. In that momentary glimpse, he spotted the same strange monk they’d seen last time alongside a guard in La Selva’s livery. The monk looked to have been either locking or unlocking the door. As the squire and the thief turned after him, following without question, Arnau listened intently. He heard the two men begin to walk this way, which confirmed that the man had been locki
ng rather than unlocking the door. As the sounds began to fade once more the Templar turned. Sure enough, the monk and the guard had turned back down the main corridor the way they had come.
‘That was close,’ Tristán whispered. Arnau nodded and took a deep breath. ‘All right, here we go.’
‘Let’s check the escape route first,’ the squire advised, trying the door to the room they were near. ‘Locked,’ he announced.
The man who’d accompanied them hurried past and looked at the door. ‘Simple warded lock. Not troubling. Looks like Anton’s work. He does a lot for the cathedral, and his locks are far from sophisticated.’ He continued to explain as he produced a ring of strange-looking half-keys and began to flick through them, searching for the right one. ‘That’s the problem with greedy men, and in my experience most Church officials are greedy men. They always want as much as they can get for the littlest they can spend. That way, though, you end up with a lockpicker’s dream.’
A moment later he selected one of the keys and slipped it into the lock. With a professional twist and a wriggle of the wrist there was a satisfying click, and he withdrew it, trying the handle to be sure it had worked. The door swept open, and he closed it again with a nod to Arnau.
‘Good. Thank you. Now the important one, if you will.’
The three men hurried back to the window, quickly looking down the corridor to be sure the monk and the guard had completely gone, and then onwards to the paborda’s door. There, the thief repeated his work, selecting the appropriate key for the lock and slipping it into the hole. With just a few professional moves, he had the door open with a click, and swept it wide. Arnau peered in, half expecting a party of La Selva’s men waiting in ambush in the dark.
The Last Crusade Page 12
