From this place the stable where their horses and packs waited was on the far side of the cathedral, though both were aware of how dangerous it would be to take the direct, open and very visible route between the two locations. Instead, they headed east through the urban crevasse, buildings reaching up two or three storeys on both sides, the street almost narrow enough to shake hands across. Round the rear of the cathedral, they passed the diocesan garden and orchard with its high walls and closed on the city ramparts with its ancient towers. There were no gates at this end of the city, its highest point, and the two men turned, skirting the cathedral’s property and entering a street once more at the far side, keeping an eye on the figures striding back and forth along the walls.
They began to feel a little more secure now, far enough from the tower that a search of city streets would be unlikely to reveal them any time soon. Dropping to a steady walk, they dipped into a side alley, making sure that it was unoccupied first. There, among the refuse and close to the long picked-over remains of a stray dog, they pulled the monks’ habits back over their heads and dropped them unceremoniously in a pile in the corner; black robes in deep shadow disappearing to the naked eye in an instant. Emerging from the narrow alley, they had transformed into everyday folk in common tunics, the only giveaway being the heavy canvas bag that Arnau had slung over his shoulder, displaying the edges of square contents bulging out in the material.
With little difficulty and hardly a glance from the city’s populace as they moved back into busier streets, they hurried to the stables, and as they saw the gateway to the place ahead, Arnau paused and grasped Tristán’s shoulder.
‘Do you hear that?’
‘What?’
‘The bells.’
They both listened. A distant tolling of bells echoed across the rooftops of the city. ‘Is that…?’ the squire began, and Arnau nodded.
‘There’s no service due and it is not an hourly chime. That’s a warning. We’ll be hunted now. Lucky we got so far from the castle before that happened, but it means they know we’ve escaped, and the servant will have given them a description, one that the paborda’s pet monk can probably connect with the Templars he met yesterday.’
‘We should have done away with the servant.’ Tristán noticed the disapproving look from his master and shrugged. ‘Thumped him on the head, I mean.’
‘Perhaps. But I want to do all of this with the minimum of unnecessary violence. Come on. Time is of the essence. The archbishop is all-powerful in this city and I’m sure he’ll have the authority to close the gates. We need to get out of Tarragona before anything like that happens.’
The two men ran now, reaching the stables and dipping into the doorway. As the squire hurried over to the two horses tied to a rail in the open courtyard, already saddled and with the bags loaded, Arnau dashed over and slipped a coin to the stable master who’d arranged it all.
‘Thank you, my friend.’
By the time he turned, Tristán had already untied the two animals and was leading them over. Slinging his precious bag over the horse’s back and tying it carefully to the harness, he took the reins and joined the squire, together stepping out into the light of the early afternoon. The bells were still clanging, a clear indication that an alarm was being sent out across the city, and though only a few faces in the street looked up or cocked an ear in interest, it was not the public the bells were meant for and not them the two Templars would have to worry about.
‘Will they have closed the gates?’ Tristán asked.
Arnau chewed on his lip, but shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. The city is too busy for that. They couldn’t possibly close up the whole city unless it was in danger. But the men at the gates will be on the alert. I would bet that the archbishop’s men are already running across the city relaying our descriptions.’
‘This could go badly. We might be better lying low for a while?’
‘No. Every hour in this place holds an increased threat of capture. If we cannot get these records back to Rourell, all this has been for nothing. Come on.’
Turning a few corners and leading their horses at a steady pace along the streets in an attempt to draw as little attention as possible, they approached the same small postern gate through which they had arrived. At the corner, Arnau stopped suddenly and waved the squire back.
‘What is it?’
‘They’re checking everyone who leaves. There are four of them now, not just two, and a man in the archbishop’s livery is with them. They must have our descriptions. We’re not leaving that way.’
‘What then?’
‘The lower city,’ Arnau said almost breathlessly. ‘The port. It’s the furthest area from the castle and the busiest. It’s possible that the traffic down there is too thick for them to search thoroughly, and it will take time for a runner to get there.’
‘It’ll take us time too.’
‘Not if we ride,’ Arnau replied, leading the squire back a block the way they had come and taking a different route. Once they were away from the gate and the wide street it stood upon, Arnau hauled himself up into the saddle, gesturing for Tristán to follow suit. Now, they dug in their heels and began to run their horses down the sloping street towards the crumbling remains of the Roman age where the great wall of a hippodrome now divided the upper and lower cities.
‘What if they’ve sealed this gate,’ the squire asked as they raced westwards, ‘stopping us getting out of the upper city.’
‘We have to hope they haven’t. They don’t usually man these as they’re just internal.’
But as they turned a corner and the small gate through the wall that led into the lower city came into view, so did the two men standing to either side of it, watching the street intently.
‘Damnation,’ Arnau cursed, though he continued without slackening his pace.
‘What now?’
‘Now we’re out of options. Ride and hope, Brother, ride and hope.’
Lowering his head over the horse’s neck, Arnau picked up his pace, moving to a gallop. Behind him Tristán did the same, the two men now racing for the gate, all caution thrown to the wind. The half dozen city folk in the street, heading this way and that, hurled themselves aside as these two mad riders bore down on them. Ahead, the two men on guard suddenly threw themselves into panicked action. As one cast away his pike and used both hands to grasp the edge of the heavy timber gate, the other ran to an old man making his way through the arch and hauled him aside, out of the way.
For a moment, Arnau thought they were done for, that the men would manage to close the gate, which would leave them with no alternative but to turn round and seek some other route, of which he was already sure there would be none. Then he realised that the Lord was with them after all, for the guard could not move the gate. It had stood open and unused for so long that it had rusted and would not close. The second guard lent a hand and together they heaved, still unable to move it. Arnau laughed in relief as the two Templars bore down upon the archway. The second guard stooped to collect his pike and dived in front of them, though his bravery evaporated as quickly as it had appeared, and he threw himself to one side before they rode him down.
In a trice, the two men were through the arch, in the shadows of the gate; the guards bellowing for them to stop. Emerging from the other side, Tristán bellowed at him. ‘What now?’
‘Ride like the wind for the port. Follow me.’
With that, Arnau leapt his mount down what had once been a seating stand for some ancient venue, now partially smoothed over to form a ramp up to the gate. Thundering through the ruins and between ramshackle structures that had grown up among the stone piles over the centuries, Arnau plunged on into a street between high houses and shops. This thoroughfare was busy and as they rode, the folk of Tarragona repeatedly cried out in either panic or anger, throwing themselves out of the way of the racing horses.
This was a gamble. If the archbishop had sent runners, the two Templars could r
each the port first thanks to the speed of the horses. If he had sent riders, then the gates there too would be closed to them. He’d not seen any evidence of stables at the castle, though, and presumably it would take precious time for the archbishop’s men to secure mounts and ride. Probably it would take as long as a runner in the first place.
Jogging left and right here and there at junctions, yet always heading downhill, the two men rode west through the city until finally the port came into view. The walls down here were less well-maintained than those of the upper city. They were ancient ramparts, occasionally repaired, but mostly forming the rear walls of houses now, yet they still surrounded the lower city, reaching out like arms to the water’s edge, embracing the port and pierced by gates to both sides.
‘If we can’t get through the gate,’ he said, breathlessly as they rode, trying to reassure the grumbling squire behind him, ‘then we’ll have to find some ship that’s about to depart and secure passage.’
Tristán nodded, keeping his thoughts over the possibility of ship-borne escape to himself for once. Arnau knew they had little chance of doing such a thing, in truth. If they couldn’t escape the walls, while the port might seem an easy solution the fact was that they were almost entirely out of money, and it would be a rare sailor who would take a mail shirt or a horse in place of his fee. Bracing himself as they reached the wide, but cluttered and busy dock, he hauled on the reins and turned, slowing and motioning for Tristán to do the same.
The two men slowed their horses to a fast walk and made their way across the port towards the ancient walls that enclosed it. Their breakneck ride through the city had been crucial in an attempt to beat word of their approach to the gate, but now such a pace would draw too much attention so close to their goal and would only work against them. Trying hard to look innocent and unconcerned, the two men rode slowly through the chaos of the port; the gate came into view – an ancient arch of the Roman era with patchwork repairs – Arnau breathed a sigh of relief.
Life of all sorts poured in and out through the archway, watched in a half-hearted, bored manner by two of the city’s guards. No careful attention, no reinforcements, and no men in the archbishop’s colours. It seemed the two Templars had outpaced the news of their approach after all.
Praying hard that no messenger suddenly appeared from a side street between them and the gate, Arnau dismounted and motioned for the squire to do the same. Whatever they could do now to look unobtrusive would be of value. Walking their horses onwards, they joined the flow of humanity and closed on the archway. As they neared the heavy gatehouse and the shadowed tunnel beneath it, Arnau became aware of distant shouting behind them. Trying to look over his shoulder in the most nonchalant manner possible, he could just make out a man in red and gold stripes trying to run in their direction but being held up by an angry sailor whose pile of boxes he’d knocked over.
Word of their misdeeds had arrived. Arnau willed the tide of city folk to surge forward faster, but there was simply no way to pick up the pace. They were trapped in the flow. He kept his attention on the gate that came ever nearer, not looking back in case the messenger somehow spotted him. He could hear the man, though. He was intermittently snapping angrily at the sailor to go away and to mind his own business, while hollering warnings to the gate guards to stop anyone with a horse, a sword or a white mantle for questioning.
Arnau’s gaze fixed on the two guards, who had yet to even look up. The noise of the port was impressive, and Arnau had only noticed the shouting man because he’d been listening out for that very sound. The gate guards had yet to notice it. His pulse racing, Arnau walked alongside Tristán, shuffling forward as fast as they could. He felt the change in temperature as they passed from the sunlight into the shade of the gate.
The two guards glanced across at them, and Arnau cast up prayer after prayer as they walked nonchalantly forth. They were halfway through when the shouting behind them became louder and closer, the messenger having finally escaped the tangle of goods and their irate owner. One of the gate guards looked up, glancing back across the port in response to the noise. Faster, Arnau willed the crowd as they moved towards that blessed open space beyond the gate.
They passed the open doors, not that they could be closed mid-flow without great difficulty, yet it felt like a hurdle they had overcome. Now, both guards were paying attention to the shouting of the messenger, trying to hear over the din of the crowd. That meant that both men had taken their eyes from the flow of humanity. Knowing that they were so close to disaster, Arnau nudged Tristán and the pair pushed through the crowd, drawing angry insults from the men and women they elbowed past. A quick glance back, and the two guards had left their post, pushing through the crowd back into the city to meet the messenger. Arnau thanked the Lord now, for this had to be it. The two Templars emerged into sunlight once more as the press of people opened up and they forged a path.
They were out, among the ramshackle hovels of the folk who’d constructed their homes close to the gates, some of whom had set up stalls along the way in an attempt to fleece passing travellers of their petty cash. As the flow eased past the constriction of the gate, the two men moved faster, picking up their pace a little in a desperate desire to get as far from the city walls as fast as possible.
Rounding the corner of a house and finally out of sight of the gate, the two men mounted once more and put heels to flanks, picking up to a trot and then a canter, heading away from Tarragona along the bank of the River Francoli. They were less than ten miles from home, they had secured files which should help them bring justice to the preceptory, and now they were free of danger and out of the city. Still, they moved to a gallop and raced like the wind now, needing to move as fast as they could to be far from the archbishop’s grasp.
Finally, six miles from the city, Arnau waved to the squire and the pair slowed at last, first to a walk, and then eventually stopping altogether. Gesturing towards a long-abandoned and ruinous shepherd’s hut several hundred yards from the road, Arnau moved off to the right and approached the place. Checking the surroundings, it became clear that it had not been used in decades, if not centuries, and with a sigh of relief, the two men tied their horses at the rear of the ruin, out of sight of the road and in the shelter of a small stand of trees that seemed to be trying to take ownership of the hut.
‘Why have we stopped?’
Arnau turned to the squire as he untied the sack from the back of his horse. ‘We know La Selva’s men are watching the preceptrix. They may be watching the whole place by now, and we don’t know what’s happened in the two days we’ve been away. Before we walk directly into de Mont’s clutches, I think we need to make sure everything is secure. Come on.’
Pushing his way into the ruin, Arnau moved a fallen beam into a position where it could serve as a temporary bench and sank down on to it, opening the bag. Tristán joined him and helped, holding the files as Arnau withdrew them. The knight peered at the names on the front of each. Many he didn’t recognise or only faintly recalled, but of the ones he’d taken four were familiar, and of them he could remember two quite well from his examination of the cases in the belfry office of de Mont; handing the rest to the squire, he opened one of them and rifled through the contents.
Finding a specific page, he ran his gaze down it alongside his finger and then sat straight with a gleam in his eye. ‘Aha.’
‘You’ve found something?’
‘This conflicts drastically with the excerpt I saw in de Mont’s file on this claim. The Order’s records make it perfectly clear that the claim is false and the lands concerned were given legally and in good faith to Rourell. This alone shows that de Mont is twisting the evidence to damn the preceptrix.’
Handing Tristán the file, he checked the second one. ‘My memory of this case is hazier, but I would be willing to wager good money that this also destroys the case against the preceptrix. Tristán, these are pure gold to us. These files are the very proof we sought. We’ve won,
Brother. We’ve won. No master or court could deny this evidence. Now we need to ride back and confront de Mont. But to be certain, I think we need to stow the files here, far from Rourell, somewhere unexpected and unvisited.’
With massive relief, Arnau pushed the files back into the sack and folded it up carefully against any chance of rain getting in; he pushed the bag under the beam-bench and wedged it there out of sight.
‘We’ve done it, Tristán. Now let us ride for Rourell with good news for the preceptrix and very bad news for our friend de Mont.’
Chapter Nine
Conspiracy
Rourell, 2nd October 1212
The side gate of Rourell opened finally in response to Arnau’s drumming on the timber. The face of Bernat appeared in the gap with a frown of surprise and he jerked the door wider, scratching his head.
‘Brother Arnau, why the small gate?’
‘I’m trying to draw the minimum of attention. Where is Brother Guillem?’
‘In the belfry,’ the sergeant replied. ‘Are you back for good? Shall I have your horses dealt with?’
Arnau shook his head. ‘Not right now. My apologies, Brother, but I am in a great hurry and will have to push on past, I’m afraid.’
As the sergeant stepped aside, Arnau handed his reins to Tristán and dashed inside. He heard the sergeant asking Tristán if he was coming in, and the squire telling him to wait as he hurried about his business. There was one critical thing to take care of before any confrontation occurred – all the evidence needed securing. He felt certain that Guillem would have the spare key to the belfry, but with the man being in there already it would not even be needed. As he hurried across the square to the narrow tower, it occurred to Arnau that he should have asked if Guillem was alone. If de Mont was in there too this could be more troublesome, though he was going to do it even if it meant neutralising the investigator. Too much was now at stake.
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