Trail of Fate

by Michael P. Spradlin

We moved through the very edge of the clearing, and one of the men had wits enough to draw his sword and charge at me. I held tightly to the reins with my left hand and drew the short sword with my right. But, almost comically, Angel charged at the man, barking ferociously, and ran in and around his feet until the man tripped and fell to the ground. A few yards past the clearing, we burst onto the trail and began the steep climb toward the fortress.

  I hoped the confusion of the lost horses would give us enough advantage to gain the castle gate before they could catch us.

  “Hurry!” I yelled behind me.

  We gave free rein to the horses, and once clear of the woods they galloped along the trail. They were used to the rocky terrain and slowed only a little.

  We were nearly halfway there when I heard shouts and the approaching hoofbeats of the High Counsel’s men. I looked back to find those on foot carrying torches, but it sounded as if a few had managed to find their mounts in the darkness.

  Each of us hollered for our horses to go faster, and I grasped the reins as tightly as I could, praying the sprint over the rough ground wouldn’t send one of us crashing to our deaths. Ahead I could see a few torches flickering on the battlements of Montségur, as the noise must have attracted the evening guard. I prayed again, hoping Celia had found Robard’s arrow and would know what to do.

  The wind was stronger out here in the open, and the horse’s mane whipped against my face. The gate was only a short distance now. I glanced behind me. It was too dark to see Robard and Maryam, but I heard them shouting encouragement to their steeds. Angel barked as she raced to keep up with us.

  With my reins I whipped the horse’s flanks, urging him to go faster. More torches lit up the battlements now, and the outline of Montségur was visible in the darkened gloom of the night.

  A few seconds later, we were at the castle gate. “Ouvrez la porte!” I shouted. Open the door!

  “Celia, if you can hear me! It’s Tristan! We are here to help, but please open the gate!”

  Looking up, I could see torches bobbing to and fro and men shouting, but could not make out what they were saying. We turned our mounts to face the oncoming rush. The men carrying torches were closer now. I was not worried about them because they still had much ground to cover, but the mounted soldiers would arrive at any moment, even though I couldn’t yet see them. I strained to hear, but the roar of the wind drowned out their approach.

  Robard dismounted, and in the flickering torchlight I could see he had nocked an arrow in his bow. Maryam joined him on the ground, her daggers glinting in the torchlight from the walls.

  “Tristan! You had better do something quickly!” Robard shouted as he scanned the trail for targets.

  “Celia! Jean-Luc! Ouvrez la porte!” I shouted again.

  I steered my horse right to the gate and pounded on the thick wooden door with the hilt of my sword.

  “Help! We are friends!” I shouted in both English and French.

  “Tristan! They’re almost here!” Maryam shouted.

  Over the noise of the wind and the shouts all around us, I heard the thundering hoofbeats. We were trapped.

  Robard loosed an arrow in the darkness and I heard a scream. I dismounted. We would have to make our last stand here at the gates of Montségur.

  Robard shot again but missed, and the sound of the horses drew still nearer. I clutched the satchel with my free hand, wishing I had taken Robard’s advice and headed home instead of standing where I was now, on a rocky mountaintop about to be run down by my enemies. Then, though it was difficult to hear in all the noise and confusion, the satchel vibrated slightly against my hand, and the musical hum of the Grail reached my ears. I breathed a sigh of relief, but not wishing to tempt fate, hollered again as loudly as I could for someone to please open the door.

  Robard, as he was wont, shouted curses at the oncoming soldiers.

  “Come and get it, you Frank swine! I’ll send you all to the bloody devil!” he shouted over the sound of the approaching riders. I was reasonably sure not one of them understood a word he said.

  The wind picked up, but the sound of the breeze couldn’t hide the fact that the horsemen were nearly upon us. Robard kept shooting, and even Maryam joined in, shouting out at them in Arabic. How brave they were. Friends I didn’t deserve, I thought, chiding myself for bringing them to this place, leading them to their deaths. I hoped the Grail would protect them, save them as it had saved Maryam on the ship. Please, God, I prayed. Don’t let my friends die.

  And my prayer was answered by the groaning sound of the castle door as it swung slowly open.

  16

  Robard, Maryam! The door!”

  With a shuddering creak the wooden door pushed open just wide enough for a person to slip inside. Inside, Jean-Luc held a torch in one hand and shouted, “Pressez!” Hurry! Robard didn’t hear him, as he was lustily shouting and shooting at the oncoming men. I grabbed Maryam by the arm and shoved her through the door.

  “Robard! It’s open!” I shouted.

  “Want another, you fleas on a Frank dog’s arse? Show this one to your pompous cow of a High Counsel!” he shouted as he loosed yet another arrow.

  Jean-Luc stepped through the door, and in the light of his torch I could see Robard reaching for his wallet, but I leapt forward and grabbed his arm.

  “Robard! We have to go now!” Something whizzed by my head, and a crossbow bolt thunked into the wood of the door behind me. I pulled at Robard, and Angel barked at him furiously, either because he was unnecessarily risking his life or because she was angry at his mention of fleas. Robard released one final shot, and then we all darted through the gate to safety. The door moaned shut and I could hear the horses and the men outside shouting. The sounds of bolts and battle-axes thumped against the gate.

  Robard, Maryam and I slumped, bent over with our hands on our knees, trying to catch our breath. The sounds of the High Counsel’s men eventually retreated.

  The interior of Montségur was lit by torches. A few yards away, a large bonfire cast a glimmering light off the rocks and bricks of the walls. I heard a voice I recognized in an instant.

  “Hello, Templar,” she said.

  When I first looked at her, something happened to my heart. I’m not sure what, for nothing like it had ever happened to me. It seemed to stop beating momentarily, then started again as if in a rush to catch up. My breath wouldn’t come, and I told myself it was because I was winded from the ride and all the excitement outside the gate. But I knew it wasn’t true.

  She was dressed simply, in a cream-colored tunic falling well below her knees. My eyes were drawn to hers. I remembered their icy blueness. If anything, the intervening days had drawn them an even deeper shade. Her auburn hair fell loose about her shoulders and framed a heart-shaped face. Her skin glowed in the firelight, and looking at her made me feel like I had taken a long drink of cool spring water.

  “I . . . We . . . Hello, Celia,” I stammered. Time had slowed. I couldn’t move, and could barely speak.

  “I knew it,” Maryam whispered to Robard, who nodded emphatically. Angel was overjoyed to find Celia there. She ran to her, and Celia knelt to scratch her behind the ears, smiling. “Hello, little Angel,” she said.

  “So I take it you got our message? I hope no one was hurt,” I finally said.

  She reached out her hand, and the light reflected off Sir Thomas’ Templar ring. I took it from her and she smiled.

  “Message received, and no harm done,” she said. She greeted Robard and Maryam.

  “Welcome to Montségur,” she said. “Please allow me to extend all hospitality. Jean-Luc, I’m sure they must be hungry and tired. Can you see they are fed and have a place to sleep?” She spoke these words in French, but slowly, so I could follow along. My face fell, though, for after everything we had gone through to get here, I had no wish to leave Celia’s company so soon.

  “I am not . . . Robard and Maryam may be . . . I’m not hungry, thank you,” I finally spat out.
Celia’s presence severely limited my ability to speak. In fact, I was starving, but I decided on the spot to give up food forever if it meant remaining in Celia’s presence.

  “Come along, Robard. I’m sure Tristan has much to discuss with Celia. Let us find a place to rest. We could both use it.” Maryam took Robard gently by the arm and followed Jean-Luc into a darkened corner of the courtyard. We were finally alone.

  “Why did you come here, Templar?” she asked.

  She got right to the point.

  “It wasn’t our original plan. We left our camp and headed south to the beach, intending to head to Perpignan and find a ship. But we encountered your friend the High Counsel . . .”

  “He is no friend of mine!” she interrupted.

  “Yes, so I gathered. He’s a rather unpleasant fellow. At any rate, we convinced him that you had headed to Perpignan, to throw him off your trail. And according to Robard, he did go there, but quickly learned you and your party had not been seen there and returned to track you here.”

  “How did Robard know all of this?”

  “It’s a long story and not terribly exciting, I’m afraid.”

  “As you can see,” she said, sweeping her arms in a wide circle, “I have nothing but time.”

  “Let’s just say we split up for a while, but we all reconnected and now we’re here.”

  “I see.”

  “I just felt I should try to help, if I could,” I said. The details were unimportant. She undoubtedly had more important matters on her mind.

  “It was good of you to come, Templar, and we can certainly use your help, but I fear you are now trapped here with us for a while.”

  We didn’t say anything else for a few moments, which I spent trying not to stare at Celia. But she had her hair pushed up off her face with a headband, and the way the firelight reflected off her held me transfixed.

  “Celia, there is more, something else I must tell you.”

  “Yes?” She looked at me expectantly.

  “We met up with Philippe. He . . . When we found him . . .” I couldn’t tell her.

  “Out with it, Templar.”

  “He didn’t make it. Philippe is dead. He single-handedly fought six of the High Counsel’s men and managed to kill four of them before he died. We . . . Robard, Maryam and I, we encountered . . . and took care of the other two.” One of them, at least, permanently.

  Grief washed over Celia’s face in a wave. Her eyes moistened instantly.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said.

  She nodded in thanks, but said nothing. A single tear left her eye and rolled gently down her cheek. My brain told my arm to reach out then. To embrace her and wipe the tear away. But I did not. My arm felt frozen in place.

  “I wish I could . . .” I stopped, for my words sounded empty even to me. I felt useless, standing there like a statue, unable to comfort her.

  “Poor Philippe,” she finally said.

  “Had he served your father long?” I asked, desperate for her to talk or do anything but cry.

  “Since I was a child. My father wished for Philippe and I to marry.”

  Her words hit me like a hammer to the stomach. She was to marry Philippe? I had thought, by the way they acted together, with her clearly in charge, that their relationship was adversarial if nothing else.

  “Really? Then I am doubly sorry,” I said, not meaning a word of it. I was instantly aware that I was guilty of the sin of jealousy, but I would ask forgiveness later.

  “Yes. It was my father’s wish, not mine. I am . . . was . . . fond of Philippe, but I had no desire to marry him.”

  “I see,” I said, trying to keep the joy out of my voice. But my happiness was immediately replaced by guilt, when I remembered that the poor man had bravely given his life for her. What had become of me? What were these feelings that consumed me? Right then I was further crushed by the loss of Sir Thomas. I wished he were there. Or Sir Basil, or Quincy. I wished I could talk to them about this woman who made me feel so strange.

  Celia was quiet, to gather herself.

  “Celia, would you like me to go with you to tell your father about Philippe?” I offered.

  She shook her head. “No, thank you, but my father is not here. When I went to conference with the archbishop, my father left for Paris to petition the King for help. He won’t return for some time.”

  This was not good news. I had assumed Celia’s father would be in command of his men-at-arms. Jean-Luc acted capable, but Philippe had said he had very little experience, and he was not much older than me. I silently cursed my luck. My talent for placing myself in dangerous and nearly hopeless situations apparently knew no bounds.

  “Thank you for coming back, Templar, and for being there with Philippe at the end. I know he loved me, and though I could not return those feelings, he was a good man, a loyal servant to my father and a fierce protector of our people. When this is over, we shall celebrate his life as is our way, but if Philippe were here now, he would say, ‘First things first.’ Come. Let me find you a hot meal and a bed. You must be exhausted.”

  “Celia, about Philippe. When I found him, he was very near death. I promised him a Christian burial, but he insisted I not waste the time. He demanded I come to you immediately. I hope it was the right thing.”

  She smiled and closed her eyes, lost in some pleasant memory. “It was, Tristan. You did exactly the right thing. Do not worry. I know our beliefs may sound strange to you. But we are a simple people, devout in our own way. You did exactly as Philippe would have wished. Come let me show you our fortress.”

  She held out her hand for me to take. I stood there, unable to move any part of my body. She looked down at her hand, then up at my face and quietly laughed. She finally took my hand in hers, and I couldn’t be certain, but a bolt of lightning may have traveled directly from my hand to my brain. She took a torch from a sconce on the wall nearest us and led me across the courtyard to an area beneath the battlements where several cook fires still blazed. A few men and women busied about, cooking and talking cheerfully to one another. At a command from Celia, a plate of simmering meat and vegetables was placed in my hand.

  The aroma was so enticing that it took every ounce of my self-control not to devour the entire portion in one gulp. However, I would need to let go of her hand to eat, and I had no wish to do so. Standing there, feeling temporarily safe and happy, I voted for starvation over severing our physical connection. But she released my hand and sat on a nearby barrel so I could eat.

  When I had finished the meal, Celia led me up a set of stairs to a second level of the castle keep, then down a corridor to a small room with no door.

  “Our accommodations are not elegant, but they will have to do.” She placed the torch in a holder on the wall. The room was indeed small and windowless, with only a straw mattress on the floor, but it was much better than sleeping directly on the cold stone.

  “This will do me fine,” I said. “Where are Maryam and Robard?”

  “They are down the hall, in their own rooms. I’m sure they’re fast asleep by now. All of you must be exhausted. We’ll talk more in the morning,” she said as she moved to leave.

  “Celia, wait, I have many questions,” I said. Actually I had very few, but I did not wish her to leave. She smiled at me.

  “Tomorrow,” she said softly, and drifted away down the hall.

  So I slept, collapsing to the mattress and not even moving until Robard nudged me awake with his boot.

  “Rise, squire. The High Counsel has returned and there’s something else you need to see,” he said, anticipation tinged with apprehension in his voice.

  “What is it?” I groused, for I had not rested well. Dreams of Celia, pleasant though they were, had intruded on my sleep and woken me several times during the night. Now fully awake, I felt tired and out of sorts.

  “You’ll see,” he said, turning toward the door. “Hurry.”

  Robard led me back to the bailey, and I squi
nted in the bright sun as we left the dimness of the keep. He bounded farther up the stairs to the battlements atop Montségur’s walls, and shortly we stood above the southwest gate.

  “What is it?” I asked again.

  “Look for yourself.” He pointed to the field below us, rocky and steep. I peered out, shocked at how many more of the High Counsel’s men had joined his original force. There were at least several hundred men mounted near the tree line. I located him at the head of the column, moving onto the field below the castle, his horse prancing along and his cape flowing behind him. To his immediate rear rode the color bearer carrying a large green-and-white flag, and next to him, a rider carried another banner: the familiar brown-and-white Templar flag.

  Suddenly, nothing made sense. Why would the High Counsel have a Templar regimento with him? My eyes traveled back to where he sat upon his stallion, and I recognized the rider next to him instantly. The meal I’d eaten the night before roiled in my stomach, and I thought for a moment I might be sick on the spot.

  Sir Hugh.

  17

  Even though I knew he would never stop trying to find me, a small part of me had prayed that something would delay Sir Hugh. Bad weather, a wayward arrow, poison, anything. But he had managed to crush even that small hope.

  “How? How does he do it? He escapes from Acre, a city overrun by Saracens, he follows us across an ocean and survives a storm that sinks our ship, and now he finds us here in the middle of nowhere, stuck in a tiny castle! Has he given his soul to Satan, just for the privilege of thwarting me at every turn?” I muttered on longer until I had nothing left to say. Though I was not as experienced at cursing as Robard, I ran through every one I knew. Sir Hugh. A snake, a weasel and a polecat all rolled into one.

  If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve said Robard was amused by my futile rant. “What now?” he asked. The steel in his voice brought me back into focus. Robard had a look in his eyes I had noticed before in our time together. Despite his frequent protests, and his genuine desire to return home, he loved a fight. Especially if it involved teaching a harsh lesson to a couple of pompous jackasses like Sir Hugh and the High Counsel. Yet he was also a realist.