Trail of Fate

by Michael P. Spradlin

  These were not Templars.

  They were King’s Guards.

  27

  As I swam up toward consciousness, I sensed we were being carried up and down over rough ground. There were voices quietly murmuring around me. It sounded like Maryam and Robard, but I couldn’t be sure. Finally, I managed to open my eyes and looked up to see the sun peeking down at me through the bars of a cage.

  A ripple of dizziness overtook me as I tried to sit up. “Easy, Tristan,” I heard Maryam say. Her hands probed the side of my head. The attack in the woods came flashing back to me, along with the last thing I remembered—turning to see the King’s Guard seconds before he punched me in the head.

  “Where are we?” I mumbled.

  “We don’t know,” Maryam said. “We’re locked inside a cage on the back of a wagon. We’ve been traveling for several hours now.”

  My head was resting in Maryam’s lap. I finally opened my eyes and willed myself to stay focused. The dizziness passed, and I gingerly pulled myself into a sitting position. I touched the side of my face and winced.

  “Careful,” Maryam said. “You’ve got a nasty knot there.”

  When I could finally focus, I squinted up at the sun. We were still heading north.

  “What happened?” I asked, still confused. I remembered someone grabbing me from behind as I stood next to the tree, and then everything else became a blur. Looking through the bars of our cage, I counted ten of Richard the Lionheart’s personal soldiers riding alongside us. Two sat on the wagon, driving the team, and the rest were on horseback, surrounding us as we moved along the bumpy road.

  Something wasn’t right. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been a regimento of Templars or even the High Counsel’s men. Even though Sir Hugh had belittled and intimidated him, maybe he was able to separate himself from Sir Hugh and follow us. But King’s Guards? Could Sir Hugh have enlisted their aid? The last I’d known, King Richard was in Outremer, so why was there a detachment of King’s Guards here in France? Was Prince John or some other member of the royal family here? Did Sir Hugh’s connections reach all the way to the throne? Did this have something to do with my previous run-ins with them?

  It was hard to believe. It had been more than a year ago when they’d stalked me through the marketplace in Dover. But as I studied their faces, I didn’t recognize any of these men. There was something else at work here.

  “Maryam, Robard,” I stammered. “I’m sorry. I guess this is my fault. They were on me before I saw or heard them. They must have come upwind from Angel or else she would have smelled them and warned . . . Where is Angel?” I noticed her absence for the first time.

  “She ran off,” Maryam said.

  “Ran off ?” I couldn’t believe it. Angel, who had jumped into the harbor, survived a shipwreck, attacked a Frenchman, and was carried haphazardly down a mountainside, had simply disappeared?

  Maryam nodded. “I know. One of those men knocked her aside during the scuffle and she scurried off into the woods.”

  I shook my head and immediately wished I hadn’t, for the world began swirling again.

  “Maryam?” I whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “What is wrong with Robard? Why hasn’t he said anything?” I asked, looking over at Robard, who squatted on the floor of the cage opposite us with his back to me. His body was coiled and he held on to the bars as if he might shake them apart if given the chance.

  “I think he’s angry,” she said.

  “Yes, he’s angry. But usually when he’s in a temper, he reminds me how he’ll kill me after we get through this.”

  “Perhaps he is very angry,” she suggested.

  “If you must know,” Robard interrupted, “I am studying our enemies.”

  “To what end?” I asked him.

  “I don’t know yet,” he said.

  They had stripped us of our weapons and my satchel and piled them in the wagon behind the driver and his mate, far out of reach from the cage. A weapon would be useless in the small, enclosed space, and I couldn’t fathom what advantage Robard thought he might gain, locked away as we were.

  With nothing else to do, I sat quietly as the wagon rolled along. It was rough riding, and as the sun moved toward the west, it became even more uncomfortable, bouncing along in the heat. A short while later, the Captain of the Guard gave halt, and the men dismounted, leading the horses to a small spring. One of the men on the wagon seat got down from his perch and pushed a water skin through the bars, offering it first to Maryam.

  She lowered her head while reaching for it, then quickly rose up and reached through the bars, grabbing the man by the wrist and twisting it sharply to the side. He screamed in pain, dropping the water skin. As the man struggled to free himself from Maryam’s grip, she reached out with her other hand and twisted his thumb backward. We heard a sickening pop and the man screeched again, finally yanking his hand away from Maryam’s grasp.

  “Swine!” she yelled, spitting at him.

  The man howled, struggling to pull his sword with his good hand. The other guards watched and jeered now as the man thrust it through the bars at Maryam, who easily ducked out of the way.

  He cursed at her, protesting his broken thumb. But he couldn’t move his sword quickly between the bars, and before I knew it, Robard had leapt forward and wrestled it from the man’s hand.

  “Robard, no!” I shouted.

  Moving like a cat, he reached through the bars, grabbing the man by his tunic first, pushing him backward, then slamming him headfirst into the side of the cage. The man groaned and slumped toward the ground, but Robard held him up, turning him and putting his left arm through the bars and around the man’s neck. He held the sword at the now unconscious man’s throat.

  “Release us now, or he dies!” Robard commanded.

  All of the guards drew their weapons, then stood still, not sure what to do.

  The Captain of the Guard strode over to the wagon and stood a few feet away, his sword pointed down at the ground.

  “Let him go,” the Captain said quietly. He removed his helmet and held it in his free hand. His beard was dark brown, and he was covered head to toe in dust and mud from the ride. His hands were gnarled and scarred, and it looked like his fingers had been cut or broken many times. He was definitely someone we shouldn’t trifle with.

  “Not until you unlock the cage and return our weapons,” Robard said.

  The Captain sighed. “You won’t kill him,” he said.

  “What? I surely will!” Robard replied, more than a little put out.

  “Were you a Crusader?” the Captain asked.

  “I was. What of it? Quit trying to stall us! Open the cage and let us go or your man dies,” Robard insisted.

  “You were a King’s Archer? Your bow is a fine weapon. Is it Welsh-made, by any chance? I’ve always heard how Welshmen make the best archers,” the Captain said nonchalantly.

  “Welsh? Welsh, my arse! A Welshman couldn’t hit the ocean from a boat. That’s English yew there. The finest there is. Now, I’ve had enough of your games. Open this cage and release us.” Robard tightened his grip and pushed the sword deeper into the man’s neck.

  The Captain sighed again. His eyes were tired and world weary, but they glinted with determination. Instantly, I knew he would let his man die before he freed the three of us. He stared at Robard.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said quietly.

  “Do it now!” Robard commanded.

  “No,” the Captain answered.

  “I’ll kill him!” Robard shouted.

  “Then do it. But you’re not going free,” the Captain said.

  Robard’s face fell and his eyes narrowed. Maryam and I sat slumped in the cage, too stunned to say anything. Time went by without a sound from anyone except the ragged breathing of the unconscious guard. Finally, Robard saw the same thing in the Captain’s eyes I had. He reluctantly tossed the sword to the ground.

  The Captain
gestured to two of his men, who stepped forward and took the guard from Robard’s grasp. They lifted him up onto the wagon seat where he sat slumped against the driver, who took up the reins.

  “Mount up!” the Captain commanded, and shortly we were back on our way. The Captain and the guards rode on, undisturbed by what had just happened.

  Robard pounded his fists against the iron bars in frustration. “I smell your friend Sir Hugh,” he said.

  “I’m not sure, Robard,” I mused. “I’m certain he would have headed for the southern coast first. We were careful as we traveled north. . . .” I let my words trail off. In truth, I did not know what to think.

  For the rest of the afternoon, we rode on without stopping. We had kept the water skin inside the cage and passed it around a few times. There was little conversation as we rolled along. Since we had left Montségur those many days ago and walked ever northward, I had assumed we would reach the northern coast eventually, but I had no idea how much country there was to cross or how long it would take us. Now as our small band kept moving along, a familiar smell came to me. I sat up, taking a sniff of the air.

  “What is it?” Maryam asked.

  “I think . . . it’s the . . .” I still wasn’t sure.

  Then the forest cleared, and a small city shadowed by a large castle lying along the seacoast came into view.

  “We’re at the ocean,” I said. “I don’t know which town this is or what part of the coast we’re on, but we must be at the Channel.”

  Robard and Maryam were not cheered by the news, and given the circumstances, I couldn’t blame them.

  Within a half hour we pulled inside the castle. As the gate was wheeled shut, the guards dismounted and several grooms hurried forward to take their horses to the stables. The driver of the wagon unlocked the cage door with an iron key.

  “Welcome to Calais,” said the Captain of the Guard. “Step lively now.”

  My head still throbbed as we climbed out of the cage, but it was almost delightful to no longer be jounced around. Two guards took me by the arms, others followed suit for Maryam and Robard, and with the Captain at the head of our small column, we were led into the castle keep. They led us down a long, dimly lit hall and into a large room, brightly decorated with red carpets and brilliantly colored tapestries hanging on the walls. At the end of the room was a large wooden chair raised on a platform. Behind the chair was a beautiful purple velvet screen.

  The chair was occupied by a commanding-looking woman. Her long, dark brown hair was splashed with gray, and the lines on her face said she’d spent much time in the sun and wind. But her eyes were dark and lively, and they glowed when she saw us. She looked us over as we approached, her gaze finally settling on me.

  We were led all the way across the room until we were only a few feet from the chair.

  “Kneel before the Queen Mother,” the Captain commanded.

  The Queen Mother? Eleanor of Aquitaine? I had heard stories of her. She was King Henry’s queen and Richard the Lionheart’s mother. What was she doing here, and more important, why were the three of us being brought before her?

  We stood as still as statues, unsure what to do.

  “I said kneel!” the Captain commanded. The calm demeanor he had exhibited in the woods was gone. Being around the Queen Mother made him more forceful, and there was a tinge of cruelty in his tone. Our guards kicked at the backs of our knees, forcing us to the ground.

  Queen Eleanor stood silently from her chair, studying us intently. Then she spoke.

  “Sir Hugh? Are these the three?” Sir Hugh stepped around the velvet screen and stood next to but slightly behind her. He smiled his serpent’s smile when he saw me. I was surprised, but not shocked, to find him here. No matter where I went, he kept turning up.

  “The very same, my lady,” he said.

  Eleanor of Aquitaine nodded slightly, and the corners of her mouth moved upward just a tick. She stepped down from the platform to look carefully at Robard, then Maryam, until finally she stood directly in front of me. She was a small woman and used the platform to make herself more imposing. Bending over until her face was inches from my own, she appeared to memorize my every feature.

  “Delicious,” she said with a wicked smile. “Delicious.”

  CALAIS, FRANCE

  DECEMBER 1191

  28

  Queen Eleanor turned her back to me and stepped up onto the platform, settling on her throne. Sir Hugh had a look of vast relief on his face. He had lost us at Montségur and by his own clumsy efforts had been unable to find us again. I wondered, though, why he had aligned himself with the Queen Mother.

  “From what Sir Hugh tells me, you’re a slippery one, young squire,” she said as she stared at me. Instinct told me she wasn’t on my side, but I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Forgive me, your highness, but I’m not sure what you mean,” I told her.

  To my surprise, Eleanor threw back her head and laughed. Or cackled rather. It was unsettling to say the least.

  “Please, boy. Do you pretend ignorance of your circumstances?” she said.

  “I have many circumstances, my lady. Which one are you referring to?”

  Sir Hugh started toward me with his fist raised. “You’ll not take such a tone with the Queen Mother, boy!” But Eleanor held out her hand, touching him gently on the arm before he reached me.

  “Not now, Hugh,” she said. Sir Hugh stepped back to his place behind her and sulked.

  “I’m referring to the circumstances of your birth,” she said.

  “If you mean I am an orphan, yes, I’m well aware of it,” I said.

  “An orphan?” She looked at me quizzically, then threw her head back and laughed again. “An orphan. Oh, how rich this is. Even better than I thought!”

  I was at a loss. She appeared more than a little crazy. Sitting up in her chair, her feet twitched nervously beneath the long beaded gown she wore.

  “What do you want with us?” Robard demanded, having grown weary of Eleanor’s theatrics.

  She paused in her study of me to turn her attention to Robard.

  “Such impertinence,” she said. “Do you know who I am?”

  Robard gave her an unfriendly smile and bowed slightly. “Of course I do. You’re the mother of a coward who calls himself the Lionheart. Lionheart, my arse! Ha! They ought to call him the Weaselheart instead!” Robard twisted his head as if to spit but thought better of it, given the lush red carpeting we knelt on.

  Eleanor’s eyes darkened. “Captain,” she said, pointing to Robard and Maryam, “put these two in chains. The squire stays here.”

  The guards pulled Robard and Maryam to their feet. Robard managed to kick one of the guards in the knee and he went down, but another guard drove his fist into Robard’s stomach, and he slumped forward with a groan.

  “Leave them alone! It’s me you want!” I shouted, trying to stand, but the two guards behind me held me down. Robard and Maryam were summarily dragged out of the room. Sir Hugh stood there smiling while the Queen Mother wiggled on her chair. Behind me I heard the fidgeting creak of chain mail from the Captain and the two guards.

  “It is you we have wanted for quite some time,” Eleanor said.

  Me they wanted? She kept behaving as if she knew me, but how could it be so? Then I thought of home, and St. Alban’s. And the note I carried in my satchel that the brothers had found tucked into my blue blanket. The abbot had always believed I was born a noble. Could it be? I remembered the words of that note, “Brothers, he is innocent. . . .”

  Ridiculous, I told myself. This was only, could only be about the Grail. I was more certain than ever that Sir Hugh was behind this chicanery.

  She settled back in her chair and looked at me, her chin in her hand. Her fingers were adorned with large rings that were far too big for her tiny hands. I tried my best to hold her gaze, but I was too tired and sore to care anymore. It was over, they had won. I was done.

  “Nothing to s
ay?” she asked.

  “Your highness, I would suggest you let me take him to the dungeon and question him,” Sir Hugh said.

  “There’s no rush, Sir Hugh. I’d like to enjoy this for a while. After all, we’ve been searching for him for fifteen years.”

  My head came up. Fifteen years searching for me? And she had yet to say anything about the Grail. Could it be she didn’t know? Maybe Sir Hugh had kept his true purpose hidden from her as well? She made it sound like it was me she was after. Could I use this knowledge to our advantage somehow?

  “Yes, your highness, I have something to say. Has Sir Hugh told you why he was so desperate to track me down? I assume he asked for your help and the help of your guards?” I asked. The Queen Mother did not answer, but her expression and quick sideways glance at Sir Hugh told me I had hit the mark. “It’s because Sir Hugh is quite incompetent. Did he tell you he has pursued me all the way from Outremer yet has never quite managed to catch me? Or did he even tell you why he’s chasing me in the first place?”

  Eleanor stood up and paced along the wooden platform. Sir Hugh clenched his fists and gritted his teeth.

  “Shut your mouth, squire,” he spat.

  Eleanor watched the exchange with a new curiosity, but said nothing.

  “Interesting,” I said. “You should ask him . . .”

  Sir Hugh shot forward and backhanded me across the face. The blow staggered me, and I fell backward, my legs tucked awkwardly beneath me. I struggled to rise, but Sir Hugh stood over me and raised his fist to strike me again. “I’ll teach you proper respect if it’s the last thing . . . ,” he growled.

  “Hugh! Cease!” Eleanor’s sharp command stayed his fist in midair. He stood up, straightening his tunic. I struggled to right myself and finally found my balance again, resting my hands on my thighs as I knelt there, feeling the anger rise, tasting blood on my lip. I had been raised by gentle men with no violence in their hearts, but rage grew inside me. At that instant I wanted only to strike Sir Hugh down.

  He returned to his spot by Eleanor’s throne, but his face betrayed his emotions. Once again he had what he most desired within his grasp, but the powerful Queen Mother stood in his way. If she discovered his true intent, she would undoubtedly relieve him of the Grail.