Trail of Fate tyt-2

by Michael Spradlin

  “I hope so. I’d like to think I am, being raised by Cistercian monks. They were men of kindness. I hope I learned something from them,” I told her.

  She turned back to me, close enough that I could see her lovely face more clearly. “Raised by monks? What happened to your parents?”

  “Never knew them. I was left at the abbey as a babe.”

  “How sad! It must be terrible not knowing who your family is.”

  I shrugged. “You can’t really miss what you’ve never had. It could have been worse. There was a roof over my head and food to eat. Many orphans have probably not met so kind a fate. Please stop trying to change the subject.”

  “Do you always put others before yourself, Templar? Is this a trait you learned at your abbey?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her gaze traveled back to the fire, to study her people. “We are Cathars.”

  She looked at me expectantly to see what effect her words had on me. But I had no idea what a Cathar was. She went on.

  “We live not far from here, in the mountain towns of the Pyrenees. My father is the bishop of our canton. I think you English might call it a county. Cathars are no friends to the church. We believe in tolerance of other religions and that all the trappings of the church are. . irrelevant and only get in the way of a true connection with God. Still, despite our objections to how the church is run, we have lived in peace for many years, but now, things are different. We allow anyone to worship as they please, but your Pope has a much dimmer view of Catharism,” she said.

  Having lived in a monastery most of my life, I knew the Bible somewhat, but I was no religious scholar. For a time, I had a natural curiosity about the monks and their unwavering allegiance to God. But I had never felt the pull of their devotion. I prayed. I believed. But I did not know what to say to Celia, not understanding very much of what she said.

  “So because the Pope is angry with your people, you are hiding here in the woods?”

  Celia laughed.

  “No, Templar. We are not hiding. My father sent me to counsel with emissaries of the Archbishop of Languedoc while he travels to Paris to seek an audience with King Philip. Our message grows. We have more followers now. This upsets your Pope. The archbishop demanded our presence before him immediately. My father cares little for what the archbishop demands, but also knows he can be a powerful enemy. Since Father could not be in two places at once, he sent me to Narbonne in his stead. He wanted me to attempt to appease the archbishop if I could, but I am afraid I only managed to anger him.”

  “Anger him? How?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure. It may have been when I called him a fat, pretentious, overbearing cow,” she said, shrugging.

  “That would do it,” I said. This was all very strange to me. At St. Alban’s the brothers managed to stay far removed from church politics. I remember a bishop visiting once when I was younger. And I remember the abbot being ill tempered for weeks after, but I couldn’t recall there ever being any other problems. Of course, I’m certain the abbot would never call the bishop a cow either. This may have had more to do with Celia’s predicament than a difference in theology.

  “We were on our way home when we found you,” she went on. “The conference did not go well, especially after my outburst. The archbishop made many threats. Philippe believes he will move against us before my father can even gain an audience with the King. He may have sent soldiers after us, so Philippe is just being cautious.”

  “Why do they care what you do if you bother no one?”

  “You must have grown up in an abbey, to ask such an incredibly naive question. The church does as it will. It is not the kings and monarchs who rule us, but Pope Celestine III. Does not your own order answer only to him?”

  “Yes. I suppose, but I. .”

  “He has decided the Cathars are enemies of the church, Templar. And now we must decide what to do about it, which is why Philippe is so upset with me. He thinks we should have left you on the beach. He feels we should be well on our way to Montsegur by now instead of taking you to the nearest port.”

  “Montsegur?”

  “It is our fortress in the mountains. When we are threatened, we retreat there for safety. Usually whoever is upset with us at the moment lays siege, but eventually gives up and leaves. However, Philippe is certain there will be a greater threat this time. As my father’s Seneschal, he wishes to return there at once, but he swore an oath to follow my command.”

  “Maybe you should listen to him. Grateful as I am to you for not hurting my friends in their misguided attempt to rescue me, we are well able to find the port on our own, and you can resume your journey.”

  Celia did not have a chance to respond, for just then Philippe rode hurriedly into camp and hastily dismounted.

  “On arrive!” he said.

  “What did he say?” I asked.

  “Someone is coming,” Celia said.

  6

  Philippe and Celia spoke rapidly. Philippe barked orders, and his men immediately broke camp. Each ofthem spun offfrom the fire to an assigned duty.

  “What is happening?” Robard asked. He and Maryam rose from the fire.

  “I’m not sure. There is some kind of trouble. I think someone is after them.”

  Robard looked at me in disbelief, then snorted. “What do you mean by trouble exactly?”

  “What other kind of trouble do we know?” I asked.

  The fire was extinguished and we were plunged into darkness. The half moon had just peeked over the horizon, and there was enough light for me to see Robard’s face.

  “Just to be sure, you mean the bad-men-chasing-us-again kind?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” I said apologetically.

  Robard sighed. “I will say this. Since I rescued you from those bandits, you’ve never been at a shortage for excitement.”

  “Tristan, what are we going to do?” Maryam asked.

  “Celia and her group are being pursued by enemies of some sort. She calls herself a Cathar, whatever that means.” Robard and Maryam shrugged. “Her father is an important religious leader among her people and has made enemies of the church. An archbishop they met with in a place called Narbonne is angry with them for some reason. Philippe was convinced they were followed, and now he has spotted something.”

  “Something?” Robard asked. He knew the answer. Danger was approaching.

  “This is not our concern. You don’t intend to become involved in her problems, do you?” Maryam asked.

  “No, I don’t plan to,” I said.

  In truth, I had no idea what to do. Did I owe anything to Celia? I had my duty to the Grail to consider. If they were being pursued by a large force, their only logical choice was flight. Robard, Maryam and I could slip away into the forest and work our way toward the coast and follow it until we came upon a port.

  Within minutes, the horses were saddled and nearly every sign of our camp was gone. Only a close inspection by an experienced forester would find any evidence that a camp had ever been made here.

  Celia approached the three of us while her friends mounted their horses.

  “Philippe says nearly fifty of the archbishop’s guards are tracking us. They are a few miles back and moving slowly, but will be on us before morning if we do not leave right away.” She looked at me expectantly.

  “Then you must leave now,” I said.

  “What will you do?” she asked.

  “We’ll be fine; we’ll head back toward the shore and follow it west until we find a port city. Don’t worry about us,” I told her.

  Celia looked down at the ground for a moment, as if struggling to speak.

  “Tristan, realize this: these men following us are ruthless. They kill and maim with no provocation. If they suspect you have seen us and helped us in any way. .” She let the words hang in the air.

  “We’ll be safe,” I assured her.

  “How do you know. .?” She looked at me strangely, but I no
dded. The Grail had kept me safe thus far. It would protect the three of us. Then, almost as if she remembered how the strange sound she had heard pulled her to me on the beach, she nodded. I hadn’t had much time to think about it, but I wondered if the Grail was pulling me to her just as much. As if she needed its protection as well. But that sounded foolish. My duty was to protect the Grail, not to treat its wonders like a cheap carnival trick. Sir Thomas had entrusted it to me because he believed I would keep it safe. And although I sorely wished he had picked someone else, he had chosen me. I had to get on with my mission.

  “You are a two-day walk from Perpignan. You should easily find a ship there,” she said.

  Philippe was mounted and impatient to be under way. “Mademoiselle. .,” he whispered.

  “Shh,” she hissed at him.

  “Thank you, Tristan,” she said.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “For listening.” She nodded good-bye to Maryam and Robard, then mounted her horse, and we watched in silence as they rode away into the darkness.

  Robard had retrieved his bow and held it in his left hand. Nervously shifting back and forth on his feet, he coughed quietly.

  “Tristan?” he asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Time to go,” he said.

  Both Maryam and Robard were eager to be on their way. We started off at a trot, following the stream. It would lead us to the shore eventually, and from there we could make our way to the city. We hiked in the opposite direction of Celia and her riders. Moving along in silence, Robard finally suggested we stop for the night.

  “We need to rest,” he said. “I’m exhausted. Haven’t had much sleep since we came out of the water.”

  “All right,” I said. “But we should reach the shore soon. We should make camp there. We’ll be far enough away from Celia’s camp then. If anyone finds us, it will be easier to convince them we’ve been following the shore and haven’t come across any other travelers.”

  By the time two hours went by, the half moon rode high in the sky, providing us some light. The smell of salt water wafted over us, and we broke through the trees. There before us was the shore. It gave me pause to look again upon the ocean that had spit me out not so long ago. I took no joy in being near the water again.

  We weren’t hungry, but we built a fire, and its light and warmth did much to improve my mood. No one spoke much; we were all too tired to talk. Angel found a spot close to the fire, curled up and was soon fast asleep.

  It was time for me to carefully examine the contents of my satchel, and I was pleased to see that everything, although damp, had survived with little damage. On the second day aboard ship I’d wrapped Sir Thomas’ letter and the note I brought from the abbey in oilskin to protect them from the dampness. They were wet, but both were still readable and would likely dry out in fine shape. Even my blue woolen blanket had made it through.

  With Maryam and Robard close by I couldn’t inspect the Grail, but Robard had shot an arrow through the satchel at very close range when we were back in Outremer and it had survived without a scratch. The Grail had likely survived being bounced about in the waves. I would check on it later, when I had time alone.

  Staring at the flames, I worried about Celia, remembering how I had been followed by the King’s Guards in Dover. They had shadowed me through the marketplace and had taken some strange interest in me. I had no idea what they wanted. But they acted with impunity. Powerful men like kings and archbishops always had plenty of soldiers and thieves to do their bidding. It wasn’t fair.

  The fire helped me relax, and I realized how tired I was. Maryam was stifling yawns as well. Robard volunteered to take the first watch, so I lay down next to the fire and closed my eyes, asleep in seconds.

  Robard shook me awake a few hours later. He had banked the coals and the fire glowed. The warmth was comforting in the chill of the night as I held my hands over it, still feeling groggy and sore, and wincing at any movement of my still aching muscles.

  Instead of keeping a sharp eye for anyone who came our way, I squatted close to the fire and closed my eyes for a few minutes. In my dream, the humming sound of the Grail came to me again. It pulled me up from the darkest depths of sleep, and when my eyes opened, its song was replaced by Angel’s low growl. Maryam and Robard were still asleep, but it was nearly daybreak. Scrambling to my knees, I searched the surrounding woods, feeling like I had just awoken from a bad dream. Angel snarled again, louder this time, and stood, teeth bared, staring into the darkness.

  “Bonjour,” a voice said quietly from behind me.

  I jumped in the air and my hand clutched the hilt of my sword as I spun around.

  There on the beach a few yards from the fire was a large force of mounted horsemen. They were all dressed in black tunics with gold crosses on the chest. Each of them was heavily armed with sword, lance and shield. At the head of the column rode a very tall, resplendent-looking man wearing the same black tunic but with a golden cape, rimmed with white fur, around his shoulders. His beard was neatly trimmed, and in the gathering light I could see his dark hair and black, cold eyes. He wore a very large ring made of gold on his right hand. He was a priest or monsignor of some rank. Having grown up around monks, I still thought it odd to find a man of God in command of troops. But it was not an uncommon practice. Celia had made mention of an archbishop who was angry with her, and it appeared he had sent his most trusted priest to track her down.

  He stared down at me with an expression on his face I couldn’t quite place at first, then did. Amusement. He dismounted and strode toward the fire until he stood just a few feet away. Angel did not like his uninvited invasion of our camp. She growled again, moving between me and the stranger.

  “Looks to be a ferocious dog. Does he bite?” the man asked.

  I nodded.

  He chose to ignore Angel, who backed up until her rump rested against my leg. I could feel the tension in her body and had no doubt she would spring in a heartbeat if this man made the wrong move. “You are dressed as a servant of the Templars, are you not?” he asked. He spoke English with a very thick French accent, reminding me of King Richard. But I understood him just fine.

  I nodded.

  “Do you intend to draw your sword?” he asked, pointing to my hand, which still clutched the hilt of my weapon.

  I shook my head. He had yet to give me a reason.

  “Good. Are you able to speak?” he asked.

  I nodded again, which made him smile.

  “Excellent. Then I’m hoping you will be able to help me locate a group of outlaws. I suspect you crossed paths with them last night,” he said. His tone said he knew this to be true and it would be useless for me to deny it. He never took his eyes off me.

  Without moving my head, I glanced down. Robard’s eyes were open and he was looking at me, trying desperately to figure out what to do. His wallet and bow sat leaning against a tree trunk a few inches from his hand.

  “Please leave the bow and arrows where they are,” the priest said, evidently aware that Robard was awake. There was a lack of menace in his voice, which only made him sound more formidable. He spoke with a casual certainty as if expecting us to obey his commands without question.

  Very slowly Robard rose to stand next to me. He yawned, running his hand through his hair as if he wasn’t bothered by any of this at all.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” Robard said.

  “Then you must allow me to introduce myself,” the man replied. “I am the High Counsel to the Archbishop of Languedoc. My men and I are on the trail of six heretics. We followed them to your camp upstream. We lost their trail north of here and then followed your tracks. Now, if you please, I would like to know, where are they headed?”

  I had a feeling this High Counsel would not take well to deception.

  “Heretics? I thought you said you were on the trail of outlaws,” Robard asked.

  “One and the same,” he replied.

  “We need to
know which,” Robard said. “I have no use for heretics, but outlaws, well, that’s a different story. So which is it, Father?”

  The High Counsel’s eyes narrowed and his face turned to stone. I groaned inwardly. Not now, Robard.

  “We had no idea they were heretics, Father,” I interrupted before Robard could say anything more. “We were shipwrecked east of here a few days ago. They found us on the beach and offered us food. That’s all. I can’t say for sure where they were headed, but I heard the word Perpignan a few times. Might it be the name of a city or town?”

  The High Counsel had locked eyes with Robard while I spoke, but now he looked at me again.

  “Perpignan? Yes, it’s a nearby city. Are you sure?”

  “If it is west of here, it must be where they are headed. When they broke camp, they headed south, riding in the shallows. They must have been trying to hide their tracks from you. They probably turned west downstream.”

  The High Counsel looked at me, his black eyes never wavering. I don’t think he even blinked.

  “Why would they head to Perpignan?” he asked, thinking out loud.

  “Can’t swear to it, Father, as I speak only a little French, just heard them mention it. And they said something about reserves. Doesn’t that mean ‘supplies’? Maybe they needed something there?” I had spun a vast web of deceit now and hoped the High Counsel and his men would leave soon so I could resume breathing.

  He studied me, his brow knitted together ever so slightly, then turned and spoke to one of the mounted riders behind him in hushed tones.

  “Very well. Thank you for your assistance. We shall ride toward Perpignan and see if we can pick up their trail. If you come across them again, avoid them. They are outcasts and enemies of the church. They have committed grave sins against God,” he said.

  “Yes, Father. Of course,” I said. “May God have mercy on their souls.”

  He remounted his horse and the column slowly moved westward. He stopped, turning his horse back toward us.