“Go play, children, I need to talk to your uncle.”
The children disappeared into the back of the house, and Isabelle turned to him. “What happened to his parents?”
“Murdered this morning, in their home.”
Isabelle’s hand darted to her mouth. “Oh my! Did he—?”
“Yes, he saw it.”
“Who?”
“He claims it was Templars, though I suspect imposters.”
She stared at his surcoat and its red cross. “Are you certain?”
He shook his head. “Without actually apprehending the men responsible, there’s no way to know.”
“And will you?”
“I’ve been asked to help.”
“And you’ve agreed?”
“Of course. It’s my duty.”
She took a step closer. “And what will you do with these men should you find them?”
“I’ll deliver them to the authorities so they can be tried for their crimes.”
“And should they not wish to be taken?”
“They won’t be given a choice.”
“Will you kill them if necessary?”
“If necessary.”
She appeared slightly flushed, and he found the room warmer than he should. “I suppose you’ll need someone to watch the children.”
He nodded. “I’m afraid so. I was hoping to find your mother so I could ask if she wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh, she’ll mind, but”—she looked away—“I won’t.” She quickly returned her gaze to him. “It will, of course, be a huge imposition. I do have my own chores to tend to, but someone must look after these children when you are away.” She stared at her feet. “Do you expect to be away often? I mean, in the future?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure. I hope to be a farmer, and a good uncle to these children, though I am still a knight, and a Templar. I do have duties, though I have been excused from most of them.”
“You’ll remain a Templar?”
He bowed slightly. “Of course. It is my calling. My duty to my Lord.”
She frowned. “That’s unfortunate.”
He stared at her, puzzled. “Why?”
“Oh, nothing.” She batted a hand at him, turning toward the inner door. “I’ll take care of the children while you are away. Just hurry back, for as I said, it is an imposition. A huge imposition.”
He bowed at her back. “Of course.”
Tanya appeared, sniffing at Isabelle.
“And take this creature with you. She’s always underfoot!”
“Yes, Mistress.” Marcus beckoned Tanya to come, the beast obeying immediately, and retreated to his bedchamber. He quickly packed what he would need, then joined the others outside, Tanya never leaving his side. He was about to mount his horse when Simon stopped him.
“Have you said goodbye to the children?”
Marcus’ eyebrows shot up. “No. Why? Do you think I should?”
“You’re their father now, for all intents and purposes. You probably should, since we might be gone awhile.”
Marcus frowned then nodded. “You’re right, of course.” He eyed Simon. “Do you want to be the uncle?”
Simon grinned. “I’d rather be the husband to that gorgeous thing you’ve got tending to your every whim.”
Marcus grunted. “Hardly. I’m quite certain she hates me.”
Simon exchanged glances with the others, smiles on display.
“Are we still on that?”
“Yup. I think you have a way with the ladies that none of us were aware of.”
“Now I know you’re drunk.”
Marcus reentered the home and headed for the rear where he heard the children playing. “Children!”
Tiny feet pounded the wood floor, all three appearing moments later, Isabelle following. He dropped to a knee as he imagined he should, his memories of his own father distant and faint. “I’ll be leaving for a short while, perhaps a few days.” Pouts appeared. “But I don’t want you to worry. Mistress Leblanc here has agreed to watch over you, and I will be back before you know it. Okay?”
Jacques and Angeline thrust themselves into his arms, Pierre following after a few moments of uncertainty. Marcus looked up at Isabelle helplessly as the children cried, and caught her smiling at him, the smile quickly wiped away when she spotted his eyes on her.
She stepped forward. “That’s enough, children, let your uncle go.”
The boys broke away, but little Angeline refused to let go, Isabelle pulling her away as Marcus’ chest ached with the emotions displayed. He could only recall feeling such things when a comrade died a slow, agonizing death, an experience that had happened too many times over the years.
Though never for a child he barely knew.
For children he barely knew.
He stood, bowing slightly to Isabelle. “Thank you once again for tending to the children. I will send word if we will be away longer than expected.”
“As you should.”
He bowed again then beat a hasty retreat before the young woman’s barbs directed at him provoked a response from the children, Pierre giving her the eye on her last remark. The boy was already showing a loyalty toward Marcus that he was surprised at, though perhaps it made sense. If Pierre had doubts that Templars were responsible, then a knight, a Templar knight, would be the ideal protector in a young man’s mind.
He hoped he could prove to him that his faith wasn’t misplaced.
He stepped outside and mounted his horse, urging it forward without saying anything, still moved by the emotional display from the children.
Simon rode up beside him. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “Yes. Just thinking.”
“Uh huh.”
Simon didn’t sound convinced. His sergeant knew him too well, as did his squires, who wisely remained silent behind them. And as they headed back into town, he began to doubt whether he was guardian material.
17
Fabron Residence
Crécy-la-Chapelle, Kingdom of France
“Did you find anything?”
Bailiff’s Delegate Archambault shook his head as Sir Marcus dismounted, handing the reins to David. “Nothing beyond the normal records you would expect an auditor to possess. Certainly nothing worth killing over, and nothing that wouldn’t eventually be of public record.” He threw his hands up in frustration. “I can find no reason for these good people to have been murdered in such a heinous fashion.”
Marcus sighed. “And your people. Did they see anything?”
He nodded. “Several reported seeing three men—three Templars—on horseback, leaving toward the east shortly before the bodies were discovered.”
Marcus frowned, then headed into the house to conduct his own search, disappointed in the news. He had hoped if Fabron did possess the document, then it might still be here, since his murderers had been forced to flee before they could conduct a search. But if the document wasn’t in the house, then either Fabron had never possessed it, or had already passed it on.
But if he had, then to whom?
And what would have been worth dying for, especially with a wife and child at risk?
It made no sense. The man was an auditor for the King, not a knight, not a soldier. He might be loyal to his king, though Marcus imagined few in this man’s line of work would be loyal enough to sacrifice his family and himself for the man.
Either this document was incredibly important, or he never expected they would kill for it.
And the fact they did, suggested it was of extreme importance, and Fabron should have known so.
It simply made no sense.
What if there was no document?
His eyes widened at the thought, and he halted his search for a moment. Pierre’s recollection was of the men asking if any other documents had been signed. If the document didn’t exist, or if Fabron knew nothing of it, then that might explain his refusal to cooperate. Though they only had a scared young boy’s word
on what had happened, and his memory, or understanding of events, couldn’t be relied upon. But if Fabron had no clue what they were talking about, he might not have realized the seriousness of the situation, and not understood that his family was at risk.
And he would never think that Templars would do such a thing.
He growled.
Tanya stared up at him.
Simon entered the room. “There’s nothing here that I can see. Perhaps if we tore the place apart, we might find something, but Mr. Archambault nearly fainted when I suggested it.”
Marcus grunted. “It’s the King’s property for use by his officials as needed. I wouldn’t want to give the order either.” He marched for the door. “This is a waste of time.” Stepping into the slowly fading sunlight, he made to join Archambault and several elders, when he spotted a horse approaching, the rider bearing a Templar surcoat.
“It’s Sir Raimond.”
Marcus nodded at Simon’s observation. “I wonder what he’s doing here.”
“He probably heard that Templars have been accused of murder.”
“You might be right.” He headed toward the Templar commander, holding his horse steady as the elderly man dismounted.
“Is it true?”
Marcus nodded. “The fact the accusation exists, is true. Whether or not it is accurate, is the question.”
Raimond shook his head, stifling a curse. “I can’t believe it could be.” He shook his head emphatically. “I refuse to believe it.” He lowered his voice, Marcus and Simon leaning in. “Mr. Fabron was a friend to the Templars. A trusted friend. With our Order the bank for the kingdom, we dealt with him all the time. He was always fair and just, and rarely caused any fuss like some of the others trying to curry favor with the King. And there is something else you need to know.”
Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “What?”
“He was at the meeting with our missing delegation.”
Marcus drew a slow, deep breath as he folded his arms and tapped his chin. “Perhaps the document they were looking for came from this meeting.”
Raimond stared at him. “What document?”
“According to the son, the men had a document that his father was angry they possessed. They asked if any others had been signed at a meeting. This meeting must be the one with our brothers. Mr. Fabron refused to cooperate, and that’s when they killed him.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the house. “It’s been searched twice, and no document of interest has been found.”
Raimond stroked his long gray beard. “A record of the meeting would have been kept, of course, but I can’t see Mr. Fabron possessing a copy of it. And even if he did, I can’t see why anyone would kill over what could be in it.”
Marcus agreed. “If the boy is correct, then their question suggests that the document they possessed was from that meeting, and they were looking for another. That would suggest that this document either referred to another, or contained nothing of interest to them, therefore didn’t fulfill their requirements, whatever they were.”
Simon cleared his throat. “What if something was discussed that was, shall we say, untoward?”
Raimond’s head slowly bobbed. “Unlikely, yet anything is possible. What might be innocent to one man, could be condemning to another. We need to find the missing delegation, and find out what document these murderers might be after.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” asked Marcus.
“Continue with what we discussed earlier. Go to Crèvecœur-en-Brie and meet with Sir Gilbert de St. Leger. I know he was at the meeting. That is as good a starting point as any.”
Marcus nodded, then lowered his voice. “And if we should find it was Templars that committed this atrocity?”
“Then deliver them to justice if possible, kill them if necessary. Whoever is responsible for this crime must pay.” He leaned in closer. “And let us all pray to the good Lord, that the boy is mistaken.”
18
Outside Crèvecœur-en-Brie, Kingdom of France
“You know, if you’re all going to be living on the farm with me, we’ll have to build you proper quarters.”
Simon glanced at Sir Marcus. “No need. I enjoy sleeping with animals.” He grinned at David and Jeremy behind them. “And the pigs aren’t bad, either.”
“Haha,” replied David. “If you’re going to build us quarters, please give us separate rooms. The sergeant farts in his sleep.”
“That was the cow.”
“No, even the cow had her nose buried in the dirt trying to seek respite.”
Marcus chuckled. “When we return, we’ll start planning something. If we are to be farmers, then we are to be equals, at least among ourselves.”
Simon grunted. “You will always be nobility.”
“From the poorest of the poor, as you well know. I am no more noble than you are, my friend. Just because some ancestor long ago happened to wed the right person, I should be more privileged than you three?” Marcus shook his head. “I’ve never believed in that.”
“Fortunately, you can hold those beliefs within the Order. But out here, in the real world, there is no escaping your nobility.”
Marcus frowned. “Perhaps.”
“And should someone object to one of us treating a noble as an equal, it may mean our heads.”
Marcus glanced back at his squires. “Perhaps.” He sighed. “Very well, you may all kiss my royal ass while off the farm, but when on it, we are brothers. Agreed?”
A round of agreement and laughter responded, the men in good spirits. They had started their journey late yesterday, delayed by the unexpected events, forcing them to make camp overnight. It had been an enjoyable evening of shared stories and remembrances, and good-natured ribbing.
It was a reminder of the life he loved, and was now putting behind him.
Though not completely behind.
With his men remaining with him, there was no need for those times to end, though the battles and camaraderie of the larger contingent in the Holy Land would no longer be part of their future.
Not necessarily a bad thing.
Though he relished serving his Lord, he did not take pleasure in the killing. Yes, the Muslims were heathen infidels who deserved their fate, but he had always felt it was up to God to mete out their punishment, not man. The job of soldiers like him was to protect those on holy pilgrimages and the sacred grounds trodden by the faithful, from those who would do them harm.
If the Muslims merely kept to themselves, there would be no problem. In Jerusalem, for many years, they peacefully coexisted, until Muslims slaughtered over three thousand Christians, forcing the First Crusade. That was long before his time, and the Ninth Crusade had already come and gone, but it had all started with Muslims committing atrocities, not Christians.
And part of him was happy now to be surrounded by nothing but Christians. For the first time since he could remember, he felt perfectly at ease.
They emerged from the forest and rounded a bend leading into Crèvecœur-en-Brie. They were greeted with momentary stares, then ignored by the townsfolk, this town a metropolis compared to the tiny village of Crécy-la-Chapelle, therefore presumably more accustomed to seeing Templars.
As they should, since the Order did have a permanent presence here. Marcus was about to ask for directions when Simon pointed. “There it is.”
And there it was. A large, solid stone structure with Templar flags on either side of the wide, double-doors. Sir Marcus dismounted, handing his reins to David, looking about the street for anything untoward. The building was located near the center of the town, a good number of people afoot as they went about their daily business, the riffraff keeping their distance, rather than begging for a donation to better their meager existence.
Everyone knew a Templar carried little currency on his person, due to a vow of poverty.
Which was rather ironic, considering the Order was the biggest bank in Christendom, handling most transfers of money between kin
gdoms and kings. Their wealth was vast, rivaling the regal customers they served, yet those who ran it were poor, paupers by any comparison.
He motioned for Simon to accompany him, and his sergeant shoved the doors open, stepping aside as he did so, bowing slightly and presenting what lay beyond with an extended arm.
“What do you think you’re doing?” muttered Marcus.
“Kissing your royal ass, sir.”
Marcus stifled a chuckle, stepping through the doorway, a clerk of some sort leaping to his feet at the knight now in his presence.
“Sir, my name is Xavier. How may I be of service to you?”
“I’m looking for Sir Gilbert de St. Leger. I must speak with him at once.”
“I-I’m sorry, sir, but he isn’t in yet. If you would like, you could wait for him here, and I will have him sent for.”
The hair on the back of Marcus’ neck rose. “Is it normal for him not to be in at this time?”
The young man flushed. “Umm, no sir. Quite unusual.”
Marcus exchanged a concerned look with Simon, who he could tell was thinking the same thing he was.
Sir Gilbert is dead.
“You must take me to his residence at once.”
Xavier hesitated.
“At once!”
“Yes, sir!” Xavier jumped several hands into the air before rushing from around his desk and toward the door. “Follow me, the barracks aren’t far.”
Marcus and Simon followed the young man, signaling for the squires to bring the horses, Xavier scurrying through an alleyway beside the outpost, then down a narrow street. Another building, smaller and more humble in stature, was presented by the young man, this one adorned with a single flag of the Order.
“Sir, this is where our members stay while here.”
“Show us to your master’s quarters.”
“Yes, sir.” He opened the front door and stepped inside, Marcus and Simon following. A long corridor stretched the length of the building, doors on either side, some open, revealing a kitchen, common area, and chambers with beds stacked on opposite walls. At the end of the hall, there was a single door with a plain handle. Xavier bowed slightly to Marcus. “This is it.”
The Templar Detective Page 7
