“Yes, who knows,” murmured Thomas, Bernard getting the distinct impression his friend was uncomfortable with the prospect of spending time with him.
Is he that ashamed of his station, or does he not want to be seen with me?
He stared at his friend. “Would you prefer, perhaps, that we stay in and catch up, just the two of us?”
Thomas brightened with the suggestion, leaving Bernard relieved it wasn’t that his friend didn’t want to be with him, it was that he didn’t want to be associated with him. Understandable. Should the locals think he had a connection to nobility, it could make things difficult for him. Bernard pulled out several coins. “How about you fetch us some food and drink, and we’ll enjoy ourselves in the privacy of your home.”
Thomas grinned at the sight of the coins, and Bernard hoped, the suggestion. “Splendid idea. I’ll be back shortly.”
He bolted from the shop, leaving Bernard once again alone with his friend’s father. The old man looked up at him.
“Don’t take it personally, sir. Being seen with you would present difficulties.”
Bernard nodded. “I understand.” He stepped back toward the table, tapping a finger on the work in progress. “And let us both ensure he never knows of our business.”
Durant stared up at him, his left hand shaking once again. “Of that, you can be certain.”
22
Templar Outpost
Crèvecœur-en-Brie, Kingdom of France
Sir Marcus sat behind the late Sir Gilbert’s desk, unfolding the only known document to have been produced at the meeting between the Templar delegation sent from the Holy Land, and the Order’s supporters in the region.
And it was rather disappointing.
As he scanned the document, he realized it was nothing more than a record of who was in attendance, routine matters that couldn’t be considered scandalous by anyone, even the most paranoid, then the signatures of those there to witness the document. And the numerals indicating it was the fifth of six copies.
He quickly recorded the names, noting Fabron and Sir Gilbert were among them, then handed the list to young Xavier. “I’ll need the whereabouts of these men.”
Xavier stared at it for a moment. “I know where some should be, in fact most, but I can’t guarantee they’re still there.”
“No matter. Give me what you know, then send messengers to find the others. I’ll give you our planned route as best I can, so you can have word sent as you find the others.”
Xavier bowed. “Yes, sir.” He disappeared from the room, only to be replaced by Simon moments later, his sergeant closing the door behind him.
“Find anything?”
He nodded, taking a seat in front of the desk now occupied by Marcus. “I found a woman that works there who saw two men, dressed as Templar knights, who asked to see Sir Gilbert.”
“When?”
“Last night. Late. She was apparently about to head home to bed her husband.”
Marcus blushed slightly. “Apparently this woman was a fountain of information.”
“She did like to talk,” chuckled Simon. “She said one had a beard, the other just a mustache, and that one of them appeared ‘deferential’—her word—unlike any knight of our Order I’ve heard of, from the description she gave of his manner.”
“Yet more evidence to suggest imposters.”
Simon nodded. “Agreed.”
“And did she hear anything?”
“Nothing beyond gentlemanly greetings before she closed the door.”
“My guess is the same two who killed Mr. Fabron. The third was probably keeping watch outside.”
“Yes. And until we find out why they’re killing, we could end up simply discovering body after body, making no headway in capturing these murderers.”
Marcus waved the document in front of him. “We may have something, finally.”
“What is it?”
“It’s the document our young clerk referred to. It’s the minutes of the meeting held with the delegation from the Holy Land.”
“Anything of interest?”
Marcus shook his head. “Nothing scandalous, if that’s what you mean. But it might still help us.”
Simon leaned forward and took the document. “How?”
“The list of signatories at the bottom. At least two are dead already. I believe our suspected imposters have this same list, perhaps a copy of this very document, and are going from one person to the next, trying to find this other mystery document.”
Simon placed the paper back on the table, his head bobbing slowly. “That makes sense. If we could figure out who they plan to see next, we might be able to stop them.”
Marcus shook his head. “They have at least half a day on us. We won’t be able to save the next victim, but perhaps we could save the one after him.”
“If we can determine the order they are killing them in.”
Marcus nodded. “Exactly.”
“But how are we going to do that?”
“I’ve got Xavier putting together the locations for the names on the list. I’m hoping there will be some sort of pattern shown.”
Simon rose from his chair, walking over to a map on the wall showing the region. He pointed. “This is where we now call home, where we found Mr. Fabron and his wife. And this is where we are now.”
Xavier entered the room, holding a piece of paper. “I was able to find all but two. I’ll send a messenger immediately to the regional headquarters to find out their usual location.”
“Excellent work.” Marcus rose, gesturing for Xavier to join him at the map. “Now show us where these men are in relation to where we are.”
The young man nodded, pulling pins from the top of the map and shoving them rapidly into ten locations, including the two they had already identified. All were northeast of their current location. Marcus smiled, pointing at the two closest. “They’ll be going to one of these two locations next.” He turned to Xavier. “Send two of your fastest messengers to these men immediately. Warn them of the danger.”
Xavier bowed rapidly. “Yes, sir!” He disappeared, and Marcus returned his attention to the map, Simon already pointing to a lone pin farther to the northeast. “We have no way of knowing which of these two they will hit next, and I don’t think splitting up is wise.” He tapped the third pin. “This is where I think we should go. We should have no problem getting there before them, since they’ll have two men to kill first.”
Marcus sighed. “I hate having to decide this. If we go to either one of these first two men, we have an even chance of saving one.”
“Yes, sir, but should we choose poorly, he will already be dead, as will the next. We will then be in a race to get to the third before these fiends.”
Marcus agreed reluctantly. “But go directly to the third, and we will absolutely save him, and be able to put an end to this, once and for all.”
“Exactly.”
Marcus spun on his heel, heading for the door, but not before grabbing the document from the desk. “We must leave at once, and pray our messengers reach the next two targets first.”
23
Durant Residence
Paris, Kingdom of France
Sir Bernard emptied his glass once again, and his childhood friend replenished it with wine that tasted better as the night wore on. One couldn’t expect a fine vintage in these parts, and it had been painful to drink those first few glasses, though now that he was feeling no pain, he didn’t mind it at all.
And neither did Thomas Durant. His friend had been a little uncomfortable at first, but after the wine flowed, he became more at ease, and the conversation had been jovial since. Bernard couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed someone’s company so much. He was never comfortable around his family, a group far too proper to allow something as distasteful as fun to interrupt their dinner parties, he had few if any real friends, and his fellow soldiers treated him as if he were a joke.
Especially that cre
tin Valentin.
“So the life of a knight at the service of the King must be rewarding.”
Bernard grunted. “You’d think so, but I haven’t found it so.”
Thomas’ eyes narrowed as he pulled a chunk off the quail they had been nibbling on all evening. “What’s the problem? Boredom?”
“Disrespect.”
Thomas swallowed his bite, his eyes widening. “Who would dare disrespect a knight?”
“His fellow knights.” He sighed. “Can I tell you something? Man to man, as a friend?”
“Of course! You know you can tell me anything, and it shall remain in my confidence.”
Bernard glanced about the empty room, Thomas’ father not seen all night, and lowered his voice. “My so-called brothers treat me like a fool, as if I were a joke to them. And their disrespect, shown in front of the men I command, means they too look upon me with disdain.” His chest tightened, and tears threatened to reveal themselves. “It’s as if I am nothing but an object of ridicule with them. I wish sometimes I could just run away, and leave all of this behind.”
Thomas refilled his glass. “Why don’t you?”
Bernard laughed. “Right! And embarrass my family? I would be disowned, lose my title, and be forced to come live with you!”
Thomas grinned. “We could be roommates like we always talked about.”
Bernard sighed. “What wonderfully naïve notions we had back then.”
Thomas closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Ahh, to be young again, when you didn’t understand the responsibilities that lay ahead of you, and I didn’t know what it meant to be a poor man in a rich man’s world.”
Bernard smiled at his friend. “Is it really that hard? Life for you, I mean?”
Thomas opened his eyes and nodded. “You have no idea, and I’m happy for you that you never will. There is little work, and what little there is, doesn’t pay well and isn’t reliable. Few need my father’s services, and though I can read and write, I know it’s his hidden talents that really pay the bills.”
“Hidden talents?”
Thomas gave him a look. “You know full-well what I’m talking about. I know you are here to see him, and not me, and no one pays what you did for a few letters. You’re availing yourself of his talents.” He waved a hand in front of him. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask what for. That’s between you and him, but all that to say, I don’t have his talents, and reading and writing for the illiterate will not keep me in food and shelter after my father passes.”
Bernard frowned, staring at his friend. The very notion that he could end up on the streets, begging, only to die from the elements, or worse, of starvation, was heart-wrenching. “Maybe I can help you.”
Thomas stared at him for a moment. “I wasn’t asking for charity, I was merely confiding in a friend. I don’t want, nor need, your pity.”
Bernard was slightly taken aback by the words, and for a moment, the hurt threatened to be replaced by anger.
Yet how were these words any different from the words he had said to himself over the years, when everything he had was given to him because of a title he hadn’t earned, but instead had been born into.
He wanted to be his own man, and he could understand why Thomas would feel the same way.
He smiled. “And you don’t have it, I assure you. You are a proud man, and I respect that, I truly do. You have more pride in yourself than I do in myself, I can assure you. What I meant was, when I earn my own reputation, my own station, I will need good people to work for me.” He leaned closer to his friend. “Should you ever find yourself desperate, there will be no shame in coming to me and asking for a job. I will make sure you never starve, or lack for warmth. You have my word as your friend.”
Thomas smiled slightly, his tensed muscles at the perceived slight, visibly relaxing. “I’m sorry, my friend. I should not have taken offense.” He raised his glass. “Should you earn the station you desire, I shall not hesitate to seek you out should my situation demand it.” He smiled. “But not a moment before.”
Bernard laughed. “Not a moment before!” He slammed his glass against his friend’s, then drained it. “And I hope soon that I will be able to fulfill my promise made this fine evening, thanks to your father.”
Thomas refilled both their glasses. “To your success, and my father’s steady hand!”
Another drink was had, and the warmth continued to spread through Bernard’s body, relaxing his tired muscles, and loosening his tight tongue. He lowered his voice. “Can you keep a secret?”
Thomas leaned closer, his elbow slipping off the table, his chin slamming into the unforgiving wood. Bernard roared with laughter, Thomas joining in.
“I’m drunk!”
“Yes, you are!” cried Bernard. “So am I!”
“Then if you are, you shouldn’t be telling me secrets!”
Bernard reached across the table and slapped his friend on the arm. “If I can’t trust my best friend, then who can I trust?”
Thomas raised his glass in salute. “This is true! This is true!”
Bernard lowered his voice again. “Do you want to know my secret?”
Thomas leaned in close, his voice a harsh whisper. “Yes, of course I do. What dastardly plan have you concocted?”
Bernard grinned. “Dastardly. I like that. I’ve figured out a way to get everything I want, and to make those insolent cretins who would mock me, rue the day they did.”
“Tell me!”
“The document your father is preparing for me will seal my fate, as it will those named in it.”
Thomas’ eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, everyone named will be dead within the week, their Order destroyed, and I will be owed a great debt of gratitude by the King himself.”
Thomas drew away slightly. “Who? Who are you talking about?”
Bernard sneered. “The Knights Templar, and those who would support them rather than our King.”
24
Outside Coulommiers, Kingdom of France
Sebastien tossed the stick, his dog racing after it, eagerly returning a few moments later, the process repeated yet again. It was a beautiful day, and his constitutional after tending to his morning chores was always a joy, this the only moment of peace he had on any given day.
Home was chaos.
Six kids, none older than eight, and a wife with the shrillest of voices one could imagine. He loved her, no one could doubt that, but when she raised her voice at the children, birds took flight for as far as the eye could see.
He swore she could cause a migration south if she really put her mind to it.
His friends ribbed him about it, since they had known each other since they were toddlers, and she had always had a volume that caused dogs to cringe. But it didn’t matter. She was perfect in every other way.
Yet he still needed his peace. Just half an hour a day. With the animals tended to, he had taken off this morning as he did every morning, his mutt eagerly accompanying him, a good guard against any brigand on the road. He had never encountered any problems before, though had heard tales from other townsfolk that would make a man’s skin crawl, though he occasionally had his doubts.
Yet it was still wise to bring the dog.
He tossed the stick once again, and once again the eager beast raced after it, then abruptly bolted to the left and into the trees.
“Parceval, get back here!”
He was ignored, and uttered a mild invective before heading into the trees after him.
“Parceval, where are you?”
He didn’t have to go far to find the mutt digging at the ground in a small clearing, a clearing that appeared to have been freshly dug up. His eyes narrowed and he tensed as he glanced about, searching the trees for unwelcome guests. Somebody had been here, the footprints evidence of that, and there had been many more than one. The area dug up was large, quite large, so whatever had been left here must have been substantial. This wasn’t
a hastily dug grave. This was the work of men intent on hiding something significant from view.
Treasure?
The thought at once thrilled and terrified him. Treasure meant something worth protecting, and therefore worth killing for. But it could also mean a way out of the poverty-stricken existence he and his family would suffer their entire lives.
Even just a few gold coins could mean insurance against a failed crop, or an illness that might spread through the pigs.
Which was why when Parceval started tugging at something that shone, he dropped to his hands and knees to help, rather than run away.
He nearly vomited when a pale hand appeared.
“Get away!” he ordered, shoving him aside. The dog backed off, though was soon digging again, a few paces away. Sebastien tugged at the hand, revealing an arm, then began digging, a gray-bearded face revealed.
A branch snapped behind him and he spun, his heart racing, but he saw nothing.
Calm down. There’s no one here.
He kept digging, and nearly shouted in triumph when he found a small purse on the man’s person. He eagerly untied it with shaking hands, eventually pouring its contents into his palm.
Coins totaling four deniers.
Four? That’s all?
Judging by what the man was wearing, he was clearly a knight, though he curiously bore no markings. He could think of no knight who would carry only four deniers on his person.
Perhaps those who killed him took the rest.
Then why would they leave the four? It wasn’t as if it was well hidden. It made no sense to him.
Parceval barked.
He looked over to see another arm exposed. He scrambled over on his hands and knees, and began digging again, redirecting Parceval to get started a few paces away. Another distinguished beard was revealed, and another purse, again with four deniers.
Poor knights?
And with no surcoats to indicate whom they served?
Poor knights.
His jaw dropped as a thought occurred to him.
The Templar Detective Page 9
