“State your business.”
Thomas shuddered at the firmness and confidence of the imposing man’s voice. “Umm, I have a document that must be seen by someone in charge.”
“What is the nature of this document?”
“I-I can show you it, if you want.”
The guard nodded, and Thomas produced the forgery. The man’s eyes widened. “Come with me.”
Thomas scrambled to keep up, the man marching through the courtyard toward a large building, with a sense of urgency that with each step gave him more hope. If whomever he was being taken to felt as much urgency, his quest for justice, for vengeance, might just be quenched.
They entered the building and the guard held out a finger, pointing at the floor. “Wait here.”
Thomas stopped as the guard showed the forgery to another man, whose eyes widened like saucers as he read it. He dismissed the guard, then beckoned Thomas to follow him, no words exchanged. They went deeper into the bowels of the building, eventually arriving at a set of double doors. Three quick raps and they were inside, the document presented to an elderly man sitting behind a simple desk, his gray beard neatly trimmed, his clothes simple but clean, his Templar tunic a crisp white and unmarred by battle. He read the document, his surprise evident, though less pronounced than the previous two men. He dismissed Thomas’ escort, who closed the doors behind him.
“Have a seat.”
Thomas took the proffered chair, noticing for the first time that his hands were trembling as he clutched his pouch close to his chest.
“I am Sir Matthew Norris, commander of this facility, and Templar Master for France. And you are?”
“T-Thomas Durant.”
“And how did you come to possess this document?”
“My-my father made it.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Made it? Explain.”
Thomas stared at the floor, then out the window, as he tried to find the words to explain his father was a criminal, without disrespecting the now dead man.
“Well, boy, out with it!”
Thomas flinched. “Umm, he’s a forger, sir.”
An audible sigh escaped his interrogator. “So this is a forgery?”
“Yes.”
A sign of the cross was made, likely a thanks to God, Sir Matthew obviously having thought it might be genuine. “And what is the purpose of this? Are you here to blackmail us into giving you money in exchange for not releasing it?”
A pit formed in Thomas’ stomach and his jaw dropped. “Oh, no! Nothing like that!”
“Then you better explain.”
“Perhaps this will help.” Thomas produced the confession, handing it to Matthew, who quickly scanned it, his eyes widening.”
“Sir Bernard de Claret commissioned this?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never heard of him, but I’ve heard of the family, of course. Well connected. So according to this, Sir Bernard had your father create this document, forging the signatures on the bottom from another document that Sir Bernard had in his possession.”
“Yes.”
“And why isn’t your father here to attest to this?”
“Because he’s dead, sir. Murdered this very morning by Sir Bernard.”
The man frowned, his voice becoming more gentle. “I’m truly sorry for your loss. He shall be in my prayers tonight.” He sighed. “What else can you tell me?”
“We made rather merry last night, sir, and Bernard told me that he was doing this to earn his own way, to respect, I guess, instead of relying on his family name. Apparently, he was teased a lot, and disrespected by the others in the King’s Personal Guard.”
“So destroying the Templars is his solution? Unbelievable.”
“Yes, sir, but I think there’s more to it than that.”
Matthew leaned forward in his chair. “Explain.”
“Well, from what I can recall—and forgive me, it is a little fuzzy as I had much to drink—I don’t think this was all his idea.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I think the forgery was his idea, but all he was doing was creating a false copy of a document they were already looking for. My understanding is they are interrogating those men listed, trying to find a document such as this, and executing them when they don’t.”
Matthew exhaled loudly, leaning back in his chair. He tapped the forgery. “Do you recognize any of these names?”
Thomas shook his head. “No.”
“Well I do. In fact, I recognize them all. And two on this list are dead already. We received word yesterday of Guy Fabron’s murder, along with his wife, and this morning of Sir Gilbert de St. Leger’s murder in his chambers. This would seem to lend credence to your story.”
“What will you do?”
Matthew raised his voice, shouting for someone, a young man rushing in moments later. He handed him the forgery. “Record these names, then send messengers to them all. Tell them to seek shelter immediately, as their lives may be in danger. Further instructions will follow.”
“Yes, sir.” The young man quickly wrote down the names then departed.
“Is there anything else you can do? Can you go to the King and explain everything? Have Bernard arrested?”
The Templar grunted. “Son, I don’t think you understand what is going on here.”
Thomas stared at him, the old man apparently correct.
“Son, Sir Bernard created a forgery of a document he was looking for—the King’s Personal Guard, were looking for. The King’s Personal Guard do nothing unless ordered to by the King himself.”
“So…” Thomas’ stomach flipped and his eyes shot wide. “You mean the King ordered them to find this document?”
“Exactly.”
“Then what-what are you going to do?”
Matthew sighed. “I’m not sure yet, but if I can’t figure out something soon, it may be too late, and none of us may survive the week.”
“Surely he couldn’t do anything to you! You’re the Knights Templar!”
“Son, he’s the King, and the King can do pretty much anything he wants as long as he has the tacit support of his court. And a document such as this”—he jabbed a finger at the forgery—“would be enough to secure it.”
“But why would he do such a thing? Why would the King want to destroy the Templars?”
“Do you have any idea what we do here?”
Thomas glanced around, then shrugged. “I-I really don’t know. I’m sorry. I always thought you defended the Holy Land.”
“Yes, but we also control a massive amount of wealth, and lend that money to people, including people like your king.”
Thomas’ eyes widened. “The King owes you money?”
“A nearly unfathomable amount. And should he eliminate us…?”
Thomas’ jaw dropped. “He won’t have to repay what he owes!”
“Exactly.”
Thomas shook his head slowly. “Then there’s no hope. He’ll never listen to anything we say, because there’s too much at stake.”
“I fear you may be right, my young friend.” Matthew rose and Thomas quickly followed. “I suggest you return home and tend to your father. Then I suggest you go somewhere Sir Bernard is unaware of, for I fear he will return to eliminate the last witness to his crime.”
Thomas shuddered. “I have nowhere to go. And I will have no man drive me from my home.”
Matthew rounded the desk and placed a hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “You’re a brave lad. I’m sure your father must have been very proud of you.” He led him to the door. “If you insist on staying, then leave your address with my clerk, as I may need to call upon you. May the good Lord protect you.”
“And you, sir. All of you.”
34
De Saint-Michel Residence
Mauperthuis, Kingdom of France
Sir Marcus sat in the hall of Sir Olivier de Saint-Michel’s home, an impressive affair for the country, this apparently a summer refuge
when the nobleman wanted to escape the bustle of Paris. They had arrived last night, and had stood vigil since, awaiting the arrival of those determined to make this Olivier’s final resting place.
“You say the delegation from the Holy Land is missing.”
Marcus nodded, scratching a well-behaved Tanya behind the ears, the dog proving a good companion. “Sir Raimond said they were overdue. Assuming that hasn’t changed, then they must be at least three days late now.”
Olivier shook his head. “Impossible. I traveled with them, and they spent the night here just three days ago. They were only half a day’s ride from meeting with Sir Raimond.”
Marcus frowned. “Then something must have happened to them.”
“I can’t see anything that could have delayed them from where we parted. Not this long.”
Simon grunted. “Unless they were intercepted by a messenger, and changed their plans.”
Marcus nodded. “Yes, that is possible. But to not then send a messenger to inform Sir Raimond?” He shook his head. “I can’t believe that.”
“You’re probably right.”
Marcus winked at his sergeant. “I’m always right.”
Simon gave him a look. “Where’s the humility now?”
Olivier laughed. “I envy you, Sir Marcus. The respect and camaraderie you share with your men is something to behold, something I think all men should aspire to, though I fear far too many fail at. I know when the King requires me to raise an army, I try to treat my men with respect, but our stations are so different, and I am taking them from their homes and duties, that I know, despite the façade, that they tolerate me more than anything else.”
Marcus wasn’t certain what to say to that without confirming what the man was saying. “Things are different in the Order. I have no wealth or power for my men to be jealous or envious of, and beyond a title, I have little more than those who would serve under me. In fact, my sergeant and squires may possess more worldly goods than I, as their vows are far less restrictive than mine.” He grinned at Simon and the others. “I should be envious of them, should the good Lord not tell me different.”
His squire, David, perched near the window as a lookout, inhaled quickly.
“What is it?”
“Riders. Four of them, coming down the path.”
“This could be it.” Marcus rose and straightened his armor. “Are they wearing our markings?”
David shook his head. “No. It looks like the King’s Personal Guard.”
Marcus exchanged a puzzled glance with Simon, then turned to Olivier. “Do you have business with the King that might bring these men?”
Olivier shook his head. “None that would require his guard. Messengers, of course, arrive all the time, but never the guard, and never four.”
Tanya growled, and Marcus signaled for her to stay, then strode toward the door. “Then let us see what their business is.”
David opened the door and Marcus strode through, followed by Simon then Olivier. The four riders came to a halt just short of the welcoming party, two of them dismounting.
Marcus stepped forward. “What is your business here?”
The man apparently in charge produced a document. “By order of His Majesty the King, I have a warrant for the arrest of Sir Olivier de Saint-Michel, as well as any and all Templars with him.”
Marcus’ eyebrows rose slightly at the last part, motioning for Simon and his squires to hold their ground, all three bristling with the implications. “And what are the charges?”
“Treason against the King.”
Olivier gasped. “Nonsense! I am loyal to the King. He knows that.”
A second document was produced and held out. “This is proof of your crime. A copy of what was discovered.”
Marcus took the document and read it, his chest tightening and his stomach quickly becoming unsettled. It was definitely a treasonous affair if this declaration were true. He showed it to Olivier, who quickly scanned it.
“I’ve never seen this before in my life.”
“Is that not your name on the bottom?”
“Yes, my name, but not my signature.”
“This is but a copy. The original is in safekeeping, and possesses the signatures of those involved in this conspiracy to overthrow the King. You will all come with us.”
Marcus ignored him, instead turning to Olivier. “You’ve never seen this before?”
“Never! I swear!”
Marcus quickly scanned the names at the bottom of the document. They matched exactly those on the genuine document he had already seen summarizing the meeting. “These are the same men who signed the agreed upon summary of your meeting last week, agreed?”
Olivier nodded. “Yes. I did sign that document.”
“And nothing of this nature was discussed there?”
“Of course not! That would be treasonous! We merely brought the delegation up to date on what had happened since they left the Holy Land, so they would be prepared for their meeting with the King and his representatives. Nothing calling for his overthrow was discussed. Nothing of the sort!”
Marcus turned back to the knights facing them. “I would suggest that this is a forgery, and your charges unfounded, especially considering somebody has been murdering the men named on this list.”
The man shifted from one foot to the other, glancing away for a second. “I would know nothing of that. I have my orders, and I intend to fulfill them.”
“Under whose command do you serve?”
“That is not your concern. I serve the King. You will come with us. Now.”
Marcus shook his head. “This man is under my protection. Since someone has been killing the men on this list, I cannot take the risk that you aren’t those responsible. Tell us where to bring him, and you have my word as a Templar knight, that he shall be delivered.”
“That is unacceptable. You and your men will surrender your arms, or face the consequences.”
Marcus smiled. “It wouldn’t end well for you, I assure you.”
The man stepped back and drew his sword, his companions doing the same. Marcus remained still, holding out a hand slightly to his left, steadying his men. “Are you sure you want to do this? I went to confession this morning, and my conscience is clear, my soul prepared for death. Are yours?”
“Will you surrender?”
“No.”
“Then die!”
The man charged forward and an arrow pierced his chest as Jeremy’s aim was quick and true. Marcus drew his sword, pushing Olivier back toward the door as he parried a blow from the second dismounted man. Simon thrust his sword through the gasping commander, removing him from the threat list as Tanya barked in the background, the closed door preventing her from getting in the way.
Another arrow was loosed, one of the soldiers on horseback crying out as he grabbed for his shoulder. Marcus stepped past the body of the commander and thrust his blade toward his prey, catching him on the side and deflecting off the chainmail. The man swung for a counterattack and Marcus pulled back, angling his sword to block the blow, the two blades sparking as they slid against each other. He snapped a kick at the man’s groin, his boot catching his opponent’s nether region, enough to have him double over momentarily. Marcus kneed him in the face, breaking his nose, blood spurting as he fell onto his back.
Marcus stepped over him, pointing at the now prone man, Simon finishing him off as Marcus rushed the two men still on horseback. He reached up for the wounded man and hauled him off his steed as the other turned away, urging his horse toward a hasty retreat. As Marcus dropped his sword and pulled his dagger, Jeremy rushed forward with David, both sending arrows arcing through the air, one hitting with a satisfying thud, the second a moment later, the rider falling backward in his saddle, then onto the gravel path.
And with a final thrust, Marcus buried his dagger to the hilt, the last of the four men sent to meet their maker.
Or His fallen angel.
Marcus stoo
d, surveying the scene, the four men sent to arrest them dead, there no mercy on the battlefields of the Holy Land, and no quarter shown here today.
It was unfortunate.
A distinctive sound he had heard too many times on the battlefield had him spinning and shielding Olivier. “Take cover!”
Jeremy cried out as the impact of the arrow was heard. Marcus looked to see his squire grabbing at his shoulder, the cloth torn, a bloody gash visible, the arrow responsible lying on the ground behind him.
A horse whinnied, and they all turned to see a lone rider racing away, a fifth man they hadn’t known was there.
“Should I pursue?” asked Simon, already reaching for one of the horses.
“No, he has too much of a lead, and we don’t know what awaits us out there. He could have friends, and then we’ll lose you to an ambush.”
“Then what should we do? We can’t stay here. They’ll claim we murdered four of the King’s guard.”
“Didn’t we?” asked David as he tended to Jeremy’s wound. “I mean, we did just kill four of the guard, issuing a lawful warrant.”
Marcus nodded. “Indeed we did.” He stepped over the body of the leader, retrieving the warrant and the copy of what Olivier insisted was a forgery. He quickly read the warrant, then turned to Jeremy. “How is he?”
“He’ll live. Nothing serious, but he should take it easy until it heals.”
Jeremy grunted. “Nonsense. It just grazed me. Nothing like what happened to you, sir.”
Marcus rotated his left shoulder, the pain now making itself evident, the brief battle unfortunately aggravating what he had almost forgotten about. “This is true, but I am an exceptional warrior.”
“Handsome too,” added Simon.
“Indeed. To compare yourself to me, is, well, a ridiculous notion.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” grimaced Jeremy. “May I get on my knees and kiss your royal ass, or is someone already in line?”
Marcus roared with laughter. “He’ll be okay. But I want you to return to the farm.”
Jeremy struggled to his feet, despite the protestations of David. “No, sir, I’ll be fine.”
Marcus waved his hand, cutting off the debate. “No. If we run into more trouble, you could get yourself killed. Besides, if they are arresting Templars, I’m concerned about the farm and the children. They may seek us out there, and I’d like someone to be there to protect them. Can I count on you to do that?”
The Templar Detective Page 12
