The Templar Detective

by J. Robert Kennedy

  As far as they were concerned, they were getting away with their crimes.

  The fact young Thomas remained unmolested, suggested they felt no sense of urgency in eliminating him as a witness. After all, Simon had found the young man in his own home. If Sir Bernard or his cohorts were concerned about this loose end, surely they would have sent someone to kill him before he could talk.

  Simon’s eyes narrowed as they crossed a covered bridge. Why hadn’t they tried to kill Thomas? He could understand Bernard not doing it, since he was probably in a hurry to deliver the forgery to his partners, but surely someone would have been sent back to eliminate the only other person who knew of their crime. According to Thomas, Bernard had confessed the entire plan to him, and if Thomas remembered, surely Bernard did as well.

  He sat upright as a thought occurred to him, his horse slowing automatically.

  Nobody else knows!

  If nobody else knew about the forgery, then only Bernard would know Thomas needed to be eliminated, and only he could do it without raising suspicions. He couldn’t simply order some of his men to travel to Paris, seek out the son of a known forger, and have him killed for no reason. At least not without raising suspicions.

  But if the others were in on his plans, then there would be no shortage of those who could come and clean up the mess left behind.

  The fact they hadn’t, had to mean that Bernard was acting alone, which would match Thomas’ story. Bernard had concocted this plan all by himself, and hadn’t told anyone, in order to appear the hero.

  That had to be it. There could be no other explanation that Simon could think of. Thomas was alive because Bernard was the only one who knew he needed to die, and didn’t have time to take care of it, because he was the only one who knew of the forgery, and was determined to be present when the incriminating evidence was presented to a grateful King, who had never held love in his heart for the Knights Templar.

  He glanced back at Thomas, the young man more settled in his saddle now that he realized the horse was better equipped to handle the low light level than his own paltry senses. Simon frowned. Once Bernard was successful in his plot to bring down the Templars with his forgery, he would come for Thomas to eliminate any chance of his crime being discovered.

  And with the Templars like himself arrested, and perhaps executed, there would be no one to protect the young man.

  His jaw squared and he faced forward once again, damning the timing as the last slivers of light faded and their guide slowed to a halt.

  They were done for the day, and he just prayed that his enemy did as expected, and stayed put until the morning, otherwise there might be no hope of intercepting them before they reached Paris.

  And the King.

  42

  Montry, Kingdom of France

  Sir Valentin stared at the two men as they were brought before him, his eyes narrowing. They looked familiar, and that shouldn’t be. Not in these parts. He had never spent any time here, and any townsfolk should be complete strangers to him.

  Yet these two, especially the older one, seemed familiar. They were dressed unremarkably, their clothes soiled though not in tatters, the cloth appearing cheap, their shoes and leggings functional though of poor quality. They appeared to be peasants in all manner except bearing.

  It was their cowering in fear at the abuse by his men that had made him take notice. They didn’t seem genuinely scared. He had seen enough plays to know when someone was acting, and these two were acting. Badly. There was no fear in their hearts, no terror in their eyes.

  These men were not who they pretended to be.

  “What is your name?”

  “Jean,” replied the older man. “This is my brother, Paul.” He stared at Valentin, raising his hands toward him, his face doing a fairly decent imitation of someone pleading for forgiveness. “Sir, we’ve done nothing wrong. We merely wanted to see what was happening. We were on our way home when you had us brought before you.”

  Valentin stared at him, now certain he had encountered these men before. Even the voice seemed familiar. “Have we met before?”

  “Jean” lowered his eyes toward the ground as his head shook vigorously. “Surely not. I don’t know if I’ve ever had the honor of meeting a knight, sir.”

  Valentin grabbed the man by the chin and forced him to look up. He stepped closer, staring into the man’s eyes, finding not even a hint of fear there. “You are not a peasant.”

  “I am a farmer, like my brother.”

  “Where is your farm?”

  “Just outside of town.”

  And then it occurred to him where he had met this man and his companion before. He stepped back, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “The tavern in Crécy-la-Chapelle.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, and his companion’s face expressed the first truly genuine emotion yet.

  Resignation.

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

  “You were the drunk at the tavern, who challenged me and my men to a fight.”

  “I’m sure you have me mistaken for someone else.”

  Valentin drew his sword, pointing it at the man’s chest. “You’re a Templar knight!”

  Swords were drawn all around the men, the two imposters quickly encircled as the man’s cowering form slowly straightened into the proud warrior he actually was. He lifted his tunic over his head then turned it inside out, revealing the bright red cross that marked the traitorous order, his companion doing the same, his tunic a brown instead of white.

  “Your name?”

  “I am Sir Marcus de Rancourt, Templar knight. This is my squire, David. I ask that he be let go, as he has no involvement in this beyond obeying my orders.”

  “He has sworn an oath to an Order that we now have proof plots against the King. His station within your traitorous organization is irrelevant.”

  Marcus frowned, glancing about as if searching for someone. “All is not what it seems, Sir…?”

  “Valentin de Vaux.”

  Marcus bowed slightly, Valentin returning the gesture, courtesy among knights universal, even if the enemy. “I thought perhaps I had the honor of addressing Sir Bernard de Claret.”

  Valentin’s eyes narrowed. Why would this man think that? Why would he even know of Bernard? He glanced over his shoulder and saw Bernard amidst a group of his men about fifty paces away, no doubt recounting his heroic deeds that had changed the men’s opinions of him dramatically.

  It had even changed his own.

  To face down a member of the aristocracy alone, to interrogate him successfully, to intimidate him enough into not only admitting the document they sought existed, but to produce it as well, he would have thought was impossible if asked yesterday. Yet here they stood, the document in hand, the accused all either dead or in chains in this very town square, over a dozen of their Templar accomplices in custody, all because the most cowardly, inept man he knew, had miraculously faced down what should have been his superior foe in every way, and won.

  If he didn’t have the document on his person, he never would have believed it possible.

  And now this Templar knight, someone he had encountered only a few days ago at a tavern in the town of their first victims, was asking of him. Could word have already spread of his deeds, and the Templars were looking to kill him in revenge?

  That was possible. Bernard had been boasting every chance he got, and he was sure tongues were wagging among the men and those they encountered. It was conceivable these Templars had been sent to kill him, perhaps even to try and retrieve the document proving their treasonous plot.

  He smiled at the knight. “You would have me identify him, so that you may know the face of the man who is your undoing? So that you can point him out to your accomplices hidden among the crowd, so that they may seek their revenge upon him? What sort of fool do you think I am?”

  Marcus stared at him, his face as serious as any Valentin had ever regarded. “You, sir, I am confi
dent, are no fool. But you are being played for one.”

  Valentin’s eyes narrowed. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  Marcus frowned. “Unfortunately, now is not the time to explain. But in time, you will understand that what is happening here, today, is an injustice, and you are but a pawn in a clever puppet master’s magnum opus.”

  An ember of anger sparked in Valentin’s belly, and he was tempted to end this man’s life right then, but he held back. There was something in his words that made him stop, an inner voice telling him to let this man live, as he might yet prove useful, though in a way he couldn’t yet fathom.

  He stepped back, sheathing his sword. “Put them with the others.”

  “Sir, the transports are here!”

  Valentin glanced over his shoulder to see half a dozen wagons approaching, and he smiled. “Excellent. Load the prisoners immediately. We leave tonight.”

  43

  Montry, Kingdom of France

  Simon waited outside the town of Montry, his patience growing thin as he and Thomas concealed themselves in the forest, awaiting the return of their guide. He had been gone almost an hour, and Simon was becoming concerned the young man might have been arrested.

  He stared at his surcoat, wondering if displaying the Templar colors was wise, considering what was going on. Part of him refused to give in to the lies, convinced that removing the symbols of his Order would be showing cowardice, though the more logical part of him countered with the fact that at this moment in time, he might be the only hope to save the Order. He had the sole witness to the crime, and the proof of it in his saddlebags.

  “Someone’s coming!” hissed Thomas, cowering behind his horse. Simon placed his hand on the pommel of his sword, then breathed easy as he spotted their guide, Mario, picking his way through the trees.

  “Over here.”

  Mario flinched, then visibly relaxed as he pressed through the brush. Simon regarded him and frowned, the young man clearly not bearing good news.

  “What did you find out?”

  Mario took a water flask offered him by Thomas. “I’m afraid it’s not good.” He took several large gulps, then handed the flask back. “Sir Valentin and his men left for Paris with the prisoners last night.”

  Simon muttered a curse, smacking a fist into his other palm. “We should have traveled through the night.”

  Mario shook his head. “It would not have mattered. They would have been hours ahead of us.”

  “What of Sir Marcus? Did you see him?”

  Mario sighed. “I fear this is the worst news. The reason we didn’t find him and his squire at the rendezvous point, is that they were recognized and arrested just before the departure for Paris.”

  Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Recognized? By whom?”

  “By Sir Valentin himself. Apparently, there was some altercation at a tavern?”

  Simon’s jaw dropped as the connections were made. Valentin must have been one of the three knights Marcus confronted while drunk. Marcus wouldn’t have remembered them, therefore wouldn’t have thought keeping his distance would be necessary. The members of the King’s Personal Guard were sober, however, and would have easily recognized the man, a Templar knight, that had accosted them only a few nights before.

  Damn the drink!

  “Were they harmed?”

  Mario shook his head. “My contact said calm words were exchanged, your master conducting himself quite bravely. They were arrested and transported with the others. I have no information to suggest they were harmed. At least here.”

  Simon frowned at the addition. He had little doubt that if Marcus and David made it out of the town alive, they would remain that way until they reached their destination, where they would likely be put on trial, then executed.

  And the Order would be finished.

  “Why were you gone so long?”

  Mario smiled slightly. “Because I encountered another one of our messengers.”

  Simon eyed him. “You have a smile. I sense good news?”

  “Perhaps. He was carrying a message from the delegation from Rome.”

  Hope swelled through Simon’s body at the mention of the Papal delegation sent from Rome to meet with King Philip and the Templars from the Holy Land. “Yes? What did he say?”

  “They are here! Not even an hour ahead of us, on their way to Paris.”

  Suddenly trepidation filled him as he recalled the Pope’s representatives were to be accompanied by Templars for protection. “Do they know what is going on?”

  Mario shook his head. “As far as I know, they are completely unaware.”

  Simon closed his eyes, cursing once again. “Then they are heading into a possible trap.”

  Mario nodded. “Perhaps. But apparently they are over two-hundred strong.”

  Simon’s eyes widened as an idea slowly evolved. “We need to intercept them. Now, before they reach Paris!”

  44

  Approaching Paris, Kingdom of France

  “Why didn’t you tell them what was going on?”

  Sir Marcus glanced at David, sitting beside him in the cramped transport as it jostled its way to Paris. They were already on the outskirts, and he had little doubt they would reach their destination within the hour. What he didn’t know was whether that would be some prison, to await trial, or the royal court, to be presented to the King himself.

  He was betting on the latter, which could be fortunate if they had what they needed to prove this entire situation was the creation of one man hell-bent on earning his name. Surely the King would want the truth, and even if he didn’t, if he were a co-conspirator, the public revelation that the evidence used to bring down the Templars was fake, would certainly halt any nefarious schemes he might have.

  For though the King might be the king, that could change if he lost the support of the nobility that made him so.

  And the Templars were powerful, with many friends and allies, not to mention incredible wealth.

  Taking them down, on demonstrably false evidence, could prove too difficult to risk.

  But all of that was moot if the evidence never arrived, and at this moment, he had no idea where Simon was. Had he made it to Paris? Did he have the copy of the forgery and the confession? He cursed himself for not thinking to tell Simon to bring the forger’s son with him. He could prove a valuable witness. Though perhaps all was not lost on that front, the boy living in Paris. If word could get out, someone from the Order could collect the boy and bring him to the court to testify, perhaps in as little as an hour or two.

  If he could be found.

  “Sir?”

  Marcus realized he had been staring through David, his question forgotten. “Sorry. What was your question?”

  “Why didn’t you tell them what was going on?”

  “To what end? We have no proof beyond our word, and these men have already proven they are willing to murder to get what they want.” Marcus shook his head. “No, revealing what we know before we have the proof in hand, is too risky.”

  “But you practically told him that you knew something he didn’t.”

  Marcus nodded. “Yes. As a test.”

  David’s eyes narrowed. “A test?”

  “Yes. I wanted to see how he would react. If he knew what I was talking about, I think his reaction would have been somewhat different, don’t you?”

  David shrugged. “I’m really not sure. I suppose.”

  “Well, think about it. If you knew everything was based on a lie, and someone suggested to you that they knew the truth, then what would you do? I can think of several possibilities. One would be that he might kill me on the spot so I could tell no one what I knew. Another might be to mock me, to suggest that no matter what I thought I knew, there was nothing I could do about it, perhaps because he truly felt that way, or perhaps to make me think whatever I knew was of no importance.”

  “But he did neither.”

  “Exactly. Which makes me think Sir Valentin may
have no idea what is actually going on here.”

  “Yet he is still a murderer.”

  “I think we can be certain of that. If he was indeed one of the three we encountered at the tavern, then it is clear to me that those three men were there to commit the first of the murders, and are the three imposters we have been seeking.”

  “I think you’re right. But who will believe us?”

  “Probably no one. We need that forgery presented to our ultimate accuser, the King, and for the forger’s confession to be believed.”

  David’s eyes widened. “Do you think that’s even possible? I mean, an audience with the King?”

  “We all know the King is not a fan of the Templars. Nobody likes those they owe money to. And we know the King’s Personal Guard go nowhere without his personal approval. This mission was done at his behest, and now that everyone believes it has borne fruit, these men will want to present the proof to him in person, and he will want to receive it in front of his court to show he had been right all along to fear the motives of our Order, and by extension, Rome’s.”

  David grasped at his temples. “It’s just so much to fathom. A delegation from the Holy Land murdered, a king trying to destroy the Order and by extension, the Church. Forgeries, lies, murder, deceit. I cannot believe we have found so much sin in our homeland. I had always thought coming home would mean an end to all of that which we lived with daily in the Holy Land.”

  Marcus smiled slightly. “I too was mistaken on that front, but when this is all over, and should we survive, I say we carve out our own little part of this kingdom, and seek the peace that has escaped us our entire lives.”

  David smiled broadly. “That sounds good to me.” He paused. “With my own room?”

  Marcus chuckled. “My friend, if we survive the day, then everyone shall have their own room.”