The Templar's Cross: A Medieval Mystery (The Sir Law Kintour Mysteries Book 1)

by J. R. Tomlin

  Law rubbed his chin. “If Duncan spotted de Carnea and followed him—it seems possible that de Carnea was meeting someone, a buyer mayhap.”

  “If de Carnea met someone, whoever that was might have seen Duncan.”

  “Certes, Duncan had no reason to attack de Carnea. If it had been whomever he met, he would have had a chance to defend himself, nae been attacked from behind.”

  “De Carnea went armed with a dagger like any man might. Mayhap he did kill Duncan, though I thought him too much a coxcomb to be a killer.”

  Law shook his head. “It looked as though de Carnea was killed first, so who kent you were seeking him or that he had something worth stealing?”

  “Damn you, I have no idea! Whoever it was is likely to kill me next.” He held up his soft, uncallused hands. “You see I am no fighter. When I returned from hiring you, I could tell my room had been searched. I left certain items with dust on them so I would know if they’d been touched. It must have been whoever killed the two of them.” He jumped up, chair scraping on the floor as he shoved it back.

  Law growled impatiently in his throat. “You talk about paying a goodly sum, but what good can I do you if you won’t tell me what is going on? The only way to keep you alive is probably to catch whoever killed de Carnea. Holy Mother of God, all I know is the dead man’s name. That is nothing to go on.”

  Wrycht cocked his head and regarded Law thoughtfully. He let out a flamboyant sigh. “All right. Since I must, I’ll confide in you, but you wullnae believe my tale it is so fantastical.”

  Law smiled and waited for him to go on.

  “What do you know of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon, commonly known as the Knights Templar?”

  “Very little but that they were charged with heresy and executed, but that was a hundred years ago. What does it have to do with someone murdering Duncan and de Carnea?”

  “Then you are not aware that they were one of the richest orders ever to exist in Christendom?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Aye, they were. True, they had originally been Crusaders but with the favor of the pope. Throughout the Crusades, the Templars served as guards for columns on the march and led the charge in battle—for kings of every kingdom. They had so much favor with the pope that in 1139 Pope Innocent excused the Templars from obedience to any local laws or taxes except his own. Thanks to that, they soon became very, very rich indeed. In fact the order served as bankers for most Crusaders and pilgrims.

  “Then Jerusalem was lost. First the Templars retreated to the seaport of Acre, and then in just a few years lost that as well, their last foothold in the Holy Lands. What they did not lose that saved them was the ability to loan money. They lent to the crowned heads—for they remained rich beyond belief. But in the end that was what destroyed them.” Wrycht went to the windowsill where a pitcher and cups sat. He poured two cups of wine, brought them back and handed one to Law.

  “So…”

  After he took a long drink, Wrycht went on. “By 1307, they were as much moneylenders as knights. King Philip of France was deeply in debt to them, so deeply he could ne’er have repaid what he owed. Unfortunately for the Templars, about that time they cast out a knight who went to Philip with some stories that he could use against them. Or mayhap he bribed the man. Who can say? Anyroad, they were charged with pissing on the image of Christ in their ceremonies, of sodomy, and other great sins.”

  Law flinched but Wrycht continued after a pause.

  “Under torture, the Templar Maister Jacques de Molay confessed. The pope allowed Philip to use this as an excuse to seize all the Templars’ vast treasure—but he was too late.

  “When de Molay was burnt at the stake, much of the treasure had already disappeared. The treasure included a great cross that had been formed specifically to carry away accumulated gold and one of the largest gems in their vaults—” He held up his clenched fist. “—a ruby as large as this.”

  Law leaned forward, hands on his knees, and scowled. “A pretty fairy tale, but what does that have to do with dead men now in Perth?”

  “I am coming to that.”

  Law sighed, but made a circling motion with his hand for the man to get on with the tale.

  “This was all in the year of the great battle at Bannockburn—1314. A few Templars who were friends of King Robert the Bruce found refuge in Scotland on their way to what they hoped was safety in Norway. They fought in that battle. After all, King Robert and all of Scotland were under interdict and at odds with the pope. An enemy of my enemy is my friend, or so they thought.

  “But King Robert was equally desperate to make peace with the pope. He had to have them out of Scotland, so he ordered them gone. In their haste, part of the treasure was hidden to be retrieved later. That was the cross, left behind and ne’er reclaimed.” Wrycht beamed. “So what do you think of that?”

  Law raised an eyebrow. “Are you actually saying that after a hundred years you know where this great Templar treasure is hid? That it hasn’t been found in so much time?”

  “I have seen the lists in Paris of the treasure that was seized. It is clear that much did disappear. Nor is there any question that some few dozen of the Templars escaped France. Moreover, in Rome whilst working for a patron, de Carnea found a letter from one of the Templars in Scotland to a secret ally in Rome. He was to retrieve the cross to help Templars all over Europe who were trying to escape torture and execution. But travel to Scotland was nearly impossible. The English made sure of that by their blockade at sea. He died before he could act. By that time, the remaining Templars had been wiped out.”

  “All right,” Law said blandly, wondering if he was expected to believe this nonsense.

  “There is nothing in any record to show that the lost Templar treasure was ever recovered, although you may be sure the French king tried everything to do so. No, there is no denying that part of the Templar hoard came to Scotland.” Wrycht gave a regretful smile. “I admit that it was de Carnea who first came across the letter.” He smirked. “Needless to say his patron, seeking something else for the pope, never knew of it. The letter led him to the archives in France. He brought me into it because he kent I could find a good buyer and being a Scot could help him reach it in the first place.”

  Law stroked his beard. “So it actually belongs to the king of France.”

  “The king of France!” Wrycht got up to refill his cup. “No more than it belongs to the Jacques de Molay, long since nothing but a pile of ashes at the stake where he died cursing King Philip. It belongs to whoever can find it and is strong enough to hold it.”

  “So far it would seem no one is that strong.” If it existed. But if he was paid, what matter to him if it existed or not and in looking for it, he just might discover who had murdered Duncan. If there was still a debt between them, finding that would put it paid.

  “I’ll pay you. You need the coins. That is plain to see.” The man rushed to a small kist at the foot of the bed and flung it open. He shoved the contents aside, fumbled cursing for a moment, and straightened with a leather bag in his hand. He held it out to Law. “Fifty demi-nobles. It is everything I have except for a few coins to pay for my lodging until I have the cross. It must be enow because if you dinnae help me, I am a dead man! You must find it before whoever else is seeking it kills me.”

  Law clicked his tongue on his teeth. This was enough coin he could take his time finding a new lord to serve. With that much he might even find a new plan, so he took the bag and opened it to see it was filled with gold coins bearing the likeness of King James. He pulled the drawstring tight and thrust it into his doublet. “I’ll see what I can do for you. Mayhap if I track down where de Carnea was abiding, it may give a hint who killed him. But I can give you no oath except that I’ll do my best. I’ll come back tonight to tell you if I’ve learnt anything.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, letting the door fall closed behind him.

  It was midaft
ernoon and the bells of Nones were ringing when Law returned home. Cormac lounged on the edge of Law’s bed, tuning his clàrsach.

  Law sat at the table and asked, “What’s to do?”

  The young man raised an eyebrow. “Nothing here, but you look like a cat that’s been into the creamery.”

  “This business is dangerous and I’m being spun lies. Still it has paid enough coin that I dinnae care.” His mouth twisted in a sardonic grin. “Duncan was a hard man to get along with. Not that I’d say so to the sheriff. In fact, if you’ll carry a coin to the priests for the repose of his soul I’d be right grateful.”

  “I shall if you like.”

  “Good lad. How is your Gaelic second sight the day?”

  Cormac sat up straight. “I’m no seventh son of a seventh son, you Sassenach. Nor am I a lad.”

  “Saying so proves that you still are.” Law patted the bag of coins tucked under his doublet. “But what did you think of Lord Blinsele?”

  “He looked down his nose at me, but all lords do that. He seemed no worse than most, more courteous than some.”

  “He’s no lord and has at least one name too many. He started as a Lord Blinsele and then turned into a Maister Wrycht, and the nonce he says it is actually plain Johne Wrycht. But he still had gold to pay me, so I can overlook a few faults.”

  Cormac plucked a single note on his clàrsach. “Law, if yon dead men are anything to judge by, he is deep in trouble. Are you going to help him?”

  Law frowned and opened his mouth to reply. The sound of footfalls on the stairs made him pause. Cormac rose and went to open the door.

  A woman was halfway up the stairs. Her blue woolen gown was simply cut but was decorated with embroidery around the low, scooped neck, so that her long neck and fair skin were shown off. She was slender and high-breasted; her narrow hands were clasped at her waist. Her black, glossy hair was pulled back into a snood at the base of her neck. She climbed the stairs with slow steps, looking at Law with sapphire-colored eyes the exact shade of her dress. The fragrance of rose petals wafted before her. She looked the kind to use her wiles to get her way, though that had never worked well on him.

  As the woman passed Cormac, he flashed a grin and winked at Law from behind her back. He stepped out and softly pulled the door closed behind him.

  Law stood and inclined his head to his visitor, saying, “You have me at a loss.”

  She murmured, “I shock you by coming here unescorted, but I vow that it was out of necessity.”

  “Certes.” He bowed and indicated the stool beside his table.

  “Thank you,” she said in a soft, melodious voice. She sat down primly, arranging her skirt around her.

  Law leaned a shoulder against the wall. “What is it that brings you here with such necessity…my lady?”

  “Marguerite de Neuillay. Please, but you must call me Marguerite.” She looked down at her hands as she returned them to her lap. “Nuns do like to gossip, you know.” Looking up with a shy smile, she said, “I stay in the guesthouse at St. Leonard’s Religious House, and they have been abuzz about what was said at the assize and that your friend’s death was…related…somehow to the sad murder near the bridge.”

  She gracefully clasped her hands over her chest as though at prayer, and a gem sparkled on the ring finger of her right hand. “I want you to know that I went to the church to offer prayers for the repose of your friend’s soul.”

  “That was kind of you…Lady Marguerite.”

  “Forgive me.” She leaned forward slightly, looking earnestly into Law’s face. “I don’t come to gossip. I came to Scotland to find my only remaining brother, who is somewhere in your…what are they called? Your Highlands?”

  “You came alone?” Law lifted an eyebrow. “A dangerous journey for anyone, but especially for a woman with no escort.”

  She lowered her eyes, and color flooded her cheeks. “I had no choice. The only men left in my family after all of the fighting and killing are a cousin somewhere in the army of the king fighting against the English and my brother. My brother must return to France. He must! Only he can inherit since our father’s death or else we’ll be left in penury.”

  Law nodded. A possible story, but she was playing at the game of flirtation, a game one he’d played with women more expert than she. He leaned towards her slightly keeping his gaze on her face.

  “His letters said he was in the town called Aberdeen. The roads to reach there are said to be horribly dangerous. I can offer you ten écu d'or if you go there and bring him back to me.” She raised both hands towards Law in a lissome motion of offering. “I give you my word that I have the money in the keeping of the good sisters at the Religious House.”

  He raised an eyebrow. French gold coins were worth a great deal. “That is a fine offer,” Law said thoughtfully. That sum would keep him well for half a year if he was careful. “Especially since you ken nothing about me.”

  “I asked about for someone honorable looking for work and was told you had served the Duke de Touraine before he was killed.” She blushed quite prettily. “But of course, I am not so trusting as to pay you before you return with my brother.”

  Law couldn’t help the snort that was expelled through his nose. He rubbed his forehead between his eyebrows.

  She looked at him, her chin trembling slightly. “You don’t believe me.” She shook her head as though to chase away her weakness. “I cannot inherit our father’s lands. They are not a great estate, but we cannot lose them. Please say that you’ll help me.”

  He huffed softly. A trip to Aberdeen would be well worth making if she could indeed pay that well, but he’d have to see some gold first. “Why did he go so far from home?”

  “He made a great friendship, during the fighting, with the son of one of your earls. They came back together, Étienne having been promised the chance of a good marriage. Not into the earl’s family, of course, but still a good match.”

  “And you are certain he is yet in Aberdeen? I can hardly search all of the Hielands for him.”

  “I…I am not sure. He mentioned nothing about going elsewhere when he sent the letter, but it took a long time to reach us and for me to reach here. I think he would have said so had he planned to leave.”

  Law nodded slowly. “Even I would not make the ride through the Hielands alone. I’ll need to hire at least a few men to ride with me. For that, I will need at least part of the payment. I won’t pay out of my own purse.”

  Lifting a shoulder, she tucked her chin down and looked up at him through thick, dark lashes. She gave one slow, languorous flutter of her eyelashes. “I truly believe I can trust you.”

  He smiled gently; she was a pretty thing, and he suspected as dangerous as an asp indolently sunning itself. “Mayhap you should not trust so readily.”

  “But I must trust someone.” She stroked his arm. “Let us discuss the cost of hiring men…mayhap over a glass of wine.”

  “Aye. I’ll listen, but I make no promises.” Law patted her hand before he lifted it from his arm. He could put off leaving until he’d finished the business with Wrycht and have no worries about money for a long time—if she actually had it. Something was off in her story—of that he was sure. “I’ll call down for a flagon.”

  He heard the stool scrape on the floor and the swish of her skirt behind him. Something slammed into the side of his head. Pain flashed through his skull like lightning. Staggering, he jerked his hand toward his hilt as he turned. The seat of the stool swung into his forehead. He grabbed at her skirt as he went onto one knee. She raised the stool over her head. Swaying, he saw two stools and grabbed. He missed and one smashed into the top of his head. Black seeped around the edge of his vision. The sound of the sea roared in Law’s ears as it rushed over his head.

  Law awoke on the floor. His head throbbed and the room seemed to be hazy with fog. For a moment, he thought he had dreamt the attack, but when he moved, his stomach heaved. He looked around to find Marguerite, but Corma
c was kneeling beside him.

  He gently wiped at Law’s forehead with a damp cloth. “’S e plaigh a th’ annad. What a knight, letting a woman get the better of you.”

  Law snorted as he sat up, which made the throbbing in his head whang even harder. “In the name of all the saints, don’t tell anyone. I’ll ne’er find a position if it’s noised about.”

  Cormac sat back on his heels and held out the cloth that was tinged pink with blood. “She gave you a hell of a clout on the head. I saw her bustling out in a hurry, but didn’t think to find you laid out like a slab of mutton.”

  With a hand on the cot, Law levered himself to his feet. “I kent I couldn’t trust her. Had it been a man, I’d ne’er had turned my back. I’ll remember that next time.” He touched the side of his head where the pain was the worst and his fingers came away with a smear of blood, but not enough that he thought he had more than a minor split in the skin.

  Cormac motioned toward clothes scattered on the floor in front of the open kist. “She was searching for something. Did she find it? Is anything missing?”

  “Not unless she was after my small clothes.” Law gingerly sat on the cot. He patted the front of his doublet where she’d unlaced it and with relief felt the bag holding the pay from Wrycht still where it should be. “She spun me a story about finding a brother traveling somewhere in the Hielands. But she didn’t search me and my room for a brother. Mayhap for that cross Wrycht spun a story about…if it exists. Search all she wanted, I certes did not have it.”

  “There have not been Templars since—” Cormac paused looking thoughtful. “—since forever. Far before I was born. Or my dadaidh before me, I think.”

  For a few minutes, Law sat frowning at the floor. Then he said in a dismissive tone, “About that long, and I doubt they or their treasure are returning. But I’ve been paid well enough to cover the cost of a sore head.”

  When Cormac gave him a puzzled look, Law just shook his head, wincing at a twinge that went straight down his neck. He cautiously levered himself to his feet. His head pounded with every step down the stairs, until he sank gratefully onto a bench near the fire, motioning for Wulle to bring him a pitcher of ale. The innkeeper smirked and said Law’s company had improved since his last caller. Law shrugged the comment off and filled his cup to the top and downed the thick brew in a long draught. After he filled the cup again and downed this one a little more slowly, but it took a third to make him feel human again and less humiliated at letting a woman knock him out.