The Last Crusade

by S. J. A. Turney

  Rounding the corner, he pushed at the door and slipped inside, eyes darting this way and that, fists bunching ready. Fortunately, the only figure within was Guillem, seated at the desk and looking over a file. The sergeant turned at the interruption and blinked in surprise.

  ‘Brother Arnau?’

  ‘Guillem, thank the Lord. I need two of these files and quickly.’

  As the black-robed Templar marked his place and closed the file he was working on, Arnau dashed over to the shelf where he’d first gone through the cases against the preceptrix. It was not difficult to find the two he needed, for their names were now becoming familiar. Diego de Morales was the one he was not entirely sure of, but was very likely a fake. But Luesia… it had been Ramon who had shown him the Luesia file in this very room and explained the discrepancies with the land. And now he had the Luesia case file here with de Mont’s twisting of the facts, as well as the real donative file for Luesia from the Order’s own records, which did not match. Thanking Guillem, who simply continued to look nonplussed, Arnau bundled the two files beneath his arm and dashed out once more, across to the preceptory’s lesser gate, where Bernat still held the door open, speaking in low tones with the squire. Arnau nodded to the man and passed the files to Tristán.

  ‘Tether my horse here and take these files and hide them with the others. These prove our case.’

  The squire tossed the reins to Arnau, who tied them to the ring in the monastery wall as Tristán took the files and mounted once more, tucking them away safely. It would take only an hour or so for him to ride back to the ruined hut, four miles along the river towards the coast, hide the files, and then return.

  ‘Make sure you’re not followed and if you are, lose them. When you return, come to the old mill instead.’

  Tristán nodded and turned his horse, riding off.

  ‘What in Heaven’s name is going on?’ Bernat muttered.

  ‘We’re going to save the preceptrix and bring down de Mont,’ Arnau grinned victoriously.

  Leaving the sergeant to his business, he strode with a purposeful gait across the dusty ground towards the chapter house where de Mont would undoubtedly be found. He’d have liked to go to Ramon and Balthesar and tell them everything, bringing them in on it all, but that was not feasible yet. They were in the old mill, and a dozen of La Selva’s men watched the place. There was a very good chance that they would do everything they could to stop Arnau entering the mill, and if word of what had happened in the city had already got back to them, then Arnau’s life would be worth little to them. If he could cow de Mont, though, then he could get the better of them all and have the man currently controlling Rourell order the guards to step aside.

  Shoulders back and wearing his full mantle once more, having changed at the ruined hut, Arnau swept into the chapter house like the wrath of God. Sure enough, de Mont sat on the preceptor’s chair with the unpleasant Brother Jaume beside him. The two had been deep in conversation, but stopped and looked up at this crude interruption.

  ‘Brother Arnau de Vallbona,’ the senior man said with a disapproving tone. ‘I had assumed you had fled when you disappeared so suddenly and without explanation. I must admit that I am surprised to see you, and particularly looking so happy with yourself. A development that concerns me.’

  ‘I’m sure it does,’ snapped Arnau. ‘…“Vengeance is mine, and I shall yield it, so that the foot of them slip. The day of perdition is nigh, and those times hasten to be present”.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Deuteronomy. Very clever,’ de Mont sighed in a bored manner. ‘Your point?’

  ‘My point is perhaps also best expressed from the scriptures – “But to cowardly men, and the faithless, and cursed, and murderers, and fornicators, and to witches, and to worshippers of idols, and to all liars, they shall be in the pool burning with fire and brimstone, that is the second death”.’

  ‘You must perform a sermon for us some time, Vallbona.’

  ‘Your conspiracy is undone, de Mont.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘We know all about it. How the archbishop and the paborda, Lord La Selva, conspire with senior Templars such as de Comminges to ruin Rourell and to bring down the preceptrix. We know that the spurious claims of nobles that have undoubtedly been brought forth at the urging of the conspirators are uniformly false and have no grounding in reality. We know that you have falsified the Order’s records with respect to the claims and your friends have removed all the files from Barbera to prevent the truth being revealed. It was all very well thought out, and with only your falsified excerpts to work from, the claims would all be upheld. But you reckoned without good men, of whom I am proud to be one.’

  ‘You do have a flair for the dramatic,’ de Mont replied mildly.

  ‘He should have been sent to Barbera for punishment when he first appeared,’ snapped Brother Jaume.

  ‘Now, now,’ de Mont sighed. ‘Brother Arnau here is only doing what he believes to be right, and that is to be expected and even lauded of a brother. I for one will not punish a man for being righteous, even if I find myself in opposition.’ He turned to Arnau. ‘And I am extremely regretful that it has come to this, but whatever you think you have achieved, it will come to naught.’

  Arnau shook his head with a vicious smile. ‘I have the evidence, de Mont. I have your falsified files for two of the cases, along with the real files, which we retrieved from the paborda’s library in Tarragona. They are being held in a safe and secret place, but should you doubt my word, I will cite the case of Sir Michael of Luesia in the region of Zaragoza, of which I am sure you are well aware. I have the file from your office with your own copy, and the file which shows clearly the full donation of all lands mentioned to Rourell. It is inescapable proof of your falsity. I ask you now, allowing for the possibility of redemption and truth, to declare these cases null and void and to exonerate the preceptrix on all counts. End this farce and take your henchmen and leave Rourell.’

  He frowned as Brother Jaume started to clap his hands in a sarcastic manner, his smile almost feral. What was he missing? He turned back to de Mont and looked the man in the eyes. ‘Well, Brother de Mont?’

  The senior man pursed his lips and turned to his companion. ‘Brother Jaume, would you please visit the kitchens and ask for a plate of bread and cheese?’

  The knight turned a look of angry disbelief on his master.

  ‘If you would be so good,’ de Mont prompted in his smooth, almost friendly tone. Brother Jaume threw Arnau a look loaded with hatred and stomped from the room.

  ‘And please shut the door,’ de Mont called. Jaume slammed it as he exited, leaving the room in silence with just the echo of the closing door.

  ‘Very well,’ de Mont said finally. ‘We are alone. I think that is for the best. Will you be seated Brother Arnau?’

  The knight shook his head. ‘I prefer to remain standing.’ But for all the certainty in his tone, he was rattled. He was beginning to feel oddly unsure of himself in the face of the two men’s responses. He’d expected angry denial or sad acceptance, or at the very least some acknowledgement of his victory. He’d not expected mild manners and a feeling that nothing had changed.

  ‘Very well,’ de Mont said. ‘I must congratulate you. Your perseverance is impressive, and your inventiveness a lesson to us all. That you have managed to secure evidence against me is nothing short of astounding.’

  ‘Yet you do not appear concerned,’ Arnau replied, eyes narrowed.

  ‘Oh, I am. What you have done could very well see me suffering the most severe of punishments. I could lose my mantle altogether for this. You have truly collected an arsenal that could destroy me. And it saddens me that this is so, for I truly do wish to do the Lord’s work. But the problem is that you will only destroy me, not the grasping archbishop for whom I am sure your colourful “pool burning with fire and brimstone” awaits. Not for the dubious de Comminges, nor for greedy La Selva. None of those who matter. I do not matter. You think I am a wicked
conspirator, but I am afraid, Vallbona, that in the circles of great men, I am but a clerk. Those men who are truly your enemies will simply throw me to the wolves and go about their business. I am heartily sorry that this is the case.’

  ‘Then why be part of this in the first place?’ Arnau spat.

  ‘Because in our Order, one of the prime tenets in the Rule is obedience. I know that Rourell is somewhat flexible and inventive with its administration, which is one of the things I cannot abide, in truth, but where the Rule is upheld in its full glory, I can no more refuse to do this for the master than I could grow horns. I was given a job, and I did that job to the best of my ability. Brother Jaume, of course, is here to enforce that – to be certain that I do not deviate from my task.’

  Arnau shook his head. ‘But that is all immaterial. Even if they blame you, the evidence will stand. The cases are proved false and must be cast out. And though I have only evidence for a few such cases, it must push for a new investigation with a more impartial adjudicator. This whole thing will end.’

  De Mont sighed. ‘You are still so naïve in important ways, Vallbona, for all your sharp wit. You cannot believe that great men who have a vested interest in these cases being concluded will allow it to end for the paltry reason of evidence? I have stretched out my time here in the very simple hope that your friend Brother Guillem would persuade the preceptrix to flee and evade what will inevitably come to her, though instead he seems intent on pursuing the same futile path as yourself. If you proved every case false, if you could even produce the blessed Uriel, angel of truth, as a witness, it would still come to nothing. The result was decided long before the cases were brought. This is a show, a play, and we are but mummers. Forget your quest and do what Guillem will not. Persuade your lady d’Oluja to run away. I know La Selva has men watching the mill, but I also know how subtle and clever you and your friends are. I am certain you could manage to sneak her away. I did not approve of her occupying such a position as she has, and indeed her mastery here has been something of a joke, but she is still a good Christian and I have no wish to see her die for something beyond her control. Make her flee, and then you and your two friends should walk away. Until you attempt anything else, only Brother Jaume and I know that you have opposed us, and I will make sure that such knowledge dies here. The three of you can remain Brothers in the Order, moving to other houses where you will be allowed to return to the full and unaltered Rule. It is my gift to you for all you have suffered at our hands. But if you persist, know that there is nothing I can do. The preceptrix will fall, Rourell will fade, and if you do not distance yourselves, there is a high probability that you will suffer alongside her.’

  Arnau stood silent and still, staring at de Mont.

  ‘But it is evidence. Irrefutable evidence.’

  ‘It makes no difference, Vallbona. You cannot win this. Your opponents are simply too powerful.’

  ‘I…’

  He stopped. He had no idea what to say. He had won. He and Tristán had done it. They had won. They had proved the conspiracy. And now he was being told that it mattered not. That everything they had won was meaningless, for the game had been over before he’d started playing it.

  ‘Go to your friends,’ de Mont said in that horribly likeable, calm voice. ‘Do what you can to save those you love and know that I will do what I can to aid you in it.’

  Arnau shook his head. What could he do? Staring at de Mont and still shaking his head, the knight turned and walked away, reaching the chapter house door and pulling it open, stepping out into the late afternoon sunlight. He felt hollow. Lost. If even winning was losing, what was there to hope for? And what of the vaunted morals of the Order of the Temple if such wickedness was promoted by its masters?

  He snarled, a noise like a dog protecting its meal, and a sister crossing the courtyard jumped and hurried away. He turned, aware that the look on his face must be terrifying. No. He had won, and he would make it count. He would somehow force them to play the game once more and accept his win. Determination flooded him. He was not going to leave this alone. There had to be some way. And if there was, he would find it, with the help of the others.

  Striding across the courtyard, he reached the lesser gate and pulled it open, finding his horse tethered outside and grazing where he had left it. Pulling himself up into the saddle, he walked his horse along the track towards the mill in the distance. As he approached, the watchers began to emerge from the trees nearby, moving to stand between him and the building. He reached the open space before the mill and dismounted, dropping the reins, knowing that his well-trained mount would remain there regardless of tethers.

  ‘I am in no mood to be tested,’ he said darkly.

  ‘We’ve warned you before, Templar, that this place is off limits. Your friends in there should be grateful that we’ve orders not to harm your brothers or sisters except in our defence. They persist in there, living off the scraps sent from your monastery, but for all that we can’t force them out, we can certainly prevent your entrance.’

  Arnau narrowed his eyes. ‘You think your master frightens me? Get out of my way.’

  While the man in La Selva’s livery stepped out into the sunlight, most of his men moved to form an arc around him, though two stood fast between Arnau and the door. ‘We will do you no harm unless we are forced to fight back, but you will not enter that building.’

  ‘“If ye refuse and rebel, ye shall be devoured with the sword, for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken.” The book of Isiah.’ Arnau’s hand went to his sword hilt and he pulled it an inch from the mouth of the scabbard.

  ‘Think carefully about this, Templar,’ the enemy leader advised. ‘I may have been ordered not to attack Templars, but my men are quite within their rights to defend themselves. Can you face a dozen men? You might think you’re invincible, but I would hate to be the one to prove otherwise.’

  With a creak, the mill door opened behind the two men and Balthesar stepped from the building with his sword in his hand, blade naked. ‘One against twelve is poor odds, admittedly,’ he said conversationally, as Ramon followed him out with his own sword ready, ‘but the odds can be changed swiftly.’

  Arnau smiled; however, a tiny jolt of panic ran through him as he saw the preceptrix follow the two men out, her husband’s sword in her hands, held with the sureness and strength of any knight. Sister Titborga was there too, gripping a misericorde with both hands, and an expression of fierce resistance on her face.

  ‘Do not do anything foolish,’ La Selva’s man called. ‘The repercussions could be drastic.’

  ‘Back away,’ Ramon advised the watchers. ‘Leave this place, because Arnau is quite right – “Ye shall be devoured with the sword”.’

  ‘Sir?’ asked one of the two men now standing trapped between Arnau and the others.

  ‘Stand your ground. If they strike you, you may fight back.’

  Others were moving forward now. Arnau felt the conflict within battering him. By rights he should not harm these men. Oh, they were in the wrong. They were doing the bidding of an evil conspirator and he had no moral doubts about putting them down, but it might deepen the case against them and force the calm de Mont to do something more drastic. And yet he was in no mood to walk away.

  ‘To the devil with you,’ Arnau snarled and pulled his sword free.

  ‘Walk to me,’ Balthesar called to him.

  Arnau frowned, but the old knight beckoned with his free hand. The younger brother carefully held his sword out to the side and walked forward, straight at the two men blocking his way.

  ‘Stop him,’ La Selva’s captain told his men. The two between Arnau and the others were looking more than a little uncertain as the Templar simply walked towards them. Arnau braced himself. The two men made no attempt to move, and he simply walked into them, directly, knocking into their shoulders as he pushed between them.

  ‘Stop him!’ bellowed the captain once again, angrily.

  One of the two men fin
ally made the mistake they had all been waiting for. Despite his instructions, he reacted instinctively to the command from his captain and turned, his free hand balled into a fist, and punched Arnau in the kidney. Even with the chain shirt’s protection, he felt the blow as a sharp pain, and turned with a roar.

  He was too close to swing a sword, but he punched out with the hilt at the man who’d hit him. His mailed fist, wrapped around the handle, smashing into the man’s face. His nose exploded, his jaw cracking, blood spraying in every direction, his yelp of pain muffled beneath the mailed fist.

  ‘Shit,’ his friend snarled, bringing his sword up. Arnau turned and as he did so, caught sight of the rest of the watchers. The captain was now in a fit of angry indecision. He wanted to help his men and really wanted to stop Arnau getting in, but he had been ordered not to start a fight, yet his men had done just that and were now paying the price.

  ‘Desist!’ bellowed the captain, deciding that he had better cut his losses, but the two men by Arnau were of no mind to stop now. Arnau met the blade that was coming for him even as the other man staggered around, clutching his bloody face with his free hand. Arnau’s sword clanged with the watcher’s weapon, and the two slid along the edges with a metallic shriek before swinging out into the open.

  The wounded man had perhaps decided he’d had enough, or maybe had finally heeded the captain’s call, for he staggered away towards his friends, howling and gripping his raw face. The remaining man, though, was determined. Even as his sword came free, he turned and tried to thrust it at Arnau’s neck, where his throat was exposed above the mail shirt. Arnau knocked it away contemptuously and delivered the man a punch to the right shoulder with his free hand. The man was wearing only a padded gambeson, which afforded him reasonable protection, but Arnau’s fist was encased in chain, and the punch he delivered was a powerful one, driven by all the impotent rage within him. He heard a crack, and the man’s sword suddenly fell from his grip as his eyes went wide. Not allowing him time to recover, or even consider the awful damage done to him, Arnau leaned forward and smashed his head into the man’s face, a powerful head-butt. Had he been wearing his helmet it would almost certainly have killed the man. As it was there was a second cracking noise and the man went down like a rag doll, flopping to the floor and floundering there, shaking.