Daughter of War

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘It is the Don della Cadeneta,’ Arnau said quietly.

  ‘You cannot be certain of his involvement,’ Lütolf hissed. ‘And this was not the don himself, nor men of his house, for the mode of dress was entirely incorrect.’

  Arnau flashed the knight an irritated glance. ‘It was his men. Maybe not his soldiers as such, but perhaps local hired thugs. They came for Maria. She might, after all, be seen as a way to get to the Doña. To Sister Titborga,’ he corrected himself at the German’s rising eyebrow.

  ‘And how could they know it was her?’ Lütolf snorted. ‘Even I had to squint to be sure as I left the preceptory. From a distance if they were watching us? They cannot have been sure it was her and not some other sister. No, this does not add up. Once again I question our convent’s judgement in accepting the applications of these travellers.’

  Arnau bridled. ‘Listen, Brother…’

  Ramon thrust a warning hand into the midst of the debate. ‘Cease bickering. Save your ire for true villains and not those whom we call brother. Help me get her back to the refectory and close the gate.’

  They did so, Arnau and Lütolf bringing up the rear, their mutual irritation so palpable that the air practically crackled between them. As Ramon helped the girl through the door, Balthesar, who was carrying the lamp and the basket, paused and turned.

  ‘You say, Brother Lütolf, that something here does not add up for you?’

  The German knight inclined his head.

  ‘I am not sure that I disagree with you, Brother.’ The old southerner turned to Arnau and Mateu. ‘Come. Let us test the veracity of Sister Maria’s tale.’

  The scarred German frowned, but shrugged, Mateu nodded, and Balthesar crossed the causeway once more, leaving the door open behind him. Arnau, Mateu and Lütolf followed the white-haired brother out into the night, following the amber light of his dancing lamp. They moved to the site of the scuffle, easy to find for the broken shards of glass from the lamp reflected its light back at them.

  ‘Brother Arnau, you are Maria,’ the oldest knight announced, thrusting the lamp and basket at the young squire. Arnau took the two items carefully, wrapping his throbbing fingers around the basket handle, and waited in puzzlement as Balthesar moved about the area in circles, scouring the ground for any tracks. Finally, he rejoined them as the German began to drum impatient fingers on his sleeve.

  ‘The three left together on horseback, making a direct line for the main road at the junction there. But they arrived together from a more southerly angle, as though they had come from the village or the river. Moreover, they approached on foot, leading their horses. Likely they feared that the thunder of hooves would attract attention from within the preceptory. So, I ask you this, young Arnau. Can we take you by surprise?’

  Arnau frowned, and Brother Balthesar gave him an odd smile. ‘I know you are expecting us, but try to be Sister Maria for a moment. Try to place yourself in her shoes.’

  Arnau caught Lütolf’s expression as the German rolled his eyes. ‘He has these notions sometimes. He is not always fanciful, though, and on occasion his lunacy reaps surprising rewards. God watches through his eyes.’

  ‘Stay there, Brother Arnau. Stoop and gather night broom, if you will.’

  The others shuffled off and Arnau, feeling supremely foolish, lamp trembling in his hand, bent over and began to uproot flowers, dropping them in the basket. He could hear the myriad crickets at work, a grey nightjar chirring, two owls in the distance. He could hear the muted noise of the preceptory. He could hear the fibrous tearing noises as the plants came free from the dusty earth. Mostly, what he could hear was the three men reaching a point some yards away and then turning and moving back towards him.

  Still uncertain what was next expected of him, he continued to gather plants.

  Suddenly arms were around him. Despite the fact that his conscious mind knew damn well who the arms belonged to and that there was nothing to fear, still instinct took over and he began to fight and struggle, ignoring the pain in his finger. They had trouble holding him. He stopped short of scratching and biting, and finally tore himself from the grip of two of the men, spinning in the hand of the other. He had a brief flash of Balthesar’s face before a hand came rushing at him. He simply couldn’t believe they were going to punch him. He recoiled, readying himself to strike back, but the old, white-haired brother halted the blow just before it landed, instead clamping it over Arnau’s eyes. He was suddenly grabbed again and held tight.

  ‘What have you seen?’ Brother Balthesar asked quietly.

  Arnau continued to struggle for a moment, but then fell still as he realised they were only mock-containing him, with no real force.

  ‘I heard you coming. I mean, I knew you were coming, but still I heard you clearly. Maria cannot have missed it. She cannot have been taken by surprise.’

  ‘Bear in mind, Brother,’ Mateu put in, ‘that she does not have unimpeded hearing as you and I do. She wore a wimple and coif. I have not donned such garments myself, clearly, but it occurs to me that they cover the ears and must at least partially dull the hearing. On occasion I have to shout to Sisters Carima and Joana to engage their attention.’

  Arnau nodded. It was possible, he supposed, that intent on her task and beneath her monastic apparel, she had not been able to hear what he had, especially given that he had been expecting to hear something.

  ‘So what did you see?’ Brother Balthesar said again.

  ‘I saw the three of you. Only for a moment, but all of you.’

  ‘You are thinking like Arnau, who was expecting us. Think like Maria, who was not. Do not tell me who you saw. Tell me what you saw.’

  Arnau frowned and thought hard. Now that he replayed events in his mind’s eye – the hand still clamped over his face helped a lot there – he had actually seen rather little. The shapes he had known to be the two knights and the sergeant, but he had not actually seen more than a flash of them. Had it been anyone else, he wondered how many details he would have retained.

  ‘I saw enough to know you were in white. I don’t think I actually saw a cross, and I don’t remember registering Mateu’s black habit. I saw mail. Someone’s mail. That and a flash of grey hair. That’s all.’

  ‘None of us is wearing mail tonight,’ Lütolf noted. ‘Your mind is adding details from what you expected to see.’

  Balthesar’s voice cut in. ‘Now, Brother Arnau, keep your eyes closed for, let’s say the count of fifteen, and then open them.’

  The hands were withdrawn, leaving Arnau with an oddly lonely and nervous feeling as he stood, sightless in the night, counting steadily. Finally, at fifteen, he opened his eyes and looked around. The other three were some way across the field and running. He shouted after them and they stopped.

  ‘What can you see?’ Brother Balthesar shouted across the field.

  ‘Three men,’ he called back. ‘Two in white and one in black.’

  ‘Can you make out any detail?’

  ‘None that I’m not simply expecting to see,’ Arnau admitted, and the three men strolled back towards him across the field. Together once more, they fell into deep thought.

  Brother Balthesar finally straightened. ‘What we can deduce, here, is that though Brother Arnau was aware of our approach, we cannot say for certain that Maria would have been. The flashes of detail she provided are consistent with what our young brother saw himself. Essentially, Sister Maria’s tale rings true in every way we can determine. The only questions that remain are why the men were here and whether they had singled out Maria specifically or whether they would have attacked any lone figure outside these walls. We cannot be certain the men belonged to della Cadeneta, though it does seem likely.’

  Arnau nodded with a sigh. It was much vaguer than he’d hoped. Somehow he’d imagined Brother Balthesar’s odd reconstruction would supply them with some pertinent piece of information rather than simply making everything possible and nothing certain.

  ‘Would della Caden
eta really bring violence against the Temple?’ Mateu asked with a hint of disbelief. ‘I mean, the order responds strongly to threat. We all know that.’

  Lütolf turned to him. ‘There are rats who despise us among the nobles of every country, Brother Mateu. Nobles see us as a threat and an opponent. The crown sees us as a useful resource, but laments the fact that lands and fortunes that the king could use for his own purposes are instead donated to the order. As long as we are useful against the Moor, we are free from interference, but the time will come when we are too big to be ignored and too strong to be accepted. And even now there are men who would see us fall if they had half the chance of doing so without bringing down the wrath of the Church and the Pope upon their heads. But if della Cadeneta decides to stand against us I doubt he will do so alone. He will find support among the greedy and the disaffected, whether they be high lords or low bandits. Della Cadeneta, I suspect, does not fear us.’

  ‘I will change that,’ Arnau said quietly.

  ‘Not until it is definitively confirmed that he is behind all this,’ Balthesar warned him. ‘And even then, not without the instruction of the preceptrix. You are a brother of the Temple now, Arnau. Not some lone avenging knight.’

  Arnau cast his eyes down as he nodded, not through embarrassment or fear, but to prevent the passion and defiance in them being seen by the others. Oddly, as he mastered his emotions and lifted his head again, he noted a similar look in Brother Lütolf. The man was prepared for trouble. Good. At least there was one thing that the two of them might agree upon.

  Half an hour later they were in the chapter house with the preceptrix, Ramon and Father Diego.

  ‘The time may have come for us to send word to the mother house,’ Preceptrix Ermengarda said in emotionless tones. ‘There is a rising feeling of danger at Rourell. We have already lost a sergeant and almost Brother Lütolf, and now base villains stoop to attacking a woman of God within sight of our own church. This is unacceptable. I would seek the advice of the preceptor of Barberà and perhaps his support. If we can secure Barberà’s backing we might be able to play host to a few of their brothers for a while, increasing our strength considerably. Moreover, Barberà can pass on the details that we do have, and our suspicions, to the higher authorities – maybe even the master of the Temple in Iberia. Mayhap with such strength and recognition of our position, the petty ambitions of a nobleman might melt away.’

  Arnau somehow doubted as much, but the idea of having perhaps half a dozen extra knights around Rourell had a certain appeal, there was no denying it.

  ‘Brother Lütolf, you and Brother Arnau will ride at first light. Arm yourself and be cautious. Remember what happened to poor Brother Carles. Be wary, but ride north for Barberà. I will give you a sealed document that you may present to the master there on my behalf.’

  The German knight bowed his head and stepped back. He turned to Arnau. ‘See to the horses and our equipment. We must be ready at dawn.’

  Chapter Ten

  They left the preceptory while the sun was still a fireball eating the horizon, a huge red glow across the world’s edge with a glowing yellow heart, the sky above still black though now streaked with a mackerel skin of gold. The world was eerie by such light, as though they left a house of God and rode into the maw of hell itself.

  The track stretched out from the causeway towards the main road, and despite the lack of movement anywhere around them, Arnau could not drive from his mind memories of the German brother fighting for control of a rearing horse as crossbow bolts thudded into flesh from the shadows of the trees. Or of Maria hunched over, gathering flowers for her former mistress as three thugs intent on rape and violence crept up behind her.

  It felt as though a thousand unseen eyes followed their every step. The skin between Arnau’s shoulder blades itched with that feeling of being observed. There was no reason to believe they were, beyond previous encounters anyway, and yet Arnau would bet his entire estate on the fact that they were being watched. If he hadn’t donated it to the order, that is.

  Brother Lütolf seemed unaffected. He rode straight-backed and sure, the mail hauberk and leggings shushing with every movement of his steed. Every other hoof beat brought the clonk of the knight’s shield against his hard leather saddle. Arnau could even swear he heard the man breathing through the grill in his closed helmet. Arnau wore only a kettle hat of dulled steel, favouring the feel of fresh air on his face to the protection of a metal mask.

  They moved over a small wood-plank bridge, across an irrigation channel, and then passed the small knot of trees where the German had almost died mere days ago. Arnau’s eyes raked the shadowed boles, searching for the shapes of men of ill intent. Nothing moved, but the young sergeant’s eyes remained locked on that place of ambush until they were past it and onto the main road.

  Finally on a wider track, the two men fell into double file for the first time since leaving the preceptory. Arnau, as thrilled as ever with the company, remained quiet, musing on the situation, and was somewhat surprised when Brother Lütolf broke the silence.

  ‘You feel it, Vallbona?’

  Arnau frowned, wondering for a moment what the German meant, but then nodded. Lütolf was not quite so confident and aloof as he appeared, then.

  ‘Yet I see no one,’ Arnau breathed. ‘No sign of movement.’

  ‘God is with us, for we are manus dei. Our observers may be well hidden, but the Lord sees all. There may be nothing to see from the road, but they are there nonetheless.’

  Arnau nodded. It was precisely how he felt, though he’d not have thought to pin his preternatural feelings on the presence of the Lord. Did that make him a bad brother, he wondered? Not to have such unshakable trust in the support of the Lord in every endeavour?

  ‘Why are they not attacking us, then?’ Arnau said quietly, in little more than a whisper. Then, when there was no reply, he realised that the heavy enclosed helm was stifling the German’s hearing, just as Maria’s coif had done last night, so he repeated himself, slightly louder.

  ‘Prudence, I think,’ Brother Lütolf replied.

  Arnau waited for more and presently the knight turned to him. ‘The first time they attacked us it was desperate instinct. We had spotted them and they reacted precipitously. I very much doubt their master would have commanded them to begin a war with the order, not yet at least. It was the short-sighted reaction of two low knaves. And last night was an attack on an unarmed and defenceless woman, from which they desisted the moment the preceptory stirred and men came to her aid.’

  ‘They are being careful?’

  ‘That, and probably your friend della Cadeneta is now arrived and in control. He will be circumspect in his approach. He will not tangle with us directly unless he has either considerable backing of import or no other choice. They watch us now, for they are not at all sure what we are about. We are still within Templar land here. Perhaps a mile up the road we will leave our demesne and then it will become clear that we are riding north. I suspect that then they will decide that we are too important to leave in peace.’

  Arnau felt a chill run through him. Images of the body of Carles lying in a ditch beneath the trees assailed him.

  ‘I know,’ Lütolf said, as though looking directly into his mind. ‘But remember that Brother Carles was on a simple courier mission with no expectation of trouble. He was unarmoured and unaware of the danger. We are not. You have your sword loose?’

  Arnau frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘Draw your blade a couple of inches and work it back and forth, then leave the guard perhaps half an inch from the mouth of the scabbard. Then when we run into trouble, your sword will come free quickly and with ease. I have seen more than one man die because he was too slow in drawing his blade.’

  Arnau did so and was surprised he’d never thought of it before. The first time he pulled it free it took a little effort, as though the scabbard sucked at the blade, but the second and third time it eased, and was then sliding in and
out with grace.

  When we run into trouble…

  ‘You are expecting a fight, then, Brother Lütolf?’

  ‘I fear it is inevitable. They will assume that we are on the same mission as Carles, lodging the deeds of Santa Coloma with the mother house. Whether that be their guess, or the truth, either way they will not allow us to reach Barberà. Now they wait, for we are still on our land, but the moment we pass from Rourell’s land and they guess what we are about, they will have little choice but to try and stop us.’

  ‘I know della Cadeneta to be a snake, but I find it hard to countenance him raising a blade against the Templars,’ Arnau shivered. ‘Would they really try and stop you? Me, yes. But you?’

  The German’s expression remained stony. ‘He has already committed himself, whether he likes it or not. When his men killed Carles, they set him on a road from which he cannot deviate. His men began a conflict, and if he backs out now, not only does he lose all hope of Sister Titborga and her lands, but he will be liable to defend himself against accusations of the murder of a holy man. Now he is committed, for good or ill. He has to see it through. Besides, taking arms against the order is not unknown. Even now our brothers in the Amanus March are in conflict with the King of Armenia over property occupied by him that rightfully belongs to us. The world is never simple, Vallbona.’

  Arnau nodded glumly. ‘I prefer the mace, mind.’

  The German looked around at him. ‘The mace has its uses. When facing a heavily armoured opponent, its crushing weight can help nullify the enemy’s iron cote and helm. But when facing lightly armoured or unarmoured men, the sword is a far more versatile weapon. The lunge, which you cannot achieve with a mace, gives you a reach that a clubbing swipe will not. A mace might break bone, but your eye for a target has to be good to guarantee incapacitation or death. A sword blow to most places will cripple if delivered with enough power. The one to the arm renders either shield or weapon useless. The leg puts them down on the ground, helpless. The gut is agonising and will put them from the fight. The torso is death. The neck or head is death. The sword is the better weapon. Use your sword.’