Unbroken in Time

by Sarah Woodbury

  What had changed, however, was David’s company. For starters, it had doubled, and while Henri was still with him, so was Matthew Norris himself. His authority was such that he thought it would ensure the events of the evening went smoothly, and give weight to the lie that the Templars were in no way in collusion with David. Also, it was perfectly credible that he might have been among those who captured David, since the Templars were escorting the Jewish community out of Paris at that very moment.

  “We have a valuable prisoner we need to house for the night,” Norris announced to the guard at Vincennes front gate.

  The guard’s expression turned to one of concern. “We’re not a prison, Master Norris. We don’t have any cells.”

  “A locked room will do. He’s in Templar custody now. He won’t be going anywhere this time.”

  The guard hesitated, uncertain at first what Norris was telling him, but then his expression transformed to one of enthusiasm as he understood what Norris was telling him. “Yes, sir!”

  He ordered the gate opened, and the Templars rode in. None of David’s people were included in the party, on the off chance someone at Vincennes had been at the palace the night before. It was unlikely, but the whole point was to plan for the unexpected.

  Modern people weren’t necessarily smarter than people in the Middle Ages. It was more that the body of knowledge available to them was so vast, if you wanted to know something about anything, you could almost always find it out. And that applied to creative ways to circumvent security as much as to any other field of information.

  It wasn’t as if nobody had ever faked being a prisoner before. Other people had thought of it. But the chances of any person here having personal knowledge of someone doing it were pretty slim. It’s hard to protect against something you had never seen or heard of. As a teenager, David had read books, seen movies, and watched television shows where it happened—and what’s more, so had all of his friends, family, and companions who’d grown up in Avalon. Fiction’s inherent inventiveness expanded the mind.

  Still, plenty of times truth was stranger than fiction. If (in Avalon’s history) King Philippe, Nogaret, Flote, etc. hadn’t assassinated the pope, expelled all Jews from the country, and exterminated the Templar Order, an author or screenwriter who wrote about it might be accused of making up something that couldn’t possibly have happened. Even the fact that Philippe had arranged for Edward to give him Aquitaine as part of his duties as duke and then not given it back seemed preposterous on the surface.

  But it had happened, and even if destroying the Templars was one of those stranger-than-fiction moments, there were plenty more events like it that hadn’t happened—and David knew about those too.

  Maybe it was hubris on David’s part to think he could get the better of one of the most brilliant strategists of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. But he was sure going to try. They’d come a heck of a long way already.

  David had made sure to look a little rough, with dirt on his face and his clothing, now stripped down to just shirt and pants. When he’d suggested one of the Templars hit him, to really sell the disguise, he’d been roundly denied. After he’d poured dirt on his head, Ieuan had pronounced David appropriately roughed up, with a sardonic laugh that told David he was as nervous about the plan as David himself. Hopefully, with his hair grown a little long, full of dust, and standing on end, he could be convincing.

  As they entered the courtyard, David limping as if he were injured, the wind began to swirl around, blowing rain into their faces. Though it might wash some of the dirt from David’s hair, he could tell from the worried glance Henri shot him that he was looking even more bedraggled, and David made a motion with one free finger to tell him not to worry.

  Ignoring the rain that was coming down harder than ever, Norris followed one of the guards to the front door of the manor. Henri came next, still leading David by the rope. Two other knights stopped just inside the doorway of the anteroom, while the five sergeants who’d accompanied them stayed in the courtyard, charged with caring for the horses. So far, everything was going exactly as expected.

  And then a shout came from the front gate. “Lord Nogaret has come!”

  The door to the manor was still open, so everyone turned to look through it as five more men rode into the courtyard. The Templar sergeants moved to one side, in a somewhat defensive formation, but the intent was to be courteous rather than threatening.

  Nogaret wasn’t a soldier, so he rode without a helmet, just a hat pulled down low against the rain. He dismounted quickly and, tossing his reins to a boy who’d come running from the stables, strode towards the great hall.

  Norris and Henri had stopped in the anteroom, which meant David did too, so they were all waiting for him as Nogaret entered.

  At the sight of David at the end of the rope, Nogaret pulled up short, and then he broke into a genuine laugh. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise.”

  Not very, David would have liked to say. Instead, he allowed his eyes to blaze with genuine defiance and was stopped from charging at Nogaret only by Henri tugging on his rein and pulling him back.

  “So you found him.” Nogaret said, once he stopped laughing. “Well done. Come with me.”

  He led them up a wide stairway to a receiving room one floor higher. David, Henri, and Norris trailed after him, along with several servants and guards.

  Once in the receiving room, Nogaret motioned for David to stop in the middle of the floor. “Where’s your family?”

  “Safe,” David said immediately.

  Nogaret’s lip twisted as if he believed him. “It just so happens that you’re an even better trade.” He turned to one of his lackeys who’d come into the room with him. “Flote should be at the abbey. Tell him to come here as soon as possible. The deal can now be made.”

  David knew what that meant. He also knew that if Nogaret was referring to the abbey less than a mile from Vincennes, Flote might have found the plane. But he kept his gaze fixed on Nogaret, who wasn’t looking at David anymore, having turned away and snapped his fingers at a different guardsman, one of four in the room. “Put him with our other guests. They can keep each other company until I’m ready to move them.”

  It was much harder to give no indication he knew what that meant, but David thought he managed it, aided by the fact that Nogaret continued to avoid his eyes. Or so it seemed. It felt almost as if Nogaret was ... squeamish.

  “There’s no need for that.” Norris stepped in. “My men will guard him. I didn’t bring him here to give him up to you. I would have said your presence at Vincennes was unexpected.”

  David had to admire the lengths to which Norris was going in order not to lie.

  Nogaret scoffed. “Much may transpire tonight that you didn’t expect. In this case, I have duties sometimes that require me to leave the city.”

  “What does that mean?” Norris’s chin jutted out.

  “It is no concern of yours.” Nogaret glowered back. “You may go. You are no longer needed here.”

  The Templar’s eyes narrowed, understanding Nogaret actually meant to dismiss him. It was insulting, if nothing else. “He is my capture. I will bring him before the king.”

  “I speak for the king.”

  “I brought him here only because he sprained his ankle and cannot walk far, and I didn’t trust him with a horse.”

  “You could have thrown him over the back of yours.”

  Norris straightened to his full height, several inches taller than Nogaret, either genuinely shocked or feigning it well. “He is a king.”

  “All the more reason to parade him through the streets. France is not to be trifled with.”

  David studied Nogaret, whose head remained turned towards Norris. The two men gazed long at each other, before Norris spoke again, “Are you trying to start a war with England? I only ask because the Templars will likely be asked to play some role in it, and Grand Master Molay would like to know sooner rather than later what migh
t be required of us. We have English brethren too.”

  Nogaret snorted his disdain. “Yourself among them.” The implication being, of course, that Norris himself wasn’t to be trusted.

  All along, David had been struggling to understand what Nogaret had to gain from his plan.

  Power, obviously.

  Wealth, of course.

  The crown itself?

  David didn’t see how antagonizing England was going to help with any of that. But then again, Nogaret thought David was weak and, without him, England would be even weaker. If that was his foundational thought, everything else could follow.

  The question before him was why he thought David was weak, all evidence to the contrary? Then it occurred to him the missing piece might be George. The thought was terrifying.

  For his part, Nogaret put his lips together in something that could have been a smile. It wasn’t a nice smile, however, and the menace within his manner was unmistakable.

  Henri saw it too and, between one heartbeat and the next, his weapons appeared in his hands—a knife in one and sword in the other. He bounded to the closest guard and subdued him, long before any of the three others managed to clear his sword from his sheath. Henri then threw the guardsman’s sword into the center of the floor.

  Norris himself didn’t move. Neither did Nogaret. The testosterone in the room was palpable.

  Then Nogaret tipped back his head and laughed, fully and roundly. “Well done!” He laughed again and waved his hand at Henri, who had the guard’s arm wrenched behind his back. “You serve your master well.” Then he spread his hands wide. “We are all friends here.”

  Norris hadn’t taken his eyes off Nogaret, but now he flicked a finger at Henri, who released his captive.

  Nogaret put his heels together and gave Norris a slight bow. “I apologize for testing you. It was in poor taste.”

  The words sounded good, but the sincerity on his lips didn’t reach his eyes, which remained cold and calculating.

  Norris unbent and bowed in return. “Of course.”

  “Dine with me,” Nogaret said, meaning Norris. He certainly didn’t mean David, even if it meant he could have enjoyed David’s humiliation for a little longer. How fascinating that Nogaret had spent the last ten minutes with David himself, the King of England, and had nothing to say to him after his initial question. It finally dawned on David that these men didn’t respect the office, never mind David himself. They saw Paris as the heart of the universe, which made England—and by extension the man who ruled it—a backwater. “Your other men can find places in the hall with mine.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality. I accept.” Then Norris motioned to Henri. “Get me the cask of wine from our supplies. I will share it with Lord Nogaret.”

  Nogaret’s eyes brightened. “Templar-made wine is always magnificent.”

  Norris nodded almost imperceptibly. “I think you’ll find this vintage especially memorable.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Day Two

  Christopher

  Christopher hadn’t known that Nogaret and Flote had left for Vincennes until John Jr. greeted him with the news upon his arrival. He almost turned around then, thinking to warn the Templars at the very least, but then he got a grip on himself. He couldn’t help with David’s mission. All he could do was his own.

  The absence of Nogaret did make him less worried about what he faced when entering the palace and a lot less concerned about getting caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. Still, he reminded himself not to get cocky, especially since Isabelle hadn’t returned with him and thus couldn’t save him this time if he got into trouble. He hoped it would be enough that John Jr. was still here, standing at the end of the corridor, keeping watch while attempting to look nonchalant.

  Lili had described the location of the door to the hidden passage King Philippe had led them down during their escape, and it was exactly where she said it would be. Trying to look like it was the most natural thing in the world, kind of like falling through the barrier at Platform 9 and ¾, Christopher walked right up to the spot, leaned casually against the wall while finding the proper knothole with one finger, heard the latch click, and backed through it into the darkened corridor.

  This is so cool! Or he would have thought so if his heart wasn’t beating out of his chest.

  He made sure the latch clicked closed before he headed up the stairway. Footprints in the dust indicated where many others had gone before him and that he had come to the right place. He took a couple of wrong turns, requiring him to backtrack twice, before he found Philippe’s suite on the second floor. Philippe, in fact, had a whole wing to himself. And now that Nogaret was at Vincennes, more likely to be alone.

  When Christopher reached Philippe’s bedchamber, it took him a moment to find the eyehole, since it was plugged by a cork. When he removed it, he almost fell backwards in surprise to find another eye gazing at him from a foot away: Philippe’s eye.

  Philippe, on the other hand, didn’t move. His valet had been brushing the shoulders of the robe he wore before bed. As Christopher watched, Philippe put out a dismissive hand and said, “I can do the rest myself, Charles.”

  “Yes, of course, sire.” Charles the valet bowed and exited the room.

  Still with his eye fixed on the hole, Philippe reached forward. There wasn’t even a click this time before the door behind which Christopher had been standing swung outward.

  “In the coming months, I will have to tear everything out and start again. Until this week, nobody knew about these passages but me.” He turned slightly away, focused again on the mirror. “There was much debate as to whether the doors should swing in or out. The architect decided outward was best because that way they could not be accidently opened from the room if someone leaned against the wall.”

  “Except for the passage in the corridor near the garden door,” Christopher said.

  Philippe grunted, still barely looking at Christopher, as if to do so would be beneath him. “That’s how you got in, is it? I assume David sent you.”

  “Yes. He wanted you to know that he was heading to Vincennes.”

  Philippe scoffed. “So he sends one of his lackeys to tell me so? How thoughtful.”

  Christopher tried not to bristle in the seconds before it dawned on him that Philippe genuinely still didn’t know who he was, neither recognizing him from Calais nor from his breakfast table only that morning. He supposed he was dressed differently than he had been a few hours ago, with less foppery, more like an Englishman. And he was standing with a straight spine rather than hunched over and hiding.

  He cleared his throat. “I am Roger de Chester. I am simply here at my king’s bidding.”

  Philippe glanced at him. “You’re here to show me he can infiltrate the castle at will, with no one the wiser except the one person he knew wouldn’t say anything about it.”

  Christopher stared at the king, who finally turned back, took a sip of wine, and laughed. “That surprises you? Either you really are that naive or David really is that good. Or both.” He set down his cup as Christopher didn’t answer him. “I see it’s both.”

  “My king sent me to get you out of the palace safely.” Christopher wasn’t really prepared to spar with King Philippe, and he knew himself well enough by now to accept he was still naïve. He also didn’t want to spill any information by mistake that David didn’t want Philippe to have.

  “I am to abandon my own palace?”

  Christopher honestly hadn’t expected Philippe to be so hostile. He glanced out the window. It was full dark and raining. “King David is freeing your family as we speak. But he can’t bring them to you here and thought it best if you went to them.” Then Christopher told him about the hidden French troops wearing English colors at Bobigny.

  “So you see,” he concluded, “you have things to see to, none of which you can do as a prisoner in your own palace.”

  Towards the end of Christopher’s expl
anation, Philippe moved towards a giant wardrobe set against one wall. By Christopher’s count, he’d so far glanced into Christopher’s face exactly twice. Now, his back to the room, Philippe drew out various garments. “Help me with all this.”

  It was an order. Somewhat numbly, Christopher found himself dressing the French king, fortunately not in ruffles and lace but in relatively sturdy gear that could survive a night running around the countryside. Philippe was being smart about that anyway.

  But as Philippe lifted out a wide-brimmed hat, he hesitated. “If I come with you, I am putting myself in David’s hands.”

  “Yes, you are.” Christopher looked somewhat down at his feet, pretending he was cowed by the presence of royalty. This was the kind of question David had told him to expect. “What happened the last time you did that?”

  Philippe snorted. “That was before I took him hostage.”

  “You gave him back Aquitaine. King David has no intention of harming you.”

  “Or my family?”

  Christopher was feeling less patient, and Philippe should have realized by now that Christopher was no mere lackey to be speaking so frankly. And yet, he still said softly, with far more candidness than he ever could have imagined before coming here. “When those closest to you betray you, it’s hard to know whom you can trust. But this palace has been your prison as much as it was briefly David’s. Don’t you think it’s time you left it?”

  Philippe still hesitated. “Nogaret has gone to Vincennes, did you know?”

  “I learned it when I arrived. King David didn’t know when I last saw him.”

  Philippe grimaced. “How will David get my family free now?”

  “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t bet against him.”

  Philippe continued to look severe, though his eyes, as always were not on Christopher. At the moment, they were turned towards one of the windows, but Christopher didn’t think he was really seeing it. “If you’re right, will David kill Nogaret?”