“Not in matters of war,” Wulfe acknowledged. “He knows the land and he has a considerable army sworn to him. They were poised to take Acre as we departed, which happened the next day, by the reports we hear here.”
“These are bad tidings,” Brother Xavier said. “Do you travel alone?”
“Nay, the Grand Master assembled a party, including some pilgrims desiring to return home while they could.” Wulfe frowned, seeing a potential solution to Christina’s situation. “Among them is a woman, widowed and left destitute while on pilgrimage,” he said, editing the tale. “I fear she has few prospects at home, either. Is there a religious house in this city, perhaps like this one, that might welcome her?”
The monks shook their heads as one. “There are nigh as many impoverished women as children, Brother Wulfe,” Brother Franco confided. “The religious houses here are overwhelmed. They take novices only from affluent families, those who can bring a large donation to see them sustained or connections with the local nobility that can do the same.”
“It is the brothels who take the other women,” contributed an older brother. Wulfe thought his name was Matteo. “And God save their souls once they enter such places.”
“How so?”
“They are confined if they earn coin for the house and cast out if they do not,” Brother Franco said. “There is no escape, save by death or injury so foul that they can provide such services no longer.”
“Take this woman away from this city,” urged Brother Xavier. “It is your duty to see her safely away from its perils.”
Wulfe bowed his head, thinking of this.
“You fear to break your vows,” Brother Franco murmured with understanding. “But the greater good must be served, Brother Wulfe, sometimes by endangering ourselves.” He laid a lined hand over Wulfe’s own. “God only grants a test to show us the fullness of our strength.”
Wulfe wanted to believe the older monk. He wanted to ensure Christina’s safety. He glanced around himself and saw that these monks gave all of themselves to assist their young charges.
Surely he could do the same?
Surely he could resist temptation for the sake of the greater good?
Chapter Seven
Lady Ysmaine had stolen a reliquary.
Indeed, it was a treasure of such magnificence that Christina could only stare at it, stunned. She had thought that the bundle must contain some token of value, but when she pushed back the cloth and saw the gold studded with gems, she was astonished.
Christina did not dare to unwrap the treasure fully, for she knew the lady and her maid would not linger in the stables and she dared not be caught. The area revealed, about the size of her palm, was more than sufficient to make her heart race. The amethysts and sapphires were each as large as her thumbnail and she could feel that the surface was covered with gems of similar size. It was large then, large and richly adorned. She could see the end of the inscription.
Euphemia.
That told her all. Christina held a reliquary containing the holy relics of Saint Euphemia. Her heart beat so hard that she was almost dizzy. This had to be the prize sought by the villain! She could not even guess the price that such a treasure would command.
Of course, it should not be sold.
Her hands trembled as she ensured the prize was wrapped as it had been. She left the noblewoman’s room with haste, locking the door behind herself, then scurrying down the stairs with a pounding heart. Once she reached the door of Wulfe’s room, she repeated the lady’s feint, slamming the door and locking it audibly, then descending to the common room more noisily.
She even hummed, as the lady had done.
There was no one in that room to witness her arrival, though Gaston’s wife was crossing the courtyard with purpose in her step.
“Is something amiss?” Christina asked, expecting to be ignored.
To her surprise, the lady did not ignore or disdain her. Indeed, she forced a smile. Her gaze did flick to the stairs, and Christina guessed that she wanted to check on her secreted prize. She lingered for a moment, though, doubtless in an attempt to disguise her impulse.
And protect her secret.
“One of the boys fell and struck his head the other night. My maid just saw him have a convulsion.”
“The poor boy! Can I be of aid?”
The noblewoman hesitated as if uncertain what to ask. “I have awakened him, and he seems to be improved, but he must rest to heal fully.”
“Then I shall tell him a tale to entertain him.”
“Indeed? Do you know tales fit for young boys?”
Christina fought a smile at the woman’s skeptical expression. “I will tell him only the tales of saints’ lives, my lady. They sufficed for me when I was young.”
Ysmaine’s relief was visible. “And so they will be good for him. I thank you for the offer.” Once again, her gaze flicked to the stairs and back, but she compelled herself to hold her ground. “I fear we have not been introduced. I am Lady Ysmaine, the new wife of Gaston, Baron of Châmont-sur-Maine.”
“I am Christina.” She curtseyed, impressed that Ysmaine had acknowledged her. It was a fine change not to be judged so harshly for her choices. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, my lady.”
“I thank you for the offer to entertain Hamish. It is so difficult to convince boys to remain abed when their condition improves.” Ysmaine’s words fairly fell over themselves, and she did not await a reply before she continued past Christina.
Christina appreciated that the lady made no comment about her skills in keeping men abed. She smiled at the sound of Ysmaine running up the stairs. She would find her prize untouched, though.
Did the lady steal the treasure for herself?
Or did she try to ensure its protection? Christina had no doubt that this was the prize entrusted to Wulfe’s party, and perhaps the entire reason for the party’s departure from Jerusalem. She had heard plenty of the riches of the Templar treasury, and this was no small prize. She knew the tale of Euphemia well enough.
Could it be that the Templars had retained the lost relic of that saint’s head? Many miracles had been attributed to Euphemia’s relics before all had been cast into the sea five hundred years before. Although some of the relics had been regained and were held in Constantinople, the head was said to be lost. If the Templars held it, this treasure might well be the prize of their reputedly large collection.
It would make sense to them to send it to Paris to ensure its safety if they feared Jerusalem would be taken by the Saracens.
Did the knights in the party know what they defended?
Fergus returned with the boys then, all of them carrying goods and chattering. The small boy told him of Hamish’s fit, and he hastened toward the stables with concern. The mercenary Duncan noted her in the doorway of the common room and bowed, but Christina followed Fergus with purpose. Fergus was demanding the fullness of what had transpired. It was clear that the small dirty boy did not realize the prize in his custody had been claimed, for he held fast to it still.
Or was the story other than she assumed? It had been Fergus’ squire who defended the prize. Had Fergus acquired the relic in the Holy Land, by means legitimate or otherwise? Did he take it home as a souvenir? She had a difficult time attributing such a theft to that charming knight, but appearances could be deceiving.
After all, if its delivery to Paris was a Templar quest, then the relic should have been in Wulfe’s possession.
Or had Wulfe entrusted it to Fergus, knowing that knight’s baggage to be so much more fulsome that it would be readily disguised?
Why had the lady Ysmaine claimed it?
Who else knew of its presence?
Christina had more questions than answers, to be sure. If the unnamed nobleman was truly Helmut, his presence in the party suddenly made more sense. Aye, there was a man who would do any deed to serve his own avarice. If he knew of the reliquary, she had little doubt he would endeavor to make it
his own.
She needed to know more before telling Wulfe of her suspicions. The knights were unlikely to confide much in her, and Wulfe would not be readily convinced to surrender any secret he was charged to defend. The lady Ysmaine would never confide in a whore. Her maid might share her views, if Christina befriended her.
But she would take this opportunity first to find out what the boys knew.
She smiled at Duncan, who had sauntered across the courtyard behind her. Now he lingered on the threshold of the stables, watching. “The lady Ysmaine told me of Hamish’s state and thought he might like to hear a story,” she said.
Duncan’s eyes twinkled, but he merely inclined his head in agreement. “A fine notion.”
How much did he know of matters? He was perceptive, to be sure, and Christina might have spoken more to Duncan, if she had not guessed that he would desire some token in exchange.
Without doubt, he would request the very thing she preferred to surrender to Wulfe.
* * *
Wulfe walked back toward the basilica, considering the counsel of the monks. The streets were thronged with people and he made slow progress. Of course, he had not told them all of Christina’s story, but what they had confided in him made him believe he should do as she asked and escort her from the city. If their party remained together, she would be but another pilgrim in their ranks.
Surely, he could travel with her and not be seduced by her charms?
He returned to the stall of an armorer, who had been entrusted with the repair of the hilt of his dagger. The man recognized him immediately—recalling Christina’s words to Wulfe of how distinctive he was in this city—and presented the blade with a flourish. Wulfe examined the work and complimented the armorer on his skill. He felt someone’s gaze upon him but paid the artisan before he glanced up.
Gaston watched him from a distance.
Had he truly put that knight in danger?
Gaston indicated that he would enter the square in front of the basilica and Wulfe gave a minute nod of understanding. He completed his transaction, sheathed the repaired blade, then made his way in that direction. He spied Gaston immediately, looking out over the sea at the far end. He meandered as Gaston did, covertly watching his companion.
When Gaston turned down a street, Wulfe strolled in the same direction. He caught a glimpse of Gaston ahead and pursued him, noting how the other knight increased his pace. Long moments later, he entered a plaza that was apparently abandoned.
Save for Gaston leaning against a wall in its shadow. There were few windows facing this square, perhaps because the wind from the sea was crisp, and those windows that did exist were high in the walls and shuttered against wind and sun.
“Followed?” Gaston murmured when Wulfe stood beside him.
Wulfe shook his head, but they waited a few moments just to be sure. No other soul appeared.
“It defies belief,” he said quietly, beginning with the last conclusion they had shared. He was not certain that Gaston would welcome any accusation against members of their own group. “Our party is yet followed, even though no ship departed Acre after ours.”
“I am not convinced that we were followed from Acre,” Gaston said. “The baggage was searched on the ship, after all.”
Wulfe recalled that detail well. “Do you think someone seeks the treasure entrusted to us?”
“I think someone in our own party is curious, if not more.” Gaston drummed his fingers. “Did you catch any glimpse of your assailant?”
Wulfe shook his head and summarized events of the night before. “I thought the establishment meant to rob me, as can occur, but the floor creaked as the intruder entered.”
“One unfamiliar with the room, then.”
Wulfe agreed. “I waited, feigning sleep, and finally saw the intruder, silhouetted against the window.”
“Man? Woman?”
“Tall enough to be a man, but otherwise impossible to be sure. He or she wore a voluminous cloak.”
“A thief, then.”
“A thief who went through my purse and garments, yet left the coin.” Wulfe thought of the heavy purse granted by Brother Terricus. Though he kept it hidden, it would have been readily found during the villain’s search of his garb.
Yet it had not been touched.
“And then?” Gaston prompted.
“And then, the flames. The oil from the lantern was spilled and set alight, the entire room quickly engulfed in fire.”
“The intruder fled?”
Wulfe shook his head. “The intruder lingered, drawing back into the shadows of one corner.”
“He or she wanted to see what you saved.”
That had been Wulfe’s conclusion as well. He continued his tale even as Gaston frowned.
“You saved the woman’s life,” that knight noted. “She speaks aright that this leaves her in your debt.”
“I did what any man would have done.”
“I think we both know that is not true,” Gaston corrected. “More importantly, she knows it is not true.”
“She should remain here.” Wulfe felt obliged to insist. “There is no future for her with me.”
“And what makes you imagine there is a future for her in Venice?”
Wulfe faced the other knight, surprised by the resignation in his tone.
“Women are not born whores any more than men are born knights,” Gaston continued.
That was true enough.
“You smell of smoke,” Gaston noted. “We must be alert to that scent on any of the others, or take note of any injury.”
“You think the intruder is in our party.” Wulfe was relieved that they had come to the same conclusion. “You believe that whoever pursued us in Outremer sought the missing girl mentioned in Acre by your ally, and not the root of our errand.”
“I fear that is the only possibility that addresses all details.” Gaston’s expression turned somber. “And truly, what do we know of any in our party?”
“We were assembled by Brother Terricus…”
“On the basis of timing and convenience, as well as some urgency. The fact remains that we know precious little of our fellow travelers.”
“I suppose this is true, but it is not unusual.” Wulfe might be frustrated with his fellow knights, even if they had left the order, but he was disinclined to suspect them, given their military service. Let the perpetrator be the merchant Joscelin, Fergus’ companion Duncan, Gaston’s new wife, or one of the other men’s squires.
“Even you and I know little of each other,” Gaston noted with that annoying calm. “To be sure, I have heard of Brother Wulfe at the Gaza Priory and his black destrier, but we have never met.”
Wulfe leaned back and considered that. “I could be a brigand who had assaulted him on the road and replaced him.”
“Though the squires would have been difficult to find,” the other man admitted with a smile. “And truly, I have heard sufficient of the Gaza brethren to doubt that you would have survived such a battle unscathed were you not the true Brother Wulfe.” He raised a hand to gesture as he continued. “You can follow the same logic throughout our party. I first encountered Fergus a mere two years ago and have never served closely with him. The sole person in this company I can vouch for is Bartholomew, for I have known him since he was a boy.”
Wulfe nodded. “And we know yet less of the merchant Joscelin de Provins.”
“Save his repute.”
“And of your lady wife.”
Gaston winced and Wulfe knew his companion knight had considered that already. “At least we know Everard de Montmorency to be who he claims to be.”
“Do we?” Wulfe asked, for he did not share that conviction. To be sure, he had heard of the man, but had never met or even seen him. He too might have been replaced by a brigand.
But Gaston shook his head. “He has been part of the royal court at Jerusalem for at least eight years as Count of Blanche Garde. I have seen him many a time at court.”
So, Gaston could vouch for Everard. The list of suspects grew smaller. “Why did he leave Outremer, just as it faces its greatest challenge?”
“His father lies ill. He returns home as a dutiful son to say his farewell.”
“But as Count of Blanche Garde, he has a holding, or did before he abandoned it.”
“Perhaps he did not wish to witness its loss to Saladin. Perhaps, like many others, he yearns for the familiarity of home, despite his gains in Outremer.”
Wulfe was skeptical. No man of sense abandoned a holding so readily as that, not without a fight. He could not imagine surrendering his fortune to sit at his own father’s deathbed. “Perhaps there is something amiss that he did not remain to defend it, or ride out with King Guy.”
“Perhaps he has not your taste for warfare.”
“A man of wealth and privilege, who rides alone. I am reminded of a thief in the night, attempting to flee detection.”
“If that were so, then he would have ridden north from Blanche Garde to Jaffa, and not troubled with Jerusalem or seek the defense of the Templars.”
Wulfe was not convinced, but he doubted Gaston could be swayed. “I shall keep him on my list of suspects, even if you do not. Along with your lady wife.”
“My wife is above reproach…” Gaston retorted, his voice rising.
Wulfe interrupted him with a reminder. “She acquired poison and confers often with the merchant Joscelin…”
“Who tries to gain a guarantee from her that she will buy spices from him once home in France.”
“And who is always missing when matters go awry.”
Gaston scowled, so Wulfe insisted upon his point. “They could be in league together and disguising their plotting as discussions over spice.”
The other knight shook his head. “I shall not keep a list of suspects, for I believe no one can be put upon it with surety, save perhaps your lady courtesan.”
“She is not my lady courtesan…”
“She argues otherwise.”
“To have a courtesan or mistress would be defy my vows!”
Gaston’s knowing smile did not ease Wulfe’s annoyance. “While visiting a brothel did not?’
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