* * *
“My lady wife hides the treasure,” Gaston confided to Wulfe, his voice the barest murmur as they left the hall behind.
Wulfe was not surprised by this, given his conversation with Christina, but he was surprised that Gaston knew the truth.
Gaston continued. “I took her maidenhead but a month ago, and her belly was flat. She hides the treasure there to ensure its safety.”
“Clever,” Wulfe said, not wanting to say more.
“Dangerous,” Gaston corrected, as grim as ever Wulfe had seen him. “My learning of it before the company meant that I had to spurn her. The villain must see us as divided, for I must appear to believe in her deception to defend her safety.”
“Yet you cannot protect her.”
Gaston was clearly dismayed by this. He shoved a hand through his hair with rare agitation. “I do not like the risk she takes. Yet I cannot reveal the ruse to be what it is. I fear I will not even have the opportunity to defend her!”
“You might have taken the opportunity to let her explain.”
“I should have,” Gaston growled. “But I erred in the moment of my surprise and now my course is set.”
Wulfe put a hand on the other knight’s shoulder to reassure him. “Fergus and I are two to defend her, and we make four with Bartholomew and Duncan. We shall see your lady defended.”
Gaston inhaled sharply and scanned the sky above. “I do not like it.”
Wulfe could not help but smile. “It seems the gift of women who claim our hearts to know best how to vex us,” he said, earning a sidelong glance from Gaston.
“Do you truly have no prospects beyond the order?”
Wulfe shook his head, wondering at this query. “None.”
Gaston frowned. “Perhaps you might command the knights sworn to a baron you knew well.” He held Wulfe’s gaze. “I return to claim a holding and would have men sworn to me I can trust fully.”
Wulfe caught his breath. “You cannot truly mean this.”
Gaston nodded. “The task is yours, if you desire it.”
“I thank you.” Wulfe was stunned by the generosity of this offer. He did trust Gaston, and had he been convinced of Christina’s affection, the offered position might be the perfect solution. But he suspected that her return home would only rekindle her ardor for her lost spouse. He might leave the order and lose the opportunity to fight for Jerusalem, only to find himself alone in Gaston’s barony.
“I have surprised you, and see as much,” the other knight said quietly. “Think upon it until we reach Paris.”
Wulfe nodded and expressed his gratitude for the opportunity. He was surprised to realize that the prospect of dying in defense of Jerusalem had lost some of its luster, but still he was sworn to the order, and still he would see this quest fulfilled.
The lady Ysmaine and the prize she carried must be defended to the best of Wulfe’s abilities, without any other soul realizing that he knew the truth of her burden.
Surely that was challenge enough to occupy him.
Monday, August 24, 1187
Feast Day of Saint Ouen and Saint Bartholomew
Chapter Fifteen
They reached Paris in the last week of August, on the feast of both Saint Bartholomew the apostle and Saint Ouen, Bishop of Rouen. The weather was foul again, but the streets thronged with people celebrating the feast day.
Christina deliberately let her palfrey ease to the back of the party. It was easily accomplished, given their slow progress. Wulfe, too, looked back less frequently once they were surrounded by pedestrians, for he strove to keep the party together and to ensure that they moved steadily forward. The task was sufficiently challenging that he did not keep such a vigilant eye upon her.
Ysmaine also fell back in the group, her maid by her side. Christina did not know whether this was by accident or design, but she saw both Duncan and Fergus ease their steeds closer to guard her sides.
There could be no doubt that they knew the truth of Ysmaine’s burden.
Christina was certain that Helmut knew the truth as well. If he had not realized it before, Ysmaine had been sure to inform him of it several nights before.
They had paused in Provins and shared a meal together, the last such before Joscelin left them for his own home. The little merchant had been determined to fete them, as thanks to the knights for ensuring his safe return. Christina did not doubt that he intended to win the favor of Ysmaine as a client, as well, for he had hastened to his warehouse to bring her several gifts.
Ysmaine, however, had professed exhaustion and retired early, shortly after that man’s return. Christina had watched Helmut when Ysmaine had paused before climbing the stairs to the chamber above the common room. Ysmaine’s maid had hastened ahead of her mistress to prepare the lady’s bed, and Ysmaine had halted, as if winded. Christina wondered if she had intended to draw every eye. Ysmaine had placed a hand on her lower back, seemingly oblivious to Helmut’s gaze upon her.
Then she had knocked her supposed belly with her fist, apparently by accident. The metallic clang had made Helmut straighten for a heartbeat before he hid his response in the act of sipping his ale.
There was no disguising the glint of avarice in his eye, though.
Christina was dismayed. The lady had made herself prey, and she was resolved that Ysmaine should not pay the price of Helmut’s greed.
He had purportedly left the party when they had ridden onward to Paris, declaring he would take another road home the better to reach his father in time. Christina did not believe it. Nay, he would not let Ysmaine from his sight. He meant to follow them.
And Ysmaine relied upon it.
As they rode, Christina realized that Ysmaine’s choice could only mean that she did not carry the reliquary any longer. Ysmaine drew the villain’s eye to ensure the treasure was safely delivered to the Temple, which meant that she could not possess it. Ysmaine must have made another exchange. Christina did not doubt that Helmut would kill her whether she surrendered the location of the reliquary to him or not.
Where was the treasure?
Christina’s gaze fell upon the maid and the bundle she clutched. It was supposedly Ysmaine’s old and discarded garb, which the maid would keep for her own, but it had been a means of moving the reliquary before. Christina was convinced that Radegunde had been entrusted with the treasure, and suspected that Ysmaine would draw Helmut away from the party to ensure its safe delivery.
She could not let Ysmaine be injured.
She would use Helmut’s feint herself.
Christina relied upon Wulfe taking the path to the Temple that Gaston had advised. Once through the city gates, the party was assailed on all sides by beggars and merchants. The horses lost their pacing for a moment, until Wulfe shouted and compelled the party to form a tight group. He reached back and seized the reins of the steed closest behind him and the others did the same, ensuring that none might straggle behind. As soon as Duncan had seized the reins of her palfrey, Christina slipped from the saddle, hoping that none would note her departure.
If Duncan saw, he gave no sign of it.
She ducked into the crowd and made for the shadow against one wall, her gaze clinging to Wulfe’s figure. She might have imagined that he sensed what she had done, for he glanced back with a frown. Her heart leapt that he might halt the company and foil her plan, so she hid behind several large casks. To her satisfaction and disappointment, Wulfe turned his attention to the road ahead once more.
Could he truly forget her so readily as that?
Or had he discerned the same scheme?
It was only when Christina was on her feet that she realized it might not be so simple to follow the party. The horses cleaved a path through the crowds, but one that quickly disappeared again. Christina thought of a river flowing around a rock, but continuing beyond it with no sign of the interruption. She made slow passage through the busy streets and was glad not only of the size of Teufel but Wulfe’s armor. The bright g
lint of sunlight upon steel was like a guiding star.
When would the lady Ysmaine leave the party? She had to have a scheme to draw out Helmut, or she would never have switched the relic with the bundle. And where was Helmut? Christina did not imagine for a moment that he had truly abandoned the prize, and repeatedly looked back, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
The bridge to the isle was so congested that the horses had to ride in single file. Doubtless few steeds were ridden across it on a feast day like this one, for it was thick with jugglers, merchants, and merrymakers. The large plaza before Notre Dame was even more packed with celebrants than the streets had been and Christina despaired of catching up with the party. She could see them far ahead.
They had halted.
And Gaston had turned back.
This had to be the moment! Christina shoved her way through the crowd, needing to be close enough to see what transpired. She leapt to the top of a merchant’s table, earning a curse for disturbing his wares, and saw Ysmaine disappear from her palfrey’s saddle. Gaston roared, his bellow fit to be heard even at a distance.
Christina kept her gaze fixed on the lady’s fair hair. That her maid remained resolutely with the party meant that Christina was right about the maid’s custody of the reliquary.
But Helmut would not know that. Nay, a man of his ilk would assume that the lady meant to steal the prize for herself, for that was what he would have done.
Christina caught a glimpse of Ysmaine, and then another. That was enough for her to guess that the lady made for the cathedral itself. Where else would a former pilgrim seek sanctuary? Christina suspected, though, that Ysmaine would not find a safe haven there. She raced around the perimeter of the square, knowing it would be faster to take the longer path.
Christina reached the porch only to discover that there was no sign of the lady. She scanned the crowd, terrified that she had erred and that Ysmaine was endangered, only to note a familiar man striding toward the church.
Helmut.
Mercifully, the cathedral was graced with a number of portals and he made for the farthest one. Christina drew up her hood and ducked inside, blinking rapidly when she was engulfed by the darkness.
Far ahead and to the left, Ysmaine lit a candle at an altar and bowed her head in prayer. A lump rose in Christina’s throat as Helmut moved to stand behind her. The lady stiffened, and Christina wished she knew whether it was surprise or the point of a dagger that prompted her reaction.
Helmut urged Ysmaine away from her prayers so readily that she guessed it was the latter. Christina barely had time to step back into the shadows and let her hood fall over her face before the pair swept by. They were so close as they left the church that she could have touched either of them. Instead, she murmured to herself and twitched, as if she were one of the unfortunates who oft sought assistance through prayer.
Helmut spared her the barest glance of revulsion and pushed Ysmaine back into the sunlight. Christina guessed that he intended to take the lady to a private location, divest her of the reliquary and then take her life. He would not be pleased to find himself deceived, and Ysmaine might pay dearly for her choice.
Christina also guessed that Gaston would not abandon his lady wife so readily as that. She lifted the small bag from her belt and smiled, knowing that Costanzia’s belt would finally have a fitting purpose.
She gave chase to Helmut, dropping one of the glittering links of the jeweled belt at regular intervals on the path he took.
Christina only hoped she had enough to mark the entire trail.
* * *
What madness was this?
Wulfe found no consolation that his doubts about including women in the party were proven to be justified in the end. Ysmaine abandoned her steed on the Île de la Cité, just as Christina had abandoned her steed inside the Porte Saint Victor, and once again a ripple of confusion passed through the company. Wulfe wanted only to proceed calmly and as planned to the Temple, but it seemed the women would see his scheme abandoned.
Why did Ysmaine depart with the reliquary? Wulfe might have ridden after her himself, at least until he caught the gaze of the maid Radegunde. She clutched the bundle of clothing she had carried since Venice, but it seemed to Wulfe that she held it more tightly than before.
Ysmaine had entrusted the treasure to her.
They must ride on, as if all were as planned. Gaston might have followed his lady wife, but to Wulfe’s relief, that man recovered himself. At his terse command, the others moved forward with more conviction. Wulfe granted Fergus a glance and that man began to usher the party onward from the rear.
They were so close to the Temple. Naught could go awry now!
They crossed the bridge to the north bank and the crowds thinned ahead. The road was sufficiently open that Wulfe took a breath of relief. He might have spurred Teufel to greater speed, but Gaston suddenly appeared at his side.
That man was more agitated than Wulfe had ever seen him, but he had no chance to ask what was amiss. Gaston shoved the reins of the palfrey that his wife’s maid rode into his hand
“Ride!” Gaston commanded. “Ride for the Temple and let none stand in your path! Ensure that she is with you to the last.”
Gaston knew the girl had the treasure, and worse, his cry had ensured that all others knew it as well. There could be no subtlety now.
Wulfe would have given Teufel his spurs, but Gaston slapped the destrier’s flank hard first. The horse neighed, then broke into a gallop of his own volition. The palfrey bearing Radegunde galloped fast beside him. Wulfe held that beast’s reins and murmured to Teufel, hoping the girl would not fall. People took one look and fell back in fear.
Far behind him, Wulfe heard Fergus shout and the sound of hoof beats on the stones. For his part, he made for the gates of the Temple with all speed. The familiar tower loomed high over the walls ahead.
“Sir! Is it far?” the maid demanded.
“Hold fast,” Wulfe commanded. “There is the gate ahead.”
“Aye, sir. I will not drop it.”
There was a determination in her tone that reassured Wulfe. The horses thundered down the road and Wulfe roared when any dared to step into the street ahead of them. Merchants and men fell back, a woman spilled her bucket of water and cursed them with a raised fist. Chickens loosed from a garden squawked as they fled back to their haven.
“Open the gates!” Wulfe bellowed when they drew near enough that he might be heard. The porter revealed himself, stepping out to look down the street. “We ride on a matter of urgency for the Temple!”
The porter took one look at Wulfe’s tabard, then saluted and disappeared again. Wulfe heard the creak of the portcullis and marveled that it had been closed during the day. He slowed Teufel to make the turn, looking up and down the street for any sign of pursuit.
There was none that he could discern, but still he did not halt.
“Bend low,” he advised the maid, though truly he was the sole one in danger when they rode beneath the partly raised portcullis. She exhaled shakily when the horses stopped on the far side of the bailey, Teufel snorting and stamping after his run. The others cantered into the bailey behind them. Wulfe dismounted and offered his hand to the maid, who hugged the parcel close.
“I assume there is cause for this disruption,” a man said coolly, and Wulfe spun to find the Grand Master surveying him.
He put the maid upon her feet and dropped to one knee in a low bow. “Sir, we have ridden from the Temple in Jerusalem, entrusted with a message for you.”
The Grand Master arched a brow. “And you bring a woman into the Temple. What is your name, brother? It seems that the rule’s burden upon you is a light one.” The remainder of the company rode into the bailey then, and the Grand Master surveyed them. His lips pursed and he looked at Wulfe again. “I assume there is an explanation for this.”
“Of course, sir. I am Brother Wulfe, most recently of the Gaza Priory, sir. I rode to Jerusalem to take tidings fro
m my master, only to be dispatched upon this quest by Brother Terricus…”
“Terricus? Excellent. I have been awaiting his tidings.” The Grand Master put out his hand.
“I do not carry the missive, sir.”
“You have lost it?”
“It was entrusted to another knight in our party, a knight leaving the order to claim his family holding.”
The Grand Master surveyed the company with obvious expectation.
“He does not arrive with us, sir,” Wulfe admitted.
The older man frowned. “You have a most curious way of delivering a missive, Brother Wulfe.”
“He pursues his lady wife, sir, for he fears for her safety.”
The Grand Master’s silver brows rose even higher. “Then we are to expect more women to arrive within the walls of the Temple?”
“I believe so, sir.”
“At least his whore is no longer with us,” Bartholomew muttered, and the Grand Master inhaled sharply.
He turned a piercing gaze upon Wulfe. “Have you a whore, Brother Wulfe?”
“Nay, sir,” Wulfe said, glad this was now true. “We did, however, escort another pilgrim from Venice who had need of our assistance.”
“That is a novel way to explain such a situation, Brother Wulfe.” The Grand Master’s lips thinned. “If you do not have the missive, then why the ruckus of your arrival?”
“Because of this, sir,” the maid said and dropped to her knees before the Grand Master. That man took a step back, perhaps thinking that she desired some deed of him, but Radegunde pushed back the cloth that protected her burden. Though she was before Wulfe, he could see that she was still trembling after their ride.
Then he saw the Grand Master’s eyes widen and his face pale.
Wulfe took a step forward and was stunned himself. A golden reliquary was cocooned by the rough cloth. It was studded with gems, surely worth a king’s ransom, and shone so brilliantly in the sunlight that it was difficult to look directly upon it.
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