by Traci E Hall
“I trust your observations,” he said. “I did not know what to make of the situation, being unfamiliar with royal ways.”
“Can you explain the Templar involvement?” Mamie did not care for Bartholomew, putting him in the same category as Odo and Thierry. Rats.
He brushed a dark blond curl from his forehead, but a breeze put it back. He frowned. “The Knights are involved because of the Outremer states. It is their duty to protect them as well as the pilgrims making their way toward Jerusalem. With Edessa in Turkish hands, the way is not safe.”
“Their duty?” She realized that he spoke as if he were distant from the issue. She surmised because he had been on Crusade for so long, he was not a part of local politics.
“Ours,” he said. “I was thinking of talking with Patriarch Aimery. As the religious leader of Antioch, he might have the most current answers on what the pope wants regarding the Crusade.”
Mamie sidled closer, talking in a whisper. She could almost touch his leg. Spiritually strengthened from her time in the grove, she allowed herself to trust her feelings of safety with Dominus. “We should not be speaking of these things. It would be simpler if every faction wanted the same thing. But if I’ve learned anything about royalty, it’s that nothing is simple.”
He laughed, startling his horse, which he calmed immediately with a stroke of its mane. “That is life. Royal or no.”
“You are correct—again.” She loved his laugh, a rare sound.
“Give me a stallion and sword and an enemy to fight, and I am content. This”—he waved toward the palace—“is not my strength.”
“What, this?” She studied him. “Intrigue?”
He exhaled. “I like knowing the face of the enemy. Here.” Briefly touching his hand to hers, he said, “I did not know that Bartholomew was going to confront the queen. Or even that he planned on joining us.”
“If you had, would you have warned me?” Her glove warmed in the place he’d touched it.
He frowned. “I had not asked myself that. I . . . I don’t know.”
“Honestly spoken.” She sat straight, finding solace in her belief he said the truth. What did she want from this situation? She found herself caring for a man she could never have. If friendship were the only way to be in his life? But the Templars did not allow that either. “I am not the enemy, Dominus.”
“I know.” He rubbed his beard, a few shades darker than the curls on his head.
Heart lighter, Mamie smiled. “I am glad of it.”
“But if you are not the enemy, and I am not the enemy—who is?”
Mamie heard a whistle and looked up. Fay and Eleanor waited at the palace gate, and she could see they would not enter without her.
“We need to discuss this in further detail,” Mamie said.
His mouth thinned. “Go. I will find a way to contact you. I need your help, Mamie. May I trust you?”
“The queen comes before anything else.” It was the best she could offer.
Chapter Eleven
Dominus trailed behind the palace guard, waiting until Mamie, Fay, and the queen were inside the locked wooden gate. Then he turned back around and went to the city center, pausing to remove his white robe and wear the brown he’d carried in his bag. He was looking specifically for a candle maker by the name of Tallow, who had his own shop.
After finding the right street, he tied his horse to a post. Taking a coin from his hidden wallet, he paid a boy to stand guard over the mount and walked until he came to the storefront.
An Englishman, pale-skinned and red-cheeked, greeted him with a grin and handshake. “Candles, sir?”
Templars were given just enough coin for a purpose and no more. Dominus did not care for this way of doing business, so he broke the rule. Money greased hands and answered questions far better than a please or thank-you.
“A dozen of your finest. I will be sending them to Rome.” He would be sending them to France, actually, but that was not the code phrase.
The Englishman’s grin faltered. “Rome?” He looked at Dominus’s plain robe and sized him up. “My best selection is in the back. Come with me.”
Dominus followed him inside the dark shop, his shoulders brushing the narrow walls. The man went behind a curtain and gestured for Dominus to squeeze in. Once there, the room brightened with candles, but the space was still tight.
“Rome?” Master Tallow repeated.
“That is what I was told,” Dominus said, patting his leather wallet. “Do you have anything for me?”
“Aye. Two missives, actually. Let me reach behind you . . .” The man took out a candle box, which turned out to be empty, except for two sealed packets.
Perhaps the bishop had gotten worried when he hadn’t heard anything while they were out at sea. Dominus thumbed the seals, ensuring they were still fastened. “I have a letter I would like to send, along with the candles—to France, though.” The secret network of people in the church’s employ amazed him. From the time they’d left France, Dominus had been sending and receiving messages with no other soul the wiser.
Dominus traded his sealed letter for the two and gave the man enough coin for candles and a bit more for his trouble.
“Thank ye. We have another shipment due in a day or two.”
“I will be back, Master Tallow.”
He left, gathering his horse and walking him toward the water. The Orontes River teemed with boats and people. His own village was on the Atlantic Ocean, where his family had provided sustenance for over a hundred years.
Yes, the Duchy of Byronne was small, but it had staying power. Why had his brothers borrowed so heavily against the property? He had never wanted it, but here he was giving up everything to save the mildewing heap of rock. No, he did not give a denier for the keep. It was the children who tore at his sense of honor. Where would they go if he walked away? If he did not finish the quest for the bishop?
Dominus made his way toward a shaded tree out of the way of the masses, when he heard Everard call his name.
Damn it.
Wishing he’d read the letters in the candle maker’s shop, Dominus turned toward the younger knight. “Everard. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you,” he said, not bothering with pretense. “Commander Bartholomew is wondering why you missed prayers.” He gave Dominus a sorrowful look. “We had more freedom on the caravan.”
Dominus nodded. “I was just thinking the same thing. I was taking in some air.”
Everard dismounted, stretching his legs. “You cannot turn around without someone at your elbow, watching to see if you are committing a sin. Not that I am complaining, because I am grateful for a roof and food in our bellies. Does it make me evil for wishing we were fighting Turks?”
“Not evil at all. That is what you are trained to do. Battle the enemy. And pray.”
Everard gave a single nod. “And pray and pray. I would do God’s will, but it is sometimes hard to concentrate. The Templar House, despite its holiness, makes me think of sin.”
Dominus turned with a start.
Everard blushed, shifting. “Worldly things.”
Dominus had an idea he was talking about women in general and Fay in particular.
“It is normal for a man to think thus. However, as a knight sworn to God, you have made an oath to be chaste.”
He didn’t care for that oath either and looked forward to being free of it.
Everard heaved a sigh as if the weight of the world rested upon his muscled shoulders. “I will ask for more strenuous chores. Chopping wood helps.”
Dominus hid his smile and clapped a hand on the younger knight’s arm. “I will assist you. The blessing of being part of this fraternity is that you are not alone in your suffering.”
They mounted their horses and rode back to the stables, where Bartholomew waited for them. His tanned features clouded as he looked at Dominus’s brown robes. Dominus bowed his head, realizing his mistake in not changing back.
&
nbsp; “You wandered the city dressed in such a way? You are a Templar, not a regular knight free to do as he pleases.”
Dominus gritted his teeth. “I apologize. I wanted some time away from everyone, and I did not want to dirty the white.”
The commander drew himself up. “It seems as if you planned to commit a sin.”
“No,” Dominus said.
Commander Bartholomew’s skin turned a shade of dark cherry. “You dare to argue with me? You do not have permission to leave on your own. Do you understand?”
He had no choice but to agree. Right now he had to protect his secrets. “Oui.”
“You will take bread and water in your room and spend the night in prayer. I will question you regarding the rules of our order until you have them all correct. It seems to me that you pick and choose which rules to follow. That may have been accepted on the caravan, but it is not all right here.”
Everard backed away, but Bartholomew said, “Stay, brother, and be witness to a man who has lost his way in Christ. Obedience is a must.”
“I apologize if I have offended you,” Dominus said.
“Offended me? You have offended God. Disrobe.”
“Commander?” Dominus quickly thought to his empty wallet—thank God he had no coin—and the letters hidden in the seam.
“Everard, go next door and get our brother slippers and a linen shirt.”
Angry, Dominus realized he had no choice but to obey. He removed his brown robe, his tunic, and his boots, standing before the commander in his bare feet and leggings. He’d tucked the leather wallet in the robe, kicking the garments to the side of the stall.
“You have nothing but what God grants you. You are nothing but that which God gives. You deserve nothing; you own nothing. You are a member of the Knights Templar, and as such, you belong to God.”
Dominus realized Everard was gone. He also realized that he and the commander were not alone in the stable. He opened his senses, detecting the faint smell of rose oil. Mamie? Why would she be in the stable? Could he get his wallet and the letters to her?
“I know that I should not have gone into the city without getting your permission. It was done not out of ill will but carelessness.”
“The city is filled with temptation. You may not eat or drink in public. What is it you were doing?”
Dominus nudged the robe closer to the stall, hoping to loosen the wallet. If there was a way to hide it in the hay, he could come back for it later.
“I have gotten accustomed to my own company.”
Bartholomew narrowed his eyes.
“Here is a shirt, Commander,” Everard said, returning with his arms full.
“Give them to Brother Dominus. Where is your proper robe?”
“In the bag on my saddle.”
The commander walked to Dominus’s horse and removed the bag, pulling the white robe free. “This is how you take care of the gifts given to you?”
“I only thought to keep it clean when I sat in the grass by the river.” How to reach the wallet?
“I do not trust you. Everard, give me his boots.”
Everard made a show of picking up each boot and bringing it to the commander. As the commander looked away, Dominus moved closer to the brown robe, stepping on the fabric until he felt the bulge of his wallet.
“Nothing in this one,” Everard said, shaking the boot upside down.
Dominus froze as the commander lifted his head, stared at him, and then picked up the other boot.
While the commander searched the heels, Dominus shifted the wallet free of the robe, kicking it into the hay. He did not question his trust in Mamie, only hoped she would discover it and hide it for him.
Bartholomew yanked on the heels of each boot as if certain there was a hidden compartment. Dominus sent a prayer of thanks upward when Bartholomew did not find the latch. There was nothing inside but only because he hadn’t had time to read the letters. He was back in place when the commander threw the boots toward the stable wall.
“Get dressed,” he ordered.
Dominus put on the shirt, acutely aware of Mamie’s unseen gaze.
He slipped the shoes on his feet and bowed his head. He would play along for a while more, though the charade was wearing as thin as old linen.
Just until he read the letters—then he would decide what to do next.
Mamie watched Dominus put the shirt on, dragging it over his head. Unlike Bartholomew, Everard and Dominus did not have tonsured hair. Being on Crusade, they’d been allowed to let it grow.
An itch begged to be scratched behind her knee, but she did not dare move from her spot in the loft. She’d come to the stable hoping for a private word with Dominus. Instead, Bartholomew had arrived, spitting angry as he dismissed the stable lads.
What had Dominus been doing? And what had he hidden in the hay? She’d seen him glance up at her, quick as a heartbeat, gesturing toward the pile. She’d heard Bartholomew say he wasn’t supposed to have coin. Was he hiding a wallet?
A trinket of some kind?
She would help him in whatever way she could. If she let him think that they were working in unison, she saw no harm in that. Her prevailing duty was to gather information for the queen, while protecting Eleanor with her life.
Besides, she was curious.
Bartholomew said, “Everard, take your brother to your room and pray with him that he might see God’s light. You may come to supper, and bring bread and water back to Dominus. Tomorrow we will discuss your thoughts before morning prayers.”
He took the boots and, at the last instant, reached for the robe. Mamie held her breath, hoping he saw nothing amiss. The commander shook it free of straw, plucking a piece from the hood. “You will do service in the laundry, I think. Until you have a better understanding of how to care for your clothes.”
Dominus kept his head bowed, though Mamie saw the tight line of his back. He did not seem very repentant.
Everard’s gaze remained downward as he put his hand on Dominus’s shoulder. “Come. I will gladly pray with you, for your salvation and mine.”
“And why have you not been to the barber?” The commander’s voice shook with temper. “I know I made an appointment for you both.”
The three knights left. As the stable boy returned, Mamie dropped from the loft like an acrobat, startling him. She dug into the hay until she found a leather pouch with a brass clasp. She nodded at the boy as if it were nothing, and hurried out of the stable.
Mamie quickly made her way to the chamber she shared with Fay, Eleanor, and Larissa. They were all gone, having a glass of wine with Constance and Hortencia.
Mamie went inside and locked the door behind her. Her fingers trembled as she undid the clasp. The pouch seemed empty, until she felt along the edges and realized there was a second lining.
“Clever, Dominus. What are you doing?”
A note from a forbidden lover? Knights Templar were not allowed to have personal missives, not even from their families.
She recognized the seal but did not immediately know from where. Dared she open it? What did she gain by reading Dominus’s private correspondence? She was a spy, God’s bones.
It just feels personal, because of my feeling for the knight.
Feelings she wasn’t supposed to have in the first place.
She took her knife and heated the blade over the flame of an oil lamp. With great care, she lifted the wax and unfolded the letter.
“Two should be as one. Once divided, it cannot be made whole.”
What does that mean? It could apply to anything.
“Mend what is broken, or bury what is dead.”
Intriguing.
She skipped to the last part, her breath catching as she finally understood the seal.
Why are you receiving private letters from Bishop Clairvaux?
Mamie tucked the letter back into the purse, then took the second packet and repeated the slow, careful process of lifting the seal without breaking the wax.<
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This letter read differently, and after reading the first two lines, Mamie’s heart wrenched with disappointment.
“Dearest Dominus, I hope this finds you well. The children are fine, but they asked me to send their love. I know you told us to be patient, but it is difficult. A year has passed with no word, and I fear our family is beginning to believe you will never come home. Please, come home. Love, Meggie.”
For no reason she could think of, Mamie’s eyes welled with tears. He had a Meggie. And children. A family. He’d lied, telling her he was alone.
Keeping her foolish emotions at bay, Mamie sniffed and thought of the facts in front of her.
What did the bishop want from Dominus? The cryptic note gave no clue, other than the seal. There was no salutation and no closing signature.
If he was married, he could not really be a Templar. Unless the bishop knew of the marriage and had made one of his exceptions. She got up, pacing the room. What if Dominus worked on behalf of Bernard of Clairvaux, the man—not necessarily the bishop representing the church?
Why?
She burned with questions. There was no way she could get the answers—unless . . .
He was confined to his room, with Everard.
The commander told Everard he would leave Dominus alone for supper, bringing him back bread and water. That gave her plenty of time to sneak into Dominus’s room at the Templar House and get to the bottom of this mystery before the night was out.
Mamie left the castle, determined to discover the truth about Dominus. She kept to the edges of the path, walking as if she had all of the time in the world, though she wanted to run like the wind.
Reaching Templar House, Mamie was not prepared for how seriously the Templars took their solitude. Knights in white tunics guarded the perimeter. She attempted to cross into the yard.