‘Luc, perhaps you would stay with the body, while I take Thomas to the authorities in Santo Domingo to explain what happened. I’m sure they’ll send a cart to collect and bury the mason. When you get into town, one of us will be waiting for you in front of the cathedral. Otherwise you won’t know where we’re lodged.’
Luc nodded in agreement.
The friar knelt down once more and searched through the mason’s clothes until he found his purse. From it, he removed, and carefully unfolded, his pilgrim’s passport. ‘Louis Dubois of Beauvais. I never knew his full name.’ He straightened up, tucked the purse into his pocket, and looked round.
‘Should we move him off the road?’ Luc did his best to maintain the impression of a helpless victim, unfamiliar with violent death. ‘What if a cart were to come along?’
The friar nodded. Together with Thomas, Luc lifted the dead man and moved him into the shade of a scrawny holm-oak tree at the side of the road. Then he and Aimée waited alongside the corpse as the others set off. In the shade of the tree, there was a large rock, its smooth surface testimony to its regular use by passing pilgrims in search of shelter from the relentless sun. Luc led Aimée to it and they both sat down. She kept hold of his hand.
Once the group was out of earshot, he recounted what had happened.
‘So you’re saying that this Thomas man deliberately killed the stonemason?’ Aimée’s voice was sceptical. ‘Couldn’t it just have been a lucky blow?’
‘It might,’ Luc sounded even more sceptical, ‘except for the speed of it. You didn’t see it, but Thomas was like a striking serpent. I was reaching for the knife I keep up my sleeve. Before I could draw it, he had swung and connected, and with deadly accuracy.’
His eyes flicked down to the body beside them. The stonemason’s head was lying at an impossible angle. The blow had broken his neck. It could almost have been the work of the infamous Assassins. For a moment, Luke’s thoughts flashed back to his fighting years in the Holy Land. He had seen more than his fair share of violent death over there, but rarely as perfectly executed as this.
‘He meant to do it. Believe me, I know.’ He squeezed Aimée’s hand.
She bowed to his superior experience of these things. ‘All right, he deliberately killed him. So tell me why?’
‘I don’t know.’ Luc’s voice betrayed his mystification. ‘If we accept my theory that he knew what he was doing, then it’s indisputable that he has to be a professional.’
‘A professional what, Luc?’
‘Either a professional soldier, or a professional killer.’
‘A professional soldier who just saved your life.’ She was turning the idea over in her head. ‘Does that mean he might be a Templar like yourself?’
He gave a sigh of frustration. ‘I’ve been wondering that. It wouldn’t surprise me if the men who sent me on this mission had arranged to have me shadowed, in case I might need help. But surely they would have told me. What’s the use of a bodyguard if you don’t know who he is?’
Aimée shook her head. ‘Think back to the Abbot of Santa Cristina, Luc. You remember what he said about links on a chain, don’t you? If you’re unaware of the identity of your guardian angel, the archbishop and his men would be unable to make you reveal anything about him.’
Luc reflected on her words. ‘You’re right. And if I failed, he would still be able to step in to help complete the mission.’ He gazed down at her tenderly. ‘You’re a clever woman, Aimée.’
She gripped him more tightly. ‘Of course, you said a professional soldier or a professional killer. What if he’s a killer working for the archbishop? Maybe he deliberately sacrificed this unimportant pawn so that you would believe him to be on your side. Then, when your guard’s down, he’ll pounce.’
Luc turned this other hypothesis over in his mind. It was a sobering thought. He was still reflecting on it some time later when a municipal official arrived to retrieve the body of the stonemason. The driver offered them a lift into town and they were happy to accept. He dropped them off in front of the cathedral and, as promised, Jeanne, the baker’s daughter, was waiting for them. She ran over and took Aimée by the arm, leading them along a narrow street to the hostel. It was a simple inn, small and crowded, but Luc preferred it that way. If the archbishop’s men were already in the town, he and Aimée would be less conspicuous here than in the big pilgrims’ hospice.
‘Luc, Aimée, you’re here at last.’ Friar Laurent was sitting at a long table, a plate of sausage and ham in front of him. He waved them onto the bench beside him. ‘Sorry it took so long. There was no problem with the authorities. Everybody here would appear to sleep from lunchtime till late afternoon. Anyway, they’ve accepted the witness statements. Thomas is in the clear.’ He leant closer to Luc. ‘And your name wasn’t even mentioned.’
Luc gave a satisfied nod. So the stonemason incident had not caused a stir. He glanced around, checking the faces in the room, recognising a few, but not many. He searched for Thomas, but there was no sign of him so he allowed himself to relax. Catching sight of the innkeeper, he ordered a jug of wine and some food. The wine arrived almost immediately. Luc refilled the friar’s mug, then took one for himself and one for Aimée. He pressed it into her hand.
‘Here, have some wine and then we should get some sleep. I don’t know about you, but I’m really tired tonight.’
‘It isn’t everyday somebody tries to kill you. That might have something to do with it.’ Her tone was dry, but he could hear that she was still disturbed by the events of the day.
‘The important thing is that he didn’t succeed.’
The innkeeper returned with a steaming bowl of thick vegetable soup with dumplings. The sight of food reminded Luc he was hungry.
The innkeeper straightened up and looked across at the friar. ‘Are you Friar Laurent by any chance?’
The monk looked up. ‘Yes. What is it?’
‘Message for you. The bishop wants to see you. You’re to go to the Bishop’s Palace as soon as possible.’
‘The bishop wants to see me?’ Laurent was amazed. ‘But how does he know I’m here?’
‘No idea. The messenger was here five, ten, minutes ago, but he left.’ The innkeeper shrugged and returned to the kitchen.
Luc’s appetite suddenly left him. That same sensation that all was not well was back with him again. He watched as the friar jumped to his feet, agitated at this summons to the presence of such an august personage. Before he could set off, Luc caught his arm, lowering his voice to little more than a whisper. ‘Laurent, do you want me to come with you?’ He really didn’t want to leave Aimée, but this summons could mean danger for the friar.
‘No, of course not.’ The friar smiled down at him. ‘Maybe my abbot wrote to him about our pilgrimage. He did tell me he knew people along the way.’
‘Well, if you’re absolutely sure…’
‘It’s fine, really, Luc, thanks for the offer. Anyway, it’s not far. The palace is right beside the cathedral.’ He turned and disappeared out of the exit.
‘What do you think that’s all about?’ Aimée was as puzzled as Luc.
‘I don’t know.’ Luc looked around, subjecting all the other people in the room to close scrutiny. He saw nothing untoward, but his instincts were still screaming caution. He took his time, waiting to see if his feelings changed before making a decision. Finally, his mind made up, he rested his mouth against her ear and whispered. ‘Listen, Aimée, do you think you’ll be all right if I leave you here with Beatrice and Jeanne? I’m worried for Laurent. How did the bishop know about him? How did he know he was here, in this little inn, and why today? How do we know the messenger was even sent by the bishop anyway?’
She nodded, feeling his lips rub against her ear as she did so. In spite of the circumstances, she felt a thrill at his touch. ‘I’ll be fine here, don’t worry. What’re you going to do?’
‘I owe, we owe, Laurent a lot. He’s gone out on a limb for us and he deserves
all the help I can give. I’ll head for the Bishop’s Palace and check on him.’
‘Promise me you’ll be careful.’
‘I promise. Oh good, here’s Beatrice. I’ll be back before long.’
Aimée listened to the sound of his feet and then the squeak of the hinges on the heavy door as he left the inn. All afternoon, since the death of the stonemason, she had been thinking about Luc and the importance he had now assumed in her life. Of course, on the one hand there was the practical consideration that he was her eyes and, without him, she would be in dire straits, but there was so much more to it than that. The moment she had heard the words ‘He’s dead’ and feared the worst, the realisation had descended upon her that she was deeply and irrevocably in love with him, and of that there was now no doubt at all. She had already lost one man she had loved dearly. To lose two was unthinkable. If Luc were to die, she knew she would follow him. She pressed her hands together under the table and prayed silently to herself for his safe return with the friar.
Outside, the narrow streets were dark. Night had fallen and the moon had not yet risen. Luc stood in the shelter of a woodpile and waited until his eyes adjusted. Apart from the hum of conversation from the inn behind him, all was quiet. Gradually, he began to distinguish things in the gloom. He could see the street down which they had come, leading back to the cathedral, with two other streets running off it. Ever cautious, he avoided the direct route and made his way there along narrow side alleys.
It was not a big town, and he soon found himself back at the cathedral. There were no lights around this side of the building, and he was able to cross to the deeper shadow of the cathedral wall without fear of being seen. Hugging the stone, still warm from the residual heat of the sun, he headed for the front. Arriving at the corner, he peered cautiously round. Apart from a lantern over the main portal of the cathedral, and another by the Bishop’s Palace, there were no signs of life.
He calculated that the friar, by coming straight up the road, would have arrived five or even ten minutes earlier, so he settled down to wait for him to come out. Within a very short space of time, he heard marching feet. He shrank back into the shadows and looked on as four soldiers appeared, one of them carrying a lantern. Although they bore swords, they were not wearing chain mail and their weapons were sheathed. It looked clear that this was the local militia, patrolling the streets. After a brief pause in front of the cathedral, they set off down a side street to continue their rounds and Luc breathed a sigh of relief.
No sooner had the sound of their feet receded, than he heard a loud creak. The Bishop’s Palace door was pulled open and a cowled figure emerged. The man closed the door behind him and locked it. Luc clearly heard the jingle of keys. Cupping the lantern against his hand, the man blew out the flame, plunging the building into darkness. Luc heard his footsteps recede along the main street, until all was silent once again.
Luc’s mind was racing. The Bishop’s Palace was dark and, presumably, empty. Where was Friar Laurent and where was the bishop? And, he wondered with a shiver, where was the Archbishop of Sens? If Laurent wasn’t here, where was he? Was all this an elaborate ploy to get him away from the inn, and both of them away from Aimée?
He didn’t hesitate. Casting a wary look round, he emerged from his shelter and ran across the square into the street leading directly to the inn. Apart from an occasional flickering candle in a window, it was pitch dark down there. He hoped he wouldn’t trip over anything as he hurried through the shadows back to the inn. The road curved slightly to the left and he saw a lantern up ahead, with shadows moving around it. He slowed up and felt his way hesitantly along the wall, until he could see and hear men talking.
‘How long do you think he’s been dead?’
‘Not long. He’s still warm.’
Luc realised that the night patrol had found a corpse. His immediate reaction was one of relief. They were talking about a dead man, not a woman. The body couldn’t belong to Aimée. But could it be the friar?
‘We’d better get him off the street. We’ll go and get the cart. Who’s going to wait with the body?’
There was silence. Clearly none of them fancied standing around in the dark with a dead body, and a murderer on the loose.
‘All right then, we’ll all go. He isn’t going to move, after all.’
There was a murmur of agreement. Luc heard them move off, their shadows flickering against the walls of the shops and houses as they disappeared. As soon as they were out of sight, he slipped down the road to the body. His heart sank as he saw the dark monastic habit. There was no doubt about it. It was definitely the friar. He reached down and around the body, searching for the cause of death. A first pale glimmer of moonlight began to shed some illumination on the scene. All at once he saw what had happened. Friar Laurent’s head had been twisted viciously round, so that it was past his shoulder. His neck had been broken. Silently, ruthlessly and professionally.
He laid the friar gently back on the cobbles. Raising his hand, he made the sign of the cross over him and murmured a prayer. Then he stood up and set off at a run.
He reached the inn within two minutes. Aware that the killer might be lying in wait for him with a bow, he steeled himself and ran the last few steps in a crouching zigzag. He reached the door unscathed and burst in. Inside, everything was calm and still. Most of the pilgrims had retired to bed and there were only a few men left around the table, drinking wine and talking in low tones. They looked up in surprise at his abrupt entrance. Hastily, he made his way across the room towards the group where, to his immense relief, he saw Aimée leaning against her pack, chatting to Beatrice.
‘Everything all right?’ Beatrice took one look at his face and realised that all was far from well. Aimée, hearing him approach, turned towards him with a smile.
‘Did you find Laurent?’
He sat down beside them and took a deep breath. Somehow, the enormity of the crime made it hard to accept, and even harder to describe.
‘I’m afraid I have bad news, very bad news.’
He noticed a few heads around them look up, among them Thomas, looking sleepy. Luc paused for a moment, his mind struggling to make sense of this. Of all the things he had expected to find in here, Thomas in his bedroll was not one of them.
‘I’m afraid Friar Laurent’s dead.’ He heard sharp intakes of breath around the folk in this corner of the room. More people stirred. The family from Champagne peered out of their beds like chicks in a nest. To Luc’s amazement, the oldest of them spoke. None of them had been heard to utter more than a syllable at a time for weeks now.
‘How did he die?’
The question, coming from such an unexpected source, only served to further confuse Luc. His head was spinning. Mechanically, he recounted the facts.
‘I found him lying in the road. He was savagely attacked. His assailant broke his neck. At least that means he would have died instantly, and without suffering.’
‘But who would want to kill the friar?’ Jeanne stared helplessly at her mother.
‘My dear girl, there are some terrible people in the world. May God have mercy on his soul.’ Beatrice was weeping. As the news sank in, others followed suit. Laurent had been well loved.
‘Have the authorities been informed?’ Thomas pulled himself out of bed and came over to stand beside Luc. Luc found himself inching away from him.
‘The night watchmen found him before I did. I heard them say they were going to get a cart.’ Luc glanced at the man beside him. The very professional nature of the killing had immediately stirred Luc’s suspicions that it might have been the stocky man’s handiwork, but his face gave nothing away. Thomas was fully clothed, but that meant nothing. Most of the pilgrims slept in their clothes, only removing jacket and breeches if it was exceptionally warm. He felt Aimée’s hand on his arm.
‘You were right in your fears for him, Luc.’
‘What fears?’ Thomas sounded interested.
Luc told th
em all about the messenger and his doubts as to how the bishop could have traced Laurent. ‘I went to the Bishop’s Palace to look for him, but it was closed up and dark. I don’t think he even got there. I’m afraid it looks like the killer, or killers, were lying in wait for him.’ He was still racking his brains for a motive. The friar’s death made no sense.
‘Have you asked the innkeeper about the messenger?’ Aimée was practical, as always. ‘Did he recognise the person who delivered it? This isn’t a big town. I’d imagine the innkeeper would know most of the people here.’
‘That’s a good thought, Aimée. I’ll go and ask him now.’ Luc turned and made his way back across the room. As he reached the other side, he realised that Thomas was right behind him. Reaching a quiet corner, Luc stopped and turned.
‘It’s about time you and I had a word.’ He kept his voice low, although there was nobody within earshot.
‘Always pleased to talk, Luc.’ Thomas affected a relaxed, cordial tone, but Luc could see he was very much on guard.
‘Tell me, Thomas, how long have you been in here this evening? I went out less than an hour ago and you weren’t here then.’
‘That’s funny. I got here almost exactly an hour ago. We must have missed each other by seconds.’ Thomas met and held Luc’s eye. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘It just seems like a big coincidence that the friar and the stonemason were both killed in the same way. A very professional way. You’re clearly an expert.’
‘Professional, expert? Thanks for the compliments. But,’ Thomas’s voice dropped even lower, ‘if there’s a professional killer here, are you so sure it’s me? It’s you, and you know it.’
Luc stepped slowly back, until his shoulders touched the stone wall behind him. He began to ease his right hand towards his sleeve as Thomas continued.
Chasing Shadows Page 21