Marcus reached out and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Look at me.” Pierre raised his head and stared at Marcus with bloodshot eyes. “Your father was not a coward. Just because someone is scared, doesn’t mean he’s a coward.”
“I’ll bet you’ve never been scared.”
Marcus laughed. “Son, I’m scared every time I go into battle. It’s good to be scared. It gives you a rush that keeps you on edge, keeps you alert. It’s God’s way of heightening your senses against danger.”
Pierre’s eyes were saucers. “You get scared?”
Simon stepped closer. “It’s true, I’ve seen him nearly drop his sword once.”
Marcus chuckled. “You know very well that was because my hand was covered in Saracen innards.”
“Sure it was.”
The squires roared with Simon, at their master’s expense, even young Pierre smiling, Tanya getting excited. Marcus jerked a thumb at Jeremy. “Jeremy crapped his pants once.”
Jeremy flushed red. “Umm, I thought we agreed never to speak of it again.”
Marcus grinned. “See?”
Pierre nodded, smiling.
“So, you see, if warriors like us can be scared, and we’ve been in battle our entire lives, you should never think less of your father for being scared. He wasn’t scared of those men, he was scared of what they might do to you and your mama.” He frowned. “Unfortunately, he was right to fear them, but very fortunately, you escaped them by being very brave.”
“I just hid.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I heard them come in when I was in my room playing.”
“So you didn’t see them?”
“No, I did. Through the hole in my door.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Were they angry?”
“Not at first.”
“So your father let them in?”
“My mama.”
“And they were friendly at first?”
Pierre shrugged. “I think so.”
“Then what happened.”
“They began to argue.”
“What about?”
“They showed my papa a piece of paper. He seemed angry that they had it. Then they asked him something.”
“What?”
Another shrug. “I think if anything else was signed at some meeting. I’m not sure. But my father wouldn’t tell them anything, so they killed him, then my mama.”
“Then what did they do?”
“Someone came toward my room, so I hid underneath my bed. Then someone yelled that someone was coming, so they all left. That’s when I found mama and papa.”
The tears threatened to begin anew.
“Would you recognize the men?”
Pierre looked away. “I-I don’t know.”
“You don’t need to fear them, son, I’ll never let anything happen to you. My men and I will protect you. You have my word.”
Pierre looked at the others, all nodding, then at Marcus. “Y-you will?”
Marcus smiled. “Yes. In fact, I have agreed with the Bailiff’s Delegate, Mr. Archambault, that you will come and stay at my farm with Jacques and Angeline. How does that sound?”
Pierre beamed. “That would be wonderful!”
“Good. Now, tell me, would you recognize the men?”
Pierre shrugged. “The one who killed my father, I think so. I didn’t really see the other one.”
“Someone yelled someone was coming. Was that from inside your home, or outside?”
“Outside.”
“So then there were at least three.”
“I guess.”
“Good. That’s more than we knew a few minutes ago.” Marcus smiled at Pierre. “You’re a good, brave boy. Your mama and papa would be very proud of you right now.”
Pierre stared at his feet.
“Now, why don’t you play with Tanya for a little, while we talk to the boring old men over there, okay?”
Pierre giggled then nodded as Marcus stood. He strode toward the group of town elders, Simon and the others following.
“Three men on horseback, wearing our colors, must have stood out in a town such as this.”
Marcus glanced at Simon, keeping his voice low. “Agreed. Unfortunately, we’re Templars on horseback. Someone is liable to accuse us of these murders.”
David’s eyes bulged. “You don’t think—”
“I don’t know what to think. This entire situation is unbelievable, yet here we are. Farmers in France, with a growing brood to care for, trying to solve the puzzle presented us. I feel like some sort of lawman nursemaid rather than a soldier serving God.”
“Perhaps we should get you a nice dress.”
Marcus jabbed a finger at his sergeant, though it was accompanied by a smile. “You’ll be the one in the dress, if either of us is.”
“I’ve been told I have nice legs.”
“Then you shall have a pretty garland to go with it.”
Simon held up his left hand daintily. “You better put a ring on it.”
Marcus tossed his head back and laughed, immediately regretting it as everyone turned to see who could be so merry in such circumstances. He bowed slightly, apologizing. He approached Archambault. “I’ve discussed it with the boy, and he seems eager to join me on my farm until relatives can be found to care for him.”
Archambault placed a hand on his chest. “Thank the good Lord. I feared the boy might not want to go, considering who he named as his parents’ murderers.”
“Yes, but he seems comfortable with me, and taken with the dog. I think he senses, as I, that all is not what it seems here.”
Archambault’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if it were indeed others from my Order who committed such a crime, would they ride here on horseback, at least three strong, wearing the colors of the Order, murder two people in cold blood, then ride out in broad daylight?” He shook his head. “Never could I believe such a thing is possible.”
“Because Templars don’t commit murder?” asked a man whom Marcus didn’t recognize, and whose tone dripped with condescension.
“No, because Templars aren’t stupid. If I were to commit this murder, I would do so disguised as a common man, who could blend in. I would not wear the uniform of my Order, unless I were begging to be caught.”
“Perhaps he was. Perhaps he’s a madman.”
“You’re forgetting something. We know there were at least three men.”
“How can you be so certain?” asked Archambault.
“The boy saw two, and heard a third outside. A lookout.”
“Can the boy be believed?”
Marcus shrugged slightly. “His story seems credible, and for him to have the courage to accuse Templars, when faced with four members of the Order, I think he can be taken at his word. He saw men, either genuine Templars, or men disguised as Templars, murder his parents. They were apparently looking for a document which Mr. Fabron refused to provide, then left when the lookout warned of someone coming.”
“So the document may yet be inside?”
Marcus nodded. “Perhaps. I suggest you search the home for anything that might be of importance, while I attend to some business. I’ll return in short order, and you can tell me what you found.” Marcus turned for his horse when he paused. “And ask any of the townsfolk whether they saw a group of three or more riders this morning. They would have been traveling quickly, I’m sure.”
Archambault bowed slightly. “I shall do so at once.”
15
Outside Crécy-la-Chapelle, Kingdom of France
Second-in-command Sir Bernard had come to a decision, a decision that could be the greatest he had ever made, solidifying his future, or the worst, condemning him to a life of destitution. The latter was unlikely, as his family was wealthy, though wealth wasn’t everything.
Power was.
And the respect power brought with it.
He
had never been respected. Yes, his servants showed him the respect he was due growing up, but that had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with his status.
He wanted true respect. Earned respect.
He had been rather awkward in his youth. A fidgeter and a chronic stumbler, he couldn’t put one foot in front of the other without making a spectacle of himself. He had eventually outgrown these embarrassing traits, though it had so damaged his confidence, he had never truly recovered.
And a lack of confidence meant no woman would give him the time of day.
Among the aristocracy, there were plenty of potential mates, but no matter how well off and important his family was, none of that mattered when it came to a young woman sacrificing her future happiness with someone she felt might embarrass her at every turn.
Women wanted confidence.
They wanted a man who was respected, and at a minimum respected himself.
And he failed on both accounts.
But now was his chance.
Whoever could deliver the document his king was after, would be richly rewarded. And he didn’t want money. He wanted the public thanks of the King, and a title granted to him because of his deeds, not his father’s name.
He spotted the squire he knew possessed the document they had recovered several days ago, minutes of the meeting held by the traitors. “A word with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Has the document been transcribed yet?”
“Yes, sir. Three copies. Two have been sent to Paris already, and I retain one.”
“And the original?”
“Sir Valentin felt it should remain with us.”
“I will need to see it.”
“Sir?”
Bernard drew a deep breath, making himself as menacing as he possibly could, something he had never done before. “You dare question me?”
It had the desired effect.
“Of course not, sir! One moment!” The squire scurried off, returning a few moments later with the document, the Templar wax seal broken by Valentin, Bernard was sure, moments after his first victim had turned it over. He unfolded it, ignoring the text, and instead focusing on the signatures at the bottom.
“Good. Off with you.”
“Sir?”
Bernard gave him a look, raising the back of his hand, and the squire bolted. Bernard carefully placed the document in his saddlebags, before mounting his horse.
“Where are you going, sir?” asked his squire. “Should I accompany you?”
Bernard shook his head. “No. I have business in Paris that I must attend to. I shall return tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bernard left the encampment, his shoulders square, and as determined a look as he could muster with his slamming heart. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Valentin glance in his direction. Bernard urged his horse a little faster, and was soon in the trees, any calls at his back believably unheard.
And as he continued, unpursued, he breathed a little easier, realizing that should he succeed, his life would be forever changed.
Or forfeit.
16
St-Martin Church
Crécy-la-Chapelle, Kingdom of France
Sir Marcus stepped into the sunlight and drew a deep breath, exhaling loudly, his mood dramatically improved. There was nothing like prayer and confession to make a man feel closer to God. His difficulty fulfilling both obligations over the past few months had affected him more than he realized.
But now his conscience was clear, his penance assigned, leaving him free to focus on these unexpected events. Simon handed him the reins of his horse.
“Feeling better?”
“Much. You?”
“Like a new man with old bones.”
Marcus chuckled. “I’d pray for the bones of a younger man, but I think the good Lord has more important things to listen to than the wishful thinking of an old warrior.”
“This is true.”
Marcus smiled down at Pierre. “And you, my young man, did you pray for your parents?”
Pierre nodded.
“And do you feel better now?”
He shrugged.
Marcus smiled at him. “No, I suppose not. But in time, you will. We will grieve together, you and I. You for your parents, and I for my sister.”
“What happened to your sister?”
“She died from consumption some months ago.”
Gloom threatened to cloud the boy’s face, and Marcus acted quickly.
“Come, let’s go to the farm. Jacques and Angeline will be there. And hopefully Mrs. Leblanc.”
Marcus mounted his horse, as did the others, then reached down and swung Pierre up to rest behind him. The young boy grabbed onto him, and they all departed for the short ride to the farm on the outskirts of the village, Tanya racing ahead then stopping and staring at them before rushing back, repeating the process the entire way.
They rode mostly in silence, Marcus not wanting to discuss their situation in front of the boy, instead taking the time to think. He was convinced Templars hadn’t committed this crime, but his only evidence implicated them. No one would merely take his word, so he had to prove it wasn’t someone from his Order, and the only way he could think of to do that, would be to find the actual murderers.
Which meant tracking them, something he had done on innumerous occasions, though usually a Saracen in the desert, not a Christian on horseback in the green of France.
Three men disguised as Templars, on horseback and in a hurry, should have been spotted by someone. If they had been, he would at least have a direction to start in, but it was a big kingdom, and soldiers on horseback were plentiful. He couldn’t imagine they would have kept the Templar surcoats on for long if they were imposters—they ran the risk of encountering genuine Templars who would likely recognize them for what they were.
And what were they looking for? What document could be so important that murder was the price for not handing it over? And did the auditor actually possess it? The boy had said they had asked if any other documents were signed at a meeting. They hadn’t actually asked if Fabron had the document. If the boy’s recollection was correct, then it was an odd question to ask. If the document did exist, and Fabron possessed it, then hopefully Archambault would have found it by the time they returned.
And would there be other victims? Were there already other victims? Did these men think only the auditor could possess the document, or was he only one of perhaps many who might?
If more were murdered by these imposters, irreparable harm could come to the good name of the Templars.
We have no time to waste.
He urged his horse on a little quicker, and they were soon on their humble farm. He handed the boy down to Simon, then dismounted. “Take a few minutes to refresh yourselves, then prepare for a long ride. I fear we’ll be away for at least a couple of days. If necessary, we’ll resupply at one of our outposts.”
Simon nodded toward the front door of the house. “Who’s that beautiful thing?”
Marcus turned to see a young woman and gasped, nearly mistaking her for Nicoline, this one older than his young sister when he had last seen her twenty years ago, but much as he would have expected her to appear.
“Are you Sir Marcus?”
He bowed. “I am. And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“I am Isabelle Leblanc. You know my mother. She asked me to watch the children, as she had errands to run.” She looked at Pierre. “And who’s this?”
“Pierre. He’ll be staying with us for a while.”
Hands were firmly planted on hips. “Really, now? And where are his parents?”
“Dead.”
Isabelle’s jaw dropped, and she rushed forward as Pierre’s head drooped and his shoulders shook. “You poor dear!” She embraced the boy and led him inside, glancing over her shoulder and shooting a glare at Marcus. “You could have warned me.”
“Mistress, you barely gav
e me a chance to introduce myself.”
“Next time send one of these behemoths ahead.”
Marcus smiled slightly. “I yield to your superior wisdom, Mistress.”
Sounds of the children inside greeted Isabelle and Pierre, and Tanya looked up at Marcus. He pointed toward the door, and she bolted to join the fun.
“Just wait until you tell her you need her to watch the children for a few days.”
Marcus glanced at Simon. “Maybe I should have you tell her?”
“Are you insane? I think I just met my future wife.”
Marcus nodded toward David and Jeremy, their eyes firmly planted on the doorway where Isabelle could still be seen as she busied herself with the new arrival. “I think you might have competition.”
“May the best man win.” Simon grinned. “Though I think she might have eyes for you.”
Marcus’ eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Did you raid the sacramental wine at the church? What would ever make you think such a thing?”
“Did you see the hatred in her eyes? I’ve only ever seen a woman look at a man that way if she was interested in him.”
“She’s known me for two minutes, if that.”
“You forget, she would have had months, perhaps years, of your sister talking of you, then her mother speaking of your arrival. She’s built you up in her mind. The dashing knight, here to rescue her from her dreary existence in a drearier town.”
“The next time you’re asleep, I’m going to drill a hole in your head. I think something is wrong with that brain of yours.”
David and Jeremy snickered.
“And besides, I have just reaffirmed my vows. Bedding a woman is not in my future.”
Simon shrugged. “You’ve proven yourself to be quite the ladies’ man when filled with liquor.”
Marcus paused, giving Simon the eye. “I think we need to talk about your version of what happened that night, and the truth.”
Simon grinned. “I’ll prepare the horses.”
“Uh huh, I thought you might.” Marcus stepped into the house as the others headed for the barn. He regarded Isabelle for a moment, unnoticed, feeling a stirring not unfamiliar, yet always ignored. Feeling temptation wasn’t the sin, it was giving into it, and he never had.
The Templar Detective Page 6