Marcus nodded, exchanging a glance with Simon, whom he knew felt the same way. “I fear this is what I shall miss as well. Serving my Lord in battle was always an honor, though I must admit, with my growing age, it is no longer the thing of joy I once felt in my youth. I will miss my brothers, though with Simon and the others with me, I think I can tolerate that.”
Simon grunted. “Thank you. I think.”
Raimond chuckled. “You are fortunate there. Your men have shown tremendous loyalty in deciding to remain with you. This, I think, will ease the transition. When I came here, I knew no one. I relied on the brotherhood of the Order to comfort me to some extent, but mostly on my faith. Both helped me transition to this new life, and though I miss the Holy Land, I now consider this my home. It is a good life, and while it breaks my heart to say it, I think our days in the Holy Land are numbered.”
Marcus frowned. “Are things really that bad?”
Raimond nodded. “I fear so. The latest dispatches suggest we may be forced completely out of the Holy Land within the next couple of years. The kings of Europe, and the populace, no longer have a desire to send precious resources to fight, and now seem content to let the unholy Saracen scourge take it. Hopefully someday we shall return, but I fear it won’t be in my lifetime.”
Marcus felt queasy at the thought. The Holy Land lost, abandoned by Christendom to the infidel Muslims. It was almost a blasphemous thought, but there was no denying the Crusaders were losing with their dwindling numbers and some idiotic campaigns like that of Hattin. It was only a matter of time before the entirety of the Holy Land was overrun and lost.
A few months ago he would have happily died in the fight to prevent that, yet sitting here, today, his priorities had changed. Back then, he had nothing to live for but the Order and his duty to God. Today he had two small children, totally reliant on him.
A task he was woefully ill-prepared for, and one that terrified him more than any horde of Saracens.
Lost in thought, he nearly flinched when he noticed Raimond staring at him with a slight smile.
“You’re wondering if you’re up to the task.”
“Sir?”
“Of remaining here, in this land that was once your home, to raise two small children.”
Marcus nodded. “Yes, I must confess I have my doubts.” He tilted his head toward Simon. “I also fear I have asked too much of my men.”
“It was our choice, sir.”
“Yes, I know, but if I asked if you would join me cleaning latrines for the rest of our days, you and the others would happily say yes.”
“This is true. But eventually, you’d figure out we weren’t sincere when yet another shovelful of excrement filled your face by accident.”
Marcus chuckled then stared at him, serious. “Are you truly willing to sacrifice your future and remain here?” He raised a finger before Simon could reply. “The truth. There is no shame or repercussions for giving me an answer you think I might not like.”
Simon turned in his chair, staring directly into his eyes. “Sir, what you call a sacrifice, I call a challenge. We have done more than our fair share of battle in the name of the Lord. Now two of His children need our help, and I am honored to do my part in His bidding. Never fear that I made a choice that I’m not happy with, and won’t be happy with. My place is at your side, and if I felt what you were doing wasn’t worthy of a Templar knight, then my place would no longer be where it is today. Whatever decision you make, know that you have my support, and that of Jeremy and David.”
Marcus smiled slightly, then reached out and patted his friend on the shoulder. “You’re a fool, and a good friend. I think we shall make a good team, you and I.”
“Agreed. But let’s try to use the animals for that. I have no desire to be a beast of burden dragging a plow through the soil.”
Marcus and Raimond roared with laughter, not noticing the messenger standing in the doorway.
Raimond raised a hand. “Yes, what is it?”
“A message from headquarters, sir.”
“Let’s see it.”
The young man hurried forward, presenting the document with both hands and a bow. Raimond took it and quickly scanned what was written, a frown creasing his face. “Well, gentlemen, we’ve found out where our brothers and friends are being held.”
Marcus leaned forward. “Where?”
“Montry. Apparently once all have arrived, they will be taken to Paris.”
Marcus stood, the others following. “This could be good. It provides us with a delay. I suggest I go there at once with David.”
Simon’s eyebrows rose slightly. “And am I to shovel latrines?”
“Yes, but first I want you to go to Paris and get the original documents provided by the forger’s son. I think we will need them to prove our brothers’ innocence.”
Raimond nodded. “A good plan.” He motioned to the messenger. “Wait here. I want you to go with the sergeant to Paris with a letter from me confirming his orders.” He smiled at Simon. “And you are not familiar with all the shortcuts our messengers use to cut down on travel time.” The smile disappeared. “For I fear if we are not swift, we will be too late.”
39
Durant Residence
Paris, Kingdom of France
Thomas Durant sat in his father’s shop, a steady stream of neighbors and friends having stopped by, once word had spread of the goings-on. Many were here to express their sincere condolences, though he suspected most merely wanted to lay eyes upon the scene of the crime, and question him about the lurid details.
It disgusted him.
But it did distract him.
His stomach growled, and he was finally forced to acknowledge the food that now occupied his father’s workplace. The more sincere had often brought some small token for him—bread, cheese, some sausage. These were poor people, but they understood charity, and probably understood his need more than he did at this moment.
He was alone.
His parents were dead, he had no surviving brothers or sisters, his only sibling, a sister, dead before she reached the age of two. It had been so long ago, he sometimes forgot she existed. His grandparents had died long ago, and if he had any aunts and uncles, he didn’t know them, his father having moved them twenty years ago from the ancestral lands to the city of opportunities Paris represented.
He wondered if things had worked out the way his father had thought they would. He had stayed in business for over twenty years. That had to count for something. They had been hungry at times, though nothing compared to some of the people he had seen begging in the streets. But they always had a roof over their heads—sometimes leaky—and always had clothes on their back—too often patched.
It had been a reasonable life. Nothing like Bernard’s, he was sure, though better than many.
And now it was over.
He was alone.
He broke off a piece of cheese and chewed, pouring a glass of wine from a bottle left earlier. They both tasted good. He suddenly realized how hungry he was, having not eaten since the night before. He devoured bits of everything in front of him, until finally he sat back, stuffed to his ears, a satisfied smile on his face.
Then he saw the bloodstain on the floor, and raced to the back and into the alley to retch it all up. He filled a bucket of water and dumped it on his mess, then filled it again and returned to the office, pouring it over the floor where his father had bled out, rinsing away the last remnants through the floorboards.
Then dropped into a corner and cried, staring at the spot as the wood slowly dried, eventually falling asleep, exhausted.
A knock at the door woke him, and he was about to scramble to his feet when he decided better of it. He just wanted to be left alone. The light from outside was now dim, much of the day apparently slept away. His body ached, his stomach demanded attention, and his mouth was sticky with thirst.
And his head pounded from too much wine.
Another knock, this
time a little more forceful.
It enraged him.
“Go away!”
“My name is Simon Chastain. I am a sergeant of the Knights Templar. I am seeking Mr. Thomas Durant.”
Thomas’ eyes widened, and this time he did scramble to his feet, wiping his stained cheeks with the back of his hands, and brushing off his clothes. He stepped forward and opened the door, an imposing figure of a man in black surcoat with red cross filling the doorframe.
“Are you Thomas Durant?”
“Y-yes, sir.” He stepped aside. “Please come in.”
Simon stepped inside and surveyed the state of the small shop. “I heard about your father. You have my condolences.”
“Th-thank you, sir.”
Simon produced two documents, opening them slightly for Thomas to see. “You recognize these?”
Thomas nodded. “My father wrote them.”
“Exactly. And this has caused quite the problem for quite the number of people.”
“I-I apologize. I don’t think he wanted to. I mean, I’m sure he didn’t, but one doesn’t say ‘no’ to nobility.”
Simon grunted. “No, one typically doesn’t.”
Thomas’ stomach grumbled, and he stared at the floor sheepishly.
Simon chuckled, gesturing toward all the food. “You have so much food here, yet sound hungry.”
Thomas stared at the floor. “I-I ate, but got sick.”
Simon placed a hand on Thomas’ shoulder, gently pushing him toward his father’s chair. “Sit, and eat. I have something to ask of you, and should you accept, you will need a full belly.”
Thomas nodded then sat, wondering what a Templar sergeant could possibly want from him. Simon sat on the opposite side of the table, eying the food, and it occurred to him that his guest might be hungry as well. He waved a hand at the selection. “Please, join me.”
Simon smiled. “Thank you, it’s been a demanding journey.” He attacked the food, and the delight he took in it ignited Thomas’ own desire to join in—if he didn’t, at the rate the huge warrior was eating, there might be nothing left for him should he delay. As they continued to eat, Simon’s pace slowed, then finally he sat back in his chair, patting his stomach. “I thank you, though I think my horse will curse you for increasing her load.”
Thomas smiled, the first smile of the day. “You’re welcome.”
“Now, let me tell you why I am here.”
Thomas swallowed and pushed from the desk. “Please.”
“You might not be aware, but this document your father created is being treated as genuine. All of the men who are to have signed it, along with any Templars in their company, are being arrested as we speak. They are being charged with treason against the King, and will be taken to Paris, likely tomorrow morning. If they reach there, and the King is presented with this forgery, they will no doubt be executed, and a decree issued for the arrest of all Templars within the kingdom.”
Thomas gulped, feeling sick again. “I-I’m so sorry.”
“There is no need for you to apologize. Your father obviously realized the danger of what he was forced to create, otherwise he never would have written this confession. This confession, so cleverly executed by your father, could save countless lives. His inclusion of the forged signatures at the bottom of it, proving that it was his hand that had created the original forgery, should be enough to clear the names of those involved.”
Thomas didn’t feel nauseous anymore, instead, a surge of pride in his father pushing away the melancholy. He said nothing, instead waiting for Simon to tell him how he could possibly help in this untenable situation.
“I have been tasked to bring these documents to where those arrested are being gathered before being taken to Paris, so that we can try to prevent this from ever reaching the King’s court.”
Thomas couldn’t wait any longer. “How can I possibly help?”
“You are the only witness. You saw Sir Bernard here, you drank with him, he confessed his plan to you, then you saw him leaving with your father dying on this very floor. You will lend even more credence to these documents’ authenticity.”
Thomas’ heart slammed hard, and his forehead beaded with sweat. “Y-you want me to go with you?”
Simon nodded firmly. “Yes. I want you to accompany me, and together we will save the lives of these innocent men, and the Order I have sworn to protect. Will you help me in this noble deed?”
Thomas gulped, his mouth suddenly dry. He grabbed a glass and took a large drink, slamming it back on the desk a little harder than he had intended, the contents sloshing over the sides and onto the scarred wood. He sucked in a deep breath, steadying himself before staring directly into the eyes of the proud warrior sharing his food. “I consider it my duty to right the wrongs committed by my father, and an honor to assist the Templars in their time of need.”
Simon smiled, then rose from his chair and extended a hand. Thomas stood and shook it, the grip as firm as any he had experienced. “You are a brave man, Mr. Durant, and it is an honor to be in your presence.” He let go of Thomas’ hand then stepped back from the table. “I have two horses for us outside, fully provisioned, and a guide. If there is anything you need, get it now, for we leave at once.”
40
Montry, Kingdom of France
“Look at that! The spectacle! It’s completely uncalled for!”
Sir Marcus agreed with David’s assessment of what they saw before them. Almost a dozen men were held in the center of the town, chained together, given no place to rest. Instead, those too exhausted from their ordeal, were forced to sit in the mud, much to the delight of the King’s Personal Guard surrounding them, and the townsfolk who encircled the prisoners, hurling rotting food and insults at those worse off than them.
It enraged him.
Proud tunics of the Templars were soiled with mud and stained with decaying vegetables, their owners trying to maintain their dignity, their heads held high, even if forced to sit in the dirt, their old bones too tired to carry them any longer.
He wanted to charge forward into their midst and slice open the bellies of every single person responsible for this.
Yet that would be foolhardy, and merely condemn him to death.
But being here, now, he had no idea what he could do to stop this. Simon should be in Paris by now, with the documents in hand to prove their innocence, yet he wouldn’t be here until morning. They were but two, he and David, and even if they weren’t, attacking in force would merely cause more problems, perhaps convincing the King that they were indeed guilty.
No, they had to be patient. They needed to wait for Simon, then put a stop to this.
But how?
If those holding the prisoners knew about the forgery, then they wouldn’t care about the evidence Simon was bringing. He had to assume among them were the murderers posing as Templars, which meant they had no honor, and no interest in the truth. Sir Bernard was probably one of those he was staring at right now, a cluster of knights not a hundred paces from their vantage point.
If Simon arrived before these men departed, they might be merely delivering the proof of these men’s guilt into their hands, so they could destroy it, thus condemning everyone here, and the entire Templar Order, to death.
His chest ached with the thought, and his shoulders tensed with the frustration.
He didn’t know what to do.
Though he did know what not to do.
This was not the place to bring this travesty to an end. It would have to be somewhere else, where someone who outranked these men would be involved, where someone with some honor, and an interest in the truth, could be presented with the evidence of the true crimes committed here, and be convinced to bring an end to this.
Which meant they would have to follow these men to wherever they were going, and hope for an opportunity to intercede on behalf of these innocent prisoners.
“Now what are you two up to?”
Marcus spun toward the
voice behind them, cursing himself for not having paid more attention. It was a rookie mistake, though he had planned for this very possibility, having left their armor, weapons, and anything that might identify them as Templars, outside of town—except for their tunics, the only ones they had. They had turned them inside out, and purposefully soiled them to disguise the cross which had still been slightly visible. He had to hope it was enough.
Marcus smiled at the two foot soldiers now facing them. “Just watching the show.”
“If you’re so interested, then why not join the crowd?” They both stepped forward and shoved them from the alley and into the dusk and torchlight. “Can you see these traitors better now?”
Marcus nodded, resisting the urge to tear their throats out. “Yes, sir, yes we can. Thank you, sir.” He had never cowered in his life, but it was best now to make as the meek peasant he was pretending to be, David thankfully making a good show of it as well.
The two soldiers laughed, then walked off, Marcus repeatedly bowing low as he breathed a sigh of relief. He made to approach the crowd, to join in for a few moments before making their way out of town, when a commanding voice cut through the jeers.
“Bring those two here, now!”
41
En route to Montry, Kingdom of France
Simon glanced over his shoulder at young Thomas, his eyes wide with fear as they raced down the path in the failing light. Night riding was always more dangerous, but there was a trick to it that too many novices weren’t aware of.
Horses were far more attuned to the risks underfoot than their riders.
“Ease up on the reins!” he yelled. “Let the horse guide you!”
Thomas nodded, complying, and when his ride continued without his constant interference, he visibly relaxed. They would cover as much distance as they could before they would be forced to stop, a new moon an unhappy occurrence tonight that would prevent them from continuing. Though it was unfortunate timing, he doubted those responsible for the injustices of the past few days would risk nighttime travel in such conditions either, and would feel no need to do so, regardless.
The Templar Detective Page 15