“Quai de Gesvres.”
“That sounds as good a place to start as any, but I think we should see this letter first.”
11
Coachman Richard’s Residence
Paris, Kingdom of France
Marcus followed the coachman, Richard, up the rickety, narrow stairs hanging to the side of a boarding house that defined poverty. Richard opened the door at the top and they followed him inside. They were greeted with an unlit corridor, any boarders already asleep as it was well past midnight. Richard advanced with confidence, but Marcus held out a hand, silently instructing Simon to leave the door open to let in the moonlight.
He followed the man toward the end of the hall, and Richard unlocked a door, stepping out of sight for a moment. Marcus put his hand on the hilt of his sword before he heard the firesteel struck, the room brightening with a warm yellow glow a few moments later. He signaled for Simon to join him, then stepped inside.
“Where is this letter?” he asked Richard in a whisper, not wanting anyone to overhear their conversation, the walls no doubt thin.
Richard pointed at the floor and dropped to his knees, lifting up one of the boards, revealing a stash of what was most precious to him. He retrieved a piece of paper, then returned the board to its previous position. He handed the folded page to Marcus, who opened it and held it up to the lone light.
And nodded as it matched exactly what Simon had told him of the coachman’s story.
“I will be keeping this.”
Richard frowned, but acquiesced. “Of course.”
“And I will need you to remain in Paris, at this address, in case I have further questions. I don’t expect for more than a few days.”
“Yes, sir.”
Marcus stepped closer, pressing a finger against the man’s chest. “Should you not remain, every Templar in Christendom will be looking for you.”
Richard’s eyes bulged and he started to shake. “You don’t have to worry. I have nowhere to go.”
12
De Montfort Residence
Paris, Kingdom of France
“What are you doing here?”
To say Marcus had been stunned to find Lord Charles at Sir Denys’ residence would be an understatement. To find them both alive and unharmed, was an even bigger shock. Yet here both men were, clearly not on friendly terms, though calmer than he would have expected under the circumstances.
“Much has happened since we last spoke, Sir Marcus,” replied Charles. “Sir Denys paid me a visit to explain his side of things, and after some discussion, I agreed to come here to see this portrait.” He gestured toward the portrait of Denys and the imposter. “This is clearly not my wife, and is definitely the young woman you brought to my home earlier. I am confident now that Sir Denys did not have an affair with my wife, despite the charges that have now been laid.” Charles glanced behind Marcus and Simon. “Where is the imposter? She must be brought to justice.”
“She’s dead.”
Denys gasped, grabbing at his chest before collapsing into a nearby chair. “What? How?”
“Miss Girard was shot by an arrow the moment she stepped from her carriage. I gave chase, but the murderer had planned his escape well.”
Denys grabbed at his hair, clearly overcome with grief. “I can’t believe it!” He stared up at the others, his eyes red with tears. “I loved her!”
Charles was unsympathetic. “You mean you loved my wife!”
Denys shook his head. “No, I loved her. Who she pretended to be, I don’t care. I cannot believe she didn’t share my feelings. I confess, at first, I merely toyed with this woman I thought to be your wife, as I thought I might be able to use her advances to further my situation, but in time, real feelings developed. I love her, I mean, I loved her. I don’t care who she actually was.”
Charles sneered. “I should run you through for what you thought you were doing, but the Court will dismiss you as an idiot for having been deceived.” He handed a piece of paper to Marcus. “But something more is going on. Several wives of the Court have been arrested for adultery tonight, and they are looking for mine. I think we have both been set up as part of whatever this is. My wife is innocent, but someone clearly wanted me and the Court to think otherwise. I have little doubt that when I return home, I will find members of the King’s Personal Guard there to arrest her.”
Marcus finished reading the message listing the charges, then handed it back to Charles. “Fortunately, no one knows where she is beyond those you sent to my farm.”
Charles glanced away, a frown creasing his face. “I’m afraid that isn’t actually true.”
Marcus tensed. “What do you mean?”
“After our initial meeting, I immediately sent one of my servants to find out who you were. The Templar headquarters confirmed your identity, and your current location as Crécy-la-Chapelle, where my men had pursued my wife based upon her chambermaid’s confession.” He drew a deep breath. “My servant would know this, and perhaps has repeated it to others. As well, any number may have overheard him telling me what he found.”
Marcus suppressed a curse. “So, if your staff are challenged as to her location, any number may reveal it.”
Charles bowed his head. “Exactly.”
Marcus pointed toward the door. “You must get home at once and prevent this, otherwise your wife’s life may be forfeit, and if there is one innocent in this entire affair, it is her.”
Charles turned to leave when Marcus interrupted him.
“And Lord Charles?”
“Yes?”
“I think you’ll agree that your wife’s chambermaid did nothing but save an innocent woman from becoming a victim of a jealous husband’s revenge?”
Charles bristled, then nodded. “You are right, of course. I shall have her released at once.”
Charles departed, and Marcus turned to Denys. “You said your artist drew sketches of Miss Girard in secret, in order to create the portrait.”
Denys looked up at him, wiping his tears. “Yes.”
“Do you have any of these?”
“Of course, I have them all. Why?”
“We have need of them.”
13
Templar Barracks
Paris, Kingdom of France
“Did you notice anything unusual about those who’ve been arrested?”
Marcus stared at Sir Raimond de Comps as he relaxed by the fire, pleasantly surprised to have found his old friend staying at the barracks, and still awake at this ungodly hour. “I must confess I couldn’t name one of them now, under threat of death. They meant nothing to me then, and even less now. Why?”
“This to me sounds like a political affair, not romantic. Think of what has happened. Four women, including your cousin, who we now know is innocent, stand accused of adultery, a heinous crime that not only demands a serious punishment for the parties involved, but also brings shame to the innocent husband, and with shame comes a weakening of status.”
Marcus nodded. “Yes, this is true, but how can we know whether or not that is indeed what is happening here? These women are accused. I’m sure there is proof, and it will come out tomorrow.”
Raimond smiled. “You are truly unfamiliar with how the process works, aren’t you?”
Marcus chuckled. “I am out of my depth in these matters, yes. Please, my old friend, enlighten me.”
Raimond leaned forward. “I can assure you, that only in the most dire of circumstances, would arrest warrants be issued at such an hour. And never for something as trivial as the dalliances of a few women.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that this is political. Someone is making a move, and forcing the situation along at as quick a pace as they can, so that the damage will be done, and it will be irreparable, even if there are innocents like your cousin.” He leaned even closer. “If I were a betting man—”
“Which of course you are not.”
“—I’d be asking myself w
ho has what to gain with these arrests, and in your case, in framing your cousin.”
“Perhaps they’re all innocent.”
“Perhaps, though I’d be surprised someone would go to the risk of swearing out warrants for four women, without solid evidence of their crimes.”
“Yet my cousin is absolutely innocent.”
“Exactly. Someone wanted her caught up in this scandal, obviously to compromise her husband.”
Marcus squeezed the bridge of his nose, his eyes drooping, it having been a long day. “I must clear my cousin’s good name. The others aren’t my concern.”
Raimond wagged a finger at him, leaning back in his chair. “Your concern should be the truth. Pursue it to its end. If other innocents are caught up in this, then it is your duty as a Templar to uncover the truth, and ensure justice prevails.”
Marcus yawned. “And here I thought the life of a farmer in France would be a quiet one.”
Raimond smiled. “Clearly you were mistaken.”
The door opened and Marcus glanced over to see a messenger standing there. “I’m looking for Sir Marcus de Rancourt.”
Marcus waved his hand. “I am he.”
The young man bowed. “An urgent message for you from Lord Charles de Rohan.” He handed the folded paper over and Marcus opened it, his eyes widening at the revelation that indeed the King’s Personal Guard had come to the residence, and the staff had told them about Crécy-la-Chapelle.
“Tell your master that I have received the message, and will take action to protect his wife.”
“Yes, sir.”
The messenger departed and Marcus rose.
“What is it?” asked Raimond, also standing.
“Trouble.”
14
De Rancourt Residence
Crécy-la-Chapelle, Kingdom of France
Jeremy bolted upright on his bedroll, the blanket that barely kept him warm falling to the side as he listened for what woke him. Tanya was the first indicator, the dog barking incessantly, straining against her leash, the mastiff relegated to the half-finished barracks by Isabelle before she left for the evening.
A groggy David rolled over. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
A woman screamed and Jeremy kicked off his blanket and leaped to his feet, grabbing his sword and strapping the belt around his waist. He patted Tanya on the head. “Quiet, girl!”
The dog complied, though continued to growl as he retrieved his bow and shrugged a quiver of arrows over his shoulder, David doing the same. Jeremy rushed toward the home, two men on horseback visible, two more horses tied up at the post. He broke to the right so he could outflank them as David continued to the house. His friend approached using the home as a blind, then peered through the window of the bedroom normally occupied by Marcus.
The woman screamed again. “Help!”
That’s it!
He drew an arrow and stretched his bow, rapidly loosing it without hesitation, the satisfying thud telling him he had hit his target, his second arrow already in the air before the first man fell from his saddle, an arrow embedded in his thigh. The other cried out, slumping forward as an arrow pierced his shoulder. Jeremy repositioned to get a good angle on the door, shouts from inside indicating the second man’s cry had been heard by the others.
He had no idea who these men were, thus the two non-life threatening wounds he had inflicted. Though if those inside endangered the life of Lady Joanne, he might be left with no choice but to kill, even if they were only doing their job.
He glanced to his left to see David signaling in the moonlight that two more were coming. Jeremy sprinted closer, an arrow aimed at the two men now lying on the ground in agony, in case they mounted a defense. As he closed the gap to get a better shot at whoever might appear through the doorway, he could hear the struggles of Joanne inside continuing, and it enraged him.
One of the two he had already felled struggled to his feet and made for the doorway, and Jeremy put an end to that thought as he placed an arrow at the man’s feet, causing him to jump back and lose his balance, collapsing into his horse who whinnied in protest.
“He’s to your right!” shouted the man, and Jeremy cursed, wishing he had taken the man out properly, rather than given him the benefit of the doubt he might be guilty of only doing his duty.
Tanya bolted past David, toward the two men, her leash trailing behind her. Her first victim cried out in terror as snarls and growls filled the night air. Jeremy took the opportunity to close the gap further as a man appeared in the doorway. Tanya turned, barking, then leaped through the air, disappearing inside with the man for a moment, before reappearing, his arm in her jaws as she dragged him into view.
Jeremy put an arrow in the man’s thigh as a fourth man rushed outside and grabbed the reins of his horse. David pressed a sword against the man’s as Jeremy rushed to join him.
“Who sent you?” demanded David.
The man slowly turned, his hands held high. “The King!”
“Then have him take up his business with our master!”
The man spat. “You’ll all be dead before the day is out for interfering with the King’s business!”
Tanya growled, David holding her by the collar. “Be off with you, before I let her loose on you!”
The lone unscathed man helped the others back on their horses, then the four left without saying another word. David monitored their retreat as Jeremy rushed inside, the sobs of Lady Joanne continuing. He found her in the corner of the kitchen, her top torn exposing a breast, her cheeks stained with tears. He quickly found a blanket and brought it to her as David entered.
“They’re gone.”
Jeremy covered the woman up, then he stepped back, unsure of what to do.
David spoke first, in a whisper. “This was no ordinary arrest. They intended to defile her.”
Jeremy stole another glance at the woman, nodding. “What should we do?”
“We can’t stay here. They’ll be back, and in greater numbers.”
“But where will we go?”
“I don’t know, but we have to leave now.”
15
Rue Saint-Honoré
Paris, Kingdom of France
“I’m concerned about David and Jeremy, and my cousin, of course.”
Simon nodded, riding slowly alongside Marcus as they weaved their way through the streets of Paris, the common man and woman of the neighborhood they found themselves in, now awake and filling it with the sounds and deeds of life.
Much different from the aristocratic estates they had frequented yesterday. It reminded Marcus more of the Holy Land, and though his opinion of the city wasn’t favorable, perhaps he might spend some time here, to feel more at home.
Though the farm occupied almost every moment of every day.
“It is unsettling that there has been no word. Surely the messenger has reached them by now.”
Marcus grunted. “It was late, and dark. They would have to take their time, though I agree, they should have been there some time ago. Hopefully, we’ll have received word when we are finished with our business here.”
Simon rode ahead slightly, breaking apart a gaggle of beggars threatening to impede their progress. “I’m sure they’re all right. They’re not exactly recruits.”
“No, but we have no idea how many were sent to arrest my cousin. If the odds are even, they can hold their own, but they are not knights.”
Simon frowned. “True.” He turned in his saddle toward Marcus. “What do you want to do? Return to the farm?”
Marcus thought for a moment then shook his head. “No. By the time we reach there, anything that was going to happen would have already. If they prevailed, they will seek safety somewhere, likely at a Templar commandry. If they failed, they are either dead or arrested. If they are dead, then there is nothing we can do about it now. If they have been arrested, then they will be brought here as part of this trial, and we will deal with it then.” H
e sighed. “No, the best course of action is to forge ahead and determine what exactly is going on here. Even if my cousin is dead, as Sir Raimond pointed out last night, it is our duty to protect all the innocents, and I have a feeling these other three women are guilty of nothing but being married to the wrong men.”
“There’s the market,” said Simon, pointing ahead. “I think we’re here.”
Marcus dismounted, retrieving the sketches provided by Sir Denys last night, handing one to Simon. It didn’t take long before a shopkeeper recognized her.
“Yes, she comes here all the time. Melanie, her name is. Why? Has she stolen from ya?”
Marcus shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Do you know where she lives?”
The man pointed across the street, several buildings down. “Talk to the lady of the house there. I think your young woman was renting a room.”
Marcus bowed slightly. “Thank you for your help.”
“No problem, sir, no problem.”
Marcus and Simon led their horses to the building in question, the ground floor occupied by a fishmonger, leaving Marcus to wonder how anyone could stand to live above the smell.
“Gentlemen, can I interest you in some fresh fish?”
Marcus had to question the word “fresh.” “Not today, I’m afraid. We’d like to talk to someone about a young woman who lives here. Miss Girard?” He showed the sketch.
“Oh yeah, she lives upstairs, third floor.” He jabbed a knife over his shoulder. “Go in back and ask my wife. She handles the boarders.” He turned, shouting. “Wife! Visitors!”
“Send them back!”
Marcus smiled. “Thanks.” He stepped into the back, taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior as a shadow approached. He resisted the urge to draw his sword, reminding himself that Paris was not the Holy Land, and that not all figures in the shadows were intent on doing harm.
The Templar Detective and the Parisian Adulteress Page 5