Thomas shrugged, waving a hand at the surroundings. “As you can see, I’m in no position to say no.”
“Excellent.” Marcus turned to Thibault. “I think a down payment would be a kind gesture at this moment.”
Her frown deepened, but several more coins were produced and placed on the table. Thomas’ eyes widened and his stomach growled.
Marcus leaned in toward the woman, lowering his voice. “You have a chance for redemption, madam. Be a good Christian and help him while you are here. If I hear he is mistreated in any way, I will deliver you to justice myself.”
Thibault’s annoyed expression eased as she nodded, staring at Thomas. “You’re lucky he reminds me of my husband when he was a young man. So handsome.” She looked at Marcus. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him back on his feet again. But make sure you let me know the moment you bring my would-be killer to justice. I don’t want to spend a moment more than I must in such…a place.”
Marcus smiled slightly. “I shall. And keep a low profile, madam. Turning this humble home into anything other than what it is, will simply draw undue attention to you.”
She scowled. “I’m not a fool.”
“Yet here you are.”
She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Yes, yet here I am. And what will you do now?”
“The less you know, the better.” Marcus turned to Thomas. “Young man, when my business in Paris is done, I would like you to consider my previous offer. Your situation here seems grave, and you have an option that will at least get you through the winter, and give you time to decide what is best for you.”
Thomas’ slowly nodded. “I-I must confess, I’ve been thinking of that. There’s…” His voice cracked, and tears filled his eyes. “There’s nothing for me here now.”
Marcus put a hand on the young man’s shoulder and squeezed. “Then join us on the farm. There is plenty of food, a roof over your head, and the laughter of children at play and the camaraderie of men at work fills the air.”
Thomas sighed, tears pouring down his cheeks. “That-that sounds wonderful.”
Marcus smiled. “Then it is settled. When this is over, you will join us.”
22
St. Severin Church
Paris, Kingdom of France
“Thomas didn’t look well.”
Marcus sighed as he tied up his horse alongside Simon’s. “No, he didn’t. I fear he may not be long for this earth should he not follow through with his acceptance of my offer.”
“To join us on the farm?”
“Yes.”
“I pray he does, otherwise I agree.” Simon glanced up at the impressive structure that was St. Severin Church. “I think the good Lord was guiding us today. If we hadn’t had need of Thomas’ home, he might have died within days.”
Marcus nodded. “Well, if need be, I’ll strap him to the back of my horse. No matter what happens, I’m not leaving him like that. He’s a fine young man who just needs a push in the right direction. Once he’s back on his feet and thinking straight, he can decide what he wants to do. For now, someone has to tell him.”
Simon smiled. “Our farm is getting a little crowded, don’t you think?”
Marcus chuckled. “It is, but part of me feels like that is a good thing. We have more than enough land to feed everyone, and perhaps this new home we’re building can replace the brotherhood we have lost.”
Simon frowned slightly, his response barely a murmur. “Perhaps.”
Marcus let it be, making a note to remember to talk to his sergeant about his feelings later. His men had eagerly agreed to stay with him out of a sense of loyalty, but he didn’t want anyone remaining on the farm against their will. If any one of them wanted to return to the Order, and live out their lives as they had sworn to do, he would never hold it against them.
Though it would hurt him deeply.
Every day, part of him yearned to return to the Holy Land and serve out his days among his brothers, and he was certain the others felt the same. Yet he was the only one who couldn’t leave. He had to remain behind. There was no way he would abandon his niece and nephew, and now Pierre. His future was written.
But the others’ weren’t.
A conversation is definitely in order.
They quickly made their way to the pew in question, finding no message tucked into the gap, though that didn’t surprise him. He spotted a priest nearby, and beckoned him over. The old man joined them, bowing slightly.
“It is rare to see a Templar knight here. Are you here just for prayer, or do you have a purpose?”
Marcus bowed. “Prayer is always a purpose, however today we have another.” He gestured toward the end of the pew. “Have you noticed anything strange over the past few months? Anyone out of place, who paid particular attention to the end of this pew, as if searching for something?”
The priest chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m afraid, my son, that my memory and eyesight are beginning to fail me, though even if they weren’t, I doubt my answer would be any different. This church fills every day, and this pew so close to the front is quite popular. Countless people sit here on countless occasions, I’m afraid.”
Marcus frowned. “That was what I feared. And in the evenings?”
“You’ll find our doors always open. Unfortunately, I’ve noticed nothing strange even among the Lord’s strays.”
“Very well. Thank you for your time, Father.”
The man bowed then took his leave, as Marcus eyed the altar before them. “I think we should take a few minutes to pray for guidance.”
Simon nodded. “And should the good Lord leave it up to us?”
“Then I think we should present ourselves to the King’s Court to hear these charges. My understanding is they are to be formally announced within the hour.”
23
Palais de la Cité
Paris, Kingdom of France
The gathered members of the King’s Court and their honored guests, seemed in fine spirits as Marcus watched the tragedy unfold. The charges were read, the accused named, and those in attendance were giddy with delight at the salaciousness of the crimes.
It was theatre.
Entertainment.
But it was real lives on the line, including his cousin’s, who was named, though not presented, the prosecutor indicating she was still at large, though perhaps already in custody, a unit dispatched last night to arrest her in Crécy-la-Chapelle.
It sent a shiver up and down his spine, as they still had not received word from David and Jeremy. He hoped they were safe, and had managed to escape the clutches of those sent for their charge, but he couldn’t rely on that.
He regarded King Philip, on his throne, the slight curls at the edges of his mouth suggesting he too was enjoying the show, the three women in custody led around the Court for all to see, their tear-stained cheeks and soiled clothes heartbreaking, even if they were guilty of the crimes of which they were accused. And though they might be, and though they might deserve whatever punishment the Court recommended, his cousin wasn’t.
He stepped forward. “I am Sir Marcus de Rancourt, and I ask to be heard on the matter of the charges against Lady Joanne de Rohan.”
Silence swept over the massive room, whispers beginning as those who recognized him from several weeks ago made themselves heard.
But it was the King who would decide.
King Philip’s eyes widened slightly as he recognized Marcus, a frown spreading momentarily before his displeasure was checked. Marcus had always suspected the King was behind what had happened several weeks ago, at least tacitly, and with his plans thwarted, Marcus had little doubt the monarch wasn’t pleased to see him again.
He flicked his wrist, and Marcus bowed. “Thank you, Your Highness. I am not here to address the charges against these women present today, only those against Lady Joanne. I now have proof that she is innocent of all charges.”
Gasps filled the room, and the prosecutor who had presented the charges ste
pped forward, outrage on his face. “And what proof do you have?”
Marcus acknowledged the man with a slight bow. “The body of a woman posing as Lady Joanne, and admission from the man Lady Joanne is accused of having an affair with that he was misled into thinking the dead woman was her.”
“Ridiculous! Witnesses have put Lady Joanne with Sir Denys on numerous occasions, and he has even admitted it to others.”
“Others who are no doubt here today?”
The man nodded. “Some.”
Marcus surveyed the room. “And if they took his word that he was having the affair, will they now take his word that he was actually mistaken in her identity?”
Laughter erupted from those gathered, though he noticed a few eyes cast at the floor.
“How, Sir Marcus, could that possibly have happened?”
Marcus spun back toward the prosecutor. “Through an elaborate plot that I have only uncovered part of.”
The man chuckled, giving an exaggerated sweep of his arm toward those gathered. “Oh, pray, do tell!”
Marcus smiled, taking the insolence as an invitation. “Thank you, I shall.” He turned to his audience. “My cousin, through my sister’s marriage, Lady Joanne, arrived at my farm yesterday, pursued by men acting on behalf of her husband, Lord Charles. After a discussion, they departed, and I agreed to meet with her husband, to discuss the accusations against her, accusations she swore were false.”
“As any guilty woman would.”
Marcus kept his back to the prosecutor. “Perhaps, but also as any innocent woman would. We arrived in Paris last evening, spoke to her husband, and found out the name of the man with whom she was apparently having the affair, Sir Denys de Montfort. We met with him shortly after, and he revealed a portrait of him with his lover, that he was to surprise her with that night. The woman in the portrait was not Lady Joanne.”
Marcus held up a hand, cutting off the prosecutor before he could interrupt, though he had to wait for the shock to subside upon the members of the Court. “Rest assured, I did consider the possibility that perhaps the artist was simply better suited to another profession, though his likeness of Sir Denys was excellent. This question as to the identity of the woman was enough to convince Sir Denys to let us accompany him to his latest rendezvous with the supposed Lady Joanne. We caught her, and she did indeed match the portrait painted in her honor. We challenged her as to her identity, and she refused to admit the truth. To settle the matter, we took her to meet her so-called husband, Lord Charles, and he confirmed he had never seen this woman before.”
Gasps filled the Court, an eruption of angry questions and charges of lies and deceit filled the air for several moments before a raised hand from the King settled them. Marcus continued.
“After interrogating her, she admitted she had been hired to impersonate Lady Joanne, the reason for which I am not yet aware, however I suspect it has something to do with what is going on here today.”
The prosecutor chuckled, a mocking smile on his face as he looked at those gathered. “And what would a Templar knight know of the goings on of the Court?”
Marcus finally acknowledged him. “Enough to smell a set-up when I see one.”
Chuckles and more outrage, likely split between those who believed the charges, and those who didn’t, spread through the room.
He raised a hand slightly. “I will only say this. Lady Joanne is innocent, as accepted by her husband and her alleged accomplice, and all charges against her should be dropped. And I would suggest, that all charges against these other women be examined carefully, for perhaps they too have been set up like Lady Joanne, in order to embarrass their husbands for some nefarious scheme someone in this Court is fully aware of.”
This time the outrage was near universal, the perceived insult to the Court unacceptable among those who held themselves above all others.
Time to leave.
He bowed deeply to King Philip, then spun, marching swiftly from the Court, Simon on his heels. They stepped outside and descended into the courtyard.
“Well, you certainly know how to make an impression.”
Marcus chuckled. “Too much?”
Simon shrugged. “Perhaps a little. Soon we won’t be welcome there at all.”
Marcus grunted. “I can’t say that would disappoint me.”
24
Enclos du Temple, Templar Fortress
Paris, Kingdom of France
“I’m sorry, but the lady can’t stay here.”
David frowned, controlling the frustrated anger that threatened to erupt. They had left the farm late in the night, setting up camp outside of Crécy-la-Chapelle until the morning, then made their way to the safest place they could think of, the Templar headquarters for France.
Yet now it might have proven a mistake, Sir Matthew Norris, the Templar Master for France, refusing to let them stay, despite the explanation just given.
“You two, of course, are welcome, but a woman cannot stay here under any circumstances, unless she is a nun.”
Jeremy wasn’t controlling his emotions as well as David, and he tossed his hands into the air. “But she must stay somewhere! She’s in danger!”
Sir Matthew nodded at the younger man. “Yes, of course she must. Perhaps the nunnery would have her. It isn’t far. You could leave her with them, then return here.”
David shook his head. “No, my orders were clear. We are to protect her.”
“Whose orders?”
“Sir Marcus de Rancourt.”
“Ah, Sir Marcus! He’s your master?”
“Yes.”
“Of course, I remember now. He was of some small service a few weeks ago to the Order.”
Jeremy continued to spout. “Small? He only saved us all!”
Matthew smiled as if dealing with a simpleton. “Of course, though we all have our interpretations of things, don’t we?”
David held out a hand, holding Jeremy back.
Matthew ignored the scene. “If Sir Marcus has met with the lady’s husband, perhaps he knows how to reach him.”
David shook his head, releasing Jeremy as the pressure against his hand subsided. “I’m not sure how wise it would be to let Lord Charles know we are in the city.”
Matthew nodded. “True, true, especially with the scandal.”
David’s eyes narrowed. “What scandal?”
“Arrest warrants were issued for several wives of the Court.” Matthew paused, finally looking at Lady Joanne, something he had avoided doing the entire time. “What did you say your name was?”
“Lady Joanne de Rohan.”
He shuffled through several papers on his desk, soon finding what he was searching for. “Yes, you are listed. If I were to carry out my duties, I should arrest you now and turn you over to the authorities.”
Jeremy reached for his sword, but Matthew waved him off. “But don’t worry, I have no intention of doing that. The King’s Court is not, shall we say, a place necessarily driven by justice, and from what I’ve heard here today, perhaps there is reason to question the lady’s guilt.” He regarded the three of them. “How about we simply say you were never here?”
David bowed deeply. “That would probably be wise.”
Matthew clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Provision yourselves from our stores for whatever journey you have, and as I said, the two of you are welcome here at any time, and I’m certain the lady would be at the nunnery as well.”
David sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s simply not an option. If only there were some other place we could go.” He turned to Lady Joanne. “Do you have any friends you could trust?”
She shook her head. “None that I would dare put at risk.”
Matthew held up a finger. “Wait, I may have an idea. Was there not a boy involved in the events of a few weeks ago? The son of a forger?”
Jeremy nodded, his eyes widening. “Yes! Thomas!”
“Yes, that was it. If I’m not mistaken, he doesn’t live t
hat far from here. When I met with him, he gave me his address. It should be in our files. One moment.” Matthew left the room, leaving them to discuss the possibility.
“If Thomas is still living in his father’s home, it would at least give us a place to put Lady Joanne where she could be safe,” said Jeremy.
David agreed. “Yes, at least until we find Sir Marcus.”
The door opened and Matthew returned, holding a piece of paper. He handed it to David. “This is the address, and a quick map on how to get there. It’s not a good part of the city, I’m afraid.” He gestured at Lady Joanne. “You might want to change into something less conspicuous.”
David regarded her and nodded. “Umm, where could we find women’s clothes?”
Matthew shook his head. “Certainly not here, I can assure you. Again, may I suggest the nunnery?”
25
Palais de la Cité
Paris, Kingdom of France
“Sirs, I would speak with you.”
Marcus and Simon turned to see a man following them out of the Court, Marcus noting the cane gripped tightly in the man’s left hand. Beyond that one item, however, he bore no resemblance whatsoever to the man he had given chase to, or as had been described by the gatekeeper at the drawbridge. This man was rather short in stature, with a few too many extra pounds packed around his midriff.
And certainly incapable of escaping across a rooftop.
Marcus bowed. “How may we be of assistance?”
“I am Lord Victor de Courtenay. I want to first congratulate you on your success several weeks ago—it was a triumphant moment. I quite enjoyed your display. Should you ever leave the Order, you would make an excellent orator.”
The Templar Detective and the Parisian Adulteress Page 8