Maybe you aren’t ready to be a knight.
Horse’s hooves on cobblestone echoed through the night, and he withdrew deeper into the shadows. It could be their target, or it could merely be someone passing through. The streets weren’t exactly deserted at this hour, though men on horseback were indeed few, this not an area of the city known for its wealth, though it wasn’t the squalor poor Thomas had grown up in.
The lone figure passed his position, a hooded cloak hiding his features, and Simon’s heart rate ticked up a few notches as he realized this could indeed be the man, as most on horseback, at least those who were honest men, were usually proud to show their faces.
He peered across the street, and could see the alleyway Marcus was hiding in, but saw no evidence of him. He too was sticking to the plan, a plan that was irritating him. Their man was right there, not ten paces from him. Simon gripped the hilt of his sword, but held his place.
The man came to a stop, looking about. Nothing was said, no calls into the dark, just several snorts from the horse. There was no doubt now that this was the man they were waiting for. Simon desperately wanted to rush from his position, pull the man from his horse, and end all of this intrigue this minute.
But what if he’s only a messenger?
His jaw dropped. This man could be nobody. He could simply have been sent by whoever was actually behind the conspiracy, and if they grabbed this peon now, he might tell them nothing, and all would be lost.
He smiled.
Maybe Marcus was a genius after all.
The man slowly turned in his saddle, searching the shadows, searching for his contact.
How long will he wait?
The man flicked his reins, sending his horse back in the direction he had come.
Not long, I guess.
Suddenly a horse whinnied and Marcus burst from the alleyway. “Halt!” The man glanced over his shoulder then urged his horse forward, breaking out into a gallop as Marcus gave chase. Simon cursed and rushed for his horse, tied up farther down the alleyway lest it make a noise that might tip off the man they had been waiting for. By the time he reached it and returned to the street, Marcus and their target were gone.
“What just happened?”
Simon turned to see David and Jeremy racing toward him on foot, their bows gripped uselessly in their hands. He shook his head. “I don’t know. But he’s on his own now.”
Marcus raced after his target, urging his steed forward, and smiled as the man guided his horse to the right, exactly as he had suspected. His instructions to his men had been clear, and they had been followed.
Do nothing, unless lives are at risk.
And none were.
David and Jeremy both could have loosed an arrow to bring the man down once he had given chase, but no one’s life had been in danger, and they had followed their orders.
Reluctantly, he had no doubt.
He spotted the river ahead and eased off the reins slightly, his horse a little faster than that ahead of him. He grinned as the rider crossed the bridge and it immediately began to rise.
Precisely as it had their first night in Paris.
Thomas’ heart leaped as he spotted the bridge start to rise. He grabbed his horse and climbed on, watching the rider who had just crossed, race past his position. Thomas counted to three then followed, keeping his distance, the rider checking over his shoulder several times, Thomas riding high in the saddle, trying to give the man no reason to think anything untoward was happening.
The man soon eased off, apparently confident he had shaken his pursuer, and Thomas followed at a reasonable though not brisk pace. It didn’t take long for the rider to reach his destination, a large estate along the River Seine, the gates swinging open for him, then closing the moment he cleared them.
Thomas stared up at the yellow and black flag flapping in the wind, unsure of what it represented, but pleased he had accomplished the task set out for him by Sir Marcus.
Now all he had to do was wait.
Marcus returned to find his sergeant and squires atop their horses in the square where he had left them, all apparently still confused by his orders, if the expressions on their faces were any indication.
“I thought our orders were to do nothing?” asked Simon as he approached.
“Yes, your orders were.”
“Uh huh. And just where did you go off to?”
Marcus smiled. “I was merely flushing quail.” He regarded his men. “Are you ready to find out who is behind this?”
Simon nodded. “Absolutely, especially if there is a fire involved. These bones are too accustomed to the desert.”
Marcus laughed, turning his horse back toward the bridge. “Come, let us meet young Thomas, and see what he has found.”
Jeremy rode up on his left. “Thomas? Where has he been this entire time?”
“Exactly where he needed to be.”
“Which was?”
“The opposite side of the bridge.”
Simon stared at him. “What bridge?” His eyes widened. “Wait, you mean the same bridge from two nights ago? The drawbridge?”
Marcus grinned. “Now you’re catching on.”
“What makes you think he’d go there?”
Marcus pointed ahead, the bridge visible in the distance. “Why not? It’s an arrangement he’s had with the gatekeeper for some time, it’s effective, and if he is who I think he is, he would have little choice but to go there.”
Simon snorted. “You are mighty confident tonight, aren’t you?”
Marcus grunted. “Let us pray that this confidence isn’t unwarranted.” He flicked his reins, hurrying back toward the bridge, praying to the good Lord that he was right about everything, otherwise he might have just let their only suspect get away.
Thomas waited in the darkness for what felt like hours, but could only have been minutes, when he saw four riders approaching. He peered into the inky black and sighed with relief at the sight of Sir Marcus’ white surcoat, the red cross of the Templars emblazoned across it. He urged his horse toward them, Marcus smiling.
“So, my young friend, what have you found?”
Thomas pointed at the large estate just ahead. “He went in there, sir.” His eyes narrowed. “But how did you know he would? I mean, how did you know where I would be?”
Marcus smiled, pointing at the flag flying proudly at the gate. “See that flag?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what it represents?”
Thomas shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“It is the flag of the Holy Roman Empire, signaling the German ambassador’s residence. I spotted it when we went to see Lord Victor, and tragically discovered him murdered, likely by somebody inside this very house right now.”
Simon stared at the estate. “What now?”
“Now we pray Sir Denys has been successful in his assignment, but David and Jeremy, I have another task for you.”
52
De Rohan Residence
Paris, Kingdom of France
It had taken far longer to meet with the stable boy, Albert, than Lady Joanne had expected, the young man apparently sent off on some task earlier in the day. She had left instructions for him to be sent to Beatrice’s quarters as soon as he returned, and she smiled at the eagerness in his eyes when her chambermaid opened the door to him, then the disappointed shock when he spotted his mistress sitting in the corner.
He no doubt thought he might be sharing some tender moments.
“Umm, M’Lady, I’m sorry, I didn’t…I mean, I don’t know…” He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I was told to come here?”
She smiled. “Close the door, please.”
He complied, then began to tremble.
“Sit, young one, you have nothing to fear from me, as long as you tell the truth.” She pointed at the only other chair in the room, brought in for the occasion. Beatrice sat on the edge of her bed, smiling at him. “This letter to your master that y
ou were asked of before. It was you who gave it to Beatrice, was it not?”
He vehemently shook his head. “No, M’Lady, it wasn’t I!”
She leaned forward, putting on her most intimidating face. “I said you have nothing to fear from me as long as you told me the truth. Lie to me again, and I shall withdraw my promise.”
His eyes bulged in fear, his entire body shaking. “Y-yes, M’Lady.”
Joanne gestured toward Beatrice. “You like my chambermaid, do you not?”
He blushed, stealing a glance at Beatrice. “Umm, yes, M’Lady?”
“Do you know that she is in a great deal of trouble, and under a great deal of suspicion, because she claims you gave her the message, yet you deny it? Do you realize that if we cannot determine who gave her the letter, the Court will decide that no one gave it to her, and that she fabricated these lies herself? Do you know what that could mean?”
He cringed. “N-no.”
“It could mean torture and imprisonment, or perhaps even death! Do you want her to die?”
Tears streamed down Beatrice’s cheeks, and Joanne wasn’t certain if she were merely a clever actress, or if she were genuinely afraid, now that the unspoken truth had finally been voiced.
“Tell me who gave you the message, or she dies!”
And when Albert finally revealed the truth, she nearly fainted.
53
Approaching the German Ambassador’s Residence
Paris, Kingdom of France
Sir Denys rode at the head of a far smaller column of the King’s Personal Guard than he would have hoped, half a dozen men all that the Court could provide on such short notice, the request made of the King in his chambers, and surprisingly approved.
It would appear the monarch was eager to uncover the truth as well, a surprising sense of relief rushing through Denys in the discovery, as part of him had feared that perhaps the King could be involved, if only tacitly.
Though for the moment, nothing appeared further from the truth.
To say he had been stunned when told hours ago where he was to bring the soldiers and the warrants, would be an understatement. Despite his pleas for an explanation, none had been provided him, making his task even more difficult.
Though he had succeeded. He had the unnamed warrants in his pocket, and stunningly, the Court was convening at this very moment, the King unwilling to wait until morning to find out what was afoot. He just prayed that Sir Marcus was prepared for this eventuality, as it was the one part of his instructions he hadn’t fulfilled to the Templar’s exact specifications.
As they approached the German ambassador’s residence, he peered into the darkness, searching for Marcus, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he spotted the white surcoat against the moonlight reflecting off the waters of the River Seine.
Marcus and Simon, along with another young man, approached on horseback, and he brought the column to a halt.
“I see you were successful in your task,” said Marcus.
Denys nodded. “Not without some difficulty, and not in the numbers I had hoped.”
“No matter. The warrants?”
Denys patted his breast pocket. “Secured as requested, though one thing didn’t, unfortunately, go according to plan.”
Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “Oh?”
“The Court is assembling now. The King was unwilling to wait until morning.”
Marcus chuckled. “I suspected that might happen. It is of no concern.” He motioned toward the residence. “Once we pass through those gates, I will have confirmed everything, and you will be able to put names on those warrants.”
Denys eyed the impressive walls. “You intend to enter by force?”
“If necessary.”
Denys glanced at his too few men. “I don’t think we have enough, should they resist.”
Marcus smiled. “That is why I sent my sergeant on a little errand earlier today.” He placed his fingers to his lips and whistled. The sounds of a large contingent on horseback was heard in the distance, approaching from the opposite direction, and Denys’ eyes bulged as dozens of white surcoats with red crosses became visible. Marcus smiled. “As you can see, I brought some friends, just in case.”
54
German Ambassador’s Residence
Paris, Kingdom of France
“You were a fool to come here!”
German Ambassador Gerhardt von Brunswick glared at his visitor as the man removed the cloak that had disguised him.
“Where else was I to go? He was in pursuit. Besides, he has no clue who I am, and I lost him at the bridge, just like last time.”
Gerhardt shook his head as his heart pounded with rage. Two nights ago, when his partner in this affair had arrived under similar circumstances, he had ordered him never to do it again, yet here he stood. “You broke your word.”
“I had no choice. This is closer than my home, and as I did last time, I felt it was best to get off the streets as quickly as possible. I’ll stay for only a short while, and leave as if I were visiting a friend.”
“We are not friends.” Gerhardt returned to his chair behind his desk, trying to calm himself, his leg always hurting when filled with rage. This man might not be a friend, but he was buried up to his neck with him in the affair he now found himself in. Approached several months ago with a proposal that could benefit Germany, he had listened with great interest at the idea of manipulating the membership of the King’s Court to foment war with Flanders, thus allowing Germany to ease out of its treaty with England that was proving to be a disadvantage.
The man had been well-informed, and had impeccable credentials as a senior member of the Court.
Gerhardt had requested instructions from King Adolf, and had been ordered to proceed, a substantial amount of funds forwarded to accomplish the task.
All that his partner had requested was a significant payment upon completion, and absolutely no recognition from King Adolf, should he succeed.
His identity was to be kept a complete secret, and in fact, only Gerhardt knew who he was.
And only this man knew Gerhardt was involved. His capture could compromise them all.
“I want you out of here, now! I can’t risk you being caught!”
His partner frowned. “There’s more chance of that should I leave now.” He dropped into a chair. “My friend, you must learn to remain calm in these situations. There’s nothing to fear.”
A knock at the door sent Gerhardt’s pulse racing even harder. “Come!”
The door opened and his butler entered, his eyes wide with uncharacteristic nerves.
“Yes, what is it?”
“Ambassador, I’m afraid I have most disturbing news. The King’s Personal Guard, and a substantial contingent of Templar knights, are at the front gate, demanding that you and your guest come with them at once.”
Gerhardt slumped in his chair, feeling faint, as his heart threatened to explode. He glared at the instrument of his destruction sitting across from him. “You fool! You’ve killed us all!”
The man shook his head, raising a hand. “Did they ask for me by name?”
“Yes, Lord Charles, they did.”
55
De Rohan Residence
Paris, Kingdom of France
“I can’t believe my husband gave you the message! That means…” Joanne shook her head, struggling to stay focused as she grew faint with the shock. She sucked in a deep, unladylike breath, regaining some control. She stared at Beatrice. “What does that mean?”
“I think it means that he wrote the message, doesn’t it?”
Joanne nodded vigorously. “Yes, of course, but why? What does it all mean?” She thought for a moment. Her husband had obviously written the message to himself, pretending to be someone else. He had given it to Albert, with strict instructions to give it to Beatrice and never tell anyone he had done so. Her eyes shot wide open. “Wait, was the seal broken when he gave it to you?”
Albert shook his he
ad. “Not at first. He broke it himself before handing it to me.”
Joanne tapped a finger rapidly on her knee. “Then that explains that. He told you to tell Beatrice that it was about me, and broke the seal to give her the opportunity to read the message, as he knew she would be unable to resist the urge as she is loyal to me, not him.” She threw her hands up in frustration.
“But why do this at all?” asked Beatrice, her cheeks burning with emotion. “Why not just let you be arrested with the rest?”
Joanne jabbed at the air with her finger as the pieces began to fall into place with this new key bit of information. “Because we now know that an imposter had been hired to impersonate me. If I fled, which he knew I would, as this was the purpose of having you read the letter he had forged, it would make me appear guilty in the eyes of the Court. Then when his guards caught me, they probably would have killed me, rather than bring me back to Paris, and there would be no need for a trial!”
“I can’t believe he would do such a thing, M’Lady! His own wife!”
Joanne frowned, debating whether she should reveal what she knew. She sighed, there no point in protecting the honor of a man who would have her killed. “Things haven’t exactly been happy these past few years. Have you not noticed the cutbacks? We’ve had to lay off many of our staff, we stable fewer horses than we ever have, and the meals are leaner.”
Beatrice blushed, eying the floor as Albert looked away. “Yes, M’Lady, we have noticed that, I mean, the staff have, but none would dare say anything.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. But you might as well know now that we are nearly broke. My husband lost most of our money through several unwise investments and a horrendous gambling habit. It cost us some of our lands we relied upon for revenues. I fear if something drastic doesn’t change, we will be forced to rely on the charity of others before long.”
The door to Beatrice’s room burst open, and Louis Forbin, the captain of her husband’s guard, stepped inside, his thigh bandaged, his brow covered in sweat from the effort. He appeared to pose little threat, though the two men standing behind him suffered from no such afflictions.
The Templar Detective and the Parisian Adulteress Page 17