The Grand Master also instructed Fergus to take the reliquary secretly with him to Scotland, to secure it and to defend it, and to be prepared to return it at the summons from the Grand Master of the Temple in Paris. It seemed that the squire Laurent would yet have a saddlebag to defend, though Fergus would hide the true prize in Duncan’s luggage.
They drank together to the success of all these ventures on their last night in Paris, and Duncan was relieved.
Finally, they would cease talking and ride!
* * *
There was thin sunlight on the morning that they finally approached Valeroy, after five long days of riding. The light and the chill in the air were both a reminder of winter’s approach and made Duncan consider it likely they would reach Scotland in the snow. The bailey of the inn at Sablé-sur-Sarthe was filled with a merry bustle of activity as boys led horses out of the stables and loaded the baggage. Stallions stamped and palfreys nickered, all of the steeds prepared for the day’s ride. They rode out early, for the lady Ysmaine wished to reach her home in time for the midday meal. It was clear to Duncan that a new liveliness had infected the company at the prospect of reaching Valeroy.
He, however, yearned to speak to Radegunde.
The portcullis was lifted at a shout and the gates opened, just as Lady Ysmaine appeared in the bailey at her husband’s side. Gaston assisted her to mount, and Duncan knew she would ride at her husband’s left hand yet again. Radegunde would ride to the left of her lady as she had done each day. The palfreys with the baggage followed, with the Templar knights and Bartholomew surrounding them. Fergus and Duncan rode at the rear of the party, while the squires mingled with the palfreys burdened with baggage in the middle of the procession.
The rest of the party mounted as the keeper was paid and thanked.
Duncan was well aware of the prize in his own saddlebag, its bulk bumping against the back of his thigh. He had kept his distance from Radegunde this week, hoping her anger would fade, but was increasingly desirous of a moment to speak to her alone. He was encouraged by the single quick glance Radegunde cast his way as she mounted her steed. She was aware of him, to be sure, but did not initiate any conversation.
She left the matter to him, and this day, he would commence their discussion. He told himself that he simply did not wish to part badly, but knew that was only part of the truth.
He owed her a secret, and Duncan would see that debt paid.
He also wanted a kiss.
Curiously, it was Radegunde who had begun to haunt his dreams in these nights since they had argued in Paris. She filled his thoughts with increasing demand. Would she oust Gwyneth forever? Duncan could not believe as much. But it was clear that she had some claim upon his attention, and he would have that kiss.
Radegunde had been granted a new cloak in Paris, or one new to her, and a better pair of boots. The cloak was not as fine as that of her lady but the green hue favored Radegunde’s coloring. As usual, her hair was braided and she tugged her hood over it, after that one piercing glance fired in Duncan’s direction.
If naught else, he would make her smile this day.
They rode out of the inn’s courtyard in pairs, passing through the last of the town and taking the road to Valeroy. The road was sufficiently wide and in such good repair that they could ride two or three abreast. Duncan could see that the territory of Anjou was perhaps a prize worth a battle, for the land was rolling and a pleasing proportion of it was tilled. Mist clung in the valleys at this hour, but the forests were yet verdant. He had an impression of affluence.
Duncan dared to hope that Radegunde’s thoughts were as his own when she let her palfrey fall back, ensuring there was a space beside her.
He did not give any other soul a chance to claim that spot. He urged his stallion forward and did not miss Radegunde’s quick smile of satisfaction.
“I owe you a secret, lass,” he said softly. “And I have not forgotten.”
“Nor have I,” she replied. “Though as days have passed in silence, I fear to ever collect it.”
Duncan smiled. “How else shall I convince you that I am truly a man of honor than with the surrender of a secret?”
“I am surprised you would care,” she maintained. “Since there are whores aplenty in this world to provide you with kisses and solace.” There was little heat in her words and he was encouraged by that.
“But none to so intrigue me.”
“Hmm,” she said, her tone skeptical, but to his relief, that twinkle lit her dark eyes again. “Perhaps you only seek another secret from me.”
“I think, lass, that between the two of us, we might know the full truth of every member of this company.”
Radegunde smiled then, just a little, then glanced at his face and winced. “I am sorry that I struck you. I was vexed.”
“I gathered as much.”
“How is your nose?”
He touched it with a fingertip. It was still a bit swollen. One side had progressed through a ripe purple to yellowish green, neither being hues he favored. “Tender yet, for you struck it well.”
Radegunde smiled outright then, a sight that made his heart skip. “My brother taught me how.”
“The older one?”
“Michel.” She eyed the road ahead and shrugged. “Indeed, that is one good thing about returning to Valeroy. I shall see my mother and brothers again.”
“Only one good thing?”
She wrinkled her nose. “My lord and lady mean to see me wed with haste, Duncan.” Her tone was carefully neutral when she continued, as if she feared that couple might overhear her words. “My lady believes that a match should be wrought of practical considerations, and that only afterward does affection grow.”
“For that has been her experience.”
“Only once of three marriages,” Radegunde pointed out in a whisper. “She would never have loved either of the first two husbands, and those matches were just as advantageous, but she is convinced of her reasoning.”
“You might fare well,” he felt compelled to say, though he, too, had his doubts.
She seemed to shake herself. “Either way, there is naught to be done about it, other than flee her service and starve in the forest amongst the felons. I will reserve that option for a truly awful prospective spouse.” She turned a bright smile upon him then, and he liked that she did not dwell upon matters she could not change. “I will have your secret, Duncan, and I hope it comes with a tale. It will be a long morning in the saddle, to be sure.”
“Perhaps not the best place for the confession of a secret then.”
Radegunde shook a finger at him. “Particularly as you already agreed to offer one of your own, not one of another.”
“Then I shall tell you a tale, and save the secret for a moment when we are alone together. Perhaps this night in Valeroy we might find such a moment.”
“Ha!” Radegunde scoffed, those eyes dancing in a challenge. “I will not find myself alone with a man, save a man of honor!”
“Then I must convince you of my merit, it is clear.” He surveyed the company, knowing only one tale would do. “Praise be that I have the opportunity to so persuade you.”
Radegunde laughed, not nearly so turned against him as she might have him believe.
“So, this is home for you and Lady Ysmaine,” he said, well aware that half a dozen souls could readily hear their conversation. “Tell me of it, if you will.”
“Gladly,” Radegunde agreed, and he liked that she was not one to hold a grudge. “We ride toward the western boundary of Anjou.”
“Held by the English King, the Angevin Henry II.” Duncan had been shocked to witness how close the holdings of the English king came to the demesne of the French king—on the third day’s ride from Paris, they had passed into Anjou. No wonder matters between the pair of kings were so uneasy.
“The very same,” Radegunde agreed. “To the east is the demesne of the French monarchy, and the palace of Philip Augustus in Paris.�
� She lifted a hand to point. “To the west, the Breton March, although these lands have been contested and have been sworn to both Paris and Anjou at differing times.”
“And the Bretons? Who do they favor?”
Radegunde smiled. “They would prefer to answer to neither, I suspect, but declare their own king as sovereign.”
The situation reminded Duncan of Scotland.
“As an example, we will soon pass Chateau-Gontier, a keep of some repute in such matters.”
“Indeed? How so?”
“Over a hundred years ago, there was a Breton duke named Conan II. His father died when he was a minor, and his uncle ruled Brittany as regent. Indeed, he kept Conan imprisoned, though the supporters of the true duke saw him freed. Still, his uncle kept the seal. Even when Conan came of age in 1054, his uncle would not surrender the seal to the younger man. It is said he feared to grant Conan any authority, for Conan had a legitimate claim to the duchy of Normandy as well as that of Brittany.”
“Do I see the influence of great nobles intent upon securing their advantage?” Duncan asked lightly.
“Perhaps so, for the uncle was allied with William of Normandy, the forebear of the Angevin kings. In 1056, though, Conan gained the upper hand and saw his uncle imprisoned when he forcibly claimed the seal that was his birthright.”
“And what had been done to him was done to his uncle.”
Radegunde shrugged. “Apparently so. William was not without aspirations of his own.”
“To be sure, he invaded England in 1066.”
“Aye, and before his departure from Normandy, he warned his neighboring barons not to attack his lands, for he carried the blessing of the pope on his quest.”
Duncan chuckled. “I will guess what came of that.”
Radegunde’s eyes sparkled in a most beguiling way. “Aye, Conan sent word that he would not be dissuaded from claiming what he believed to be his own, and he marched upon Pouancé in William’s absence.” She lifted a hand and pointed to the west. “It is not so distant. I believe you can see the flag upon the turret.”
Duncan squinted and nodded, though he could not discern the color of the banner.
“For as long as can be recalled, Pouancé was a town upon the Breton March, spanning the border, with lands on each side of the division. I have heard it called the door of Brittany.”
Like Châmont-sur-Maine, Duncan thought.
“Conan claimed it and then he claimed Segré, riding steadily east, and finally, he took his rest at Château-Gontier, yet further east.”
“And so it seemed he made incursions into William’s holdings.”
A light dawned in Radegunde’s eyes. “But William had been warned of Conan’s intent, you recall, and by Conan himself.”
“Dared, even.”
“So there were some unsurprised when Conan was found dead at that keep.”
“Dead! Struck in his sleep?”
“Not so forthright as that. It is said he died of poison.” Radegunde lifted her gloved hand. “That his leather gloves were treated with poison weeks before.” She dragged a finger over her lips to illustrate her point. “Unwittingly, after his conquests, he wiped his mouth, perhaps at the end of the day.”
“How clever,” Duncan had to acknowledge.
“How wicked,” Radegunde corrected. “The trap set and the perpetrator far gone before it is sprung. It was never resolved who might have so prepared the gloves, and indeed, they soon went missing. But Conan was dead, and the holdings he had taken by force were readily reclaimed by William’s forces.”
“Next you will tell me that Conan’s holdings were claimed by William.”
Radegunde laughed. “Not so, for the Breton did not care to come beneath any king’s thumb. Nay, the duchy of Brittany passed to Conan’s sister Hawise, and she chose to wed Hoel, Duke of Cornouaille. Together, they united all of Brittany, establishing the house of Kernev, which ruled the duchy of Brittany for nigh a hundred years.”
“And then?”
“And then you shall laugh, for the heir was named Conan and the stepfather who would deny him his legacy was named Odo.”
Duncan arched a brow. “It seems a territory in need of more names.”
Radegunde laughed. “It might be so. But much of the rest of the tale remains similar, for there was dissent with Henry II, and Constance, the daughter of Conan, was wed to Geoffrey, the son of Henry.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “And Conan was compelled by Henry to abdicate and make his daughter countess, immediately upon her marriage to Geoffrey.”
“Who was titled Duke of Brittany, and who died in Paris, after having been trodden by horses in a tournament, a year ago,” Duncan provided.
“He did?”
“Aye, I heard tell of it in Paris. Constance was with child at his death but delivered of a son last March, who is now Duke of Brittany.”
“Those are foul tidings,” Radegunde mused. “There will be uncertain times ahead.”
“Not so uncertain as that. Constance will be wedded again, to be sure, and with haste,” Duncan forecast and Radegunde nodded agreement. “Is this tale of poison well known?” he asked, on a more cheerful note, for the woes of their betters were not their concern.
“My mother told me of it, for she found the tale intriguing.”
“As a wise woman and midwife.”
“Indeed.” Radegunde smiled. “And she bade me never wipe my mouth with a gloved hand, though truly, there is no soul who would seek to see me dead.”
“Do not even say as much aloud!” Duncan chided, for the notion made him shiver with dread.
“Tell me a tale instead,” she invited, and he could not resist the opportunity.
* * *
Radegunde had been beyond relieved that Duncan finally spoke to her. In four days of riding, she had nigh lost hope that he would ever do as much again.
She clutched the reins of her palfrey and listened to the low rumble of his voice with pleasure. To think of Duncan recounting a story, and doing so for her entertainment, was most gratifying. Before they had reached Paris, she had thought him incapable of uttering two sentences in succession, and now he would tell her an entire tale.
“Once, there was a man,” he began and she could not resist the urge to tease him.
“A man of honor, no doubt.”
“He thought himself to be one such, to be sure.” Duncan feigned a wince. “Though I have heard him called a knave and a fool.”
Radegunde laughed, as much because he recalled her words as because he would share some of his own history with her. She was very pleased by this compliment. “We are all fools at some point.”
“Indeed. This particular man left all he knew and sought adventure.”
“Ah! I like him well already.”
They shared a smile. “Perhaps you have something in common with him.”
“Perhaps more than he knows.” That awareness rose between them again, and Radegunde found her cheeks growing warm. She could not look away from the admiration in Duncan’s eyes and wished again for the opportunity to surrender more to him than mere words. She let her gaze drop to his lips and linger there, and he caught his breath in a most satisfying manner.
“This man was careless with his advantage, though.”
“Which advantage?”
“The greatest one of all—his life.”
“Why?”
“He thought it worthless.”
“But why?”
Duncan gave her a sharp look. “That is another tale.”
Radegunde resolved in that moment to collect the second story, as well, but she smiled. “And so, he was reckless. What was the outcome of that?”
“He fell into a company of mercenaries, more because he had need of coin to keep himself than of any thirst for violence. And so he fought with them, taking employ where they found it and battling for whichever side paid the most. They had a disregard for the notion of right and wrong, and since he had seen the world to be
capricious in its favors, it suited this man to disregard such details, as well. He fought. He earned coin. He ate and drank when he could. He slept and then he rose to do as much again. It was no life for a thinking man, but he had ceased to think.”
Radegunde bit her lip, wondering what would drive Duncan to so forget his own nature.
“One day, this company came to a border land, much like this Breton March you tell me about.” Duncan gestured to the west. “A place where alliances shifted constantly, and there was always a battle to be found. He fought hard in this locale and was as fortunate as such a man can be, for he earned a goodly measure of coin. It was then that he recalled himself and his own nature, and he began to reconsider the life he had made his own. He thought of remaining in one place and living out his days in peace. As a result, he ceased to carouse with his fellows in the taverns, and carefully saved his coin. He was quiet about it, but in such a company, there are few secrets.”
“Perhaps a whore betrayed him,” Radegunde dared to suggest.
“Perhaps she did,” Duncan acknowledged. “For he was known to take comfort with such women once in a while, to see his needs met.”
“Yet leave no bastard behind.”
He slanted a glance her way, his expression assessing. “Perhaps so. For I do know that he was assaulted by his fellows one night, when he slumbered deeply, and that he was robbed. When he awakened and tried to defend his coin, he found himself in the midst of a battle again. Despite the disadvantage of numbers, he was not prepared to surrender all that he had earned with his own blade. He fought hard and foolishly, though he had no true chance of success. He knew these men well enough to understand that they would kill for his coin.” Duncan paused.
“And was he killed?” Radegunde finally prompted. She thought she knew the answer and was not surprised when Duncan shook his head.
“He was not, but not through any valor of his own. A knight intervened, for he had heard the noise, and he was a fearsome warrior himself. The knight dispatched two of the assailants, then the others scattered. Once he learned that assailants and victim had been comrades, the knight did not allow the villains to flee so readily as that. He hunted down another two and slaughtered them for their faithlessness. Then he returned the stolen coin to the fool.”
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