Nicholas found himself watching the odd youth’s graceful gait before turning abruptly away to find Guy eyeing him with an odd expression.
‘See? He’s not slow-witted,’ Nicholas said, inclining his head towards Emery.
His squire snorted. ‘That’s not all he’s not.’
* * *
Nicholas approached Temple Roode cautiously, but there was little that was forbidding about the sheep grazing in fields and the cluster of neat buildings: two barns, a church and a small house. The property was more a manorial farm than a fortress; there was no keep, no moat, no gate and no guards. In fact, there was no sign of life, not even of the lay people who presumably worked the land, yet all was in good condition.
The stillness was eerie, broken only by the sound of the wind moving through the spindly trees that surrounded the manor, and Nicholas saw the look of unease on Emery’s face. He did not share it, fearing nothing any more except his own failure to protect Guy and the boy. In fact, his main concern was Emery because his squire seemed ill disposed towards their companion.
Guy did not seem to understand that, despite the events of the past year, Nicholas was still a knight, sworn to aid others. He had agreed to help Gerard, which meant that Emery was now his responsibility, and he refused to listen to his squire’s arguments otherwise. He could only be grateful that, after several attempts at discussing the boy, Guy had lapsed into moody silence, for he had more important matters to consider than his squire’s petty jealousies.
Dismounting, Nicholas glanced around and wondered whether the residents had been called away or if they were ill. He was reminded of his brother Reynold’s experience with an abandoned village. However, if this place was abandoned, it had been only recently.
‘Hello?’ Nicholas’s voice was loud in the stillness, but none answered his hail. The horses moved restlessly behind him and Nicholas motioned for Guy and Emery to remain mounted in case they needed to make a hurried escape. Striding forwards, he put his hand upon the hilt of his sword, sensing that something was not quite right.
As if to prove him wrong, a man appeared at the manor entrance. Short, squat and balding, he wore a brown mantle that suggested he was more devout than dangerous. Still, he said nothing, forcing Nicholas to introduce himself.
‘Good day, Brother, I am Nicholas de Burgh. I wonder if I might have a word with you and your brethren.’
‘My brothers are in seclusion, fasting and praying. Are you lost?’ the fellow asked. Although traditionally, monastic houses gave lodging to travellers, he tendered no such offer.
‘My lord de Burgh, shall I tether the horses?’ Guy said, as though to protest this treatment.
Nicholas shook his head, for he could not force his way into a man’s confidence. Instead, he spoke calmly and plainly. ‘We are seeking a Templar knight nearly as tall as I, but more slender and with light-coloured hair.’
‘There are no knights residing here, my lord,’ the brother said, his gaze shuttered, his speech short. Nicholas tried not to draw any conclusions from the man’s manner, for he might have been isolated from the world for so long that he did not deal well with outsiders.
However, Nicholas made sure his own manner was cordial and encouraging. ‘Although he does not reside here, perhaps the knight we seek is associated with this preceptory. He might have trained here or he could be returning home from the Holy Land.’
The brother shook his head, but did not elaborate, leaving Nicholas to guess at the monastery’s usual inhabitants. He longed to talk to someone a bit more forthcoming. ‘Perhaps a brother who has been at Temple Roode longer might recall?’
Again, the man shook his head. If not vowed to silence, he certainly spoke as little as possible. But perhaps that was the way of the Templars. Their secrecy had led to much speculation about them, little of it good, and Nicholas’s opinion of the order was declining rapidly.
Although loath to distrust a holy man, he couldn’t help feeling that the brother was hiding something. Nicholas could claim few dealings with those in religious houses, but he had sought shelter in such places and never received this sort of treatment. Were the Templars so different, or was his search responsible for this reception?
He decided to change tactics. ‘Brother...?’
‘Gilbert,’ the man said, as though reluctant to part with that detail.
‘Brother Gilbert.’ Nicholas smiled. ‘My father, the Earl of Campion, is a generous contributor to your cause and I’m sure he would be most grateful for any information you can provide me.’
But the monk was unmoved. It seemed that the claims of Templars having become greedy and worldly did not apply to this remote area, or at least this member of the order. And Nicholas could not press him further. He could only watch carefully as he posed his next question.
‘You must have contact with other preceptories, so perhaps you have heard of this knight I seek,’ Nicholas said. ‘He gave his name as Gwayne.’
No flicker of recognition showed in Gilbert’s dour expression. ‘I know no Templar by that name.’
‘He attacked a Hospitaller knight,’ Nicholas said.
But even that news did not faze the man, who maintained his grim expression. ‘Then perhaps you should look to Clerkwell, the Hospitaller commandery, which is not far from here.’
‘Perhaps I will,’ Nicholas said. Nodding graciously, he turned to mount his horse without a backward glance, gesturing for his squire to precede him as they rode away. Guy obeyed and did not slow until they were out of sight of the preceptory. In fact, he seemed unwilling to halt, doing so only after Nicholas had stopped well away from the track. Even then, he kept looking over his shoulder, as though expecting the Pope’s armies to give chase.
‘’Tis just as I have heard, my lord,’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘The Templars zealously guard their secrets. Why, ’tis said they uncovered some hidden knowledge in the Holy Land that they now use to their own advantage.’
Nicholas gave his squire a wry glance. Guy had always been a superstitious sort and recent events had made him more so. Frequently, he tried to foist some talisman or charm upon Nicholas, claiming that the objects, whether a coloured stone or a splinter of bone belonging to some long-dead saint, bore special powers. Now, apparently, the Templars themselves were endowed with such.
‘I thought you considered them sunk in dissipation, not keepers of some ancient wisdom,’ Nicholas said drily.
But Guy was not to be dissuaded. ‘’Twas eerie, my lord, even you must admit to that,’ he said, suppressing a shiver. ‘’Tis certain they did not want us there, with none to greet us except that surly fellow, who ought to be taught how to treat his betters.’
‘Perhaps so, but I was loath to raise any suspicions with Brother Gilbert,’ Nicholas said. ‘Better he think himself well rid of us.’
‘You don’t mean to go back?’ Guy asked in an incredulous tone.
‘I would like to have a closer look at the place,’ Nicholas admitted. ‘Something didn’t feel right.’
Guy groaned. ‘Nothing felt right, my lord! Yet no good could come of probing into their mysteries. Who knows what goes on there? They obviously are hiding something.’
At his words, even quiet Emery glanced at him with an expression of alarm. ‘You don’t think they’re holding Gerard in there, do you?’
Nicholas held up a hand to stop his squire’s raving. While Templar preceptories in the east might have reason to keep prisoners, he could not conceive of the brethren locking up their own here at home.
‘I do not suspect the Templars of capturing their fellows, no matter what dark tales are whispered about them,’ he said, with a quelling glare at Guy. ‘Nevertheless, I’d like to take another look at Temple Roode.’
Naturally, Guy did not agree. ‘But if you do not think Gerard is there, then we will only be wasting precious time in our search for him.’
While his squire had a point, Nicholas was not prepared to leave the Templar preceptory behind on t
he strength of one brother’s dubious word. ‘’Tis possible that a return visit may yield nothing, for Brother Gilbert may be concealing little more than his larder from hungry visitors,’ he said. ‘However, I would make sure the man who left me for dead is not enjoying the hospitality of the house.’
The reminder of the attack finally silenced Guy and Nicholas looked out over the moors, assessing the possibilities. ‘There’s really no means of approaching the place without being seen unless we wait until nightfall, and even then the moon will prove both help and hindrance,’ he said, remembering the stretch of open land that they would have to cross to reach the cluster of buildings. It was simply too barren, with few trees to provide shadows in which to hide.
‘There might be another way.’
To Nicholas’s surprise, ’twas Emery who spoke and the boy coloured, as though regretting his speech.
‘Go on,’ Nicholas said.
‘It could be nothing but an old legend,’ Emery said, hesitating.
‘What old legend?’
Again Emery hesitated, but Nicholas urged him on with a nod.
The boy drew a deep breath, as though summoning his courage. ‘There have always been rumours of tunnels beneath the Templar property, going back to when they first settled there.’
‘Tunnels? What for?’ Guy asked.
Emery shrugged. ‘No one knows. Perhaps the Templars sought to travel from their preceptory to the village without notice. I can’t imagine where else they would wish to go in secret.’
Guy muttered something and crossed himself, obviously leery of either the Templars, underground passages or both. But Nicholas knew the value of tunnels. He had gained access to his brother Dunstan’s keep through just such means, foiling the enemies who held it. Castles, built for defence, often had escapes routes for use in times of siege.
But ’twas unlikely that a manorial farm, especially an ecclesiastical property like Temple Roode, could boast anything of the sort. Yet, what else had they to do until darkness fell? ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ he said, eager for a challenge.
Guy groaned. ‘And how are we going to discover in an afternoon what no one else has ever found, maybe for a hundred years?’
‘As far as I know, no one has ever looked for them,’ Emery said. ‘Why would they?’
Guy shook his head, as if dismayed by the folly of both of his companions, and muttered to himself in dire tones, ‘More likely, who would dare?’
* * *
Emery felt only dismay as they neared the village. What had she been thinking? While they wasted time hunting for tunnels that probably didn’t exist, Gerard could be travelling in the opposite direction, putting miles between them. She should never have spoken.
But who would have thought her opinion would carry weight with any man, let alone Lord de Burgh? Emery had forgotten how differently she was treated when garbed as her twin. It had been too long ago and she had since learned to keep her silence. So what had possessed her to speak, especially in such exalted company?
Emery shook her head. Nicholas de Burgh rode his huge destrier with ease, tall and proud, his gloved hands gripping the reins confidently. He was a noble, wielding the kind of power and influence that should strike fear into anyone pretending to be someone else. That, coupled with her brother’s warning, ought to have kept her quiet and wary. And yet...
Emery glanced away from the handsome figure and told herself ’twas distrust of religious houses that had prompted the suggestion. She could not call it back now. But when they drew to a halt on the low rise that overlooked the village below, she was tempted. Where were they to find underground tunnels amongst the cluster of small homes, with people and animals roaming about?
Emery waited for some sign of scorn or rebuke from her companions, but Lord de Burgh appeared unperturbed as he looked out over the landscape. ‘Now, if you were a Templar, where would you want to go?’ he asked.
Blinking in surprise at the question, Emery turned to study the village she had not seen in some time. For a moment, the years fell away, and it seemed as though she were young and at liberty to explore the moors, Gerard at her side. And in that instant, the answer came to her.
‘The church,’ she said.
Lord de Burgh’s smile of approval made Emery glance away, uncomfortable. She realised how long it had been since she’d felt pleasure or companionship, but this was not the time and place to seek such things. Nor was Nicholas de Burgh the one to provide them.
Emery was here for Gerard, not for anything else, yet she could not help but savour the first small taste of the freedom that she had known in years. She was riding again, seeing new places and experiencing new things, and her heart pounded with a combination of fear and excitement as they approached the distinctive round building.
‘What kind of parish church is this?’ Guy muttered, eyeing the place warily as he dismounted.
‘I suspect it was built by the Templars, who favour that sort of construction,’ Lord de Burgh said, heading towards the doors.
‘’Tis probably modelled after the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem,’ Emery added, but her words did seem to comfort Guy, who appeared hesitant to enter.
Emboldened by her new freedom, Emery strode past the squire to follow Lord de Burgh inside, but her courage soon wavered. Plunging into the cool dimness, she was met with an interior unlike any other.
In fact, Emery took a step back in astonishment, running into Guy, who gulped and grabbed her by the arms, whether to steady her or himself, Emery wasn’t sure. But for a long moment they stood together while gaping at the elaborate decorations. Although the number that crowded the small space was startling in itself, ’twas the strangeness of the designs that stunned Emery.
While she could not claim to be well travelled, she had never seen such carvings in any church, and, apparently, neither had Guy, for he resumed muttering in hushed tones, frozen in his position near the doors. But Emery finally moved forwards, peering in wonder at the images that appeared more heathen than Christian.
Heads that resembled pagan designs or some remnant of ancient legends were scattered amongst more traditional adornments. Emery blinked at the bulbous face of the Green Man, a symbol of fertility that some say had been worshipped in years past. And everywhere were horned figures that looked more like demons than saints.
‘What kind of parish church is this?’ Guy asked again, his voice cracking in the stillness.
‘An unusual one, isn’t it?’ Lord de Burgh said, drawing Emery’s attention. He, alone, seemed undismayed by the sights as he walked the perimeter, pausing only to knock on a wall or peer behind a decorative panel.
‘What are you doing?’ Emery asked, curiosity overcoming her unease.
‘I’ve some experience in tunnels—and in hideaways, having played at seeking my brothers often enough in my youth,’ Lord de Burgh said over his shoulder. ‘And one of my brothers, Geoff, is fond of puzzles, so he taught me how to study a problem.’
Emery was startled to realise that the great knight really was searching for the rumoured tunnels. ‘But wouldn’t the floor—?’
‘Too obvious,’ Lord de Burgh said, stopping in front of a carving tucked under an arch. ‘And unlikely because of the difficulty in concealing such an entrance. However, they would need to be able to access their passage without too much trouble, else why create such a massive work?’
When he turned towards her, Emery could only nod in agreement, struck dumb to be included in such a conversation. She knew her disguise was responsible, yet Lord de Burgh was being more than gracious to an unknown young man, and her wariness made her wonder whether he had an ulterior motive.
As Emery watched, he knelt before a grotesque image, running his hands over the surface and into the crevices along the edge as though searching for something, and soon he must have found it, for the massive piece moved slightly. Emery blinked in surprise, but even more amazing was the glance he shot her, one of triumph and
shared success that stopped her breath.
Perhaps ’twas the way of men and their friendships, Emery thought, and held no special meaning. Yet she could do no more than look on while he shifted the heavy chunk of stone as if it weighed little, exposing a gaping hole beyond. Cool, damp air seeped from pitch blackness, hinting at lower depths and, stepping closer, Emery could see a set of worn stone steps leading downwards.
The discovery even lured Guy away from his stance near the doors. He was soon standing beside Emery, muttering to himself. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he said aloud. And then he turned towards her, his eyes narrowing. ‘Did you know about this?’
‘I knew only of the rumours of a tunnel,’ Emery said. ‘Lord de Burgh managed to find it.’ And he had done so with seemingly little effort, which made Emery return Guy’s suspicious glare with one of her own.
‘How do we know that this doesn’t lead into a bottomless pit?’ the squire asked.
‘We don’t,’ Lord de Burgh said. Apparently undisturbed by the prospect, he set about lighting a lantern he had found tucked away behind a screen.
‘My lord, you cannot mean to enter there,’ Guy protested. ‘You don’t know what lies below: foul air, rising water, precipitous drops. It may be an old cavern that has been blocked up, with no connection at all to the Templars or their property.’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Lord de Burgh said. The mischievous grin that accompanied this sentiment made him look younger and dashing, perhaps even a bit wicked, and Emery found it hard to ignore his excitement, which stimulated her own. Was that why her heart had picked up its pace?
‘You can stay behind and watch the horses, if you don’t care to explore the tunnel,’ Lord de Burgh said, with a shrug, though it was obvious he had no intention of doing so himself.
The Last de Burgh Page 3