The Last de Burgh

by Deborah Simmons

  Still, he had not forgotten their purpose, and when an elderly brother paused to greet them, Nicholas engaged him in conversation. Eventually, Nicholas asked about the man they were looking for, but, as he had feared, the brother shook his head.

  ‘There are only a handful of us here at Rothston, my lord, for ours is but a small preceptory,’ the brother said. ‘And I know no Robert Blanchefort, though I never served as a knight of our order.’

  Nicholas’s disappointment must have been obvious, for the man smiled encouragingly. ‘But you must not give up hope, my lord. There are dozens of Templar properties throughout England. The knight you seek might well be here, rather than in the Holy Land, especially if his fighting days are over.’

  Nicholas heard Guy’s low groan at the news. No doubt the squire feared a visit to every preceptory in the land was imminent, but they hadn’t the resources to travel the length and breadth of the country and back. Nor had they the time. Although Nicholas hated to admit it, sooner or later he wouldn’t be able to continue. And he intended for Emery to be long gone by then.

  Again, the brother gave them a gentle smile. ‘But there are few knights at most of our preceptories,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you should look at one of the retirement communities, at Penwaite or Oxley. There you are more liable to find the old warriors, resting after their battles.’

  Oxley was only a day’s ride away and seemed a likely enough destination, for where else had they to go? Guy would not like it, but Nicholas wanted to keep moving, and if their travels confused any pursuers, all the better. He thanked the brother, who bid them goodnight as another brown-robed man appeared to lead them from the hall.

  ‘We recently lost one of our brothers, so there are two rooms empty at present, if you would care to take both,’ he said.

  The innocent question made Nicholas pause in his steps, as the thought of sharing a room with Emery struck him with dizzying force. The privacy that had eluded them the past two nights was suddenly within reach, along with a bed, and he could well imagine what might occur should he answer in the affirmative. But Guy was eyeing him anxiously, obviously fearful of being left alone in a Templar cell, and Emery... Well, she soon took the decision out of his hands.

  ‘My lord de Burgh keeps us at hand at all times,’ she mumbled, ‘even in this holy place.’

  The reminder of their whereabouts recalled to Nicholas his vow and he realised just how close he had come to breaking it already. Resuming his steps, he felt too warm for comfort, the air thick with something. Were they burning incense, or was it the closeness of Emery that affected him so?

  Keep your distance, Nicholas told himself. Yet that would be difficult, he realised, as he stared at the tiny cell, barren except for a small window and a bed. He nearly turned on his heel and left, taking Guy with him. But he did not want to leave Emery alone. Hell, he did not want to leave her at all.

  Oblivious to his tortured thoughts, Emery walked to the window and turned around, surveying the space that would be crowded with the three of them. But when she spoke, she did not make mention of the other room or even scold him for his hesitation over the offer.

  ‘This is how they live,’ she said, in an odd tone. ‘This is your life when you have committed to a religious house.’

  ‘I’m sure Gerard is not so confined,’ Nicholas said, since she seemed dismayed at the prospect of such an existence.

  ‘And Gerard’s not a Templar,’ Guy said. ‘’Tis only the Templars who are shrouded in mystery. Why, according to their own Rule, a brother may be expelled from the order for revealing its secrets, so they must have something to hide.’

  Guy shook his head. ‘I don’t like staying here, my lord, right in their midst,’ he said. ‘Who knows what kind of strange rituals they practise? And what if our reputation has preceded us? There might be secret tunnels leading from one preceptory to another and a prohibition against any who discover them. Why, there could be a hidden entrance leading right into this room.’

  Nicholas doubted such a thing would fit in their tiny chamber, and he was growing weary of his squire’s nonsense. Rothston was a small property, with a few residents who did not pose a threat to a knight and armed companions. And no underground passageway could lead from here to Roode, some seventy miles away. Yes, there was nothing to stop Gwayne from entering this place, unless there was some proscription against him. But Nicholas did not think ’twas the Templar who followed them.

  ‘We are safe within these walls and it is late, so let us seek our rest,’ Emery said. Nicholas glanced at her in surprise, for she spoke to Guy in a gentle tone that, nevertheless, brooked no argument. ‘Lord de Burgh needs his sleep, for he did not get any last night.’

  Guy’s uneasy expression changed to one of alarm as he swung towards Nicholas. ‘My lord, you must take care of yourself—’ he began.

  But Nicholas stopped any further speech with a sharp glance, for he had no intention of engaging in this discussion in front of Emery.

  The squire sputtered, as though he would say more, then his brows furrowed. ‘And just why did you get no rest last night?’ he asked, eyeing them both with suspicion.

  Nicholas felt a moment’s dismay, as though he had been caught out by his father, before regaining his composure. ‘I was keeping watch,’ he said. ‘Since we were out in the open, I was wary of being seen, should we be followed.’

  Guy paled, but this time he kept his worries and his theories about the Templars to himself. ’Twas a small mercy for which Nicholas was thankful and he looked to Emery in gratitude, but she had turned away. He eyed her thoughtfully, arrested by her slim figure and the quiet strength and authority she exuded.

  He and Guy had been alone so long that Nicholas had forgotten what it was like to have someone take care of him, or rather someone else take care of him. Oftentimes, his squire seemed overly concerned for Nicholas’s welfare, his behaviour more annoying than helpful. But Nicholas reacted differently to Emery’s steady manner.

  Perhaps it was her gender. Nicholas had known precious few females in his life until his brothers began to wed and those women hadn’t remained at Campion. By the time his father remarried, Nicholas was full grown and eager for adventure, not coddling. Now, suddenly, he longed for a woman’s touch, a woman’s comfort, a woman’s solace.

  But it was too late.

  Chapter Eight

  Emery blinked into the darkness, unable to relax, even though the men had given her the bed. Lord de Burgh had pushed it against the door to placate Guy, who was certain that they might be rousted in the night by evil monks, and now she found herself staring at the worn wood at her feet as though it might suddenly burst open.

  She told herself the notion was ludicrous, yet she remained tense, while the squire’s low snoring indicated he had found some rest, despite his worries about hidden passageways and powerful cabals.

  Emery shivered, though the small cell was oppressive. As always, there was just enough truth in Guy’s wild claims to make her anxious. The religious houses were influential and nearly autonomous, and she had seen a secret chamber riddled with bizarre carvings that even Guy could not imagine.

  As for the rest of his theories, they were easier to dismiss, especially since he spoke of little else. But Lord de Burgh had been comparably silent on the subject, making what he did say more alarming. Even if he possessed no special abilities beyond a warrior’s honed senses, when he said he thought someone was out there, Emery believed him.

  But if the Templar and his squire were not in pursuit, then who? Was another member of the order, besides Gwayne, seeking them out, as Guy so often suggested? What of Gerard’s own brethren? Her brother had warned Emery not to trust anyone, which included the Hospitallers. What part did they play, if any?

  That thought led to another, more insidious one that Emery had long avoided, but could not any longer. Now, in the darkness, she finally faced the fact that Gwayne and Harold and her brother all seemed to be intent upon one thing: the parc
el. With her uncle dead and Gwayne rousted for the time being, at least, that left only one person likely to be seeking the prize.

  Emery loosed a shaky breath. Although she didn’t like to consider such a possibility, she was forced to wonder whether the shadowy figure on their heels was Gerard. But how did he know they had recovered his pouch? And why wouldn’t he simply come forwards? Surely he recognised her, even in her male guise, for she was wearing his old clothes.

  Perhaps he was wary of Lord de Burgh. Yet, supposedly, he had asked the great knight for aid. Did her brother fail to recognise him, as well? By all accounts, Gerard had not seemed to be thinking clearly, so Emery wanted to dismiss most of his behaviour as the product of injury and fever.

  Yet, whatever the cause, there was no denying the importance he’d placed upon retrieving the parcel that had once been in his possession. And although Lord de Burgh had spoken no more about the statue, Emery could guess what he had been thinking—what they all had been thinking—what was a Hospitaller knight doing with such a precious object?

  Had he got into some kind of trouble, not of his own devising, or had he forgone his duty, armed with a stolen valuable with which he intended to start a new life? ’Twas not unheard of. Men deserted their families only to be discovered in another village, with a second wife and children.

  Still, Emery did not want to believe Gerard capable of such perfidy, for it would mean he intended to abandon her, as well as his vows. Although he had already left her to their uncle’s machinations, this would be far more deliberate—and painful. Emery closed her eyes against the possibility, only to open them abruptly.

  Had she heard a noise beyond the door? Stiffening, she held her breath, listening intently in between Guy’s low snores. Now there was no mistaking the sound of footsteps outside the room and Emery looked to Lord de Burgh in panic.

  ’Twas too dark to see whether he was alert, so Emery reached for her own small sword, wary of raising an alarm. She waited for one long moment, her heart pounding, her arm stiff with tension. But just as she expected the door to rattle, the footsteps continued on past the chamber, to be joined by others. And Emery released her grip upon the weapon in relief.

  If Guy were awake, he might have suspected that a host of Templars were preparing to attack them in their sleep, but Emery knew better. The brethren were being called to prayer, not combat. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she settled back upon the bed. But still she found herself listening to the night noises and wondering if any of those footsteps might belong to her brother.

  * * *

  Oxley was a long, weary day’s ride from Rothston, and Nicholas was glad to reach it, though Guy looked ill pleased at the sight of a preceptory far larger than those they had visited before. While Nicholas did not share his squire’s distrust of the Templars, he was wary of the marshy land they had drained here, over which a damp, unhealthy air lingered.

  It seemed an odd place for a hospital, or perhaps a likely location, Nicholas thought, with a frown. For whatever reason, this was one of the few Templar properties that provided care for the aged and ill members of the order, including those who had fought in the Holy Land.

  As such, ’twas the most likely spot to learn of Robert Blanchefort. Still, Nicholas was not prepared when the good brother who welcomed them not only recognised the name, but told them Blanchefort lived at Oxley. That was the good news.

  The bad news was that he was insane.

  ‘Or so they say,’ Guy whispered, ever suspicious. ‘Perhaps they don’t want us talking to him.’

  However, after conferring with his superior, the brother led them towards a massive oak, lit by the last of the sunlight. He pointed to where a bench under the dappled leaves was occupied by a lone figure. The Templar’s hair was nearly as white as his robe and his hands rested upon his chest as though he slept. Although Guy might claim his pose was that of the tomb, he seemed harmless enough and the brothers would hardly allow a dangerous man to roam the grounds at will.

  Still Guy hung back. ‘How do we know that it really is him?’ he whispered.

  ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Nicholas said. Leaving Guy and Emery behind, he approached the sleeper. ‘Robert Blanchefort?’

  At the sound of his name, the Templar roused himself and greeted them as though he were wide awake and knew them well. Perhaps the man’s madness was only the result of battle and old age, Nicholas thought. After introducing himself, he joined the knight on the bench, while Guy and Emery seated themselves on the grass, just out of reach.

  ‘Ah, you have a sword for me!’ Blanchefort said, eyeing Nicholas’s weapon. ‘And mail, as well, though I cannot use that short coat. I would be covered when I face the Saracen. ’Tis far too dangerous to be unprepared.’

  Nicholas wondered if the old knight thought himself still at war, which, while sad, hardly made him a lunatic. But then Blanchefort leaned forwards, his pale eyes shining a bit too intently. ‘He’s coming for me, you know. He’s been here.’

  Was he speaking of an enemy long vanquished? Nicholas did not know, but he tried to wrest control of the conversation. ‘I’ve found your pouch,’ Nicholas said gently. ‘Did it go missing?’

  But the elderly knight, seemingly lost in his own world, ignored the question. ‘He haunts me!’ he said suddenly and with such anguish that Nicholas flinched. ‘I told them he was here, but they didn’t believe me. He slips in and out of the shadows like a wraith, accusing me, though I told him I don’t have it. I gave it up long ago.’

  Nicholas felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise at the mention of a shadowy pursuer, but far too many years had passed for the same person to be harrying them both, unless Blanchefort was talking about recent events.

  ‘When?’ Nicholas asked.

  Blanchefort looked off into the distance, as though he might spy someone lying in wait even now. ‘Ever he has haunted me since that night.’ He swung back towards Nicholas. ‘You don’t know what he is capable of. Others have come asking about him, as you have, but they don’t understand. There’s no stopping him.’

  ‘Who?’ Nicholas finally asked.

  ‘The Saracen.’ Blanchefort practically spat out the words. His expression was bitter, as though he suffered a fool in speaking with Nicholas. ‘And you are no match for him.’

  Was Blanchefort talking about the infidels he had fought in the Holy Land or a specific person from those foreign climes? More than likely his mind had been broken by what he had seen and done in battle, but Nicholas knew there might be some grain of truth in his ramblings, so he listened as the man continued.

  ‘The spoils of war, that’s what William called it. He said others had amassed plenty in the sacking of heathen cities, so what was to stop us? He found out soon enough when the Saracen came after us. He paid with his life,’ Blanchefort said.

  ‘’Twas not for William, who saw only riches for himself and would have renounced his vows for them. ’Twas not for any of us, and so I told them,’ Blanchefort said, shaking his head. ‘But they thought ’twould assure victory to any who possessed it.’

  At first Nicholas thought the old warrior might be talking about the very thing that lay hidden in his pack. But a gold statue possessed no powers, certainly not to sway the outcome of battles, and he realised ’twas foolish to seek enlightenment in the ravings of a madman.

  As if aware he was losing his attention, Blanchefort suddenly reached out and grasped Nicholas’s arm with surprising strength. ‘He will not rest until he has it.’

  ‘What?’ Nicholas asked, with no little impatience. ‘What is it?’

  The question was a mistake, for the Templar’s hand dropped away and his expression hardened. ‘Would you trick me?’ he asked. ‘Others have tried. They have come here, seeking what we found, but I don’t know what they did with it. I don’t know where it is—’

  Blanchefort broke off in a sob, as though wretched beyond bearing. And, if Nicholas hadn’t feared a worse reaction, he might h
ave produced the knight’s old pouch to see whether the answer lay inside. Instead, he retrieved something else and stretched out his hand.

  ‘Have you ever seen anything like this?’ he asked.

  Blanchefort reared back in horror. ‘Where did you get it?’ he whispered, shaking as he stared down at the piece of parchment with its strange markings. Nicholas didn’t reveal that he had found it on a dead man; he didn’t have to.

  The Templar lifted his head, his face pale. ‘Yes, I have seen his mark before,’ he said, sounding remarkably lucid. ‘’Tis the Saracen’s. ’Tis the sign of his handiwork. ’Tis the sign of death.’

  * * *

  At the sight of the brightly coloured piece of parchment, Emery’s heart had lodged in her throat, making her aware of little else. She was so alarmed that, when a brother approached, for one wild moment she believed all of Guy’s warnings. Would they be seized by the Templars? Put to death? But the smiling figure did not appear intent upon doing them harm, only in helping Robert Blanchefort back to his room for the night.

  The elderly knight had been struck silent, completely undone by the odd paper, and, for once, Guy, too, was quiet, staring wide-eyed at what Lord de Burgh held in his hand. Only the arriving brother seemed unaffected, for he greeted Lord de Burgh with a smile.

  ‘Do you play?’ he asked, inclining his head towards the strange item.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Moorish Game,’ the brother said. ‘What you have there is called a card, though there are other names and many other designs. Most have depictions of different numbers of coins, cups, swords, or such, though some carry only foreign words for rulers. Where did you come by it? I have never seen one outside the Holy Land.’

  Whatever Lord de Burgh answered, Emery did not hear it. She stared unblinking at the ‘card’ even as the smiling brother led Blanchefort away, leaving the three of them alone under the great oak. Only then did she manage to look up at Lord de Burgh, tearing her gaze away from the thing that had graced her uncle’s corpse.