The Last de Burgh

by Deborah Simmons

  Yet, as long as the possibility existed, Emery had to pursue it, and so she rode on, looking for any signs of company. When the road dipped, she grew even more alert. Soon she heard something, though ’twas not the telltale rustling she associated with the man who had long pursued them. ’Twas an odd whistle, as though of some foreign bird, and its very strangeness made her glance at Guy, who nodded, his face grim.

  Heading in the direction of the sound, they turned into the tall grass that marked the edge of field, moving towards the remains of some old structure, now overgrown. Like a shadow or a wraith, a figure seemed to appear out of nowhere, though perhaps that was simply a product of his stealth. Yet, with no noise beyond the flutter of the breeze, he was suddenly there before them, astride a tall grey horse that stood so still beneath him that only its eyes moved.

  From the fantastic beast, Emery’s gaze shifted to the man who rode it. Somehow she had expected him to wear flowing robes and head coverings like those in illustrations of the Holy Land, but she realised that he could hardly disappear into the shadows in such garb.

  Indeed, he looked like anyone else, except perhaps for his bearing, tall and as commanding as any knight. Only the darker tint to his face hinted that he had not been born here and his voice, though silky, showed that Latin was not his usual tongue.

  ‘You have it?’ he asked.

  ‘Alexander’s mace,’ Emery said, with a nod. After coming this far, she suddenly hesitated to give away such a powerful weapon to one considered the enemy. ‘And what shall you do with it?’

  ‘I shall return it to him,’ the man said and Emery’s eyes widened. For a moment she wondered whether they dealt with a madman, but he must have guessed her thoughts, for he spoke again. ‘’Twas stolen from his tomb.’

  ‘But I thought no one knows where he is buried,’ Emery said.

  The Saracen smiled, a gesture that conveyed the extent of his knowledge, as well as his contempt for the conversation that Emery saw no point in continuing. Drawing a deep breath, she took up the pouch and opened it. As she grasped the worn linen inside, she realised this was the first time she had touched the statue and gripped it tightly, holding it up so that the Saracen could see. The gold seemed to catch the rays of the sun and throw them back, gilding everything around it in a warm glow.

  ‘Bring it here,’ the man said.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Guy muttered, but the Saracen kept his attention upon her and Emery knew it was her responsibility. She had accepted this task. Now she must see it through.

  Somehow the mace seemed to give her strength and she did not hesitate as she neared the stranger, reaching out to hand the figure to him. He took the heavy object as though it weighed nothing and slipped it away, though Emery could not see where. In fact, she wondered whether he was some kind of conjurer, for now that the mace had passed out of her grasp, it seemed as though she had never even held the thing.

  His head lifted and Emery sensed his piercing gaze upon her. ‘And now for my part of our bargain.’

  Emery steeled herself for a knife through the heart or some kind of blow to the neck that would twist her head like her uncle’s, and she heard Guy’s horse move forwards. But when the Saracen reached inside his tunic, ’twas to produce an innocent-looking packet. He held it out to her and Emery took it with trembling fingers. Did he truly intend to honour his promise?

  ‘It goes by many names, originally hermodactyl when described by Alexander of Tralles, but you call it saffron. Like the mace, it was stolen from our land and brought here, but you may make good use of it. Collect it now, while you can, and dry it for use throughout the year. He will need to take some every day.’

  ‘For how long?’ Emery asked.

  ‘For ever.’

  The blunt response stirred Guy to speech. ‘How do you know this will help when you haven’t even seen him?’

  ‘I have seen him, from a distance, but, more important, you told me what ailed him.’

  Although Guy did not reply, Emery nodded, for ’twas on this very road that Guy had described the course of Nicholas’s recurring illness loud enough for anyone to hear.

  ‘I have something else for you,’ the Saracen said and Emery wondered whether the herbs had been but a taunt to make them let down their guard.

  This is where it ends, she thought. Although she heard Guy surge forwards, Emery did not reach for her weapon. It would be no match for the curved sword depicted upon the cards and, when the Saracen reached down, she expected to see the flash of that huge blade. But instead of a weapon, he lifted up a piece of rope.

  ‘You may take this with you, as well,’ he said, tossing the end to her.

  Emery did not know what it could possibly be tethered to—an extra mount, perhaps? She tugged upon it, but nothing moved, and when she would have raised the question she looked up to find the Saracen gone. She blinked stupidly, wondering again if he was some kind of mystic, for who else could disappear so quickly?

  ‘What is it?’ Guy asked, inclining his head towards the knot in her hand.

  Emery shook her head, baffled, then urged her mount forwards.

  ‘Don’t follow it,’ Guy said. ‘It might take us to a bog or a cleverly disguised hole, leaving none to tell the tale of our encounter with the murdering bastard.’

  Emery frowned at his words, for the Saracen hadn’t seemed such a villain. Perhaps Gwayne and Harold had provoked him into killing them, though there had been no signs of struggle. Absently, Emery tugged again on the rope, only to start when it tugged back.

  With a gasp, she followed the line, ignoring Guy’s increasingly frantic warnings. Eventually, it led her to the remains of a cot, overgrown with weeds. And when she reached a fallen timber, she could finally spy what lay at the end.

  ’Twas no trap or bog that greeted her, but the tied and battered body of the Templar’s squire. Bruised and barely breathing, he served as a reminder that the Saracen was far more dangerous than he seemed—and that they were lucky to have escaped with their lives.

  * * *

  Guy was convinced that the Saracen’s remedy was poison. Although Emery once might have thought otherwise, the condition of Gwayne’s squire gave her pause. Ultimately, ’twas Geoffrey’s decision and he obtained other saffron from the manor stores to dose his brother.

  There was little they could do after that except wait and hope, so Emery was grateful when Geoffrey suggested a visit to their unexpected guest. He led her and Guy to the vaulted cellar, where Gwayne’s squire had been sequestered in a small room. Though the chamber was no prison, it was watched by one of the manor’s knights, who made their beds in the open area adjacent.

  Emery was grateful for the precautions, for she did not trust the young man who had been thrust into her charge, despite his condition. Indeed, he looked much better already, having been washed and tended. Apparently, he suffered from no real wounds, only the ill treatment he had received from his captor.

  ‘He probably abandoned his master as soon as he saw the Saracen coming,’ Guy muttered and Emery was of a mind to agree. However, it fell to the lord of the manor to decide his fate, so she said nothing as they followed Geoffrey inside.

  The young man was at the mercy of those he had once fought, but he spoke readily enough, giving his name as Mauger. He said he had been fetching water and fled upon finding his master dead, only to be hunted down himself.

  None disputed his claim. In fact, Geoffrey nodded, encouraging him to speak further. For a moment, Emery worried that Nicholas’s brother might be too kind and trusting, but she realised that behind his gentle demeanour, his scrutiny was sharp and his mind sharper. Nothing would get past this man.

  But Mauger was not clever enough to notice and, with his tongue loosened by ale, he soon spilled his tale. Or at least his version of it. Although he little looked the part, he painted himself as an innocent, assigned to serve the Templar knight Gwayne in fighting the infidel. But Gwayne had been given a task that his squire only discovered later:
that of returning a precious object to the Holy Land.

  Although she made no comment, Emery suspected that events occurred a bit differently. When Mauger claimed that Robert Blanchefort and at least one other Templar knight wandered foreign lands and had stumbled across a tomb, Emery wondered if the two Templars had deserted and gone grave robbing. But whatever the real story, they found some treasures, including the mace. And whether stricken by his conscience or fear of the Saracen, Blanchefort brought it back with him to Temple Roode.

  There it was kept hidden as a relic, though Emery thought plunder the more likely description. But after years of failures in the Holy Land, including the recent fall of Margat, the brethren decided their find might better serve the cause if returned there, perhaps even to be wielded in battle, and so Gwayne was given the task.

  But once he had the mace in his possession, the Templar was loath to deliver it. While Mauger claimed he was shocked and dismayed over this turn of events, he did nothing to prevent his master from trying to sell the treasure, an act that drew unwanted attention and forced them to flee back to England.

  ‘But he followed us,’ Mauger said. ‘Somehow, when we got off the ship, he was there.’ He shook his head and licked his cracked lips. ‘Gwayne slipped the mace into the Hospitaller’s pack and we tried to keep track of him, while avoiding the foreigner. ’Twas only to be for a short time, but it took longer than we expected.’

  No doubt the delay caused Gerard to discover what weighed him down, Emery thought. Uncertain what to do with such a thing, he had sent it on to her for safekeeping. At least, that’s what Emery told herself, for she refused to believe that her brother had succumbed to the lure of gold, too.

  ‘We finally found him at an inn, but when I went through his things, it wasn’t there,’ Mauger muttered. ‘That’s when the other knight attacked us.’

  ‘Lord de Burgh did not attack you,’ Guy said, his voice sharp. ‘Your master engaged him in combat and, while he was fighting, you sneaked up from behind and struck him down.’

  Mauger shook his head, unprepared to admit to such a deed in front of his victim’s brother. ‘We didn’t know who the knight was,’ he protested. ‘We thought he was after the mace. In fact, Gwayne was convinced he had taken it from the Hospitaller, so that’s why we followed him later—all the way to Stokebrough Castle.’

  Guy might have argued, but a barely visible gesture from Geoffrey stopped him and Mauger continued on in a more subdued manner. ‘That’s where the Saracen found us,’ he said, shuddering as though none too eager to relive that part of his journey.

  ‘Why did he capture you, instead of killing you as he had the others?’ Geoffrey asked.

  Mauger took a big gulp of ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘He told me he would keep me alive as long as I was useful to him,’ he said in a low voice. ‘He’d found out we were following a de Burgh and wanted to know all about the family. But I didn’t know much.’

  No doubt he pretended to know more in order to retain his life, Emery thought. But she did not argue. There was only one part of his account that interested her.

  ‘What of the Hospitaller?’ she asked.

  Mauger eyed her with some surprise, then shrugged. ‘I don’t know what became of him.’

  ‘You asked at Clerkwell for him and then went to Montbard Manor in search of him,’ Emery said.

  ‘Yes, but he wasn’t there and we soon had our hands full with you lot.’

  Emery saw Geoffrey’s nearly imperceptible reaction to his brother’s company referred to as ‘you lot’ and she suspected Mauger would soon be turned out upon his ear. He should be thankful for it—he was lucky to have his life, as were any who had dealings with the Saracen.

  But of those, what of Gerard? Did he still live?

  * * *

  Nicholas was aware of a heavy weight upon his arm. Had he fallen asleep with the limb tucked under him? He opened his eyes to find himself looking at the hangings above the bed at Ashyll. How long had he been here? He turned his head, still thick with sleep or sickness, and saw a spill of dark hair across his arm, like fine silk.

  He smiled.

  Although loath to disturb her, Nicholas lifted his free hand to touch the thick strands, rubbing them between his fingers, then stroking the length. He was alive and awake and Emery was by his side. And in that instant, he could ask for nothing more.

  The last time he’d recovered from a bout of fever, he’d wondered whether it would have been better if he had succumbed, but now he clung to this moment and whatever moments lay ahead as far more precious than any gold. No matter what happened this time, he wasn’t going to let the fever stop him from living.

  He had Emery to thank for that change of heart. She had reminded him that while strength and power were fleeting, love endured, the love that bound him to his friends, to his family...and to her. Nicholas loosed a ragged sigh of pleasure and she nestled closer, as if burrowing against him.

  Savouring the sensation, he envisioned waking with her beside him for the rest of his existence, however long or short that might be. Indeed, he would have been content to continue on as he was, but she stirred, lifting her head to regard him sleepily. She blinked in confusion before her eyes opened wide in surprise.

  ‘Nicholas!’

  The sound of his name on her lips was bliss. ‘How long have I been asleep?’ he asked, his throat dry, his speech a raspy whisper.

  For a long moment, she simply stared at him, her beautiful face registering shock and joy and concern in quick succession. ’Twould be difficult for her to hide anything from him, Nicholas decided, for it was all there for him to see.

  ‘Long enough to get well,’ she said, her voice cracking. He reached out to squeeze her hand, to thank her for waiting for him, and she squeezed it back, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

  ‘You are going to be fine now,’ she said. ‘This time, you’re going to be fine.’

  * * *

  Nicholas groaned as he lifted his arm, then turned to step out of the way as the heavy weapon swung close to his body, narrowly missing his gut. The clang of metal against metal was followed by a sharp knock and Nicholas froze, along with his brother. When another knock rang out, he handed over his sword and returned to bed, pulling a thin blanket over the braies he had donned.

  Closing his eyes, Nicholas affected sleep as Geoff put away the dulled blades and went to the door, but ’twas only Guy bearing a trencher of food ostensibly for the lord of the manor. Instead, the squire presented it to Nicholas, who sat up and dug into the meal, far more hearty than the bread and broth he’d been receiving.

  Guy sat down on the trunk to study him with a frown. ‘You’re pushing yourself too hard,’ he said.

  ‘I need to be ready to travel,’ Nicholas answered between bites.

  ‘Emery’s not going anywhere,’ Geoff assured him. ‘Between Guy, Elene, the servants and the children, someone is watching her at all times.’

  Nicholas did not bother to argue, for he knew that despite Geoff’s precautions, it was not a question of if, but when Mistress Montbard made her escape, an event he hoped to delay by pretending to be still abed. Hopefully, she would not leave him while he was recovering, but he could not count on that much longer.

  When he said nothing, Geoff shifted uneasily. ‘Elene does not approve of this deception.’

  Nicholas eyed his brother askance. ‘Elene is a master of deception,’ he said.

  For a moment, Geoff looked like he might take offence, but then he grinned and they shared the look of de Burgh males who were proud of their mates. These women were not easily won, Nicholas well knew, and Emery was proving to be just as difficult as his brothers’ brides, for she would never consider marriage while things stood as they did.

  However, Nicholas was determined, and the sooner, the better, as far as he was concerned. Although Geoff had high hopes for the new treatment the Saracen had recommended, Nicholas wasn’t so sure. He’d recovered before,
only to be felled again and again, so it was difficult to believe that this time would be any different. Yet he felt differently.

  Instead of throwing away whatever time he had left, he would make a future for himself. He savoured every moment and each simple pleasure, revelling in the warmth of home and family, but he wanted more. He wanted his own. Unfortunately, the object of his affection was avoiding him and he suspected she had all intentions of fleeing.

  Although this might have proved daunting to someone else, Nicholas had gone through too much to give up now. And he had a vague recollection of a certain conversation, which he had shared with his brother as soon as he was able.

  ‘Emery’s not stupid,’ Guy protested. ‘She’s not going to go off by herself.’

  ‘She’s definitely not stupid,’ Nicholas said, ‘but she feels she has no choice and sometimes that makes people do stupid things.’ And Nicholas knew that Emery had already done so once before.

  ‘I am no expert in ecclesiastical law, but contracts such as her father’s can be annulled and women returned to the world, if no vows were taken,’ Geoff said. ‘In fact, in some cases, the contracts stipulate that the women are not to be forced to take vows.’

  Nicholas frowned. ‘It sounds like her father’s stipulated just the opposite, or at least that’s what she was told,’ he said. ‘I think her uncle wished to be rid of his brother’s heirs, and the commandery’s priest, wanting the lands, did as he was bid.’

  This time, ’twas Geoff who frowned. ‘Although there have been cases of women arguing that they took their vows under coercion, rarely are they granted their freedom.’

  Nicholas remained undaunted. ‘Yet, with Harold dead, there’s no reason for the Hospitallers to be plagued with a recalcitrant female of questionable commitment, is there?’ he asked, lifting his brows.

  Geoff nodded his agreement, a smile touching his lips. ‘Especially when the Earl of Campion can take the case all the way to the Pope himself.’