Trail of Fate (13 page)

“What is it?” I asked again.

“Look for yourself.” He pointed to the field below us, rocky and steep. I peered out, shocked at how many more of the High Counsel's men had joined his original force. There were at least several hundred men mounted near the tree line. I located him at the head of the column, moving onto the field below the castle, his horse prancing along and his cape flowing behind him. To his immediate rear rode the color bearer carrying a large green-and-white flag, and next to him, a rider carried another banner: the familiar brown-and-white Templar flag.

Suddenly, nothing made sense. Why would the High Counsel have a Templar regimento with him? My eyes traveled back to where he sat upon his stallion, and I recognized the rider next to him instantly. The meal I'd eaten the night before roiled in my stomach, and I thought for a moment I might be sick on the spot.

Sir Hugh.

E
ven though I knew he would never stop trying to find me, a small part of me had prayed that something would delay Sir Hugh. Bad weather, a wayward arrow, poison, anything. But he had managed to crush even that small hope.

“How? How does he do it? He escapes from Acre, a city overrun by Saracens, he follows us across an ocean and survives a storm that sinks our ship, and now he finds us here in the middle of nowhere, stuck in a tiny castle! Has he given his soul to Satan, just for the privilege of thwarting me at every turn?” I muttered on longer until I had nothing left to say. Though I was not as experienced at cursing as Robard, I ran through every one I knew. Sir Hugh. A snake, a weasel and a polecat all rolled into one.

If I hadn't known better, I would've said Robard was amused by my futile rant. “What now?” he asked. The steel in his voice brought me back into focus. Robard had a look in his eyes I had noticed before in our time together. Despite his frequent protests, and his genuine desire to return home, he loved a fight. Especially if it involved teaching a harsh lesson to a couple of pompous jackasses like Sir Hugh and the High Counsel. Yet he was also a realist.

“This changes things. Your friend the High Counsel might have eventually given up the siege. I doubt we can say the same about your friend Sir Hugh,” he said.

He was right, of course. We were locked in, and I knew Sir Hugh would kill every last man, woman and child here in order to get the Grail. I had foolishly trapped us in this fortress, and now we would pay a heavy price trying to get out of it. To Robard's credit he did not remind me that he had counseled against such a move in the first place.

“Do you think he can be bought off ?” Robard asked.

“How?”

“With whatever it is you're carrying. Think about it. Give him what he wants and it's over.”

Robard did not understand. Giving Sir Hugh the Grail would not save our lives. He'd kill us all anyway so no one else would know he had it. It wouldn't be over until I had delivered the Grail safely to Father William at Rosslyn or until Sir Hugh or I were dead.

“Robard . . . I can't. I swore an oath to Sir Thomas. If you had given a vow to your father, would you break it?”

Robard said nothing for a while, looking out at the ground below the fortress.

“Oaths are funny things, Tristan. Some are worth dying for, I'll grant you. Your people, your family, even your country sometimes. Some, though, become more than the giver can bear. My father swore his fealty to King Henry, and what did it get him? When Henry died, his sniveling son took over”—Robard paused to spit at the mention of King Richard—“and everything my father fought and bled for was suddenly meaningless. You are my friend. I've come to trust you, like I've trusted few before. So I ask you, is what you carry worth dying for?”

“Sir Thomas thought so,” I said.

“I never met Sir Thomas, so I don't know what kind of man he was. You swear by his memory, so I'll take you at your word. But even if he were alive and standing here before me, I'm not asking him. I'm asking you. Is what you carry worth dying for?”

Robard's question made me think long and hard before I answered. Sir Thomas believed it with all his heart. He entrusted it to me, and from what I had witnessed of the Grail so far, I knew I would die before I let Sir Hugh possess it.

“Yes, Robard, it is.”

“Then that is enough for me. I'll see you through this, Tristan. Until you tell me it's done.”

I was so moved by Robard's words that I couldn't speak. Something about him had changed since he'd returned to us in the village below. He was still headstrong and temperamental, of course, but calmer. He had committed to something he didn't fully understand, but maybe here among his new friends he had found a struggle worthy of his gifts—unlike his experience in Outremer, which had only left him bitter and angry.

“Why the sudden change of heart? Before this you wanted only to get to England. Now it's quite possible we won't get out of here alive. Why?”

“Because you are my friend,” he said. He left me then. This was his final word on the matter. In his own way, Robard had sworn an oath, and I felt better than I had in days.

I stood there alone, the wind hitting my face. It was a cool morning and the breeze had picked up. I heard movement behind me but didn't turn.

“Tell me what you see,” Celia said to me.

“Trouble,” I replied.

To my surprise, she laughed.

“We certainly have no shortage of that here,” she said.

“So it would seem.”

She stood beside me and closed her eyes.

“I love the feel of wind in my hair, don't you?” she asked me.

“I don't know. I've never really thought about it before.” And I wasn't thinking about it now. I stared at her, and despite our circumstances, she looked peaceful, almost serene.

“Really?” she answered. “All the time you grew up in a monastery, contemplating God and his miracles, and you never once stopped to feel a breeze on your face? What did you do all day?”

“Mostly worked,” I replied. “There were always chores. I'm not sure the abbot would have found ‘contemplating the feel of the wind' a worthwhile use of time.”

“Hmph. Sounds like a very ill-mannered man.”

“Not really. Stern. But fair. Brilliant even, in many ways.”

“I've yet to meet any cleric whom I would consider brilliant. Bigoted. Prejudiced. Judgmental. I've met many of those.”

“I can't argue. I can only say that the monks who raised me were kind. Industrious to be sure, but I never wanted for anything.”

“What about your parents? Didn't you wish to know who they were?”

“Of course. But the monks had no control over that. They simply took me in.”

“I'm sorry. It was rude of me to question the motives of men I've never met. I just . . . We've been so unfairly persecuted by the church. It's hard to remember my manners sometimes.”

I let it pass without comment. Truthfully, I was more concerned about the troops lining up below us than I was about Celia's feelings about the church or the brothers.

“Celia, there is something I must tell you. There are Templars on the field below. The High Counsel has enlisted their aid. Their Marshal is known to me. His name is Sir Hugh Monfort. In truth, he is here for me.”

“After you? Why? Are you not allies?”

“No. Sir Hugh was . . . is a dreadful man. He has committed many violations of our laws. My liege Sir Thomas wrote testimony against him, including sworn statements by many brother knights of our regimento. He entrusted me to deliver them to the Master of the Order in England. I barely made it out of Acre, but Sir Hugh followed me. He's been chasing me ever since.”

I then told her the rest of my story, leaving out only Sir Thomas giving me the Grail. She listened intently while I told her about meeting King Richard in Dover, and how I had seen Sir Hugh outside the Commandery meeting with the King's Guards. And how the King's Guards had followed me the next day through the marketplace in Dover.

“In Acre, before I left, I had an encounter with one of the King's Guards in the stables. He was one of those who had followed me in Dover, and I questioned him about it. He lied and said he didn't know me, but I pressed him further and he drew his sword. Only the timely arrival of the King stopped us from injuring each other.”

“The King intervened?” she asked.

“Yes. Yet, when I think about it now, he had a strange look on his face. As if he were reluctant to stop it. He had to have ordered his guards to follow me in Dover. They answer to no one else but him. But why? And then in Acre, if I hadn't saved his life on the battlefield, I'm certain . . .”

“Wait,” she interrupted, reaching out and resting her hand on my forearm. “You rescued Richard the Lionheart?” Her touch made me feel dizzy, and I took hold of the stone parapet with my free hand, afraid I might pitch over the side if I didn't anchor myself.

“Yes. It was nothing, really. I just gave him my horse and he returned to the rear. He is reckless in battle. For a king. Anyway, finding me there in the stable, he looked torn. Almost as if he would be relieved to have his guard strike me down.”

Celia's mouth formed a straight line as she concentrated on the details of my story. “I wonder what Richard finds so fascinating about you.”

“I don't know. It's all very strange.” Trumpets sounded, and the shouts of orders to the men-at-arms and knights traveled over the ground below us, drawing my attention to the field.

“Which one is this Sir Hugh?” she asked. I pointed him out.

“How could he have known you survived the storm and were shipwrecked?” she asked.

“He couldn't. But he wouldn't have taken any chances. I'm sure he pursued our ship and tracked behind the storm. When the storm hit land, he simply followed and is being thorough. He's no doubt had knights and sergeantos scouring the countryside asking everyone if travelers fitting our descriptions have been in the area. He must have learned we'd crossed paths with the High Counsel and is here to help him. I'm sure by now he's convinced the High Counsel we are also heretics. Evil as he is, he has the most alarming good fortune. It's almost as if we've been delivered to him on a platter.”

“Whoever he is, he'll find it hard to get in here. We have plenty of food and water to survive a long siege,” she said confidently.

“I do not wish for my troubles to confound your problems, Celia. The first chance I get, I'll try to sneak away and . . .”

Celia held up her hand. “Nonsense. I won't hear of it. You and your friends may stay here as long as you need to.”

“But I'm afraid, Celia. Afraid for all of you. With Sir Hugh here now . . .” I stopped and looked out at the still assembling troops. By counting the battle flags, I estimated there were close to five hundred men.

“Celia, how many are sheltered here behind the walls?”

“There are nearly three hundred. Mostly women and children.”

I winced. “How many fighting men?”

“Jean-Luc leads my father's fyrd now with Philippe gone. He has fifteen well-trained and well-armed men. The rest are farmers or merchants, I would guess seventy in all.”

I tried to hide my dismay but I couldn't blame Celia. Most every fyrd is just a band of volunteers, loyal to their lord. They train a few times a year and fight if need be, but they are not professional soldiers. This was bad; fewer than one hundred men, most of them not even soldiers, against an army of five hundred. Those were truly awful odds, even with the high ground and the fortress on our side. If Sir Hugh were determined enough, he would throw his men at the walls until we were overrun.

“Do you have weapons?” I asked.

“Yes. Come, I will show you to our armory,” she said.

We were about to leave but were distracted by shouts from the field below. Looking down, we saw Sir Hugh and the High Counsel riding up toward the castle gate almost below where we stood.

In the High Counsel's left hand he held aloft a white flag, and he waved it back and forth.

They wished to talk.

N
ow what do we do?” she asked.

I needed a minute to think. Talking to Sir Hugh and the High Counsel might actually be a good idea. After all, they each had a different a good idea. After all, they each had a different agenda. I wondered if I could play them against each other.

“Celia, do Jean-Luc and his men have crossbows?”

“Yes, of course,” she said.

I would have preferred longbows, but I knew the French generally did not use them in battle. A pity. I could station Robard on the wall, but I wanted him to come with me to the parley.

“Please find Jean-Luc and have his men span their crossbows and stand ready on the battlement here above the gate. I'll summon Robard and Maryam, and we will see what they have to say. Agreed?”

Celia nodded and left while I scanned the courtyard below for Robard. He and Maryam were seated near the cooking fire, deep in conversation. Angel lay curled at Maryam's feet, working feverishly on a bone. I scampered down a ladder and ran across the courtyard to them.

“Sir Hugh and the High Counsel are outside under a flag of truce. I'd like you and Maryam to come with me and Celia to find out what they want,” I said.

“Will I get to shoot someone?” Robard asked hopefully.

“Maybe later,” I said. “We'll talk first.”

“How can we trust him?” Maryam asked.

“Celia is having Jean-Luc assemble men with crossbows on the wall. We'll be well within range.”