En route to Durant Residence
Paris, Kingdom of France
Marcus felt uneasy as they rode for Thomas Durant’s home. The list was stuffed under his chainmail, and he’d die before he let anyone get their hands on it, for it was obviously important. Clearly, someone had seen Lord Victor speaking with them, but he couldn’t believe that alone would be enough for anyone to want to kill him.
They were merely words.
But the list was evidence, and until the moment he had learned of Victor’s death, he hadn’t been sure the names on the pages would be of any importance.
Yet clearly they were to someone, and if he gambled, he’d put money on whoever that was, being included in the names.
And he’d also bet that when they didn’t discover the list on Victor’s person after killing him, they would realize it must have been on his horse, the brave soul obviously having hidden it there before he was attacked.
And if he were the murderer, he would have had someone watching Victor’s estate to see who showed up to collect the list.
Then pursue them.
So far, he hadn’t been able to spot anyone following them as they rushed through the streets of Paris as quickly and safely as they could, though with the number of people and horses about, it was difficult to say for certain. And as the darkness grew, it only made things more difficult.
As they left the regal estates of the members of the Court and foreign ambassadors, and entered the less desirable area of the grand city where Thomas Durant lived, the numbers on horseback dwindled, most in these parts unable to afford the luxury. And the fact they weren’t the only riders, had him slightly uncomfortable.
“There it is,” said Simon.
“Keep riding. If we’re being followed, I don’t want them to know where we’re going.”
They continued past the dilapidated building, fire and candlelight blaring through the cracks in the boards indicating someone was inside, their numbers concealed. He peered into the darkness ahead. “That alley to the right. Let’s head down there.”
Simon grunted, leading the way as they turned sharply down the laneway. They galloped toward the end, and Marcus glanced over his shoulder to see two riders follow them.
He suppressed a curse.
Simon didn’t.
“Challenge or evade?” asked his sergeant.
“I’m tempted to challenge. Split up at the end of the alley and dismount. We’ll surprise them as they come through.”
“Good. I’m tired of running.”
Simon broke left and Marcus right. He pulled up on his reins and hopped off his horse, drawing his sword and positioning himself at the corner, readying his weapon, Simon doing the same across from him. The sound of the two horses pounding toward them filled his ears, and Marcus steadied his breathing, readying himself for what was to come, for the initial blow would be critical.
The nose of the horse came into sight, the beast’s head turning toward him. He smiled as he thrust upward, catching its rider unawares, his arm raised high, sword in hand. Marcus plunged the blade deep, and the rider cried out in agony, the horse rearing on its hind legs in panic. He stepped forward, shoving hard with both hands, lifting the rider from his saddle and into the air before his heart was pierced, and blood flowed freely down the blade and onto Marcus’ hands. He stepped back, withdrawing the blade as he checked on his sergeant, his foe leaning far back in his saddle, his head nearly cleaved clean off.
Marcus smiled. “I think our work here is done. Search them. See if you can find anything that might identify who they are, or who they’re working for.” He pulled his man off his horse, and first searched the saddle for anything, finding nothing but provisions. He then checked the body, finding only a small purse. He took it with the thought of giving it to young Thomas to help him get back on his feet.
He glanced over at Simon. “Anything?” Simon tossed him another purse. “Just this. No papers or accouterments.”
“Okay, let’s get out of here before we draw too much attention. And remove your surcoat.” Marcus removed his own, rolling it up and shoving it in the saddlebag of his horse, Simon doing the same. They both mounted their steeds, heading quickly down the back alley that Marcus assumed would lead toward Thomas’ home.
It took only a few minutes to find their destination. They tied up the horses and entered through the back, finding everyone in the front of the building that had once been Thomas’ late father’s workshop. A feast was underway, and Marcus’ stomach growled at the sights and smells.
“Sir!” Jeremy leaped to his feet, David following a moment later. “Thank God you are well. Your horses?”
Marcus jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “In the back. Any problems?”
“Nothing.”
“Very well. Tend to them, but first get this off me.” He held out his arms, as did Simon, his squires quickly freeing them of their armor. It was a glorious feeling that always made him feel light on his feet, as if he could fly, though the sensation only lasted for a few moments before he felt vulnerable.
“I’ll tend to the horses,” said Jeremy, disappearing in the back. Marcus sat on a blanket, one of several laid out before the roaring fire, the warmth attacking the chill as he surveyed the semi-circle of those now under his protection. It was an odd collection. A criminal pretending to be high-society, an actual noblewoman, the son of a forger, and several Templars.
“We are quite the sight, aren’t we!” said Thibault, laughter filling the room with her comment.
Marcus smiled, the wine apparently flowing along with the food laid out in front of everyone. He frowned at the offerings. “I thought I said to keep a low profile.”
“We did!” replied Thibault. “Thomas and the squires made several trips and came in through the back. Nobody suspects anything, I assure you.”
“Uh huh.” He grabbed a leg off a bird roasted to perfection, tearing it away from the carcass, and took a bite as David poured him and Simon wine.
Lady Joanne leaned forward. “What have you found out?”
Marcus swallowed. “M’Lady, a great deal has happened today, as well as another tragedy. Do you know Lord Victor de Courtenay?”
She nodded. “I do, from the Court. Not well, mind you, though I have exchanged pleasantries. I rarely go, and haven’t been in such a long time. I simply can’t bear the gossip.” She frowned. “I was a great admirer of his wife, Lady—.” Her jaw dropped. “Wait. Why? Oh no, please not him!”
“I’m afraid so, M’Lady. After I addressed the Court on your behalf, he followed us into the palace courtyard and provided us his theory of what may be going on. He promised a list of names at my request, and when we went to his residence to collect, we found that he had been murdered. We feared all was lost, but the good man fulfilled his promise.” Marcus retrieved the pages, holding them up in triumph. “He managed to somehow trick his accosters, hiding the pages beneath the saddle of his horse, which in its master’s absence, returned home on its own.”
Thibault leaned closer, eyeing the pages. “Whose names are they?”
“I have a theory, furthered when I noticed Lord Victor made use of a cane. He explained that several months earlier, the royal stage at the Louis IX celebrations collapsed, and many were injured.”
Joanne’s eyes widened. “Yes! This is true. Even my husband hurt his knee quite badly. It took weeks to heal, and it still bothers him to this day.”
Marcus exchanged a glance with Simon, then scanned the list carefully for the first time, spotting Lord Charles’ name on the second page. “Indeed, he is listed.”
“Yes. Many were injured, especially those in the back rows, higher from the ground.”
Marcus handed Joanne the list. “Do any names stand out to you?”
She quickly read through them, nodding slowly. “I’m afraid, no. I recognize almost all the names, therefore none really seem unusual.”
“Any enemies of your husband?”
“I can’t think why he would have any.”
“Your husband is a supporter of the truce with Flanders?”
Her eyes widened. “Why, I’m not sure. I think so. Isn’t everyone?”
Marcus shook his head. “Apparently not.”
She sighed. “Politics were never my concern—I left that to my husband, which is why I avoided the Court.”
Simon grunted. “That might be why Sir Denys didn’t realize the woman he was with wasn’t you.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “This is true. I’ve never met the man, and he’s rather young, isn’t he? He’s likely new to the Court.” She waved a hand. “I really don’t know about these things. My husband and his friends would debate long into the night, and sometimes I would awake to find them still at it in the morning, especially surrounding the war with Flanders and their ally, England. I should think it would have been a great relief to everyone that a truce was signed and so many lives saved.”
Marcus agreed. “One would think, however apparently not everyone agreed with the truce.”
“Really?”
“Yes. According to Lord Victor, all of those whose wives were accused of adultery today, including your husband, were supporters of the treaty. It was his belief that they were being embarrassed, so that they would lose support in the Court, and traction might be gained to rescind the truce.”
Joanne’s jaw dropped. “But that would mean war!”
“Exactly.”
“But who would profit from that?” asked David. “Surely if the King wanted war, he would simply declare it.”
Joanne nodded. “Yes, and the Court couldn’t stop him. And even if he wanted their support, he’d simply have to indicate his desire, and the Court would fall in line, demanding war.”
Marcus agreed. “Which is what makes this so puzzling. If the King isn’t behind this, then who is, and why?”
“Flanders?” suggested Simon.
Thibault shook her head. “I doubt it. We trounced them quite handily.” She shrugged. “Or so I heard.”
Joanne looked at her. “I didn’t know you followed politics.”
“Of course you didn’t! You didn’t meet me until today. If one wants to profit from the misery of others, one needs to know everything that is going on that could cause misery. Nothing more than war causes misery, and a good denier is to be had for those who pay attention to affairs such as this.”
Marcus’ eyebrows rose. “Speaking of, I almost forgot.” He removed the two purses taken from their pursuers. “We took these off the two who followed us here.”
Joanne’s eyes widened. “You were followed?”
“Yes.”
“And they just let you take their purses?”
Simon chuckled. “After they were dead on the ground.”
Joanne gasped at the revelation, while Thibault reached for more wine.
Marcus shook the purses. “I was thinking their contents might prove useful to young Thomas here, to help him through these hard times.”
Thomas’ eyes widened slightly as he eyed the purses. “Surely you should keep them, sir. After all, it was you who fought and won.”
Marcus smiled at the lad, apparently not a greedy bone to be had in his body. “Actually, as a Templar, I’m forbidden to carry more than four deniers on my person at any time, unless on official business.” He emptied the contents from one of the purses into his hand, revealing almost a dozen silver coins. “And as you can see, this is far more than a knight sworn to poverty would ever need.” Something caught his eye. He picked out one of the coins and held it up to the firelight. “This is odd.” He tossed it to Simon. “Tell me what you see.”
“A very fine meal, is what I see.” He held it up and turned to put the fire behind him. “Who is that?” He handed the coin to Jeremy, he and David examining it.
“There’s some writing around the edges,” said Jeremy, squinting.
Thomas held out his hand. “May I?”
Jeremy handed it to Thomas who then rose, retrieving a magnifying glass from one of the drawers of the desk his father used to work at. He returned, sitting cross-legged. “It’s clearly King Adolf, it says so below his portrait.”
Simon shrugged. “So?”
Thibault huffed. “So? They don’t make these sergeants too smart, do they?”
Simon growled slightly at her and Marcus held him back with a smile. “Okay, oh wise one, what is so important about a coin with King Adolf on it?”
“You fool! Nobody in Paris would be carrying a coin from the King of Germany, not unless he had done some business with his representatives, or was working for the man himself!”