Palais de la Cité
Paris, Kingdom of France
Sir Marcus walked across the polished marble floor, thinking back on the first time he had been here, under arrest, his sergeant and at least a dozen Templars charging in on horseback. It was a sight to behold, and that day had been a shock to all those fortunate enough to have been attending the Court that day.
Yet though this was late evening, it appeared even more were here, garb from the realms of Europe and beyond, standing to the sides as the accused and witnesses were led into the massive chamber, King Philip IV seated on his throne at the far end, ceremonial guards on either side.
Marcus had addressed these people twice now, yet this time he felt insecure, too much of what he was about to say requiring those present to believe him, rather than rely upon physical evidence and confessions. Charles had proclaimed his innocence, but would he continue, once Marcus laid out his case?
King Philip rose, and the entire Court went silent. “Sir Marcus. Once again, you grace us with your presence. I understand you have some information that could prove of interest to us?”
Marcus advanced and bowed with a flourish, knowing the vanity of this man demanded observation of all the niceties expected by royalty. “I do, Your Majesty. If you will indulge me, I will explain everything.”
King Philip nodded then returned to his seat. “Proceed.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Marcus stepped to the side, motioning toward Lady Joanne. “Two days ago, Lady Joanne, my cousin through the marriage of my sister, arrived at my residence in Crécy-la-Chapelle, pursued by agents of her husband, who had accused her of adultery. After a discussion”—chuckles rippled through the Court, word apparently out on the details of the discussion—“it was agreed that they would return to Paris, and I would follow shortly to meet with their master to discuss the matter. Lady Joanne swore to me that she was innocent of the charges, and I believed her, however I felt the only way justice could be served, was to meet with her husband, Lord Charles.
“My sergeant and I”—Simon bowed slightly—“left immediately for Paris, and met with Lord Charles that very evening. We were informed that he had received a letter accusing her of adultery with Sir Denys de Montfort”—Sir Denys stepped forward, bowing with a flourish before retreating—“and that he was determined to seek justice. I convinced him to let me look into the matter, as she swore she was innocent. My only promise to him was that whatever I found, even if it were proof of her guilt, I would share with him. In exchange, he promised to not send anyone else after his wife, who was safely ensconced on my farm with two of my squires.” David and Jeremy bowed awkwardly. Marcus turned to Lord Charles. “Sir, do you agree with everything I have said so far.”
Charles glared at him, but nodded. “Of the things discussed in my presence, yes. What happened between you and my wife, I cannot.”
Marcus bowed slightly. “Of course.” He turned to Joanne. “And you, M’Lady, will you corroborate the portion of my story that involves you?”
She stepped forward. “I do.”
“Thank you.” Marcus turned back to address the Court. “We then visited with Sir Denys, who did not deny the affair, but some doubt was raised as to the identity of the woman he was having the affair with.”
King Philip raised his hand slightly. “Excuse us? What do you mean? How could there be any confusion?”
Marcus bowed, the King clearly intrigued, noting that the monarch was sitting on the edge of his seat. “Sir Denys had commissioned a portrait of himself and who he thought was Lady Joanne, unbeknownst to her. It was on display when we arrived, as he was to present her with it that very evening. What was unusual was that the woman in the portrait bore little resemblance to the woman I had just met at my farm earlier that day. So little, in fact, that I was certain they were two different people.”
“Perhaps the artist was better suited to painting landscapes!” shouted someone from the periphery.
Laughter filled the room and Marcus smiled, holding up a hand to gently silence them. “Perhaps, though the likeness of Sir Denys was quite excellent. Regardless of the quality of the artist’s work, we met with the woman he was having the affair with, and she soon admitted she was indeed not the Lady Joanne.”
He paused for effect, and it succeeded, gasps erupting, even King Philip leaning back in his throne, his eyes wide. Marcus let things settle down slightly before pressing on. “In fact, her name was Miss Melanie Girard, and she had been hired to impersonate Lady Joanne.”
“What proof do you have?” asked someone. “Where is this woman?”
Marcus frowned. “Unfortunately, the woman was murdered.”
“Then all we have is your word for it?”
Marcus shook his head. “No, there were witnesses to her confession.”
“Then bring them forward.”
Marcus spun on Charles, holding out his hand, palm open. “Here stands one of the witnesses.” He stepped closer. “Do you confirm that you indeed met Miss Girard, and that she confessed to impersonating your wife?”
He sighed. “Yes, yes I do. But none of this points to my involvement in any way! I’m innocent—”
Marcus held up a hand. “We’ll get to that. But you admit that your wife is innocent in the matter of this affair?”
He nodded. “I do.”
Marcus turned to Sir Denys. “And you, sir, confirm that the woman you were led to believe was Lady Joanne, is not in fact, this lady?” He pointed at Joanne.
“I do.”
Marcus turned toward the Court. “So, we have now established the innocence of Lady Joanne, accused yesterday in this very Court of adultery. I think we can all agree on that?”
Nods and murmurs encircled the Court, but more importantly, the King nodded. Marcus bowed deeply to him, in case anyone watching the proceedings had missed his acknowledgment. “I thank you, Your Majesty, for agreeing that this poor woman is innocent of these most horrific charges.”
The King nodded again, Marcus detecting a hint of annoyance at having been forced into what might have been a premature pardon.
Joanne nearly collapsed with relief, tears flowing down her face as she sought comfort in the arms of her chambermaid. Marcus suppressed a smile at the satisfaction in knowing he had at least succeeded in his original mission of saving his cousin, and proving her innocence.
But he wasn’t done.
“Yet that was not all that happened that day,” he continued. “Three other women were accused of the same crime, and the next day, these three men”—he pointed at the Germans who had already been waiting when his entourage had arrived—“turned themselves in, confessing to the crime, and claiming they had been hired by the husbands to impregnate their wives, as they had no male heirs.” Another wave of indignation and disgust made its presence known. “I found this story to be ridiculous at the least, but what I couldn’t understand was why they had turned themselves in. Why not flee? Perhaps if they had declared their love for these women, and begged the Court for leniency on the part of the women they loved, I could understand their actions. But they didn’t. Instead, they told this ridiculous story.
“I decided to meet with one of the accused men, Lord Gaspard de Laval, and he confirmed with me that while he had no sons, unbeknownst to most, he had a brother who would inherit should anything happen to him, which didn’t match the information I had previously heard.” He stepped toward the three imprisoned wives. “Which of you is Lady de Laval?”
A woman stepped forward, her chin held high. “I am.”
“And when you were forced to sign your confession, did you inform them that your husband had a male heir?”
“I did.”
“And what was the reaction.”
She glanced over at the prosecutor, whom Marcus was surprised had remained silent this entire time, only the King, he was sure, able to keep the man’s mouth shut. “He seemed surprised, then amended my confession to include mention of my husband desiring an heir from his direct lineage.”
Marcus bowed to her. “Thank you, M’Lady.” He turned back to the court. “Obviously, these confessions were based upon the lies told by these three men”—he motioned toward the three Germans—“who obviously didn’t know about the male heir Lord Gaspard had. If one of them were indeed having an affair with his wife, with her knowing full well why, then surely it would have been mentioned long before the arrest, and he would have told the prosecutor that his situation was unique.” He turned to the prosecutor, now beet red. “Did he?”
The man glanced at the King whose eyes flared slightly. He turned back to Marcus. “No, he did not.”
“Thank you.” Marcus faced the three Germans. “Yet more holes poked into the accusations made by these three men.” Marcus turned back to the crowd. “But more was going on here, and it ties back to the celebrations for the canonization of Louis IX on August ninth of this year. I’m sure you all remember the tragic stage collapse?” Assent swept the room. “Many were injured that day, and many required the use of a cane for weeks, and some still do to this day. Why is this significant, you might ask? It is for one reason. The man who hired Miss Girard to impersonate Lady Joanne, did so shortly after the stage collapse, and employed a cane. In later encounters, he did not.”
“Encounters with whom?”
Marcus bowed slightly toward the side of the room the question had come from. “I’m glad you asked.” He motioned toward Simone Thibault. “Mrs. Thibault is a woman of many talents in her neighborhood, known to be able to provide all manner of services. She was approached several months ago by a man who employed a cane. He had need of a woman, his description matching that of Lady Joanne, but more importantly, she needed to be trained to act like a lady. Miss Girard was hired, trained, and a month later, contact was made once again with this mysterious stranger.” He beckoned Thibault. “Madam, if you would, please tell the Court how contact was made.”
She stepped forward, curtseying awkwardly. “A note was left in the far left of the third pew in the St. Severin Church. The very next day, the man returned to my premises to provide final payment. I gave him the address of the girl, and a coachman that could be relied upon. I never saw him again until yesterday when he tried to kill me.”
“Did you ever see his face?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then how do you know it was the same man?”
“I’m no fool, sir. I can recognize a voice.”
Laughter greeted her answer, and Marcus smiled. “Of course you can. And tell me, did he have a cane in your last encounter?”
“No.”
“And before?”
“Yes, both times I met with him, he had a cane.”
“But that was over two months ago.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“And the man I encountered in your office yesterday, the man who tried to kill you, was quite spry, definitely not requiring a cane. That suggests, ladies and gentlemen, someone who had been injured, and had healed between these encounters.”
Nods of agreement flowed throughout the room.
“Now you may ask why this is important. It is important because if we assume this man was injured in the stage collapse, which I realize is a bit of a leap at the moment, but I will fill in the gaps for you shortly, then we have a very narrow list of suspects, for as I’m sure you remember, that was the Royal stage, by invitation only.” He pulled the list of names from his pocket, holding the pages in the air. “This is the list of everyone who was on the stage that day, and if we assume our suspect was injured that same day, then his name is among those listed.”
A hint of nervousness flowed through the crowd, as many realized they were now suspects.
“But why is this important? How could I know that he was on the stage? The answer is, I couldn’t.” He held up a finger. “Not at first. It was the late Lord Victor de Courtenay who had turned me onto the idea. This brave soul introduced himself to me after I addressed the Court yesterday, proclaiming Lady Joanne’s innocence. He warned me to be careful, as he suspected something more than simple adultery was afoot here. For you see, he had made a connection that I was not aware of.” He paused, turning slowly so all in the room could see his face. “Have you not asked yourselves why these four women?”
The room leaned forward, silent, awaiting the answer.
“All four of the wives accused, had husbands who supported the treaty between France and Flanders.”
The Court erupted in indignation and shock, arguments breaking out among what were clearly two opposing sides—outrage by those who apparently supported the truce, and righteous indignation by those who didn’t. Marcus remained silent, welcoming the break, the opportunity used to collect his thoughts.
The King raised a hand, and the Court soon fell silent. “Continue, Sir Marcus.”
Marcus bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He turned back to those gathered. “The connection pointed out to me by Lord Victor was a shock, and simply too much of a coincidence for me to believe he wasn’t on to something. I noted that he employed a cane, and he related the story of the stage collapse, something I had been unaware of. He then agreed to supply me with the list of the attendees. As you know, he was murdered yesterday, before we could meet, but he was clever and brave enough to hide the list on his horse before being accosted by persons unknown. The list was retrieved, this list”—he shook the pages—“and I think the fact he was murdered suggests that he was correct in his theory.”
He paused, wishing he had something to drink, his mouth going dry. But to stop now and ask, would break his momentum, and he was as eager to reveal the whole truth as he was to leave where he had no place being. “It has been explained to me by people far smarter than I, that should these four influential men be removed from the Court, opinion would sway in favor of those who opposed the treaty.”
Outrage threatened to break out again, but Marcus raised his hand. “Please, bear with me. I too cannot think of why anyone here would want war, which is why I continued to ask questions. When accosted by two men, we found these on their person.” He held out his hand, and Simon stepped forward with the two purses taken from the men who had followed them to Thomas Durant’s home. Marcus extracted several of the German coins, and presented them to the King. “These German coins were found on the men that accosted us. So, I would ask, why would two common thieves have German coins on them?”
He paused, no one saying anything as the King examined the coins, before returning them. “They are indeed German.”
Marcus bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He held them up, pinched between his fingers, turning to the others. “I ask again, why would two common thieves have German coins on them? And the answer is that they wouldn’t, and that they weren’t common thieves! They were following us, trying to find Lady Joanne. It was my belief that their orders were to find her and kill her, so that no one would be able to make the connection that she wasn’t Miss Girard, who by this time was also dead, killed by an assassin’s arrow. I pursued her murderer, but he escaped, having an arrangement with the gatekeeper at one of the bridges across the River Seine. He raised the drawbridge before I could overtake him, and escaped to the other side.”
He clenched the coins in his fist, shaking it. “These coins led me to believe that perhaps the Germans were involved. Certainly, King Adolf might benefit if war were to break out. Both France and Flanders, and their ally England, would be poorer for it, and the weakening of England, Germany’s new ally, could allow King Adolf to renege on his new treaty, the terms of which I have been informed he hasn’t been meeting.”
Murmured agreement filled the room, and the German ambassador shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Marcus suppressed a sigh of relief at the lack of any challenges, none of the politics he had spoken of, things he was familiar with, and nothing truly corroborated—he had relied on the honesty, and knowledge, of those who had shared their wisdom.
“But this wasn’t enough proof. Not a few coins. We needed more. And when these three men presented themselves to the Court, I knew this was the opportunity we had been looking for. I could think of no reason why these men would turn themselves in, except loyalty, loyalty to one’s king, perhaps.” He bowed at King Philip, who acknowledged him with a slight raising of his right hand. “And if the Germans were involved, then these men too must be German. This time, it was I who employed the services of Mrs. Thibault, who had contacts within the prison kitchen, and knew a young woman who spoke German. A convenient illness was arranged, our young lady was sent to fill the vacancy, and she was allowed into the cells when the daily meal was served. She spoke to the three prisoners in their cells, and she did so in German. And was responded to in kind.”
Gasps then outrage erupted, the outright screams of indignity aimed at the German ambassador, overwhelming. Even the King’s cheeks were red, his eyes aimed like daggers at the man, suggesting to Marcus that these revelations were as shocking to the monarch as they were to his advisors.
Perhaps this time you indeed aren’t involved.
The King finally settled himself, and silenced the others by raising his hand, though it still took some time.
Marcus finally was able to continue. “This clever girl convinced these men”—he again pointed at the three accused, now appearing very uncomfortable—“to provide her with their method of contact for whoever was behind this. She provided us with this information, and should it become necessary, this brave girl can be brought to the Court, though I don’t think it will be.” He approached Mrs. Thibault. “What was stunning about what was revealed, was that the exact same method that Mrs. Thibault employed to contact her client, was used by these men to contact their German representative. A note, left at the left-hand corner of the third pew of the St. Severin Church. At this point, I was quite confident the Germans were involved, which likely meant the German ambassador. What I couldn’t prove was who was his accomplice, for I was certain this man”—he motioned toward Gerhardt—“a rather elderly gentleman, wasn’t who I chased along the River Seine that first night.” Marcus smiled. “So I set a trap.”
This excited those gathered, and he noted that over the past several minutes, the members of the Court and their guests, had slowly closed in on those involved, rather than risk missing a word spoken. His confidence in speaking to this crowd was growing, but he still had succeeded in nothing beyond securing Lady Joanne’s freedom. He had yet to prove anything.
“I had a message left in the church, in the far left of the third pew, requesting a meeting this very evening. We waited where these men said they would normally meet their contact after a request was made, and at the appointed hour, a rider did appear. I gave chase, but not so as to capture him, but to have him lead me to the German ambassador’s residence. He again employed the drawbridge as his method of escape, and I let him, but I had positioned one of my trusted friends”—he motioned toward Thomas Durant, who blushed, diverting his eyes to his shoes—“on the other side. He followed the rider to the ambassador’s residence, and we met him there.”
He turned, facing Lord Charles, and slowly walked toward him as he spoke. “I had already arranged for Sir Denys to bring the King’s Personal Guard with arrest warrants, and we apprehended the German ambassador and his accomplice, Lord Charles.”
Charles glared at him as he no doubt tried to ignore the outrage expressed around them. Marcus met his stare, closing the gap to within a few paces. Something was thrown, hitting Gerhardt in the back of the head, causing the man to stumble forward, wincing in pain. The crowd grew quiet as the King apparently had enough, likely wanting to hear what was about to be said.
Marcus stopped his advance, eying his adversary. “Do you deny being in league with the German ambassador to undermine the truce between France and Flanders?”
Charles smiled slightly. “Yes, I do. I was merely visiting my friend when you arrived. This entire thing is preposterous. You have yet to offer one shred of proof that I am involved in this matter.”
Marcus smiled. “I had a feeling you would say that.” He pulled out the message given to Lord Charles, revealing the adulterous affair between his wife and Sir Denys. “Do you recognize this letter, sir?”
Charles glanced at it. “I do.”
“And who gave it to you?”
“We have yet to determine that. My staff is looking into it.”
“He gave it to me, sir!”
Marcus’ eyebrows shot up and he turned toward the voice, a young man, poorly clad, his limbs drawn inward as if trying to make himself as small as possible. “And you are?”
“Albert, sir. I’m the stable boy.”
Beatrice put an arm on his shoulder, and the boy beamed at her, his posture improving slightly at the bolstered confidence.
Marcus stepped closer. “And what did you just say?”
The boy pointed at Charles. “He gave it to me to give to Beatrice. He made me swear not to tell anyone, but, well, when I realized the lady could be executed for what was in it, I couldn’t keep the secret any longer.”
“You lying bastard! I’ll have your head for this!”
The young boy cringed then darted behind Simon, who took a deep breath, expanding his impressive size even further.
Marcus held up the letter in one hand, then the list of names from the stage collapse in the other. “Then I suppose there’s little point of noting that the handwriting is quite similar to the notes you made on these pages for me.”
He beckoned David who rushed forward with a sheaf of papers. “Master David, please tell me where you acquired these papers.”
“In Lord Charles’ office just before we came here.”
“Thank you.” He turned to Thomas. “Master Thomas, please join me.” Thomas’ eyes bulged, but he stepped forward.
“Yes, sir?”
“You were raised by an expert in forgery, and I suspect you have an eye for such things. Do you think the hand that wrote these pages, retrieved by my squire David this very hour from Lord Charles’ office, was the same as the hand that wrote this letter?”
Thomas took the pages with trembling hands, holding them up to the light of a nearby torch, then nodded. “Yes, I do. Whoever wrote all of these is clearly left-handed, and the slant is identical. And the way he makes several of his letters are consistent.”
Marcus smiled broadly, patting the young man on the back as he returned the pages. “Thank you, Master Thomas.” Thomas quickly retreated to join the others, and Marcus stepped over to Beatrice, frowning at the swollen right eye. “You’ll note, that this poor woman bears the angry mark of a man who punched her in the right eye. If one were to use the right hand to deliver such a blow, then it would be the left eye that would have been struck. Who gave you this wound?”
Beatrice glared at Charles. “The master did, sir.”
Marcus walked toward Charles. “Can I assume you will do the honorable thing and admit that you, in fact, wrote the note to yourself, implicating your wife in an adulteress affair?”
Charles glared at him, but Marcus could tell the fight was out of him the moment the stable boy spoke. And what was remarkable about the boy’s few words, was that they were more effective and damaging than anything Marcus had said up to this point.
And he had known nothing about it, though someone must have, as he hadn’t asked for the boy to be brought here.
I suspect Lady Joanne is behind this.
Suddenly Charles’ shoulders slumped and his face sagged as he lowered his head. “Yes,” he murmured.
“Charles, no!” cried Gerhardt, rushing toward him. Simon drew his sword, cutting off his advance.
“So, you admit that you were behind all of this?”
Charles sighed, his eyes red and filled with tears that threatened to escape. “Yes, though not for the reasons you might think. When I was injured in the stage collapse, along with the German ambassador and many others, he and I helped each other, and became friends. He spoke to me of the truce, and how he felt my position on it was wrong. It was his belief, and he soon persuaded me of the same, that allowing Flanders and England to prepare for an inevitable war was unwise. He felt we should press our advantage, and claim victory before they could strengthen their defenses. I eventually agreed with his position, and what was at first a casual conversation about who would need to be swayed to change the opinion of the Court, quickly turned to outright planning for how to achieve our goal.
“It was during these discussions that I recognized an opportunity. For while I now agreed that war was ultimately best for France, as I felt she could easily win, I also had problems of my own.” He stole a glance at his wife, who stared back with none of the sympathy he may have been seeking. “I was nearly bankrupt. When I suggested to the ambassador that I could handle everything, he agreed, and a substantial reward was settled upon should I succeed. It was a way out of my financial woes, with no harm coming to the Kingdom, as I truly do feel the truce is a mistake, and we could easily be victorious.”
“But why did you implicate your wife in this?”
Charles shifted his weight back and forth for a moment, clearly ashamed of what he was about to say. “If I suddenly came into a lot of money, and our situation dramatically improved, she would ask questions. No matter how altruistic I feel my actions are, some might still consider it treasonous to act with the Germans in this matter.”
“And you’d be right!” shouted someone, roars of agreement from the periphery erupting.
Marcus raised a hand, silencing them. “Please, sir, continue.”
“Well, things hadn’t been going well with my wife, so I felt by implicating her along with the others we felt needed to be removed, she would be imprisoned long enough for me to plausibly turn things around. I would then press for her release, and it would be granted, I was sure, as I was a victim.”
“Yet the other three men were accused of much more than you.”
“Yes. They had to be removed, as there would be no convincing them to change their minds. And we needed the charges to be so morally reprehensible, that punishment would be swift and final. But I, on the other hand, had already changed my position. When I would eventually forward my new position of opposing the treaty, my motivations wouldn’t be questioned, and I might even be given a sympathetic ear after what had happened. And even if I was shunned for not controlling my wife, Gerhardt and I were convinced that those who opposed the truce would recognize the opportunity regardless, and press their advantage. We would have war, France would win without risking much, I would have my reward, and we would all move on as if nothing had happened.”
“Except that three innocent husbands and their wives, would be likely imprisoned or worse.”
Charles’ head sagged. “Yes, but sometimes in war, the innocent die.”
Marcus took the opportunity, now that a key word had been said. “So, you are admitting then, that these three men”—he motioned toward the Germans—“are liars and co-conspirators, and that these women are innocent of the crimes they have been accused of, and so are their husbands?”
Charles nodded. “Yes.” He turned to the still shackled husbands and wives. “I’m so sorry for this. I-I was desperate.”
“I’ll see you burned at the stake for this, Charles!” shouted Lord Gaspard, his eyes filled with rage.
Marcus turned to the King. “Your Majesty, I think we can—”
The King raised a hand, cutting him off, then gestured toward the prisoners. “Free them.”
Marcus bowed deeply once again. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He turned to address the Court as the husbands and wives were unshackled, tearful reunions warming his heart. “And with the last of the innocents now free, I think my task has been completed. And now that Lord Charles has confessed and has implicated the German ambassador, I’m sure he can be used to acquire something of value from Germany as they bargain for his release.”
Charles turned to the King and dropped to his knees. “Your Majesty, I will not beg for your forgiveness, as I deserve none. What I did was selfish, but ultimately, I thought I was doing the right thing for you and your kingdom. I realize that while I may now oppose the truce, I should have expressed those concerns rather than conspire against the Court to change the outcome of their counsel to you. I promise that I will cooperate fully in any investigation you may launch, and testify against the German ambassador. I am your loyal subject, Your Majesty.”
King Philip rose, the shocked Court falling still. “While a traitor would normally be tortured then executed, should you freely reveal your secrets, then we feel torture will not be necessary.” Charles stared up at the monarch, hope in his eyes. “However, your crimes cannot be forgiven. You are to be burned at the stake the day after we feel you are no longer of any use, and should satisfaction not be obtained from King Adolf, the German ambassador will be at your side, feeling the lick of the same flames that will consume you.”
Charles was shaking, his face pale at the sentence, but still managed to speak to the avoidance of what was certain to have been a brutal torture. “Th-thank you, Your Majesty, you are most wise and compassionate.”
King Philip ignored the man.
Charles turned to his wife, still on his knees. “Joanne, I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. I hope you can—”
She glared at him. “You better not be asking me to forgive you! It would be I burning at the stake if it weren’t for Sir Marcus and my chambermaid. May you burn in Hell for what you have done!”
Charles’ shoulders slumped, and he was hauled to his feet by two guards and led away, along with the German ambassador and the three men already in chains.
Marcus was about to join his men when the King beckoned him. He strode over to the throne and took a knee. “Your Majesty?”
“It would seem we once again owe you our gratitude.”
Marcus bowed his head further. “I am humbled, Your Majesty, but I was merely doing my service to God and the truth.”
King Philip beckoned him closer, and Marcus rose, leaning in. The King put his lips to Marcus’ ear. “Don’t make a habit of it. We do not enjoy being indebted to Templars.” He waved him off, and Marcus quickly retreated several steps. The King rose with a flourish of robes, leaving the Court behind.
It erupted in animated discussion.
Marcus returned to his men, the tension of the past minutes slowly easing, and he unclenched his fist, unaware until this moment that he still gripped the coins.
Simon gestured toward the throne with his chin. “What was that about?”
“Just a message for his banker.”
“Huh?”
Marcus chuckled. “I’ll explain later.”
“Sir Marcus.” Joanne rushed up to him with a broad smile and tearstained cheeks. “Cousin.” She hugged him hard, and he returned it awkwardly. She mercifully let him go then stepped back, giving him his space. “I don’t know how I can possibly thank you.”
He dismissed her dilemma with a flick of his wrist. “There is no need. You are family, and I was merely doing my duty as a Templar.”
“You are a good man,” she sighed, echoing words apparently spoken by Isabelle. She stared toward the door her husband had been led out. “And now my next challenge begins.”
Marcus frowned. “What do you mean?”
She looked up at him. “My husband is to be put to death. In France, that means his estate goes to his male heir. That will be his son from his first wife, who absolutely despises me, and will no doubt put me out of my own home.”
“Do you have any other family?”
She shook her head. “None that survive. In fact, your brother-in-law was the only one I thought still lived.” She frowned, and Beatrice took her hand. “I guess I will have to rely on the charity of others, though I fear that will not last, if it will be forthcoming at all.”
Marcus regarded her, her future prospects tragic. She had been innocent in the entire affair, yet in the end, would still be punished for the crimes of her husband, through a system of heredity that favored males above all else.
His eyebrows rose with a thought. “You are welcome to come to the farm and stay with us. Your chambermaid as well. You are, after all, family.” Her eyes widened at his words. “It won’t be the life you are accustomed to, but it will be a life, and you will never go hungry or cold.”
She threw herself into his arms once again, her shoulders shaking with sobs. “Oh, Cousin, the Lord truly did send you here to save me!”
She finally eased her grip on him, and he gently passed her back to Beatrice as Simon, David, and Jeremy grinned at him.
He ignored them, instead turning to Thomas. “And you, good sir, will you join us?”
Thomas’ eyes darted about, looking anywhere but at Marcus. “Umm, I was actually thinking I might take Mrs. Thibault up on her offer of employment.” Marcus tensed at the revelation. “I enjoy the city, and don’t want to abandon my home that my father worked so hard to maintain.”
Marcus’ head slowly bobbed at the explanation. Farming wasn’t for everyone, and in fact, he wasn’t certain yet if it was for him, and he could understand the appeal of remaining in one’s home, though he feared there might be more behind the decision than nostalgia. He regarded the gleeful Thibault for a moment, then put a hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “I understand. Just don’t do anything you’ll regret having to confess to God on your day of judgment.”
“Y-yes, sir.” He stole a glance at Marcus. “Don’t worry, you may yet see me at the farm.”
Marcus smiled warmly at the young man. “There will always be a place for you.”