The Hidden Keystone, page 25
“Impossible.”
“But fact just the same.” Justine touched his hand. “I’m sorry, Bertrand. I know you held those who wore the white in high regard. Whatever transgressions have been committed by your Order, I’m sure you’re not part of them.”
It troubled Bertrand that she was willing to accept the Order’s transgressions without any evidence whatsoever.
“There’s more.” Justine’s gaze slid away from his face. “Every member of the Order is to be delivered to the King’s Guard. Especially senior members and chevaliers. Harbouring or aiding them is considered treason.”
“No. They can’t do this.” Bertrand stood. “They’ve no right, no justification.”
“I fear that’s for the canon lawyers to decide.” Whatever she saw in his face forced her to glance away again. “I doubt his majesty would have acted so decisively if he wasn’t sure of the legality of his actions.”
“So, you’re obliged to—” Bertrand stopped as the implications sank in. “And if you don’t, you’ll be considered guilty of treason.” Bertrand sank to one knee and gathered in her unresisting hands. “Justine, I’m truly sorry. If I’d known, we wouldn’t have endangered you by coming here.”
“I know that.” She withdrew one hand and trailed the back of her fingertips across his cheek. “And that’s what I loved best about you, Bertrand. Yours is a generous heart. Perhaps too much so.”
Bertrand drew back. “What do you mean?”
Justine shifted her gaze to the fire. “As a woman, I’ve been forced to do things to hold this estate, some of which I’m not proud. I’ve not had the luxury of honour, like you.” She turned to him, her blue eyes pleading for forgiveness. “I know how you feel about your family, but this makes you vulnerable. Anyone cunning enough to offer you acceptance and inclusion instantly wins your loyalty.”
“You think the brothers manipulated me by offering me a new home.”
Justine sighed. “Did you choose the path of an outlaw? Did you decide to abandon your brothers in the Commanderie?”
Bertrand swallowed an angry retort and released her other hand. “It’s true that I didn’t choose to return under these circumstances. Far from it. But I was placed in a position where I was forced to make a swift decision. Surely, you can understand that.”
Justine frowned. “Bertrand, decisions can be overturned. What seems right in one moment may not in the next. You were part of the Order for a little more than a year. Whatever sanctions are imposed upon your leaders, they’ll hardly apply to you. Beg for the King’s mercy and you’ll emerge a free man. Vindicated even. I’m certain of it.”
Bertrand searched her face. Her words made sense. And he knew her concern was genuine. But he couldn’t ignore her underlying assumption that he had been misled. “You doubt my ability to make the right decision,” he said at last.
“Bertrand—”
“Do you really think I’d take such risks for no reason?”
Justine wrung her hands together. “Please. I know you well. I know how you have always yearned for a purpose that would call you out from the shadow of your father. In the past, that idealism was charming. In the present, it could prove deadly.”
“Deadly? To whom?”
“To anyone who cares about you.”
Bertrand looked away. Hadn’t Salome given him the same warning? “You don’t understand.”
“Then help me to.”
Bertrand pinched the bridge of his nose. Why were they arguing? This was not what he wanted. “Something important has been entrusted to me. Something from the Holy Land. My Preceptor died to protect it and I swore on his body to shoulder that responsibility. I can’t give up that burden, no matter who asks me to.”
Justine’s mouth thinned and she threaded her fingers together in her lap.
He recognised that gesture. “What?”
A long pause grew between them. “It’s what you’ve not said,” she replied at last. “You should not play me for a fool.”
“I don’t understand.” He frowned in puzzlement.
“This piece of Outremer that you speak of. Does she have a name?”
An empty pit opened inside Bertrand’s stomach, and all of his anger and outrage dropped into it, leaving him hollow.
“Did you think Huon would keep her secret from me?” Justine’s lips barely moved. “Whom do you think Huon serves? A young lordling who has a kind word for him or the woman that owns his land and protects his family.”
“Please, let me—”
She held up one hand to silence him. “Don’t deny her existence or I’ll have you in chains to protect you from whatever lies have bewitched you.” She trembled with anger.
“Her name is Salome.”
Justine bit her bottom lip. “And? Is she your lover?”
“No! She was a guest of our Commanderie.”
“I don’t believe it. Everyone knows women aren’t allowed inside their walls.”
“Yet the fact remains that she was,” Bertrand replied. “My Preceptor, Everard de Chaumont, was protecting her. She’s the reason we were attacked.”
“Chaumont, you say.” Justine’s expression became thoughtful. “I heard a rumour the Chaumonts belong to a group called the Salt Lines.” Justine caught his reaction. “I see you’ve heard of them.”
Bertrand nodded. “What do you know about them?”
“Very little, although one can hardly live in this region and remain ignorant of them.” Justine gave him a shrewd look. “I want no part of what you’re mixed up in, Bertrand. You should take this to your father and be done with it. But you won’t, will you?”
“No.” Bertrand shook his head. “I won’t run home like a child who skinned his knee.”
This meeting had become far too complex. He had never intended to discuss Salome or the Salt Lines with her. He rose to his feet. “I’m sorry to have brought this upon you. Truly. All I need is three strong mounts, a pack horse, food, and blankets, and we’ll be gone.” He fumbled at his pouch and withdrew the ruby Salome had given him. “This should be more than adequate.” It appeared his relationship with Justine had descended into barter. Keeping the sadness from his face, he offered the gem.
Justine took the ruby and examined it. “More than adequate,” she murmured. “Where did you get such a fine jewel? Did this Salome give it to you in the hope of purchasing my assistance? Does she buy everything that she needs?”
Bertrand ignored the barb. “I had hoped for your assistance regardless.” He hated retreating into exaggerated courtesy, but it was his only course. “The gem is merely intended as fair payment.”
“I see.” Justine closed her fist around the jewel. “You do understand the danger you’ve placed my entire household in, don’t you?”
“I do now, but I swear I was ignorant of it when we first arrived.”
Justine rose to her feet. “I believe you. But if this Salome of yours is a fugitive…surely, she must have known, yes?”
He nodded. Salome had been honest enough to warn him. However, admitting this to Justine only made matters worse.
“Bertrand, please think carefully about what you do next.” Justine pressed her free hand against his chest. “I cherish what we shared, but I have responsibilities I cannot ignore. Don’t make me choose.” Her eyes were moist as she swept out of the room.
Bertrand gazed into the fire. He felt numb. The place Justine had always occupied inside him ached with emptiness.
Salome. This was her doing. Her arrival had stripped away everything he valued. And it had opened a gulf between him and Justine that might never be bridged.
I am loss, she had said. He believed her now.
CHAPTER 38
22 October 1307
The Gamekeeper’s cottage
“No need to ask how it went judging from your sour looks.” Rémi was perched on a stump outside Huon’s cottage honing the edge of his axe on a whetstone with long, rasping sweeps.
Bertrand leaned against the stone wall of the cottage. “It was horrible. Worse than I could have imagined.” He sank into a squat, his back pressing against the wall.
Rémi grunted but said nothing. The rhythmic rasp of stone on iron continued.
Bertrand picked at the ground. “She knows about Salome. And she thinks the brotherhood has manipulated me.” He glanced up at Rémi. “Would you believe she even talked about imprisoning me for my own good?”
“Maybe that’s her way of keeping you close.” Rémi inspected the edge of his axe.
“No, I don’t think so. We’ve put her in danger by coming here. I see that now.”
“We might at that. So she has a point.”
“What? You think the safest place for me is locked in her cellar?”
“No. I meant about being manipulated.”
“Oh.”
Rémi put his whetstone aside and tested the edge of his axe with a calloused thumb. “After all, what do we really know for sure? Salome’s a sorceress, no doubting that. And she knows how to make a man dance to her tune. Look at poor Roard and the Preceptor.” Rémi squinted at Bertrand. “And you’re too sharp to think you’re any more special to her than that lot.”
He knew Rémi was right. Salome was slow to trust, so why shouldn’t he be the same? Besides, he had no right to expect anything from Salome. How could he when his heart refused to yield Justine? Yet some traitorous part of him desired Salome’s affection too. He knew it was sinful, but he would not lie to himself. No, it was simpler being angry than trying to find a way through the maze of his feelings.
“What would you have me do?” Bertrand asked. “Hand her over and be done with it? Break my oath and dishonour Everard’s memory? Is that your counsel?”
“I’m not offering counsel,” Rémi growled. “Just making you think. And keep your voice down. Huon’s whelps are noisy enough, but she’ll hear you before long.”
“I don’t care.” Bertrand ground one heel into the earth.
“Listen close.” Rémi pointed the head of his axe at Bertrand. “This business about honouring the Preceptor’s wishes is all in your head. He never asked you to even sneeze on her, right? You decided to don that mantle. As for your vow to Salome, an oath don’t bind a man if he’s unfairly forced into it. There’s no need to make a noose and put your head into it as well.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” Bertrand considered what Justine had said. Was he turning Salome into the great purpose he had always dreamed of?
“Rémi, do you believe her? Salome, I mean. Do you believe she’s protecting some sacred artefact?”
“Cub, I wish I could say.” Rémi ran a hand through his bristling hair. “All we know is that someone is willing to kill us to get to her. Reckon they must have their reasons.”
The sky had turned to the colour of slate and the day was growing dim. Another downpour was not far away.
“We’ve tarried too long,” Bertrand mused.
“We’ll not get far on foot.”
Bertrand shrugged. “I’ve made my request and offered Justine fair payment. What more can I do?”
“Await her ladyship’s pleasure,” Rémi replied with a leer.
“This is hardly the time to jest.”
Rémi snorted in amusement and resumed sharpening his axe.
An unpleasant thought occurred to Bertrand. “There’s something else we should discuss. I would have raised it earlier, but there hasn’t been time.” Bertrand shrugged awkwardly.
Rémi’s rasping sweeps of the whetstone paused.
“My father paid you to be my wet-nurse, didn’t he? Just like Justine, he doesn’t believe I can take care of myself.”
Rémi laid his axe on the ground and squatted in front of Bertrand. “Now listen close. That arrangement was agreed upon when you were twelve. Twelve, you hear? No, look at me.” Rémi grabbed Bertrand by the chin and glowered at him. “In two summers, you’ll see twenty-one. What does that tell you?”
“Your friendship is well paid for.”
“Dung head!” Rémi rapped him over the skull with his knuckles. “It means your father has an eye to your welfare, doesn’t it? Besides which, I didn’t have to stay on for nine years. So what does that tell you?”
Bertrand scowled back. “You’re stubborn and greedy.”
Rémi cuffed him and returned to his stump. “Why do you always have to fight the whole world?” He shook his head. “It means I want to be here. In the name of all that’s holy, I’m closer to you than my own young ones.”
“You have children?” Bertrand blinked in astonishment. “I thought they died of fever back in my thirteenth winter.”
“One did.” Rémi’s expression darkened. “Renier, Aude and Gueri survived. My family lives off the annual stipend from your father. They enjoy a better life than I could ever offer them working in a field.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me then?”
“Every time I think you can’t become a bigger idiot,” Rémi snapped, “you prove me wrong. I’m telling you now and look how you’re taking it.”
Bertrand supposed he was right, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal. “Leaving all that aside, Châtillon-sur-Seine isn’t far. You could take a message to my father. Not that I want his help. Only…well, he should know about…what I’m involved in. And you could return to your family.”
Rémi chewed the inside of his lip. “Cub, I’m proud of what you’re trying to do, but are you sure that’s wise?”
“Which part? Sending you home or contacting my father?”
“Both.”
“If Justine won’t help us—”
“Then this is over before it has even begun.” Rémi waved his protest aside. “Might as well choose between the King’s mercy or submitting to your father’s will. Neither offers freedom.”
Rémi was right, of course. They needed to escape to the uncertain shores of England. Salome had no future in France. Perhaps the Salt Lines had once ruled Champagne and Burgundy, but no longer.
“It seems you don’t want to see her captured.” Bertrand smiled in triumph.
Rémi stood. “I said no such thing.”
“Not in so many words. However, it sounded like good counsel.”
“Perhaps,” Rémi said with a reluctant nod, “but the advice was given to Bertrand de Châtillon-sur-Seine, not Salome the sorceress.”
“What about your children? Don’t you want to see them?”
“Course I do, but the wife takes care of them. Besides,” Rémi shrugged, “it’s only two more summers.”
Bertrand did not know how to respond to that. Even Rémi looked uncomfortable for once.
A branch snapped in a nearby thicket. Rémi leapt onto the stump and peered into the trees. Bertrand caught the rustle of dead leaves and Rémi raced towards the noise, brandishing his axe in one fist. Bertrand dashed after him.
Despite his stature, Rémi was quick over short distances. He soon outpaced Bertrand, sprinting between trees and leaping over fallen logs.
Bertrand did his best to keep up, but his breath rattled in his throat and his legs trembled. He forced his body to greater effort. A rock turned beneath his boot and he skidded into a low branch. He twisted to take the impact on his shoulder and nearly fell. Gasping for air, he reluctantly conceded he hadn’t fully recovered from his illness yet.
Bertrand gave up the chase and leaned against the bole of a large beech. The sound of Rémi’s chase was loud in the still forest. What had the sergeant seen to make him dash off like that?
There was little choice but to wait. Bertrand’s heart slowed and he was finally able to take in deep, steady breaths.
Eventually, Rémi reappeared through the trees. His face was flushed and he wore a murderous scowl.
“What did you see?” Bertrand asked.
“Someone…spying…on us,” Rémi said between breaths. “Quick…bastard.”
“I’d run fast too if you were chasing me with that axe. Did you recognise him?”
Rémi shook his head. “Couldn’t…get close…enough.”
“Someone knows we’re here.” Fear scrabbled at the inside of his ribs. It was possible Justine had sent the spy, but what if she hadn’t?
“You have to…force her hand,” Rémi said. “We need…horses.”
“Yes.” They could no longer afford to wait. “I’ll have Huon take a message.” They hurried back through the quiet forest as the storm rolled towards them.
CHAPTER 39
23 October 1307
The Gamekeeper’s cottage
Bertrand stood inside the Chapel of St Anne. Flames leapt up the walls and the panes of stained glass behind the altar shattered. Laurent approached him in vestments soaked with blood, his hands clutching a hacked Bible. Shards of glass crunched beneath the Chaplain’s feet as he murmured a sermon. Bertrand was straining so hard to catch the words that he failed at first to notice Laurent’s eyes had been plucked out and his throat slashed.
Bertrand startled awake as Laurent clutched at him. He shivered beneath his blankets. Something terrible had happened back at the Commanderie. He knew it with a deep, unsettling certainty.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Huon’s small cottage was crowded. The children had overcome their initial timidity and circled around Salome, begging for stories. How he managed to doze off in the first place was a mystery.
Driven out by the noisy chatter, Bertrand pulled his cloak around his shoulders and slipped outside.
It had rained heavily throughout the night. Mist blanketed the ground, but the distant turrets of Justine’s chateau were just visible. After the heat of the cottage, the chill air was refreshing. Bertrand drew in deep, cleansing breaths.
Nothing moved amongst the ghostly looking trees. Even so, he touched the pommel of Everard’s sword at his hip. Questioning Huon had failed to reveal the identity of the spy. If anything, it had made the gamekeeper as uneasy as they were.
