Trail of Fate (14 page)

“Hmph. Crossbows. Tell those Franks when the shooting starts not to hit us!” Robard exclaimed.

“I'm sure it will be fine, Robard. Let's go,” I said. Angel jumped up to join us, but I bade her stay, and she returned to her bone.

We waited at the gate until Celia returned with Jean-Luc and his men. He ordered them to the battlement above us and gave me a small salute when they were ready.

Before we left, I felt the need to say something. “Celia, I don't feel right making all of these decisions, but we should come to some agreement about who will direct our defense and speak to Sir Hugh and the High Counsel.”

“I think it falls to you, Templar,” she said.

“What? Why? I'm just a squire, I have no . . .”

She interrupted me. “Jean-Luc is barely older than you. He is a good man, but inexperienced. The rest of the men-at-arms serve only because my father pays them well. They will do what he says, and he will follow my orders. When I tell him you are in charge, you will have no trouble with Jean-Luc,” she said plainly.

“This is not a good idea,” I said. Maryam and Robard watched our exchange with bemused expressions on their faces.

“Why not? You have been to war. You just told me how you rescued a king on the battlefield. You were obviously clever enough to devise a way into our fortress. I would say that makes you more than qualified. Remember, these are farmers. My father has them train for battle once or twice a year. You're the logical choice.”

I couldn't agree. “Robard, you are a King's Archer. You have a great deal more experience than me. You should be the one . . .”

Robard shook his head. “Not really, squire. I'm an archer. Mostly I stood behind every skirmish and launched arrows into the air. I'm
willing
to fight these bas—uh, anyone, but I don't know anything about commanding troops.” He smiled. Drat.

“But I—” I started to say.

“Tristan, didn't you tell us about your knight Sir Thomas and how he feverishly directed the defense of Acre?” Robard asked.

“Yes?”

“And you watched and learned and trained with him every day for more than a year, true?” he went on.

“Yes.”

“We are in a similar situation. Think of what he did and try to apply the same tactics here,” Robard offered, as if it were easy. And I decided to ignore the fact that despite Sir Thomas' best efforts, Acre had been lost. I would not give in so easily to their demands.

“Maryam, you are a member of Al Hashshashin, and you . . .” She never let me finish.

“Oh no, not me, Templar. We fight in small groups, attacking quickly and then withdrawing. I've never even been in a castle before now,” she said. If I hadn't known better, despite the danger we were in, I could have sworn she and Robard were enjoying themselves. They glanced back and forth at each other with smiling eyes and looked as if they might burst out laughing at any moment. Or maybe something else was going on between them. For the past few days I had caught them staring at each other when each thought the other wasn't looking.

“There you have it,” Celia said. “Glad it's all settled now. You shall command our defenses. It's decided.” She started toward the gate.

“Hold it!” I said. “This is folly. I'm no . . . I can't . . . If you put me in charge, we're doomed!”

Robard shrugged. “We're doomed anyway,” he said. He brushed past me toward the gate. “Let's go see what they have to say.”

I followed meekly along, wondering how this had happened and convinced this was not a good idea. Then I asked God to please send Celia's father home quickly.

Two men guarded the gate, and together they lifted the heavy timber crossbeam that held the door locked in place. It slowly swung open and the four of us stepped through it, my stomach lurching when I heard it slam shut. I didn't like feeling so exposed.

The High Counsel and Sir Hugh sat astride their mounts about thirty yards from the gate. The four of us fanned out, with Celia and Maryam in the middle and Robard and I on the ends. Robard held his bow, already strung in his left hand, and Maryam had her hands up inside her sleeves, pretending to be warming her hands against the cool air, but no doubt gripping her daggers. And while I nervously fingered my short sword, Celia wore no weapon I could see. We marched forward in silence, stopping about ten yards shy of the two men.

The High Counsel's mount was a solid-black stallion, which pranced nervously and threw its head about in the stiffening wind. He had to work the reins to keep it still, but this did not stop him from sending a dark look toward Celia.

“Hello, Princess,” he said.

Princess?

“Father Renard,” she replied coldly. “I see you have made a new friend,” she said, turning to stare at Sir Hugh. But Sir Hugh ignored her as his eyes bore into me.

“As have you,” the High Counsel replied, looking at me. “I thought I warned you about what would happen if you sought to aid these heretics.”

“You did. But you also lied. You called them bandits first, then heretics, remember?” Robard interrupted. The High Counsel gave him a long silent stare before he spoke.

“What I called them matters little. They
are
heretics and enemies of the church!” he said.

“One man's heresy is another man's faith, wouldn't you say?” Robard shot back.

“Silence! I do not debate theology with heretics!” Father Renard shouted.

“Now
I'm
a heretic?” Robard goaded, arching an eyebrow at the priest. “You only just met me!”

Father Renard ignored him and spoke again to Celia. “You can end this now, girl. Surrender yourself to me and I will withdraw my men. We will return to Languedoc for your trial.” Sir Hugh shot a sideways glance at the High Counsel that told me this was not what they had agreed to.

“Leave with me now, or face the consequences,” Father Renard continued.

“No,” I said.

Sir Hugh hissed something at Father Renard and they backed their horses up a few yards. They argued with each other, but we could not hear what was said.

“Something wrong, Sir Hugh?” I asked. He swung his horse around with a flourish and cantered back to his earlier spot.

“If it isn't the world's luckiest squire,” he hissed.

“Nice of you to come,” I said, bowing slightly.

“It must be a
miracle
you survived the storm,” he said. “Yes. You're very lucky. In fact, I was on my way out of this valley when I encountered one of the High Counsel's men. He described a fight he had with three travelers. Even claimed an archer murdered his companion! So perhaps your luck has taken a turn for the worse,” he sneered, and shot Robard a very dark look.

“A heretic and a murderer? This is quite a day I'm having,” Robard exclaimed. “Are there any sins left for me to commit? Treason, perhaps?”

Sir Hugh ignored Robard and returned his eyes to me. “I have made an agreement with the good Father,” he went on. “I will align my forces with his temporarily, and together we will destroy this fortress and your little band of farmers and rabble. When we are done, Father Renard can do whatever he wishes with the girl and your two
friends
,” he spat, pointing toward Maryam and Robard, “but you're mine, squire. All mine.” Sir Hugh's eyes took on a peculiar glaze, almost as if he was dreaming of the joy my demise would bring him.

“We're not afraid of you, Sir Hugh. If you think so, come ahead.” This time it was my turn to look at the High Counsel. “Ask Sir Hugh, Father. He will tell you God is most definitely on
our
side.”

Sir Hugh started to reply, but the High Counsel held up his hand.

“Enough of this. Princess, I give you one hour . . .”

“You give them
nothing
!” Sir Hugh yelled at Father Renard, who was so startled he nearly tumbled from his saddle. “I am Marshal of the Knights Templar. Who do you answer to?”

“What? I . . . Why . . . I answer to the Archbishop of Languedoc . . . ,” Father Renard stammered.

“And who does he answer to?” Sir Hugh yelled back, pulling his mount closer and closer to the High Counsel.

“He answers to His Holiness Celestine III, of course,” he said, trying not to show fear.

“Excellent! Then you should know, Father Renard, as a Templar Knight my order answers
directly
to His Holiness. Do you understand me? You and your men are here at my command! And you will not negotiate with these . . . peasants . . . unless I give you permission ! Is that understood!”

“No, it is most definitely not understood!” the High Counsel shouted. “This was not our agreement . . . You promised . . . ,” but before he could finish, Sir Hugh drew his sword. His blade glinted in the sunlight as he swung it around, stopping it just inches short of the High Counsel's neck.

Shock registered in Father Renard's eyes and he reared back in his saddle, struggling to maintain his balance. He finally regained his seat, staring at Sir Hugh, his eyes wide. Then he glanced down at the gleaming blade and the color drained from his face.

“What are you doing?” he sputtered. “This was not our agreement!”

Sir Hugh flicked his wrist and his sword nicked the flesh on the Father's neck. A small rivulet of blood trickled down, running beneath the collar of his tunic.

“I'm altering the terms! I care not what you want or who you think you are,” Sir Hugh snarled. “Do you understand me? Swear fealty to me
now
or I will strike you down this instant!”

The High Counsel's eyes rolled and darted. He looked at Celia, then me, but he had nowhere to go. The confident, even arrogant man who had confronted us on the beach was gone. The mad knight who held the sword to his neck was more than his match. He had made a terrible miscalculation and now had no way out.

“Sir Hugh! Please, there is no need for violence . . . I was only . . . ,” the High Counsel sputtered.

“I disagree!” Sir Hugh shouted. “I feel a very great need for violence ! So, priest, what will it be? Swear to me!” He moved his sword again, and the High Counsel squeaked as the point cut deeper into his flesh.

Father Renard waved his arms, and behind him a group of his men broke ranks and started toward the parley. One of the High Counsel's men spurred his horse and lowered his lance as if to charge. “Brothers!” Sir Hugh shouted, and as he did, three Templars mounted several yards behind him spun their steeds and rode to intercept the charging knight.

“What is going on?” Robard whispered. His right hand held an arrow loosely nocked in the string of his bow, and made to raise it and take aim.

“Hold, Robard,” I said quietly. “We may need to run for the gate. We'll need those arrows then.”

The High Counsel's knight was no match for the superior horsemanship of the Templars. Without even lowering lances, they steered the High Counsel's man away and drove him back toward the lines. No help was coming for Father Renard.

Sir Hugh sat up in his saddle and pushed his sword deeper into Father Renard's neck. If he moved or his horse spooked, the High Counsel would likely die. He breathed heavily, and despite the cold air and wind, sweat rolled from his forehead and down his neck, where it mixed with the blood that now flowed steadily from his wound. Sir Hugh was not wearing his helmet, and his long hair and scraggly beard flew about in the breeze. The effect made him look completely insane. He was a lost soul. Completely mad.

“Now.
Father
Renard.” He spat out the words. “Do you swear to follow my orders? To live and die at my command? In the name of His Holiness?”

Celia and Maryam had spent the last few seconds backing cautiously toward the gate. They were both poised and ready to run at the slightest provocation. I slowly moved my hand to my sword, taking firm hold of the hilt. “Steady now,” I whispered. I feared if we broke and ran, Sir Hugh and his men might ride us down. He was just crazy enough to take on a battlement full of crossbowmen.

Something had changed in him since Tyre. When pressed in battle or confronted by an enemy who was his equal, he was an unrepentant coward. As a bully he knew no peer. But here he had taken on someone who could decide to fight back. He had the advantage in numbers certainly. But he was desperate now. If the High Counsel did not yield, Sir Hugh may attempt to strike us all down, and I realized what a mistake I had made in agreeing to meet outside the walls of Montségur. The next move belonged to Father Renard.

“Yes. Of course. Forgive me.” The High Counsel stumbled over his words.

“What was that?” Sir Hugh said. “I'm afraid I didn't hear you!”

“I said I was mistaken. You are clearly in charge. What is it you wish to do, sire?”

The sword went in again, and the High Counsel winced. His head leaned toward his shoulder as if he could squeeze the sword away. Sir Hugh moved and twisted the point to further torment the man.

“Did I not ask you to
swear
!” he hissed at Father Renard.

“I swear! I swear all my men and loyalty to you, Sir Hugh! In the name of God, without question!” For good measure he made the sign of the cross. I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath, but it came out of my lungs in a rush. I gave a prayer of thanks to God for making Father Renard a coward also.

With blinding speed, Sir Hugh withdrew his sword and smiled his serpent's smile. “Excellent!” he said, returning the sword to its sheath.

“Are you mad, Sir Hugh?” I asked. He had just displayed his insanity quite clearly for everyone to see, but I could think of nothing else to say.