The Jester

Chapter 59

THE DOOR OPENED and the jester Norbert stood there, bent over a bowl, picking his teeth with a hazel twig. His jaw dropped as if he had seen a ghost.

“Gads… Hugh! You’ve come back after all.”

He grinned broadly, then shuffled up to me with that sideways gait of his. “What a joy to see you, lad.”

“And you, Norbert,” I replied, embracing him with my good arm.

“Wounded again? You’re like a human target, son,” he cried. “But come in, I’m glad to see you back. I want to hear it all.”

The jester yanked out a low stool for me to sit on. Then he poured a cup of wine and sat facing me. “I can see in your eyes you’ve not come here with much cheer. So tell me… Did you find her? What is the fate of your Sophie?”

I lowered my eyes from those of my friend.

“You were right, Norbert. It was just a dream to think she had somehow survived. I am sure she is dead.”

He nodded, then leaned across and squeezed me in a fatherly way. “A man’s allowed to dream every once in a while. We little people live on it. I’m sorry for your loss, Hugh.”

Norbert shuddered, letting out a gravelly cough.

“You’re ill?” I asked with concern.

[182] “Just under the weather.” He waved me off. “Too many years of crawling around with the beetles down here.” He cleared his throat again. “Tell me this-how did it go at court with Baldwin? Did you get the job?”

I finally could smile at something. “I did, just as we planned. In fact, I think I was a success.”

“I knew it!” The jester leaped up. “I knew you would be. I taught you well, boy, didn’t I? Tell me. I have to know it all.”

Suddenly the weariness in my body seemed to recede; my face blushed brightly with the memories of entertaining the court. I told him everything. How I had managed my way into the castle, how I had seized upon the moment to go before the court. The jokes I had used… How the duke had sent away poor Palimpost.

“That old fart… I knew the sod was out of tricks.” Norbert hopped around, cackling with delight. “It served him well to be sacked.”

“No,” I protested, “he turned out to be a friend. A true one…” I continued my tale, through my run-in with Norcross, how I’d been set up, and how Palimpost, the very fool I’d shamed, had saved my life.

“So the goon still has some virtue in him. Good. There’s a brotherhood of us, Hugh. I guess you’re part of it now.” He patted my shoulder warmly, then once more doubled over in the throes of a most horrible cough.

“You are sick,” I said, leaning over, supporting him with my arm.

“The physician says it’s just the bad air down here. Tells me I’m a miserable excuse for a man of mirth. But still, Hugh, maybe your return is well timed. Why not stand in for me until I’m well? It’s a plum job.”

I dragged my stool closer. “Stand in for you? … Here in Borée?”

“And why not? You’re in the trade now. A professional. Just try not to do it too well.”

[183] I thought about the offer. I did need a place to be. Where else would I go? What else would I do? I did have friends here. Their trust was strong. And another aspect of the offer appealed to me, undeniably.

I had liked it. The crowds, the applause, the acclamation… This new pretext … I had liked it very much.

“I will stand in for you, Norbert,” I said, holding his shoulder. “But only until you recover.”

“That’s a promise, then.” We shook hands warmly. “I see you are still lugging that big stick around with you. And you still wear the garb. But you have lost your hat.”

“My normal tailor was unable to dress me on such short notice.”

“Not a problem.” Norbert laughed. He shuffled over to his chest and tossed me a felt cap. It jingled. “Bells, I know. But, as they say, beggars can’t be choosy.”

I placed the cap upon my head. I felt a strange sensation, my blood warm with pride.

“You’ll knock ’em dead, lad. That I know for sure.” The jester grinned. “And I know for sure there is another here who will be most pleased to see you back.”

Chapter 60

I WATCHED EMILIE FROM OUTSIDE the sitting room before she had the chance to spy me. She was amid the other ladies-in-waiting attending to their embroidery. Her blond braids spilled out from under a white hood. Her little nose seemed as soft as a bud. I saw what I had known that first day but looked beyond due to the nature of our friendship:

Emilie was beautiful. She was beyond compare.

I winked at her from the doorway, flashed her a smile. Her eyes stretched as wide as wildflowers blooming in July.

Emilie rose, placing her embroidery neatly down on the table, and with perfect politeness excused herself and came toward me. Her pace quickened as she did.

Only in the hall, when she rushed up to me and grasped my hands, did she show her true delight. “Hugh De Luc … It’s true. Someone said they saw you. You have come back to us.”

“I hope I don’t wear out my welcome, my lady. And that you are not displeased.”

She grinned. “I am most pleased. And look at you… Still in your jester’s garb. You look good, Hugh.”

“The same you made for me, just a bit frayed. Norbert has taken ill. I promised I would stand in for him.”

Her eyes, vibrant and green, seemed to illuminate the dark [185] hall. “I have no doubt we will all be the merrier for it. But tell me, Hugh, your quest…? How did it go?”

I bowed my head, not for a moment hiding my disappointment or true feelings.

Emilie led me down the hall, where no guards were posted and we were able to sit on a bench. “Please… I can see you are sorely troubled, but I have to hear.”

“Your plan was excellent. On the subject of my pretext, everything went well. I replaced the fool in Treille, gained access as we had spoken, and was able to snoop around.”

“I did not mean our pretext, Hugh. I meant your quest. Your dear Sophie. What did you find? Tell me.”

“As to my wife.” I swallowed dryly. “I am now sure that she is dead.”

The light in Emilie’s hopeful eyes began to dim. She reached out for my hand. “I am most sorry, Hugh. I can see how it saddens you.” We sat there silently for a while. Then she noticed my arm. “You are injured again.”

“Just a bit. It’s nothing. It’s healing. I found the person who was responsible for Sophie and my son. I ended up having to face him off.”

“Face him off…” A look of concern flashed in her eyes. “And the outcome?”

“The outcome?” I bowed my head again, then raised it with a slight smile. “I am here. He… is not.”

Her face lit up. “And I am glad. And most glad to hear that you will stay a while too.” She folded up my sleeve and studied the sword marks on my arm. “This needs treatment, Hugh.”

“You are always nursing me back to health,” I said. I was surprised at how easily I fell into her care again. Almost without trying. It felt good to be here. A calm spread over my face.

“But there is more I have to tell you, I’m afraid. This man I fought… he was a knight. More than a knight, in fact. He was [186] Baldwin ’s chatelain. It ended up, in our squaring off… I killed him.”

Emilie gazed intently at me. “I have no doubt that what you did was right.”

“It was, Lady Emilie… I swear it. He murdered my wife and son. Yet the man was a noble. And I …”

“Is it not regarded as justice when one takes recompense for the loss of his property?” Emilie cut in. “Or defends the reputation of his wife?”

“For nobles, yes.” I bowed my head again. “But I fear there is no justice in this world that shines on a lowborn man who kills a knight. Even if it is deserved.”

“That may be.” Emilie nodded. “But it will not always be.”

Her eyes met mine. “You are always welcome here, Hugh. I will talk to Lady Anne.”

Instantly I felt as if the heaviest weight had been lifted from my shoulders. How did I deserve such a friend? How in this one pure soul had all the boundaries and laws by which I had lived been set aside? I felt so grateful to have come here.

“There’s no way for me to thank you.” I clasped her hand. Then I realized my mistake, my forwardness, my stupidity.

Her eyes drifted to my hand, but she made no move to take hers back. “The duke’s chatelain, you say…” She smiled, finally. “You may be lowborn, as you say, Hugh De Luc, yet somehow your aim is remarkably high.”

Chapter 61

“YOU ARE THOROUGHLY MISPLACED, child,” Anne scolded Emilie later, in her dressing room, “to stick your nose where you do. For such a pretty one, it always seems to end up where it is most unwelcome.”

Emilie brushed her lady’s long brown hair in front of the looking glass. Anne seemed noticeably out of sorts. In the past, Emilie had always been able to soften her with a few well-placed assurances and affable cheer. Emilie’s freethinking had always been a source of discussion between them and, though her lady hid it, a bond.

But not so now. Not since the word that Anne’s husband was soon back from the Crusade.

“I am no child, madame,” Emilie said back.

“Yet you act like one sometimes. You urge me to look the other way for this fool who admits to killing the chatelain of a duke. Who seeks refuge here.”

“He does not come to hide from justice, my lady, but because he feels among friends who understand what justice is.”

“And what is this friendship worth to you, Emilie? This friendship with a common scut who always finds his way back here when he is injured. Is it worth the loss of our laws and custom?”

[188] “The knight was killed in a fair duel, madame. The man’s beloved wife was abducted by him.”

“What proof is there? Who pledges for this man? The baker? The smith?”

“Who pledges for Baldwin, madame? Armed thugs? His cruelty and greed need no witness.”

Anne met Emilie’s gaze sharply in the mirror. “A lord needs no pledge, child.” There was an awkward silence between them, then Anne seemed to soften. “Look, Emilie, you know that Baldwin is no friend to this court. But do not make me choose between your heart and what we know as the law. A lord manages his own vassals as he sees fit.

“Men have always shown greed,” Anne continued. “They spread your legs and plant their seed, then pick their nose on the pillow and fart. Your common fool will prove no different.” Anne turned and seemed to sense that she had hurt Emilie. She held the brush and clasped Emilie’s hand. “You must know, it would be my joy to shame Baldwin in my husband’s absence. But your price is too high. Don’t ask me to choose between cads, high- or lowborn.”

“Showing justice on this, my lady, is how you will choose.”

Anne’s eyes hardened. “Don’t flaunt your fancy concepts at me, Emilie. You have never had to govern. You are not subject to a man. You are still a guest at our court. Perhaps it is time we sent you back?”

“Back …” Emilie was startled. Fear shot through her. Anne had never threatened her before.

“This is an education, Emilie, not your life. Your life is written. You cannot change it, no matter how strong your passions.”

“My heart is not the issue, madame. He is just. I assure you.”

“You do not know just,” Anne snapped. “You know only a dream. You are blind, child… and stubborn. So far you have not found a husband here, despite the best efforts of some of our bravest knights.”

[189] “They are trumped-up oxen, and smell like them too. Their exploits mean nothing to me. Less than nothing!”

“And yet this lowbred pup does. What makes you think you can expect more from him? You must stop this dalliance. Now.”

Emilie stepped back, knowing she had taken it too far. She had offended Anne. Gradually Anne seemed to soften. She reached for Emilie’s hand. “Yet,” she went on, “you’ve never lacked the courage to stand up to me.”

“Because I have always trusted you, my lady. Because you have always taught me to do what’s right.”

“You trust too much, I fear.” Anne got up.

“I have given him my promise, madame.” Emilie bowed her head. “Keep him here. I will not go further in the heart. If I did not press this to you, you would not be the wiser. Please, let him stay.”

Anne gazed at Emilie, searching her eyes. She reached a tender hand to Emilie’s face. “What has life done to you, my poor child, to have so hardened you against your own kind?”

“I am not hardened,” Emilie replied, kneeling and placing her head upon Anne’s arm. “I only see that there is a world beyond.”

“Get up.” Anne raised her gently. “Your fool can stay. At least until Baldwin inquires of him. I hope, in Norbert’s absence, that we will find him a boon.”

“He has learned well, my lady,” Emilie promised, cheered.

“It is what he learns from you that troubles me. This other world you speak of, it may seem real. It may stir your curiosity. And your heart. But hear me, Emilie… It will never be your home.”

A tremor ran through Emilie. She rubbed her cheek against her mistress’s hand. “I know, my lady.”

Chapter 62

THE NEXT MORNING, I made my debut in front of the lady Anne’s court.

I had only seen the great hall at Borée from behind Norbert’s back on my first visit, studying his skills, watching him perform. Now, with its buttressed arches rising thirty feet tall and jammed to its hilt with colorfully dressed knights and courtiers, the hall looked more enormous and imposing than I could ever have imagined.

My heart was pounding. Not only for the gigantic room and the simple fact that Treille was like a village compared to this; or for my new liege and the favor that must be won. But also because of whom I was replacing. Norbert was a jester of the highest rank. To fill in for him here, in front of the court, was an honor that touched me deeply.

The arrival of the court did nothing to abate my nerves. A blast of trumpets announced the lady Anne with her long silk train and a line of ladies, Emilie among them, bringing cushions and refreshments, attending her needs.

Pages in green-and-gold overtunics announced the business of the day. Advisers flitted around, vying for Anne’s ear. Scores of knights did not languish in their casual tunics as in Treille, but sat at formal tables finely dressed in her colors of green and gold.

[191] That day there was a minor dispute before the court, a bailiff and a poor miller arguing over the levy of his fief. As was the custom in towns everywhere, the bailiff felt the miller was holding out on him. I had seen this a hundred times in my village. And it was always the bailiff who won.

Anne listened distractedly but soon seemed to grow weary. In her husband’s absence, she was forced to rule on such tiresome matters, and this was as mundane as business got.

Anne’s gaze began to wander.

“This bickering is the stuff of comedy,” she said. “Jester, this is your domain. What say you? Come out and rule.”

I stepped out from the crowd behind her chair. She seemed to regard me unexpectedly, as if surprised at the new face in the suit. “You say it is my rule, my lady?” I bowed.

“Unless you are as dull as they are,” she replied. Mild laughter trickled through the room.

“I will not be,” I said, calling to mind all the times I saw my friends cheated, “but I must answer with my own riddle. What is the boldest thing in all the world?”

“It is your stage, fool. Tell us, what is the boldest thing?”

“A bailiff’s shirt, my lady. For it clasps a thief by the throat most every day.”

A hush spread over the court, replacing the amused buzz. All eyes looked to the bailiff for his response.

Anne fixed on me. “Norbert informed me he was taking a leave. But he didn’t inform me he was leaving his duties to such a rash wit. Come forward. I know you, do I not?”

I knelt in front of her and doffed my cap. “I am Hugh, good lady. We met once before. On the road to Treille.”

“Monsieur Rouge,” she exclaimed, her expression indicating she knew exactly to whom she spoke. “You seem a little better patched together than when I saw you last. And you have found a trade. When last seen you had donned your armor and ridden off on some quest.”

“My armor was only this.” I motioned toward my checkered [192] tunic. “And my sword, this staff. I hope I was not too greatly missed.”

“You are hard to miss, monsieur,” Anne said with a pinched smile, “since you do not go away.”

Many of the ladies began to giggle. I bowed ceremoniously at her demonstration of wit.

“Norbert said I would find you to be a fitting replacement. And there is another at court who defends you well. And look how you perform… Here, before our court, with your first step, and already soiled your boots. You take the miller’s side on this?”

“I side with justice, lady.” I could feel the heat rising in the room.

“Justice … What would a fool know of justice? This is a matter of what is law and right.”

I bowed respectfully. “You are the law here, my lady. And the judge of what is right. Was it not Augustine who said, ‘Remove justice, and what are kingdoms but gangs of criminals on a large scale.’ ”

“You know about kingdoms as well, I see… in your full and varied life.”

I motioned to the bailiff. “Actually, it is criminals I know. The rest was just a guess.”

Some laughter snaked around the court. Even Anne consented to smile. “A jester who quotes Augustine? What sort of fool are you?”

“A fool who does not know Latin, madame, is just a greater fool.” Again, a trickle of applause, some nods. And another smile from Anne.

“I was raised by goliards, Your Grace. I know a lot of useless things.” I sprang onto my hands, balanced myself in a handstand, then slowly released onto one arm. From upside down, I added, “And some useful enough, I hope.”

Anne gave a nod of approval. “Useful enough.” She applauded. “So much so, bailiff, that I am forced to side with [193] the fool here. If not by right, then surely by wit. Please forgive me. I am sure next time the scale will tilt to you.”

The bailiff shot me an angry glance, then backed off and bowed. “I accept, my lady.”

I pushed off and landed on my feet.

“So, boar-slayer.” Anne turned back to me. “Your friends are right. Norbert has taught you well. You are welcome here.”

“Thank you, madame. I won’t disappoint.”

I felt expanded. I had performed in front of my hardest audience so far and succeeded. For the first time in a long while, I felt out of harm’s way. I shot a wink at Emilie. My body tingled with pride as she smiled back.

“… At least until my husband returns,” Anne added sharply. “And I must warn you, his views of custom are quite different from my own. He is known to be much less charmed by a fool’s knowledge of Latin than I.”

Chapter 63

THE FOLLOWING DAYS, I worked freely at the court, entertaining Lady Anne, reciting tales and chansons from my goliard days, providing mock counsel when she called on me and needed a laugh.

My trouble at Treille grew distant in my mind. I even found myself craving my new role and the power that came with it. The power of the lady’s ear.

A few times, I was able to poke fun at a situation and gently twist her into a certain mind, always in favor of the aggrieved party. I felt she listened to me, sought my views, however couched in jest they were, amid the clutter of her advisers. I felt I was doing some good.

And Emilie seemed pleased. I caught her approving eye amid the other ladies-in-waiting, though I did not see her alone after that first day.

One day, at the end of court, Anne summoned me. “Do you ride, jester?”

“I do,” I answered.

“Then I will set a mount. I want your presence on an outing. Be ready at dawn.”

An outing … with the duchess …

This was an unusual honor, even Norbert said. All night I tossed on my straw mat. What would she want with me? Amid [195] his fits of phlegm and coughing, Norbert chided me, “Don’t get too cozy in my hat. I will shortly be back.”

The following dawn, I was ready at the stables, expecting a coterie of fancily dressed courtiers.

But it was clear from the start that this was not some idle jaunt in the country. Anne was dressed in a riding cloak, accompanied by two other knights I recognized, her political adviser, Bernard Devas, and the captain of her guard, a blond-haired knight named Gilles. With her also was the Moor who had propped me up with a harness when they found me in the woods, and who never seemed to leave her side. The party was guarded by a detachment of a dozen additional soldiers.

I had no idea where we were headed.

The gates opened and we rode out from Borée at first light. A sliver of orange sky peeked over the hills to the east. Immediately we took the road south.

I rode behind the formation of nobles, just ahead of the rear guard. Anne was a steady rider, trotting capably atop her white palfrey. Occasionally she exchanged a few terse words with her advisers, but mostly we rode in silence, at a quick pace. We did not rest until we hit a stream, an hour south.

I was a little nervous. We were heading straight for Treille- Baldwin ’s territory. I was not guarded or watched, but a flicker of concern tremored through me:

Why had Anne asked me on this journey? What if I was being returned to Treille?

At a fork in the road, the party cut southwest. We were on roads I had never been on before, occasionally passing hilltops clustered with tiny villages. By midday we had entered a vast forest, with trees so dense and tall they almost blocked out the sun. Gilles led the expedition. At one point he announced, “Our domain ends here, my lady. We are now in the duchy of Treille.”

Yet still we rode on. My blood quickened. I wasn’t sure what was going on. I had an urge to run. But where? I would not get fifty yards if they wanted me caught.

[196] Anne trotted up ahead. I had to trust this woman. I dared not show my fear. Yet every time I had placed my trust in a noble, I had ended up far the worse. Could they be betraying me now?

Finally, I kicked my steed and caught up to Anne. I rode alongside her for a while, nervous, until she could see the question on my face.

“You want to know why I asked you along?”

Yes, I nodded.

She did not answer me but trotted on.

To the sides, I could now make out farms and dwellings. There was a sign scratched onto a tree: St. Cécile.

Our party slowed to a walk.

Finally, Anne motioned for me.

I rode up, fearing that any minute, Baldwin ’s soldiers might come out of the woods to murder me.

“Here is your answer, fool,” she said with a taut face. “If we encounter what I am told we will in this village, I think on the way back we will all be in great need of mirth.”

Chapter 64

I RELAXED, but only for an instant. The first thing that hit me was the smell. The stench of putrefaction… the rot of death.

Then ahead, wisps of white smoke rose above the trees. The leaves themselves were singed with the stomach-turning char of roasted flesh.

My mind brought me back instantly… Civetot.

Anne rode ahead, seemingly unfazed by the repugnant stench. I felt no danger to myself now, only that this was something awful we were nearing.

The road widened. A clearing. Then a stone bridge. We were at the outskirts of a town. But there was no town. Only what had once been huts and other dwellings, their thatched roofs caved in from fire, the smoke from cinders still rising in the air.

And people sitting around numbly, blank expressions on their sooty faces, as if mimicking the still silence of the dead.

We rode into the village. Every single dwelling seemed to have been burned to the ground. Most had tall stakes driven into the ground in front of them. On them, spitted, were charred mounds, unrecognizable. The strange mix of smells turned my stomach-burned hair, flesh, blood. The stakes looked like pagan warnings, gutted animals to ward off demons from the homes that were no more.

[198] “What are they?” Anne inquired as she trotted by.

Gilles, the captain of the guard, sucked in a breath. “They are children, my lady.”

The color drained from her face and Anne pulled her mount to a stop. She leaned over and stared at the mounds, and for a moment I thought she would teeter. But then Anne righted herself. Her face became composed again. She called out firmly to the townspeople, “What has happened here?”

No one answered. The people just stared. I actually feared someone might have taken out all of their tongues.

The captain called, “Lady Anne of Borée speaks to you. What has happened here?”

At that, the fiercest howl rang out from behind. All heads turned to see a large man clothed in a tattered hide, hurtling toward us with an ax.

When he was no more than a few feet away, a soldier took out his legs with a lance and the assailant crashed to the earth. Two other soldiers pounced on him immediately, one putting a sword to the neck of the fallen man and looking up at Anne for the word.

A woman screamed and ran to him, but was held back. The man did not turn to her, just glared at Anne with grief-filled eyes.

“He has lost his son,” a voice called out, “his home…” It came from a gaunt, white-haired man in blackened and tattered clothes.

The soldier was about to kill the large man, but Anne shook her head. “Let him be.”

The man was yanked to his feet. Anne’s guards pushed him forcefully to his grateful wife, where he stayed, breathing heavily, without thanks.

“What has happened here? Tell me,” Anne said to the white-haired man.

“They came in the night. Faceless cowards with black crosses. They hid under their masks. They said it was to purify the town for God. That we had stolen from Him.”

[199] “Stolen? Stolen what?” Anne asked.

“Something sacred, a treasure. Something that they could not find. They tore every child from its mother. Put them on spits in front of our eyes. Set them aflame… Their cries still ring in our ears.”

I looked around. This was the work of Baldwin, I knew it. The same savage cruelty that had taken my wife, tossed my son into the flames. Yet this carnage seemed even greater than Baldwin could be responsible for. Norcross was dead, but this hell continued.

“And what did they find, these killers?” Anne asked.

The man replied, ashen faced. “I do not know. They torched us and left. I am the mayor of this town. The mayor of nothing, now. Maybe you should ask Arnaud. Yes, ask Arnaud.”

Anne dismounted. She walked directly up to the mayor and looked in his eyes. “Who is this Arnaud?”

The mayor snorted a disdainful blast of air. Without replying, he began to walk. Anne set off behind, accompanied by her guards, who ran ahead of her to clear the way.

We wound through the devastated town. The stables, leveled, smoking, reeking of mutilated horses; a mill, more ash than stone. A wooden church, slashed with blood, the only structure left standing.

At a low stone hut the mayor stopped. The entrance was smeared with blood-not randomly, but in large red crosses. A butcher-house smell came from inside.

Holding our breath, we stepped in. Anne gasped.

The place was ravaged. What scant furniture there was had been split like firewood, the ground beneath it ripped up. Two bodies hung by the arms, a man and a woman, their torsos flayed of flesh. Beneath their dangling legs lay their severed heads.

My body recoiled in horror. I could not breathe. I had seen these horrible things before. Heads severed and roasted, bodies stripped of skin. I had seen them, but I didn’t want to remember. [200] My mind hurtled backward regardless: Nico, Robert … the bloodbath of Antioch. I turned away.

“Go ahead, ask Arnaud.” The mayor smirked. “Maybe he will answer your questions, duchess.”

We stood in horror.

“Arnaud was born here and always called it his home. He was the bravest man any of us knew, a knight at the court of Toulouse. Yet they carved him up like a pig. They cut out his wife’s womb, looking for some treasure. ‘Stolen from God,’ they said. He had just returned from fighting abroad.”

“From fighting where?” Gilles, the captain, asked.

I knew. I had seen such horror before. I knew, but I could not answer.

“The Crusade,” the mayor spat.

Chapter 65

I WALKED FROM THE HUT and tried to clear the repulsive sights from my mind. I had seen it all before. Men and women hung and flayed, body parts scattered as if the murders meant nothing at all.

Civetot. Antioch. The Crusade …

These riders in the dead of night who wore no colors and would not show their faces. The towns burned, savagery. Were these acts Baldwin ’s? Norcross was dead. Could his men still be running free, terrorizing villages? What precious treasure did they seek?

Put it together, I told myself. What does the puzzle signify? Why can’t I solve it?

The Crusade… Suddenly it resonated everywhere. Arnaud had just returned from there. Adhémar too, whose horrible death I had heard of at Baldwin ’s court. Their villages were ransacked and destroyed-just like my inn.

Dread shot down my spine. These faceless riders who killed with the savagery of Turks… Were they the same ones who murdered my wife and child?

Cold, clammy sweat clung to my back. It all began to fit.

The killers wore no crest or markings, only a black cross.

No one knew where they came from or what they sought. [202] Then I remembered something. Matthew had said it was as if it were my home, our inn only, that the bastards were interested in.

What did they want with me?

During the long ride back, I kept to myself. I racked my brain. What did I have that could connect me with these killings? I had tucked a few worthless baubles into my pouch. The old scabbard with the writing I’d found in the mountains? The cross I had pilfered from the church in Antioch? It didn’t make sense!

I watched Anne riding just ahead. Her face was tight and somber, as if she wrestled with some inner turmoil. Something wasn’t right.

Why had we come out here? What had she needed to see?

Then a chill ran through me. Anne’s husband, the duke, was returning any day. From the Crusade…

Anne knew.

Anne knew these atrocities were going on.

My stomach went cold. All along, I was sure it was Norcross who had done these things to me, as punishment for going on the Crusade. Was it possible it was Anne? Could it be that the answers I sought were not at Treille, but at Borée?

I should not stay there any longer, I thought. There was a danger that I could not place.

“Fool, ride up here,” Anne called. “Lift my spirits. Tell me a joke or two.”

“I cannot,” I replied. I pretended that the horrible sight had made me too sick. It wasn’t far from the truth.

“I understand.” Anne nodded.

No, you do not, I said to myself.

We rode the rest of the way back in silence.

Chapter 66

THE NEXT FEW DAYS, I kept my eye on Anne, trying to determine what connection she might have to the murdered knights. And the killing of Sophie and Phillipe.

Her husband was returning in a matter of days, and all of Borée was in a state of anxiousness and preparation. Flags were hung from the ramparts; merchants put out their best wares; the chatelain led his troops in their welcoming formations. Whom could I trust?

I waited for Emilie on Sunday morning as she emerged from the chapel with the other ladies-in-waiting. I caught her eye and lingered until the others were gone.

“My lady.” I took her aside. “I have no right to ask. I shouldn’t ask. But I need your help.”

“Here.” She motioned, leading me to a prayer bench in a side chapel. She sat next to me and lowered the hood of her shawl. “What’s wrong, Hugh?”

This was very hard. I sought the right words to begin. “Be certain, I would never speak to you of this unless it was of the highest need. I know you serve your mistress with all your heart.”

She wrinkled her face. “Please do not hesitate with me. Haven’t I proven my trust for you enough?”

“You have. Many times,” I said.

[204] I took a breath and recounted the horror of my trip to St. Cécile. I told it in detail: the charred mounds, the eviscerated knight, the most graphic images sticking in my throat like memories that did not want to come out.

I told her of Adhémar, whose similar fate I had heard of at Baldwin ’s court. Both knights were slaughtered, their villages razed. Both had recently returned from the Crusade. Just as I had.

“Why do you tell this to me?” she finally asked.

“You have not heard of such deeds? At court? Around the castle?”

“No. They are vile. Why should I?”

“Knights who disappear and return? Or talk of sacred relics from the Holy Land? Things more valuable than a simple fool like me would know.”

“You are my only relic from the Holy Land.” She smiled, trying to shift the mood.

I could see her trying to put the puzzle together. Why these horrible murders? Why now?

She took a wary breath. “I did not know of any such violence. Only that word has spread that Stephen has sent an advance guard to conduct his affairs before he returns.”

My blood lit. “This guard-they are here? At the castle?”

“I overheard the chatelain speaking of them with some contempt. He has served the duke loyally for years, yet these men are charged with some horrid mission. He feels they are ill-trained for knights.”

“Ill-trained?”

“‘Beyond honor,’ he said. Owing no allegiance. He says it is fitting that they sleep with the pigs, since they have the hearts of them. Why do you ask me this, Hugh?” Emilie looked into my eyes. I could see fear and I felt awful for causing it.

“These men are hunting for something, Emilie. I do not know what. But your mistress… she is not innocent in this [205] herself. These might be Stephen’s men, but Anne knows what they do.”

“I cannot believe that.” Emilie shot upright. “You say this is a matter more important than any in the world to you. I hear it in your voice. These things you describe… they are most vile, and if they are Stephen’s work or Anne’s, they will have to answer to God for what has been done. But why is this so urgent for you? Why do you put yourself at risk?”

“It is not for Anne or Stephen,” I said, swallowing. “It is for my wife and child. I am sure, Emilie, their killers are these same men.”

I leaned back, trying to let the pieces fit together in my mind. This guard, doing the duke’s bidding. They had come from the Crusade. As had Adhémar. And Arnaud. And I.

“I must confront her,” Emilie said. “If Anne is behind such acts, I cannot serve here any longer.”

“You must not say a word! These men are vicious. They kill without a thought to God’s judgment.”

“It is too late.” Emilie stared at me glassily. Her look was not anxious but perplexed. “The truth is, when you were away, Hugh, I may have seen something too.”

Chapter 67

ANNE FLINCHED in the maze of hedges under the balcony as she heard footsteps creeping up on her. A stealthy presence, most foul, like a shift in the wind. She turned and he was there.

His frame was large, his face ruined with scars from battle. But it was not these things that made her shiver. It was his eyes. Their remoteness-rigid, dark pools. His face was buried deep in his dark hood. On the hood, a small black cross.

“Not in church, knight?” She scowled, her words stabbing with irony.

“Do not worry for me.” His cold voice crept out from the drawn hood. “I make peace with God in my own way.”

He came before her as a supplicant, yet he was possessed of the harshest cruelty. The tunic of a knight, but a disgraced one, dressed in rags. Still, she was forced to deal with him.

“I do worry for you, Morgaine,” Anne said scornfully, “for I think you will burn in Hell. Your methods are evil. They pervert the goal you aim to achieve.”

“I may burn, lady, but I will light the way for others to rest next to God. Perhaps even you …”

“Do not flatter yourself that you are God’s agent.” Anne sneered. “You make my skin crawl that you do my husband’s work.”

[207] He bowed, unoffended. “You need not bother with my work, madame. Just know that it goes well.”

“I saw how well it goes, knight. I was there.”

“There, madame?” The knight’s eyes narrowed.

“St. Cécile… I saw what you did. Such cruelty even beasts from Hell would find shame in. I saw how you left that town.”

“It was left a better place than when we arrived. Closer to God.”

“Closer to God?” She stepped up to him, looked into his depthless eyes. “The knight, Arnaud. I saw him flayed apart.”

“He would not bend, my lady.”

“And the children… they would not bend as well? Tell me, Morgaine. For what precious prize did these innocents roast like cattle?”

“Just this,” the hooded knight said plainly.

He reached under his cloak. His hand emerged with a small wooden cross in it the size of his palm. He placed it gently in Anne’s hand.

Though she wanted to spit on it and hurl it far into the bushes, Anne’s breath froze.

“It has journeyed far, my lady, this simple trinket. From Rome to Byzantium. A thousand years. And now you hold it here. For three hundred of them it slept in a coffin, the coffin of Saint Paul himself, word of our Lord. Until it was unearthed by Emperor Constantius. This cross has changed the tide of history.” A smile crept across his face. “That’s why your prayers for me are not needed, good lady.”

Anne’s hands trembled holding the relic. Her mouth went dry. “My husband will no doubt be honored,” she said. “Yet you know this is just the appetizer to what he hungers for. How does the real quest go?”

“We are working.” The dark knight nodded.

“You’d better work faster, knight. All the rest is just decoration. Even this piece is a bauble compared to the real prize. He [208] is in Nîmes, only days away. If Stephen finds you have failed him, it will be your head we’ll be looking at on a stake.”

“Then I will be smiling, lady, knowing that I will have everlasting life.”

“The smile will be mine, Morgaine, most assuredly.” Anne wrapped herself in her cloak and turned back to the castle. “Thinking of you rotting in Hell.”

Chapter 68

I FOUND NO TRACE of the unholy soldiers I was seeking, or anyone who knew of mysterious knights in dark robes. Nor was I able to gain access to the barracks. Time was growing short. Stephen was due back at the castle in days. Once he returned, it would be too dangerous to press my case.

Two days later, Emilie took me aside as I was playing jack-straws with Anne’s son, William. She saw my demeanor was glum.

“Do not be so sad, jester,” she said with a smile. “I have a job for you. And a new pretext.”

There was to be a celebration that evening in the chatelain’s hall, she explained. A bachelor party. Gilles, the captain of the guard, was to be married in the next few days. There would be knights, soldiers, members of the guard. Lots of speeches and drink. Their guard would be down, so to speak.

“I have arranged for you to be the entertainment,” Emilie announced.

“You seem to have a skill at this sort of thing, my lady. Once again I owe you thanks.”

“Thank me by finding what you seek,” she said, and touched my hand. “And, Hugh, be careful. Please.”

That night there was lots of wine and awful singing. Gilles’s buddies stood and made bold and mocking speeches until they [210] slurred their words and fell back onto their benches. I was to be the last act before they dragged Gilles down to a brothel in town.

I had to make them laugh, and yet my eyes kept searching for the rogue knights. I did sleight-of-hand tricks to warm them up, simple stuff Norbert had shown me, pulling objects out of tunics to their drunken awe.

Then it was on to the jokes. “I know this man,” I announced, sliding to a stop on the tabletop in front of the groom to be, “whose cock was permanently engorged.”

“You flatter me.” Gilles pretended to blush. “But, joker, must you betray my secret to all?”

“Try as he could,” I went on, “he could not get the damn thing to go down. Finally he sought out his local apothecary. There, he encountered a stunning young woman. ‘I’d like to speak to your father,’ the man with the problem said.

“ ‘My father is dead,’ she answered. ‘I run this apothecary with my sister. Anything you can tell a man, you can tell us.’ ‘All right,’ he agreed. In dire need, he pulled down his leggings. ‘Look, I have a permanent erection. Like a fucking horse. What can you give me for it?’

“ ‘Hmmm,’ ” the lady apothecary replied. ‘Let me go and confer with my sister.’ After a minute she returned with a small pouch and said, ‘How is one hundred gold coins and half the business?’ ”

The room roared with laughter. “Tell us more…”

I had begun another-the one about the priest and the talking crow-when from outside the walls, a terrible shout pierced the celebration. There was the clop of horses drawn to a stop. Then once again a man’s scream. “Please, God help me. I am being killed!”

The drunken laughter ceased. Several of the party rushed to a window overlooking the courtyard. I followed close behind. Through the narrow opening I saw two men dragging a third by the arms across the courtyard.

[211] I recognized them instantly! They wore slitted helmets and carried war swords strapped to their belts. It was just as Emilie had described. They wore no armor but robes. On their feet were worn sandals.

The prisoner hollered defiantly, his shouts for help echoing off the stone walls.

Then I caught a look at his face. My own twisted in horror.

It was the mayor of St. Cécile-who had stood up to Anne only a few days before.

They dragged the poor mayor toward the keep. “Who are these men?” I asked one of the soldiers at my side.

“These dogs? The duke’s new business partners. Les Retournés …”

“Retournés …?” I muttered.

My eyes followed the soldiers and the poor mayor until they dragged him through a heavy wooden door and into the keep. The dying shouts of the prisoner faded in the night.

“Not our worry.” Bertrand, the chatelain, sighed. He stepped back from the window. “Come, Gilles, beauties await in town. How ’bout we get that blade of yours wiped one last time?”

Meanwhile, my heart was beating at a gallop. I had to talk to the mayor of St. Cécile. He might know why knights were being murdered and villages burned. And these awful killers… Les Retournés … I thought that I had seen them before.

But where?

Chapter 69

THE FOLLOWING NIGHT I waited until long after dark. Norbert lay snoring on his bed. I crept off my mat and tucked a knife under my leggings.

I sneaked out of Norbert’s chamber, hurrying up the back stairs behind the kitchen to the main floor. I had to traverse the entire castle from the large rooms of the court to the military end. And talk my way past anyone who would stop me. Well, I was the jester after all.

The halls were dark and drafty; shadows danced on the walls from waning candle flames. I hurried past the huge doors of the great hall. A few knights still lounged at tables there, drinking, conversing, while others, too far gone, snored curled up on their cloaks. Occasionally there was a guard. But no one stopped me. I was their lady’s fool.

The castle was a squared-off U shape, with a loggia of stone arches around the courtyard. Across from it were the duke’s garrison, the officers’ quarters, the barracks, and the keep. I successfully wound my way around the entire main floor. As I passed outside, I saw the tower above me where the mysterious knights had dragged their prisoner, lit up by the moon. I hurried that way, then slipped inside.

I was in the tower, all right, but I didn’t know where to go or [213] who might try to stop me. My stomach churned; the breath clung tight in my chest.

A draft followed me up the stairs. At each floor, the odor grew more foul. The smell of death I knew all too well.

On the third landing, two guards slouched around an open archway. One was tall and lazy looking, the other short and squat with mean eyes. Not exactly the duke’s crack troops, I thought, just keeping an eye on a few cursed souls in the middle of the night.

“Are you lost, strawberry?” the mean-looking one growled at me.

“Never been up here before,” I said. “Mind if I take a quick peek?”

“Tour’s over.” He stood up. “Go back the way you came.”

I went up to him, my eyes wide. As if yanking something out of his ear, from my closed fist I produced a long silk scarf. “Come on… even a damned soul could use a last laugh.”

To my delight, the oaf reached out and felt the scarf. Then he took it, my bribe for him. He looked down the hall and, finding the coast clear, stuffed it into his uniform. “One look,” he said. “There’s nothin’ in there anyway but the pox. Then juggle your ass back where you belong.”

“Thank you, sire,” I clucked. “A lifetime of stiff manhood to you.”

I darted through the archway behind him and up the stairs. A row of narrow stone cells stretched out before me. The putrid stench made me hold my breath. I hoped the man I was seeking was in here.

I hoped the mayor of St. Cécile was still alive.

Chapter 70

I CREPT INSIDE the hellhole. The prison was dank and humid. A flickering torch spat its dim light on a row of narrow cells. They were barely four feet high, enclosed by rusted iron bars, tight as coffins. Prisoners curled on the floor like dogs.

Driven by the awful smell and my worry that the guards would come, I hurried down the row of cells, searching for the man I had seen dragged in the night before. I prayed he was still here.

In the first cell, a man with a long dark beard, naked, barely more than a skeleton, lay on his back amid his own waste. In the next, a large dark-skinned man-swarthy as a Turk-curled under a tattered white robe. Neither raised an eye. The cells reeked. A rat licked the inside of a bowl right in front of me.

The third cell contained the person I was seeking: the mayor of St. Cécile. The poor man lay crumpled in a ball, with blotches of blood and bruises on his face and arms. To my alarm, I could not tell if he was alive or dead.

“Sir…” I crept close. I had to know. What did these dark knights want? What had they razed his entire village to find? What treasure was worth so many lives?

I crept up close to his cell. “Please…” I whispered again, almost begging. Would he recognize me? Would he speak or call out?

[215] Suddenly a whimpering moan from the next cell caught my attention. I stepped over and saw a pathetic creature-a woman, her skin as white as a ghost, her hair dry as rotted hemp, muttering under her breath like a deranged witch. Her skin was spotted with oozing sores.

I cringed. What a sight! What heresy had she done to be left to rot away like this?

I turned back to the mayor. Time was short. “Do you remember me, sir? I saw you in St. Cécile,” I whispered.

But the witch’s muttering grew louder. I shushed her to stop. Then a jolt froze my body.

The words she moaned-at first softly, almost inaudibly into her bony hands. Then louder. My God! I could not believe what I was hearing:

“A maiden met a wandering man in the light of the moon’s pure cheer.”

Chapter 71

MY HEART SLAMMED against my ribs. This could not be! Could not, could not.

I ran to her cell and pressed against the bars, straining to distinguish her features amid the shadows.

Nothing could ever have prepared me for what I saw… Not the sight of Nico plunging from my grasp. Or poor Robert gazing at his own body as it was hacked in two. Not even the Turk looming over me, his blade raised in the air.

I was staring at my wife.

“Sophie…?” I whispered, the word catching in my throat.

She did not move or speak.

“Sophie!” I called, feeling my heart start to crumble. Part of me prayed she would not turn.

Then she tilted her face toward me.

“Sophie, is that you?”

She lay huddled in shadow and I still could not tell for certain if it was her. The scant light from a nearby torch traced her bony face. Her hair, which once had smelled like honey, hung wildly from her head, pulled out in spots, and white. Her sunken eyes, glazed and distant, were runny with yellow pus. Yet the nose… the soft line of her chin as it met her delicate neck… they were the same, unmistakably, though she cowered before me as a fevered wretch, pocked with sores.

[217] It was her! I was sure of it.

“Sophie?” I cried, my hands reaching desperately through the bars.

She finally turned toward the sound, sallow light spreading across her face. I simply could not believe what I was seeing! How could she be here? How could she be alive after all this time?

Grateful tears welled in my eyes. I reached for her, her emaciated bones covered with a filthy rag. I tried to speak, but I was too overcome. It was Sophie. She was not dead. At last I knew that much for sure.

“Sophie… look … It’s me, Hugh.”

Slowly she lifted her face fully into the light. She was like an artist’s disfigured re-creation of the beautiful image I held in my mind: gaunt, ghostly, covered in sores. Her eyes flickered at the sound of my voice. I could see that she was sick, that she barely clung to this rotting existence. I wasn’t sure she knew who I was.

“We have to give it back to them,” she finally said. “Please, I beg you. Give them back what’s theirs.”

“Sophie,” I was shouting now, “look. I am here… Hugh!” What had they done to her? Anger surged through me. I could see her suffering and I felt it too. “You are alive. Sweet God, you’re alive. …” Tears streamed down my face.

“Hugh…?” She blinked. Then she almost seemed to smile. “Hugh’ll be back. He’s in the East, fighting… But I’ll see him again, my baby. He promised.”

“No, I am here, Sophie.” My fingers grasped at air, trying to reach her face. “Please. Come close. Let me hold you.” Oh God, let me hold you, Sophie.

“He’ll be sad about the inn,” she continued to mutter. “But he’ll forgive me; you’ll see. You’ll see.”

“I’m going to get you out of here. I know about Phillipe, about the inn.” I was bursting with heartache. “Please, come here. Let me hold you.”

[218] Sophie pulled herself toward the sound of my voice. Her cheeks were slick with fever, her eyes glassy. I could see she was terribly sick. I just wanted to hold her. God, I wanted to hold her.

She blinked like a frightened doe, hugging the wall. “Hugh…?” she whispered.

“Sophie, it’s me… It’s me, darling.” I whispered the words to our song: “A maiden once met a traveling man …”

“You must give it back now,” she muttered again. “They say it is theirs. I tried to tell them, Hugh will return. He’ll find me. They said they’ll give Phillipe back to us, our little son. All we have to do is give them what is theirs.”

I finally knelt and wrapped my hands around her, my dear wife. I touched her face, brushed the sweat off her hollow cheeks. She was so precious to me, even more so in this misery.

“They want what belongs to God,” she said, and her body rattled with a cough. “Please. Give it to them.”

“Give them what?” I cried. What did she think I had? I did not know if it was the fever or a deeper madness talking. Or even if Sophie still recognized she was talking to me.

Suddenly she jerked out of my grasp and scampered back into shadow. It broke my heart. Her eyes bolted past me, wide with fear.

I felt as if everything I loved had slipped through my fingers one last time.

Then I saw what had driven her away. My heart nearly came to a stop.

One of the duke’s rogue knights was standing over me.

Chapter 72

I RECOGNIZED HIM as one of the thugs who had dragged the mayor into the keep the previous night.

His head was covered by a dark hood, and the eyes peering out were as dark as sunken caves. He wore his sword belted over a threadbare robe and stood, hands on hips, grinning down on the two of us.

“Go ahead, have a poke.” He shrugged. “The whore won’t mind, fool. Anyway, she’ll be dead in a week. Just be careful you don’t get the pox all over your dick.”

I stared at his mocking face, and the greatest rage I had ever known tightened inside me, a boiling, uncontrollable force.

I reached for an iron poker lying next to me on the floor. In my mind, this grinning lizard represented every cruelty that had been heaped on my wife and child, all the suffering and loss I had witnessed since I first went away. My world had been hurled upside down.

With a cry, I rushed at him, a wild exhalation escaping from my lungs. I swung the poker at his head before he could draw his sword. The startled knight threw up an arm to defend himself, and the rod smacked against it with a sickening crack.

He yelped and staggered back in pain, one arm hanging at his side. I did not stop. I battered him again and again, like [220] some mad beast, every sinew of my body concentrated on driving this piece of metal into his skull.

I shoved him against the bars of the cell. I drove my knee into his groin and felt him groan and buckle. I jammed the poker into his neck.

“Why?” I barked into his face. The soldier gagged, his eyes bulging, darting around. “Why is she here?”

A garbled cry emerged from his throat, but in my rage I was not waiting for his answer. I pushed the rod deeper into his neck. A force rose inside me that I could not stop. I wanted to kill this man.

“Who are you?” I screamed in his face. “Where have you come from? Why did you bring her here? Why did you kill my son?”

My thumbs pressed under his hood as I dug the poker into his throat, squeezing the breath out of him. Bit by bit, the hood fell away from his neck.

My eyes were pinned to the frightful mark I saw there.

The black Byzantine cross.

It shot me back a thousand miles. Suddenly I was in the Holy Land, revisiting the horrors I had seen there.

These bastards were Tafurs.

Chapter 73

I STAGGERED BACK in shock. Our eyes met, and it was as if some terrible knowledge had been passed between us.

The Tafur took my surprise as an opening and dug his hands into my face. I pressed the poker into his neck even harder. Then I heard bone crack in his neck. His eyes bulged, a final, desperate resistance. A trickle of blood seeped from his mouth. A moment later, his legs began to give way. When at last I let go, the Tafur crumpled to the filthy prison floor.

I stood over him, breathing furiously. My mind hurtled back again. Tafurs … I saw them ravaging their captives in their filthy tents. I saw them butchering the Turk who had spared me, then darting like beetles to the crypt, scavenging for spoils. What were they doing here in Borée? What did they want with me? With Sophie?

Suddenly I heard shouts and commotion. The prisoners were clanging the bars in their cells.

Now, with what little time we had left, I had to get Sophie out of here. I rummaged over the Tafur’s body, frantically searching for a key.

I ran my eyes about the keep. Keys must be here somewhere.

I turned toward Sophie, eager to let her know that I would help her escape.

[222] But the sight of her left me rigid as stone.

She was slumped against the bars, her face icy white. Her eyes, a moment ago mad with terror, seemed calm and far-off. I did not see her breathe.

Oh, God, no …!

I crawled to her, cupped her face in my hands. “Sophie, stay with me. You can’t die. Not now.”

She blinked, barely more than a tremor. A glimmer of life appeared in her eyes.

“Hugh…?” she whispered.

“Yes, Sophie… It’s me.” I brushed the sweat off her face. Her skin was cold.

“I knew you would come back,” she said, finally seeming to know who I was.

“I’m so sorry, Sophie. I’m going to get you out of here. I promise.”

“We had a son,” she said, and started to cry.

“I know. I know it all.” I wiped her cheek. “He was a beautiful boy. Phillipe.”

I looked around, desperately searching for something to help her. “The guards will be here,” I said. “I’m going to find a way out. Hold on. Please, Sophie.”

Please!

I held her hands in mine through the bars. I whispered, “I’ll take you home. I’ll pick sunflowers for you. I’ll sing you a song.”

Her mouth twitched, and she took a long time to breathe again. But when she did, I also saw her smile-a faint one, unafraid. “I’ve never forgotten, Hugh.” The words fell off her lips one at a time, so softly I could almost kiss them there: “A maiden met a wandering man…”

“Yes,” I said. “And I’ve been true to you ever since we were children.”

“I love you, Hugh,” Sophie whispered.

Suddenly she lurched in my arms. I felt her heart starting to beat out of control. Her eyes bolted wide.

[223] I didn’t know what to do to help her. She shook terribly up and down. All I could do was hold her tight. “I love you, Sophie. I’ve never loved anyone else. I knew I would find you again. I’m so sorry I left you alone.”

Her hand gripped me by the tunic. “Hugh… then don’t…”

“Don’t what, Sophie?”

A final sigh escaped her lips. “Don’t give them what they want.”

Chapter 74

AND THEN MY SWEET SOPHIE DIED in the prison cell.

She passed with a calm, far-off quiet in her eyes. Her mouth hung in the slightest smile, perhaps because I had finally come back, as I had promised.

Tears ran down my cheeks. I wanted to scream, Why did Sophie have to die? Why her?

I grabbed the Tafur by the collar of his robe and hurled his dead body against the bars. “Why, you bastard? Tell me, what did she mean? Why did you kill my son? Why are innocent people dying?”

Then I sank down with my head in my hands.

I wanted to take Sophie home. That’s all I could think of, to bury her with her son. I owed her that. But how? The dead Tafur was slumped before me. Any moment, the guards would come. I couldn’t even open her cell.

The truth hit me: Sophie was gone. There was nothing I could do for her now. Except maybe one thing-“Don’t give them what they want.” Whatever that could be.

I ran and found a ragged cloth, and came back and laid a corner of it under Sophie’s head. I covered her body with the rest, as if she were in our bed at home, though I knew nothing could disturb her now. I took one last, loving look at Sophie, the person who had been my everything since [225] we were ten. I’ll come back for you, I promised. I’ll take you home.

Then I staggered down the stone stairs and past the indifferent guards. I ran back toward my room through the castle’s maze of darkened halls.

My body shook with incomprehension. What had she been doing here? It wasn’t a dream-my wife was dead. Rotted like some diseased dog. Here in Borée … The shock tore at my brain. I shouldn’t have left her. Part of me wanted to go back. To pick her up, take her home. But there was nothing I could do.

Then a new thought crawled through the haze in my brain… something I had to do. I had to right this wrong. I finally knew who was behind it. The blame wasn’t at Treille, but here. Anne!

In a rage, I raced back toward the royal living quarters. No alarm had been sounded. Guards smirked at me along the way, a laughable fool who had perhaps tipped the jug too many times, staggering home to sleep it off.

Yet all the while, one thought reigned in my mind: Anne knew.

I bounded up the stairs toward her living quarters. Two guards stood watch on the landing. They looked at each other. What harm could I do? I was the lady’s fool. They let me pass. Just as they always had before.

Down the hall were the lord and lady’s living quarters. A new guard stepped into my way. A Tafur. “Whoa, fool, you are not permitted,” he barked.

I didn’t stop to reason. I spotted a gleaming halberd hanging on the wall over a coat of arms. I grabbed the ax from its anchor and ran at the startled guard, taking him by surprise.

I swung with all my might, the blade catching him at the base of his neck. He let out a garbled groan, his side nearly splitting away from his body like a side of beef. He toppled to the floor, dead.

Now I had killed one of Anne’s own guards.

One of her Tafurs.

Chapter 75

SHOUTS RANG OUT from behind me, deep male voices echoing in alarm.

I stormed ahead like some madman. Where was she? Anne! I had one single-minded desire: to hear the truth from her lips, even if I had to die for it.

Two guards from the stairs ran my way, their swords raised. I forced myself through a set of heavy doors and bolted them shut behind me. I ran deeper into the royal chambers. I had never been in here before.

I knew I would die here. At any moment I expected a blade to tear into my back, to see my own blood spilling out onto the floor. No matter. All that was important to me was to ask my lady, Why?

I stormed deeper into her quarters. The bedroom. An engraved wooden table with a washbasin, tapestries hung on the walls. A vast, draped oak bed, larger than I had ever seen.

But empty. No one was there.

“Goddamn you,” I shouted in frustration. “Why my family? Why us? Someone tell me!”

I stood there not knowing what to do next. I saw myself in my fool’s costume, blood spattered on my face. Why, why, why?

Suddenly a door opened beside me. I held my knife, expecting to face Anne, or one of her Tafur guards.

[227] But it was neither.

For a moment, I felt as if I were back on the road to Treille, blinking out of the haze, and all the things that had happened since-Norcross, St. Cécile, Sophie’s death-were just figments of a dream, terrors that could be washed away with a soft word.

I stared at Emilie’s face.

She gasped, her eyes fastened on my blood-spattered clothes. “My God, what has happened to you?”

Chapter 76

“SOPHIE’S DEAD,” I whispered.

She stared at me, transfixed. Then she moved forward to support me. “What has happened? Tell me.”

“The duke’s men have had her all along, Emilie. Sophie has been here… Not in Treille, with my enemies, but here, in the tower, among my friends.”

“This cannot be.”

“It can, Emilie. It is the truth.” I leaned myself back against the wall. “There are no more games to play. No more pretexts. It ends now.”

Shouts and pounding sounded at the door I had bolted. What a wretched sight I must have made. My clothes torn, slick with blood, the look of madness in my eyes.

“Anne,” I muttered. “I told you… She is behind it all. I have to find out why she allowed these men to destroy my family. Stephen’s guard …” I chortled, almost a laugh. “These are not knights, Emilie. They are scavengers, from the Holy Land. The lowest form of butcher. Even the Turks ran in fear of them. They hunt for relics, spoils. That is why the two knights were murdered. But my family… We had nothing.”

The commotion outside the door grew louder. Anne’s men were trying to smash it in. Emilie gripped my arm. “It doesn’t [229] matter now. Anne is not in the castle. She has gone to meet her husband at La Thanay. Come with me.”

“It is too late. The time for kindness is finished. There is nothing left for me now but to face her men.”

She put her face inches from my own. I could feel Emilie’s breath on my cheek. “Whatever you’ve done, if Anne is behind this, I will do everything to see justice is given you. But you must come. I can’t help you if you’re dead.”

Emilie hurried me out of the room, down a narrow corridor in the royal quarters. She pushed me into a small chamber and quickly barred the door. I could see she was afraid, and it touched me deeply.

Emilie searched through a drawer and found a heavy brown cloak, which upon closer inspection proved to be the robe of a monk. “Here… I thought at some point you might need it to gain access to the tower. Put it on.”

I stared at it, confused, amazed that Emilie did this for me.

“Go now. They will search every room. Send me word. Through Norbert. You have friends here; you must believe that.”

A moment later, I was no longer a jester but a monk, the hood pulled over my head.

“Your new pretext.” Emilie smiled bravely.

I took a deep breath. “I fear this one will be a greater trick than before.”

“Then let me add to it,” Emilie said. She pulled me close by the collar and, to my surprise, pressed a quick, hard kiss upon my lips.

My blood came to a halt. The softness of her lips, the boldness of her touch. I felt my knees lock, the breath massed inside my chest. In truth, I didn’t know what to feel at that moment. My head spun.

She looked into my eyes. “I know your pain is deep. I know every part of you cries out to revenge your wife and child. But, [230] common or noble, there is a specialness within you. I saw it the first time I looked into your eyes. And I have never seen it waver since. We will find a way to right these wrongs. Now go.”

There was a small window above her bed. Below, it was only a short jump to the courtyard. From there, the gardens…

I hoisted myself up and pushed through a leg. I looked out and saw the darkened shadows of roofs in the distance. I looked back into Emilie’s face. “By what luck, lady, have I earned you as a friend?”

“By leaving, right now. This instant.”

I smiled and lifted myself through the narrow window. I turned. “I hope, in all the world, to see you again.”

There was a pounding at her door. I waved at Emilie, then dropped from the window.

“You will, Hugh De Luc,” I heard her say from above. “If you hope that… you will.”

Chapter 77

THE AFTERNOON SUN BATHED the field. Anne stood outside her tent near La Thanay.

At her sides, two formations of Borée’s infantry bearing the duke’s crest stood in even rows. Banners of green and gold flapped in the breeze.

A shiver of dread went through Anne. She had brooded over this moment for weeks now: her husband’s return. There were times when she had actually prayed he would be lost in the war.

She had been married to him since she was sixteen, almost half her life. She had been betrothed as a sign of alliance between her family’s duchy, Normandy, and Stephen’s father. But if this union had fostered trust and commerce between the two duchies, it had created only isolation for her.

Once she bore him his son, Stephen forgot her, coming only when he tired of his whores from town. When she resisted, she felt the stab of his powerful fingers on her neck or the scrape of the back of his hand.

Though she kept up the appearances of court and family that were her duty, she felt only contempt for Stephen, trapped as she was in the prison women were confined to-even duchesses and queens. She felt old, so much older than her years. The time when he was away had almost freed her. But now, knowing he was near, she felt the fears return.

[232] Up ahead, a formation of about twenty knights appeared over a knoll, traveling slowly, their war-worn helmets barely glinting in the sun.

“Look, my lady.” Bertrand Morais, the duke’s chatelain, pointed. “There they are. The duke returns.”

A cheer rose from the men.

So he is back. Anne sighed, pretending to smile. Fattened, she was sure, on the meat of greed and glory he had feasted on in the Crusade.

Anne nodded, and the trumpeters broke into the flourish announcing the arrival of the duke. A rider broke away from the pack and galloped toward them. Anne felt her stomach stiffen in disgust.

“God’s grace to Stephen,” the chatelain shouted, “duke of Borée. He has returned.”

Chapter 78

THE SOLDIERS STOOD at stiff attention, swords and lances raised in salute. The duke galloped into their midst. He raised his arm to salute them, then grinned triumphantly at Bertrand and Marcel Gamier, his seneschal, the steward of his estate.

Almost as an afterthought, he turned to Anne.

Stephen then jumped off his mount. His hair had grown long and wild since she had seen him last, like a Goth’s. His cheeks were hard edged and gaunt. Yet he still carried that narrow glint in his eyes. As was his duty, he came up to her. It had been almost two years.

“Welcome, my husband.” Anne stepped forward. “To God’s grace that He has brought you safely home.”

“To God’s grace,” Stephen said with a smile, “that you have shined like such a beacon as to guide me back.”

He kissed her on both cheeks, but the embrace was empty and without warmth. “I have missed you, Anne,” he said, in the way a man might exult in seeing the health of his favorite steed.

“I have counted the days as well,” she replied coldly.

“Welcome, my lord.” Stephen’s advisers rushed forth.

“Bertrand, Marcel.” He held out his arms. “I trust the reason you have come all this way to greet me is not that we have misplaced our beautiful city.”

[234] “I assure you your beautiful city still stands.” The chatelain grinned. “Stronger than ever.”

“And the treasury even more filled than when you left,” promised the seneschal.

“All this later.” Stephen waved a hand. “We’ve been riding nonstop since we docked. My ass feels like it’s been kicked all the way from Toulon. Tend to my men. We are all as hungry as beggars. And I…” He mooned his eyes at Anne. “… I must attend to my lovely wife.”

“Come, husband,” Anne said, trying to seem teasing before his men. “I will try and kick it toward Paris, so as to even it out.”

All around them laughed. Anne led him to their large tent draped in green and gold silk. Once inside, Stephen’s loving look disappeared. “You perform well, my wife.”

“It was no performance. I am glad for your return. For your son’s sake. And if it has brought you back a gentler man.”

“War rarely has that effect,” Stephen answered. He sat on a stool and removed his cloak. “Come here. Help with these boots. I will show you just what a petting pup I’ve become.”

His hair fell over his tunic, greasy and grayed. His face was sharp and filthy from the road. He smelled like a boar.

“You look like the wars have left you no worse for wear,” Anne remarked.

“And you, Anne,” Stephen said, reaching out to pull her down to him, “you look like a dream from which I am not yet willing to awaken.”

“Then awaken now.” She pulled herself away. It was her duty to tend to him. Remove his boots, rinse out the damp cloth around his neck. But there was no way in hell she would let him touch her. “I have not sat alone for two years to be mounted by a pig.”

“So hand me the bowl and I will wash, then.” Stephen grinned. “I will make myself fresh as a doe.”

“I did not mean your stench,” she said.

[235] Stephen still smiled at her. He slowly removed his gloves.

A servant stepped in, carrying a bowl of fruit. He placed it on the bench and then, feeling the stiffness in the air, hurried out.

“I have seen your new interests,” Anne said derisively. “The dark troops you have sent from the Holy Land. Your noble men of the black cross who kill and slaughter women and children like curs, innocents and nobles alike. Your governing has reached a new low, Stephen.”

He got up, slowly sauntered over to her. Her skin felt like an insect was crawling up her back. He walked around her as if he were inspecting a steed. She did not look at him.

Then Anne felt his hands caress her neck, icy and loveless. She felt his lips close to her.

“I may be your wife,” she said, turning away, “and for that, Stephen, I will tend to your health and welfare, for the sake of my son. I will stand for you, as is my duty, in our court. But know, husband, you will not touch me, ever again. Not in my weakest moment or in your most urgent need. Your hands shall never soil me again.”

Stephen grinned and nodded, as if impressed. He stroked her cheek and she pulled away, trembling. “How long, lovely Anne, have you been working on that little speech?”

Before she even knew it was happening, he tightened his caressing grip on the nape of her neck. Pain flashed through her. Slowly, he increased the pressure, all the while fondly smiling at her.

The air shot out of her lungs. She tried to cry out, but to no avail. No one would come. Her cries would be misunderstood as pleasure. Her pulse echoed like a drum in her ears.

Stephen pushed her down to the ground. He followed, all the while pinning his thumb and forefinger into her neck and forcing her thighs apart with just the power of his legs.

He tried to kiss her, but Anne twisted her head in the other direction, leaving his vile slobber all over her neck.

[236] Then he pressed himself against her rump. She felt him erect and hideous, the detestable hardness she had grown to loathe. “Come,” he whispered, “my bold, headstrong Anne… After all this time, would you deny me what I want?”

She tried to pull herself away, but his grip was too strong. He slithered up the length of her spine and yanked her underdress down, about to force himself in.

Anne swallowed back an urge to vomit. No, this cannot be happening. Her heart beat in panic. I swore, not again …

But just as quickly, he pulled off of her, grunting back a laugh, leaving her trembling. He pushed his wet mouth close to her face.

“Do not misunderstand me, wife,” he hissed in her ear. “I did not mean I desire your cunt… I meant the relic.”