We rushed to the city walls as fast as our legs would carry us. I climbed the ramparts and watched the party approach, my heart racing. From the north, six riders at full gallop. Knights, carrying a banner, but not in the purple and gold of the royal flag.
But with a cross upon it. Knights pledged to the Church.
They escorted a rider in the center of their group, in the dark robes of a cleric.
We drew open the outer gates, and the party rode into the courtyard. A crowd gathered in the square. All of us — Odo, Georges, the Morrisaey men. Many grinned optimistically.
“Is this good or bad?” Alphonse asked.
“I think it’s good,” Father Leo said. “The King wouldn’t send a priest to rebuke us. You’ll see.”
The gaunt, clear-eyed priest slowly dismounted. He wasted no time and faced the crowd. “I am Father Julian, emissary to his eminence Bishop Barthelme. I bear an urgent decree.”
“I am Hugh,” I said. I bowed and made the sign of the cross to show respect.
“My message is for all to hear,” the priest said, passing his eyes right over me. He removed a folded document from his robe and held it aloft.
“‘Occupiers of Treille,’” the cleric began in a loud, clear voice. “‘Farmers, woodsmen, tradesmen, bondmen and free, all followers of the man known as Hugh De Luc . . . a deserter from the Army of the Cross, which still valiantly fights to free the Holy Land . . .’”
A flash of worry chilled my blood. The crowd grew still.
“‘His eminence the Bishop Barthelme Abreau rebukes you for your false rebellion and urges you, this day, the seventeenth of October, 1098, to disband at once, to renounce all claims and territory seized from Duke Baldwin of Treille, and to return to your villages at once or face the full consequence of your actions: immediate and total excommunication from the Church of Rome and the separation from Grace, forever, for your eternal souls.’”
The priest paused to observe the look of shock that was on every face, including mine.
“‘His eminence insists,’” he continued, “‘that you repudiate all teachings and promises of the heretic, Hugh De Luc; deny the legitimacy of and confiscate any relics or symbols claimed to be of holy origin in his possession; and discredit all claims made that present him as an agent of our Lord Jesus Christ.’”
“No.” People shook their heads. “This cannot be. . . .” They looked about, at one another, at me, with alarm.
The young priest shouted over them, “In the hopes that you will adhere to this decree immediately and that your souls may be made available to once again receive the Holy Sacrament, a two-day period of enforcement is declared, citing me as the final overseer. This edict is signed His Eminence, Barthelme Abreau, bishop of Borée, representative of the Holy See.”
Borée! I thought. Stephen had done this!
A frightened hush hung over the crowd.
“This is madness.” Father Leo spoke. “These people are not heretics. They only fought for food in their mouths.”
“Then I suggest they chew quickly,” the young priest said, “and return to their farms before their souls remain hungry forever. And you as well, country priest.” He tacked the edict on the church wall.
“This is Stephen’s blackmail,” I shouted to all around. “It is the lance he wants.”
“Then give it to him,” someone yelled, “if it buys back our immortal souls.”
“I’m sorry, Hugh. I came for a fight.” Another shook his head. “But I’m not prepared to be damned for eternity.”
All around, our army looked terrified and overwhelmed. Some climbed down from the walls and meandered slowly toward the city gates.
“That’s right.” The priest nodded. “The Church welcomes you, but only if you act now. Go back to your farms and wives.”
How could I fight against this poisonous assault? These brave men thought they were doing something good when they followed me. Something that God would shine on.
I watched as a steady stream of friends and fighters passed dejectedly by me and toward the city gates. A tightening anger burrowed deep into my chest.
We had just lost the war.
Chapter 123
THAT NIGHT, ODO FOUND ME HUDDLED by myself in the chapel.
I was actually praying. Praying about what to do. If there was indeed a God, I did not believe He would let a bunch of scheming, well-fed pawns like Father Julian, who didn’t give a thought to whether my men lived or died, crush their resolve.
“I know we’re deep in shit,” Odo said with a snort, “if we’ve got you praying.”
“How many of our men are still left?” I asked.
“Half, maybe less. By tomorrow, who knows? Perhaps not even enough to hold the city. We still have some good ones. Georges, Alphonse, the Morrisaey boys . . . even Father Leo. Most of those who’ve been with us from the start.”
I gave him a weak smile. “Still trusting me?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. Let’s just say, if they’re making their bet with God, they trust the holy lance more than they trust that slimy church mouse.”
I pulled the lance from the bench next to me and cradled it in my palms.
“So . . . ?” Odo said. “That thing providing any answers? What is next?”
“What is next,” I replied, “is that it’s me Stephen wants, or at least this . . . not your souls. This edict is a challenge: ‘Come face me if you have the will.’ I’ve no choice but to go.”
“Go?” Odo laughed. “You’re going to march on Borée with what we’ve got left?”
“No, my friend.” I shook my head. “I’m going to march on Borée alone.”
It seemed to take Odo a second to decide whether to object or roll his eyes. “You’re going to Borée? Just you and that spear?”
“You see what he’s telling me, Odo? He has burned villages to get this lance. He killed my wife and child. He has Emilie now. What else can I do?”
“We can wait. Keep Baldwin under guard until word comes. The King will surely stop this lunacy.”
“This is the King’s word.” I shook my head. “The King is noble. He will side with Baldwin and Stephen without even hearing our claims. These men are pledged to him. They raise armies to fight his wars. We . . . what do we raise, hens?”
“Even a king can be swayed by a good omelet.” The big smith chuckled. Then he looked at me plainly. “I am with you, Hugh, until the end.”
I grabbed his wrist. “No more, Odo. You’ve been a loyal friend, all of you. You’ve trusted me more than any fool could ever ask for.” I shot him a smile. “But now I have to face this. This thing . . . it has brought me mostly pain. But some things — seeing the town stand up, feeling the pride as we marched on Treille, Baldwin’s face — they’ve been a joy.”
“You’ve become quite a bad philosopher since you put on that skirt,” Odo commented.
“Maybe . . . but I go alone.”
Odo didn’t answer, just took a deep breath and smiled. Then he looked around. “So this is what it’s like on the inside of a church. The seats are hard and there’s nothing to eat. I don’t see the attraction.”
“That makes two of us.” I grinned in reply. We sat a moment, draped in silence.
“So where would we be,” I asked, “if I hadn’t wandered off that day on the Crusade? If I had never left, and Sophie and Phillipe were still alive. And Father Leo was preaching dull sermons. And you still put in an honest day’s work.”
Odo checked the window for the angle of the sun. “I figure, hoisting an ale. Listening to your stupid jokes.”
I stood up, patted him on the back. “Then let’s do that, friend. I’m sure there’s a cellar here. And I still know a few you haven’t heard.”
Chapter 124
AT DAWN THE NEXT MORNING, I pulled on my tattered jester’s tunic, said good-bye to my old friends who had been with me from the start, put the sacred lance under my arm, and left.
Georges, Odo, Father Leo, and Alphon
se met me by the city gates. I urged them not to buckle, but to remain and hold the city. That what we had done was right and would one day be honored.
But what I had to do now was right too. And I had to face it, alone, whatever the cost.
As I prepared to mount my horse, I gave Georges and Odo heartfelt hugs. “God bless you both,” I said. I thanked them for following me, for believing. For taking the chance. In their strong, silent embraces and held-back tears, I felt the grip of a sadness that we might never see one another again.
Then I mounted the horse and, glancing back with a wink and a smile, headed down the hill. I vowed not to look back again.
At the base of the hill, with the gates closed and Treille rising behind me, I broke the promise to myself. I stared back at the tall, foreboding walls, the high, unscalable towers. The town that could not be taken. I couldn’t help but utter a laugh. A spark of pride warmed my blood. Serfs and bondmen had seized their liege’s castle without even fighting a battle. Baldwin’s apoplectic face rose up in my mind — and for that single moment, it had all been worth it.
But now Baldwin was behind me. One final challenge lay ahead. It was with the person who had burned our village, who had killed my wife and child. Who now held the one I loved. I knew this battle was no longer simply about rights and freedom. It had narrowed to something deeper, personal.
I turned my back on Treille a final time and kicked my mount upon its way.
My mind was set on Borée.
Chapter 125
STEPHEN’S BOOT HEELS SOUNDED LOUDLY as he pushed into a small, squalid room near the rear of the barracks. Hunched silently in a dark corner, its occupant turned, a man who was filthy and covered with sores.
“Come, Morgaine.” Stephen threw the door wide open. “Your moment is here again. I need to make use of your talents. You are still a knight, are you not?”
The dishonored knight slowly lifted his muscular frame off the floor. Tattered, soiled cloth still hid the spot where the lance had pierced his side, and the tiny cubicle reeked of putrefaction.
“I am here to serve you, my liege.”
“Good,” Stephen said. “You must air this place out. Your hygiene is odious anyway, Morgaine, but these days a latrine would smell less foul.”
“It is unavoidable, my liege. The stench keeps the memory of my wound awake in my mind, and the lowly bastard who gave it to me.”
“I’m glad your memory is fresh,” Stephen said. “For if God grants, you will have a second chance for vengeance.”
The Tafur’s eyes lit up. “Each breath I force myself to take is in hope of such a moment. How?”
“Events, larger than you can contemplate, bring the fool back to me.”
“The fool! He comes to Borée? You know this?”
“Do you think I would soil these boots in this pit of infection for any other reason? Now, get up. I will have the physician mask that stench.”
The Tafur pulled his war tunic off the floor, still torn and bloodstained at the spot where the jester’s lance had ripped through. He moistened his lips the way a famished man would awaiting, impatiently, a fresh roast.
“The thought of vengeance has made you alive again, warrior.” Stephen grinned. His instincts had been good. He’d been right to save this drooling beast and not lop off his head when he crawled back without the lance.
“I will gut him,” the Tafur said, grinding his teeth, “and let my sores drip in his wound so that he may die knowing the contagion that he inflicted on me.”
“That’s the spirit.” Stephen slapped him on the shoulder, then looked at his own hand with distaste. He leaned close to the wounded warrior, as if they were drinking mates, then dug the hilt of his own sword sharply into Morgaine’s side. He gasped.
“This time make sure you come away with the lance.” Stephen sniffed.
“But first, there is other work to be done,” Stephen said, returning to his earlier tone. “In your absence, all sorts of scum have come to Borée. That is why I need you. Whom else am I to trust?”
“Just tell me what you need done.”
“Good.” Stephen’s look brightened. “That’s what I hoped to hear. You seem like a man who could use some entertainment, Morgaine. How about we order some up? Let us call upon the jester, Norbert. You know Norbert, don’t you, Morgaine? Why don’t we see if we can prod him to make us laugh?”
Morgaine nodded, and Stephen knew he understood perfectly. It wouldn’t matter whose blood was on his blade, as long as it led to the fool.
“And Morgaine . . .” Stephen said as he departed the filthy room. “As long as it’s a party, why don’t we ask along the lady Emilie?”
Chapter 126
I HAD TRAVELED IN THE FOREST FOR TWO DAYS, riding during light until my back ached, then, once it was dark, curling up in the brush, my mind racing as I drifted off to a troubled sleep. I dwelled on many things. The friends I had left behind. Emilie’s safety. What I would do when I got to Borée, still two days’ ride away.
I had just finished a few bites of bread and cheese that morning and was preparing to go on my way when I became aware of the slow advance of a rider approaching from behind.
I ducked behind a tree and took out my knife.
Gradually a single rider clip-clopped into view. A churchman, a friar, perhaps, covered in his burlap hood, riding by himself through dangerous woods.
I relaxed and stepped out from my cover. “You must be either foolishly brave to chance these woods alone, Father,” I called to the advancing shape, “or just as foolishly drunk.”
The churchman stopped. “That’s an unusual warning,” he replied from under his hood, “coming from a man in a patchwork skirt.”
To my shock, the voice was familiar!
He lifted his hood, and I saw it was Father Leo, with a smile the width of his face. “What are you doing here?” I exclaimed.
“I thought a man on a mission like yours might need his soul tended to.” He sighed, struggling to get off his mount. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? I’m delighted to have the company, old friend.”
“I knew it was a risk,” the priest said, brushing dust off his robe. “Truth is, it’s taken me so long to find a true sign from God, I couldn’t bear being separated from the lance.”
I laughed and helped him brush off the road dirt. “You look tired, Father. Drink.”
I handed Father Leo my calfskin and he tilted it back. “We will make quite an army when we get to Borée.” I smiled. “The fool and the priest.”
“Yes,” the priest said and wiped his mouth, “very imposing. I knew we would frighten no one, so I hope you don’t mind that I asked along a friend.”
“A friend . . . ?”
From down the road, the hoofbeats of another rider could be heard, and as he came close, I blinked twice and realized it was Alphonse. The lad trotted up to me dressed for battle. He flashed me his shy, awkward smile.
“You two are crazy,” I said.
“Dressed as you are, marching to attack the castle at Borée alone, and you call us crazy?” muttered Father Leo.
“Well, now we are three fools.” I grinned, my heart warmed.
“No.” Alphonse sniffed and shook his head. “No, we are not.”
“Got anything good to eat?” another voice called from the forest. “Anything sounds good after these squirrels and lizards I’ve been chasing.”
Odo!
I looked at the smith, dressed in his leather armor, carrying his mallet, one of Baldwin’s purple and white cloaks slung around him. “I knew you must be behind this,” I said, attempting to look stern.
“Nah.” Odo grinned. He indicated with his head. “It was him.”
Behind him, the miller thrashed his way out of the woods.
“I told you this was my fight,” I protested, feigning anger.
“You also told us we were free,” Odo shot back. “So I figure this is my choice.”
I faltered. ??
?I put you in charge, Georges. I left you with Baldwin. And four hundred men.”
“So you did, didn’t you?” The miller winked.
From down the road, the heavy rumble of footsteps now rose in my ears. Many people, marching. From around a bend, the first of them came into view. It was Alois, from Morrisaey, and three of his townsmen, carrying their axes and shields.
The column grew. Alois’s four turned into forty. Then forty more. Faces I recognized. From Morrisaey, Moulin Vieux, Sur le Gavre. Some on horses, others on foot. Their faces rugged, silent, proud. A lump caught in my throat. I didn’t speak. They kept coming, line after line, men who still believed in me. Who had nothing left but their souls.
Then, on a pale stallion, bound like a sack of wheat, I saw Baldwin. And his chatelain close behind.
I could not believe what I was seeing!
“They all came? All four hundred?” I asked Alois.
He shook his head. “Four hundred and four.” He grinned. “If the Freemasons came along.”
Odo said to me, “We figured, if our souls are fucked anyway, what do we have to lose?”
My heart almost exploded with pride. I stood there watching the column grow and grow. Feeling the common heart of these men. Some called out to say hello, “Hey, General, good to see you again.” Others simply nodded, many I did not know by name. When the end of the column came in sight, it was trailed by four scruffy men hurrying to keep up, hoisting a white banner with an eye painted on it — the sign of the Freemason society.
I mouthed “Thank you” to Odo and Georges, the words sticking in my throat. I wanted to tell them how proud I was of them. Of everyone.
I merely put my hand on the miller’s shoulder.
“Guess we’re going to Borée,” Odo said with a shrug, and I nodded, watching the column as it stretched down the road.
“You better have a real plan if you want to take this place,” he muttered.
Chapter 127
JUST AS IT HAD HAPPENED WEEKS BEFORE when we marched on Treille, at every village we came to, every crossroad, people joined our ranks. Our fame had spread, and it was embarrassing. Certainly it was humbling.