A Templar's Apprentice (21 page)

The Templar stirred and rolled over in his sleep. I was careful not to wake him and slowly began crawling toward the door. Straw was sharp beneath my palms. And as I put forward a knee, it came down hard on something. I barely muffled the cry.

Rooting around, my fingers curled around the hilt of a blade. I knew, even in the dark, that it was my dagger and that the Templar had left it for me. The one I had killed with. It felt different in my palm, heavier than I remembered. I closed my eyes, but opened them just as quickly when the memory followed me there. Overwhelmed, I stood and made my way outside.

The night was lit by a great number of stars. I sat on a rock by the door frame staring down at the dagger in my hand. The jewels in the hilt appeared dark
without the light to shine on them. I thought they were very like me. I didn't feel as if the light shone on me, now that I was a killer. I did as the Templar had told me and said a prayer to the Almighty to help me bear this burden. I didn't feel any better when I had finished.

The Templar awoke shortly thereafter. I heard him moving about while I fed the horses the same oats that we had eaten earlier. When they finished, I watered them with two of the skins poured out into an old tin bucket I found by the side of the hut. I could hear his prayers now, a murmur that passed through the stone wall beside me.

As he finished, I went back inside to get my things. It was too dark to reckon, but I could see his bundles on the table and the staff with the blade inside. I carried them outside. While I waited, I unsheathed the blade from the staff and went through what I remembered of the exercises he had taught me. When he came outside, I resheathed it quickly.

“Keep that from here on out,” he said. “I didn't like that ye had only the one dagger when it came down to a skirmish.”

“Aye?” I said. “For my own?” I could not believe that he would trust me with something so amazing.

“Let us be gone from here. They will not be long away.”

I tossed him a skin of water and the bag of oats. “Imagine them as toasted honey cakes,” I said. “It seems to help.”

He nodded and took them with little enthusiasm.

I fisted a handful of oats and chewed them dry. My imagination didn't work this time, and I could barely get them down. I wondered if I would ever get used to the sparse fare we were living on. My stomach felt like it touched my backbone.

The horses appeared well, even with the short rest we'd given them. They were strong, healthy animals, and I was appreciative of their service. We rode in silence for much of the night hours.

A
s we came in sight of the hills that led to the peak of Montségur, the hair on my arms stood up despite the heat of the day. Up ahead I could see the dark line of the castle, stark against a crimson sky. With the sun going down beyond it, the castle seemed afire.

We made the road to the gates by nightfall, pushing our mounts as far as we might without harm. The castle was perched on the very top of a jut of stone, its walls apparently unchanged by time.

“We will sleep safely here,” the Templar said. “'Tis too far out o' the way for Philippe's men. The Hospitallers would not admit them. Within their walls no speech is allowed. Nor any outsiders. They will welcome us as brothers, but even if Philippe's men came an' insisted, they would not be admitted inside.”

As we drew closer, the rise grew sharp, so we dismounted and walked the remaining distance to the main gate. The castle to me was a wonder. It was larger even than the Archbishop's residence and seemed completely impregnable.

A Hospitaller Brother met us at the gate, wariness in his eyes. The Templar exchanged a series of hand gestures that the Brother accepted, and we were led inside where we were relieved of our horses.

No one spoke as we were led to the main refectory for a meal with the rest of the knights. The head of their Order was in attendance, and so Templar Alexander sat at his side at the main table, while I sat below the dais at a long communal bench with the apprentices. I didn't mind. I was tired, and since no one was about to talk to me, I was able to sit, think, and eat. I was so relieved
to be eating real food that it would not have mattered if I sat in a dung heap in the stables. A trencher of roast pheasant with heaping platters of vegetables filled me as I had not been filled in what felt like forever.

After the meal, we followed the knights and trainees to the main chapel for a silent Vespers prayer. It was good to feel part of a group such as this. They were like us, I thought. Like us…. This was the first time I had accepted readily that I was a part of the Templars. The thought pleased me.

Directly after prayers we were seen to our room. It was a sparse cell — two pallets with a tiny table between them — but it was very high up in the castle, and there was a window, though it had been shuttered to keep out any draft.

“Could we not open it a bit?” I asked. The room had been unused for a while, and it was stuffy from being closed. It had recently been dusted for our use and muskiness hung in the air.

“Aye. I don't see why not. I can just about reach.” He strained upward and opened the window.

The night air was warm. “I bet ye can see forever from here,” I said. “Would it be all right if I looked out?”

“Aye,” he said, helping me drag the small table over beneath the window. “But be careful.”

The view when I gained the table was wondrous. Outside, far below, the land sloped sharply. Rocks and scrub dotted a swath of deep green that stretched for miles. It was beautiful.

I turned back to descibe it for him, but didn't get that far. The carving began to glow at my waist, and I felt myself waver on the table.

Dark figures crouched by the window. A light bag passed hand to hand, then was tied to a waist. Moonlight illuminated a man. The view down from a staggering height made me reel.

The table tilted beneath my feet, and I felt myself falling.

“Tormod!”

The Templar caught me as I toppled to the floor. “Monks,” I said, gasping. “Four escaped with something in a sack. There was fighting beyond.”

“What was in the sack? Can ye describe it?”

“Small, about the size o' two o' my fists. 'Twas important.” I met his eyes. “They were desperate to remove it before this castle fell.”

He was quiet, thinking. “There is a legend that surrounds this place,” he said. “Monks escaped during a siege o' this castle. 'Tis said they went down the wall with something worth dying for.”

I stared out the window, thinking on what I'd seen.

We left after Lauds, greeting the rise of the sun with the Hospitallers in residence. Our horses were refreshed, well fed and watered. We were renewed as well. The head of the Order saw us to the gates and outside the castle. Only then did he speak.

“Your letters o' transport,” he said, handing over a small scroll that the Templar tucked in his sporran. I knew from an earlier conversation that there were trade agreements long in place between the houses of Hospitaller and Templar. It was a form of checks and balances. The Templar had gone off earlier and signed a contract with the house. They provided us with coin and this letter of transport, which was passage for two aboard a Hospitaller ship, docked in the harbor down the coast. They would, in turn, receive payment from our house, the Templars, when next their transactions were due.

“Thank ye, Brother,” said the Templar. “We are forever grateful o' yer hospitality.”

He nodded and went back inside. As we rode away, I asked, “Do they do that for others? Lend money? Make travel arrangements?”

“Aye. The Templars originated the process. When a man goes on pilgrimage, instead o' risking his currency
to brigands, he is able to deposit his gold with the preceptory closest his home. He receives from the preceptory a coded chit that he then can redeem on the opposite shore for his currency, minus the fare for his passage.”

I thought it a brilliant scheme.

When we reached level land, I looked back on the castle, remembering the vision of the monks who had gone out the window and down the steep mountainside. The weight of the carving in my sporran seemed to multiply.

W
e boarded the Hospitaller ship as the sun sank in the golden sky two days later. The ship lay at anchor in the harbor of the village of Perpignan and was set to sail before nightfall for Avignon, still several days away. The Templar went below to rest. Travel had been hard on him. He slept far less than I did, and now, secure for the moment, he gave in to the need.

I, however, could not stand being stuck inside the ship after so long living on the land. The crush of people
belowdecks was intrusive, and my mind was still much occupied with thoughts of those hunting us.

I went up on deck, pleased at the way my body so quickly adjusted to the sway. I wandered, trying to stay out of the way of the men preparing for the ship's departure. It was strange not to have any duties, when the last time I'd sailed I'd had so many.

I watched the crewmen scramble up and down the ridgepole of the main mast like Seamus had done. Though I would never have credited it, I was a bit melancholy about his capture. The thought made me smile — when had I ever mourned the loss of Seamus's company?

But so much had happened. So much had changed. The petty squabbles we had didn't seem to bear much weight now.

I thought of my brother Torquil. The trivial wrongs that we fought over were even less important than the ones with Seamus. If I ever got a chance, I decided that I would make it up to him.

The wind swept the deck and the sails towering above billowed. A group of gulls flew and hovered looking for scraps of refuse that the sailors would occasionally dump over the side. Their cry split the air, and I squinted to see the sailors above as they moved with ease from one handhold to the next, tightening the ropes and checking the lines for frays.

“You, boy. Get above and check the sails from the crow's nest.”

He had mistaken me for one of them, perhaps because I had changed out of my pilgrim garb into my old breeks, tunic, and boots. But I didn't hesitate. I approached the ridgepole and started up. It was not a difficult climb, but the winds were high and the ship was dipping ferociously in the waves. Several times I had to stop and readjust my foot. Without the missing toes, and with the loose boot, I had to compensate by squeezing my muscles and clenching my foot. Slowly I ascended and came in sight of the basket that surrounded the main mast. No wonder the man had sent me. It was small. And it was not nearly as solid and secure as I had anticipated. The platform of wicker, woven to an inner and outer steel frame, had steep sides, but was open in a space about as wide as I was across the chest. There were holes in the base, and more in the sides, so I carefully made my way around the weak bits, seeking the stronger, safer parts.

Far down below, the ocean rolled, glistening beneath the golden rays of the evening sun. Away, off in the distance lay only the vast ocean, and yet, staring back from whence we'd come, I saw the beauty of the mountains. I was entranced by the play of light across their crystal peaks.

Lathered horses pounded across a green field. Blue-and-gold banners snapped in the wind.

I came to with a force that made me reel and my foot slipped through one of the gaps in the wicker. I screamed, teetering back.

I
threw my arms wide and with a shock connected with the upper rib of the basket. Pain shot through me. My shoulder felt ripped from my body. Sweat pooled beneath my fingers. High above the ocean, I hung.

Cries of alarm came from below as a crowd gathered. “Go easy, lad. Hold tight. Help is coming.”

It won't be soon enough.
Fear was so close and tight in my chest I was sure I would faint. I swung my legs to the lower rim. They didn't connect. Desperate, I grabbed the ridgepole between my legs and clung with all my might. The ocean yawned far below. I felt the pull of it, as if I were being dragged downward. My arms and legs were trembling. I cast my mind out and away, seeking help. The wind was blowing mildly. Frantic, I tried to whisper it into shape. Then, suddenly, the carving flared with heat below my waist. With the heat came the wind, and I was able to move my legs
up the mast feeling buffered, lifted by a strong and sudden gale.