My Beloved (21 page)

“H
ow touching, brother.”

Sebastian looked up at the sound of that voice. A quick survey brought him to the source of it. Gregory stood, not at the main gate of Montvichet, but at the ruined wall to the north. Evidently he had scaled the wall just as the final invaders had done, ending the siege.

A moment later, the bridge was swarming with Templar sergeants attired in brown and black mantles. They filled the courtyard, pinning his men against the wall with their swords. They had no choice but to lay down their swords.

It was not alarm Sebastian felt, but a sensation of doomed destiny. That it should be his brother who faced him was not so much ironic as expected. He had been right, then, to think Gregory behind this ploy. A slight nod was his only acknowledgment.

His brother looked well. They were of a similar height and build. Only eighteen months separated them in birth. Age would wear equally on either of them. The last two years had evidently agreed with Gregory, an observation that was met only with a smile on Sebastian's part.

“I was surprised, Sebastian, to discover that you
were headed for this cursed place. I half expected the treasure to be in safekeeping at Langlinais. But you left Montvichet for the Holy Land, didn't you? You'd not enough time to dispose of it otherwise.”

“I had no thought to do so, Gregory. In fact, without your threat it would have remained here forever. It was not mine to take.”

“How righteous you sound, Sebastian.”

“Label me what you will, Gregory. I do not judge a man by his words, but by his actions.” He walked closer to his brother. “Was it your treachery that lay behind the attack on us?” His voice was low enough that it could not be heard by others. Inducement for Gregory's confession? If so, he was disappointed.

“Were you set upon, Sebastian? But you know that the roads are not safe.”

“And made even more dangerous by you, I've no doubt. How did you obtain their cooperation, Gregory? Torture or gold?”

Gregory only smiled.

“Have you the treasure?” There was a look of such supreme satisfaction on his brother's face that Sebastian was tempted to strike him. But that action would be idiotic, especially since they were surrounded by Templars, swords drawn.

“I will surrender it only upon certain conditions.”

“You are hardly in the position to offer conditions, Sebastian,” Gregory said, his tone amused.

“Release the woman and my men, and the treasure is yours.”

Gregory smiled, looking behind him. “It is too late to bargain, Sebastian. The treasure has been found.”

Sebastian turned. The chest that had been tied to his horse's saddle had been sliced free. A sergeant knelt in front of it, his fingers trembling as he raised the lid.

Gregory brushed by him and extracted the goblet. He extended his hand, held it up triumphantly, as proudly as a king would a scepter. The Templars stared in wonder at the sight of the chalice. He lifted it so that the sun's light flowed through the glass. It bathed the stones of Montvichet in a crimson glow.

To Sebastian, it looked too much like blood.

Gregory packed the chalice away reverently, tucked the chest beneath his arm.

“The Holy Grail, Sebastian. A treasure, indeed. If you were less a lover of heretics, you might well be rewarded for such a prize.”

“I will allow you the glory, Gregory,” he said, his attention on Juliana. One of the Templar's swords pressed against her, pinning her to the wall. Yet, she did not look as fearful as she should have. Instead, his wife appeared angry.

“What ruse is this, Sebastian?” Gregory wore a small smile while appraising him, as if just now noticing the strange robe he wore. “I commend you on the originality of your deception. Did you think to slip by us, then?”

“No ruse, Gregory,” he said, his attention reluctantly diverted from Juliana. “The truth, perhaps, unpalatable and raw.”

“A leper?” There was derision in the question. Perhaps even disbelief.

Sebastian walked toward his brother, his own smile firmly anchored. The Templar sergeants fell back and away from him as he did so. Evidently they did not think it a trick. He removed his gloves slowly, watching the expression on Gregory's face alter as he drew closer. Amusement quickly changed to revulsion. Gregory held up a hand, then stepped back.

Sebastian began to pull apart the laces that held
closed the neck of his leper's robe. It gaped open, allowing a view of his chest, and the darkening sores there.

“It is not necessary, Sebastian, I need no further proof.” Gregory's face had turned ashen.

“You are wondering right now, Gregory, if you touched me. If our breath was shared, or if you can contract such a horror simply by being my brother. Shall we test it?” Sebastian took one step forward, but his way was blocked by the sharp edge of Gregory's sword.

He laughed, and the sound of it, bitter and harsh, echoed through the courtyard. “What, no prayers for me, brother? No wishes for my good health? Did you know that it used to be a sign of good fortune to cross a leper's path? Do you think you shall be blessed, Gregory? Or cursed?”

“You are the one cursed, Sebastian.”

“Am I? Do you dream of Cathar children, Gregory?”

“They were heretics.”

“Did you tell yourself that when you watched them burn to death?”

Gregory frowned. “Do you think yourself safe to utter these accusations because you are my brother?”

“I do not see you slicing me through with so many witnesses present.”

“An arrow can come from anywhere, Sebastian.”

“I am dying, Gregory. Kill me or not. It does not matter. I ask only one thing of you, that you spare the woman and my men.”

“If I will not?”

“Then I will beg,” Sebastian said simply.

“Gather them up,” Gregory said to the men in
front of him, his attention never veering from Sebastian.

Two men gripped Juliana's arms, but she wrenched free, only to be restrained again as easily. They dragged her to the gateway. “No!” she screamed. Her feet scrabbled against the stone courtyard as she was pulled forward. Then, impatient with her resistance, two of the Templar brothers lifted her and transported her toward the bridge.

At first Sebastian did not believe what she was saying. Then, the word slammed into his heart with the force of a boulder.

“I am leper!” Her declaration echoed in the sudden lull of the courtyard.

She was dropped to the stone floor.

“No, Juliana!” He stepped forward only to find his way blocked by Gregory's sword pointed at his throat.

“I am leper!” She knelt, displayed her bandaged hands as if in proof. Those men nearest her dropped back, pressed against the wall to avoid her touch.

“I am leper!” she shouted, for the third time. There was no hesitation in her voice, but her lips trembled, her face was pale. Still, there was determination in her eyes. Now, he witnessed the strength always hinted at, the resolve always promised.

She got to her feet, her hands aloft as if her trailing bandages covered sores too horrible to view.

“Prove it,” Gregory said, his sword moving from Sebastian to point in her direction.

“You wish me to unwrap my hands?” She looked stunned.

“Do you need help?” He glanced around the courtyard. “Who will help this woman bare her hands?”

No one came forward. The touch of a leper could kill.

“Jerard,” Sebastian called out, “aid my lady.”

Jerard stepped forward, bowed before her. Juliana looked stricken, as if she could not believe the depth of his betrayal.

“No, Jerard,” she said softly. He did not speak, nor look at her face as he reached for her hands.

She glanced at Sebastian. “Please, Sebastian.” He knew what she wanted. To be with him, to share his anguish. To spend the nights and days together in a blessed hell comprised of joy and terror. He could not watch her die in front of him, and would not give her the burden of his death. Jerard would unwrap her hands and prove she was not diseased and in doing so would save her from the fate she'd impulsively decreed for herself.

He shook his head and at his gesture, she smiled. It was a smile out of time or place, not at all suitable for this moment of danger. It was soft and spreading as if she began to feel great joy.

He should have known what she would do. But he did not.

She stepped forward, brushing by Jerard when he would have restrained her. She ignored the sword that slid across her surcoat as if it was no more substantial than a spiderweb. She did not appear to hear the muttering of others, Gregory's command, even Sebastian's shout to Jerard. She moved among the men trained for war and they parted for her, silenced not by her taint of disease as much as the look in her eyes and the smile she wore.

He had the thought that she was not unlike Magdalene, her abbess, Hildegard of Bingen, women of intelligence and determination. She was possessed of all that and more, or perhaps it was simply the cour
age in her face that silenced the men in the courtyard and held them mute as they watched her.

She reached him at last, her smile delicate and trembling, her eyes filled with softness, as if she wept again but the tears had not yet fallen.

“
Hairetikos
. You told me once it meant to choose. I choose you, Sebastian,” she murmured. She startled him by laying her hand against his cheek. He felt the scratchiness of the linen of her bandages, inhaled the scent of her. No longer roses, but something else. The smell of spring, perhaps.

Then she stood on her tiptoes, reached her bandaged hands around his neck. Shock held him immobile for a moment, then when he would have pushed her away, she drew his head down and pressed her lips against his.

I
forbid you to live with any woman not your own
. The words surged through her with the power of a prayer.

She had not thought herself brave enough. But it had not been courage that had helped her walk across the courtyard to Sebastian, it had been his earlier words to her. Had she indeed been taught to fear?
Juliana, you might lose your eyesight with so little light. Do not touch that plant, Juliana, it will give you a rash that will scar your skin. Do not go near that dog, Juliana. He may bite you
. She recognized, now, that the cautions of the nuns had been because she was the Langlinais Bride, and as such, to be cared for and protected. But she had taken their words and transformed them into her fears, and had trembled at life.

She was no longer afraid. So, she stepped back from him, the taste of his mouth still on her lips and smiled.

“What have you done, Juliana?” His whisper was agonized.

She heard the noise around her, horses being led, the muffled curses as their men-at-arms were led at sword point through the gate. She cared nothing for that, or the prick of pain at her shoulder as she was
shoved away from Sebastian. All she knew was that they would not be separated now.

Gregory's sword bit into her skin, enough that Juliana turned, faced him.

Eyes the shade of Sebastian's frowned at her. “You are either a leper or a foolish woman. Do you care so much about him, then?”

“Do you care so little?” she asked.

“Let her go, Gregory,” Sebastian interjected. “She is no leper.”

“Even if she is not, her actions have now tainted her as well.” Gregory studied her. “You meant it to be so. Why?”

Sebastian moved, standing between her and Gregory. “If you want Langlinais, it is yours, Gregory. Take it. But release her.”

“You would trade your birthright for this woman's freedom?”

“Yes,” Sebastian said shortly.

“Nevertheless, that was not the agreement.” Gregory signaled to a sergeant who came forward. Gregory spoke with him and a moment later, he returned, a document in one hand. He placed it on the ground in front of Sebastian.

“Langlinais is yours, brother. Not that it will do you any good. But we are men of God, Sebastian, our word is worthy of trust.”

Sebastian said nothing to this pronouncement. It was the ultimate irony, especially spoken there, at Montvichet.

“I will burn the bridge, Sebastian. A wise move to imprison lepers. There are those who would kill you if they could.”

“You among them.”

A small smile played on Gregory's lips. “I am no Cain. I've no rancor for you, Sebastian. In fact, I can
feel only pity for your fate. I do not understand, however, why you would wish to bargain the Holy Grail for a demesne. Nor why you would care so much when you are so obviously dying.”

“Langlinais will revert to my wife, Gregory. She will benefit from this trade.” Sebastian's tone seemed to warn Juliana to keep silent.

“So, you've taken a concubine like our father.” Gregory studied Juliana, but he made no further comment.

At the gateway, he turned, glanced one more time at his brother. It looked as if he might say something further, but he turned and walked over the bridge.

Moments later, the smell of burning wood hung like a cloud over Montvichet.

 

The moment the Templars were gone, Sebastian ran to the side of the courtyard, dislodged the timbers lying on the stone floor. A square opening revealed a series of stone steps that descended into darkness.

He lowered himself into the opening, feeling for a handhold. There was none. He held both arms outstretched to feel the wall. The steps were mossy and he knew that there must be an underground spring nearby. That would account for the well behind the refectory.

The descent was difficult. Twice the steps angled down and seemed to disappear. He should have thought to bring an oil lamp or torch with him. By the time he was a third of the way down, he was in full darkness. He cursed himself for his lack of foresight and made his way back to the courtyard. Reversing his steps was less difficult than descending into blackness. He found a torch, trimmed the han
dle, lit it, and returned to the stygian darkness of the tunnel.

At the bottom, Sebastian found what he'd expected. Five years ago, he and Jerard had investigated the valley opening. It had been blocked by large building stones, leading him to believe that it was by this method that the Cathars had been starved in their fortress.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The air here was fetid, the moisture glistened on the stones in front of him. How long would it take to clear a way through the tunnel? Time leered at him from the shadows as the torch flickered.

They had an abundant supply of food bought from the villagers. Gregory's sergeants had not thought to take the supplies not yet loaded on the packhorses. They would be able to survive for a while.

He bent and stuck the torch into a gap of stone between a step and wall, then stripped his leper's robe from his body. He would concentrate on only one task, that of saving Juliana.

 

The descent to the valley floor could have been made in better time. It was not the prisoners that hampered them as much as it was the horses. His brother's high-stepping horse was the most recalcitrant of all, and Gregory had asked the prisoners who among them was responsible for tending to the beast and had been led to the squire. He released the man that he might lead Faeren off the mountain.

The men he held captive were all from his birthplace, a home he'd not seen in eight years. He did not miss it, but he could not help but wonder if these men had known him when he was a boy. Had he
trained with some of them, drunk with them? A strange irony that he was perhaps closer to them than the troops he commanded.

He could kill them all now, or set them free to return home. He chose the latter course. It was one thing to arrange for their ambush by a third party, another to explain killing thirteen unarmed men. What, after all, had they seen? A leper and his woman imprisoned at Montvichet. The Holy Grail being given to the Knights Templar. Nothing that would lead to shame or disgrace.

At their encampment, the Templars mounted their own horses, but still led the men, their hands tied in front of them. All except the squire who led the wild-eyed Faeren.
Only Sebastian would name his horse fear
, Gregory thought.

The chest that cradled the chalice was affixed to his saddle. It would not be far from him until they reached Courcy. He placed his hand over the chest reverently. It was not solely faith that awed him as it was the sense of power he felt at this moment. By such an act, he could rise to become Master of the Order.

They had traveled two hours before he raised his hand in a signal to halt. He rode back to where the prisoners stood, shoulders drooping. He looked past them, to the mountain that sheltered Montvichet. It was far enough.

He sliced their bonds himself.

“You are free to go. Onward, but not back to Montvichet.” Their assembled mutters were seemingly in the assent.

When he reached the squire, he studied him. “Will you go on? Or return to him?”

The man did not answer him, only stared mutely ahead.

“He is doomed, you know.”

There, that comment elicited some response. There was fury in the man's eyes.

“I will return, Templar.”

“What manner of man is my brother, squire, that he would command such loyalty from you? From her?” He gestured toward the mountain.

No answer, but then he did not truly expect one. Gregory turned and walked away.

“A man of honor.”

He turned. The squire's gaze was sharp, no longer directed at the scenery, but directly at him.

“He is a man of great honor, Templar. You should count yourself fortunate to be his brother.”

For a long moment, the two men stared at each other, Templar and squire.

“Tell him, squire, if you ever look upon his face again, that I was not at Montvichet. That I knew nothing of the treachery that destroyed them. But tell him this, also. That, had I been there, I would have done my duty well.”

Gregory strode back to his horse and mounted again, one hand upon the chalice as if to assure himself it was real. He made the signal for the knights to move out.

He did not look back.