Trail of Fate (21 page)

After we had been gone from Montségur for nearly three weeks, Robard returned to camp one night with a worried look on his face.

“What is it?” I asked as he strode into the light of our small fire.

“I'm not certain,” he said, kneeling to warm his hands by the flames. “I've not seen a soul, but I circled back toward the village we passed last night,” he said. “North of there I found signs of a large group of horses headed this way. But I lost their tracks at the river. They must have ridden a ways in the shallows. I couldn't find where they came out on either side. It bothers me how they headed this way first, but then vanished.”

“Do you think it might be Sir Hugh?” I wondered.

“I'm not sure. But it was a large group, so it had to be either soldiers or knights. It may be the local baron's fyrd, but I don't like how their tracks disappeared. It means they're trying to conceal themselves. Why would the local fyrd act so?”

Neither Maryam nor I had an answer. At nightfall we agreed to take turns standing watch. Robard was still full of energy from his scout, so he volunteered to go first. Maryam would stand second, then wake me for the final hours until morning. Despite the tension and worry, I lay down near the fire, Angel settling in next to me, and fell asleep instantly.

Maryam shook me awake after her watch. I was groggy and out of sorts, having never been a person who wakes easily from sleep. Angel rolled over as Maryam took my spot on the ground, then settled next to her and was quickly back to sleep.

I squatted by the fire to warm myself, then stood, trying to ease the soreness out of my legs. The woods were quiet, and I guessed we had about three hours till sunrise. Robard lay on the other side of the fire, opposite Maryam, snoring quietly. His bow and wallet leaned against a tree next to him. I had slept with the short sword and battle sword close by, and I shrugged my way into them, still trying to come fully awake.

For a few minutes I paced around the edge of camp, stopping to listen to the sounds of the night. I heard nothing out of the ordinary. After half an hour I grew bored. Robard's news had me on edge. I leaned with my back against the trunk of a tall tree and looked up at the sky. It was an overcast evening, and only the small flicker of flame provided any light.

Perhaps I could gather some more wood and build the fire up a bit. But before I could move, an arm came from behind the tree and a hand clamped over my mouth. I tried to shout out a warning, but only a slight grunt escaped.

Then it seemed as if the darkness exploded into movement. Maryam screamed and several man-sized shapes converged on the fire. Maryam rolled to her feet and ran out of the small circle of light, disappearing into the blackness. Robard shouted curses, and Angel became a symphony of barks and snarls.

My hand tried desperately to pull my short sword, but another arm clamped mine in place. I was helpless in the strong grip of my assailant. I twisted my head back and forth, and when I felt one of the fingers tear at my cheek, I bit down hard. A yelp sounded from behind me and I was momentarily released.

I pushed off the tree and darted toward the fire. Robard was being dragged away, and I raised my sword and shouted “Beauseant!” at the top of my lungs. Something hit me hard in the back and I went down. Try as I might, I couldn't throw the weight off me. I tried to push myself up on my hands and knees, but was clubbed in the back of the head and down I went, losing my sword. The campfire was only a few inches away. I bucked up with all my might and felt my attacker fall to the side.

Grabbing a burning log from the campfire, I stood and swung where I thought the man should be, but he wasn't. Confused, I turned around and had only a second with the light from the flaming log to see him standing in front of me. He held the hilt of his sword tight in his hand, and before it connected with the side of my head and everything faded to blackness, I recognized his uniform.

These were not Templars.

They were King's Guards.

A
s I swam up toward consciousness, I sensed we were being carried up and down over rough ground. There were voices quietly murmuring around me. It sounded like Maryam and Robard, but I couldn't be sure. Finally, I managed to open my eyes and looked up to see the sun peeking down at me through the bars of a cage.

A ripple of dizziness overtook me as I tried to sit up. “Easy, Tristan,” I heard Maryam say. Her hands probed the side of my head. The attack in the woods came flashing back to me, along with the last thing I remembered—turning to see the King's Guard seconds before he punched me in the head.

“Where are we?” I mumbled.

“We don't know,” Maryam said. “We're locked inside a cage on the back of a wagon. We've been traveling for several hours now.”

My head was resting in Maryam's lap. I finally opened my eyes and willed myself to stay focused. The dizziness passed, and I gingerly pulled myself into a sitting position. I touched the side of my face and winced.

“Careful,” Maryam said. “You've got a nasty knot there.”

When I could finally focus, I squinted up at the sun. We were still heading north.

“What happened?” I asked, still confused. I remembered someone grabbing me from behind as I stood next to the tree, and then everything else became a blur. Looking through the bars of our cage, I counted ten of Richard the Lionheart's personal soldiers riding alongside us. Two sat on the wagon, driving the team, and the rest were on horseback, surrounding us as we moved along the bumpy road.

Something wasn't right. I wouldn't have been surprised if it had been a regimento of Templars or even the High Counsel's men. Even though Sir Hugh had belittled and intimidated him, maybe he was able to separate himself from Sir Hugh and follow us. But King's Guards? Could Sir Hugh have enlisted their aid? The last I'd known, King Richard was in Outremer, so why was there a detachment of King's Guards here in France? Was Prince John or some other member of the royal family here? Did Sir Hugh's connections reach all the way to the throne? Did this have something to do with my previous run-ins with them?

It was hard to believe. It had been more than a year ago when they'd stalked me through the marketplace in Dover. But as I studied their faces, I didn't recognize any of these men. There was something else at work here.

“Maryam, Robard,” I stammered. “I'm sorry. I guess this is my fault. They were on me before I saw or heard them. They must have come upwind from Angel or else she would have smelled them and warned . . . Where is Angel?” I noticed her absence for the first time.

“She ran off,” Maryam said.

“Ran off ?” I couldn't believe it. Angel, who had jumped into the harbor, survived a shipwreck, attacked a Frenchman, and was carried haphazardly down a mountainside, had simply disappeared?

Maryam nodded. “I know. One of those men knocked her aside during the scuffle and she scurried off into the woods.”

I shook my head and immediately wished I hadn't, for the world began swirling again.

“Maryam?” I whispered.

“Yes?”

“What is wrong with Robard? Why hasn't he said anything?” I asked, looking over at Robard, who squatted on the floor of the cage opposite us with his back to me. His body was coiled and he held on to the bars as if he might shake them apart if given the chance.

“I think he's angry,” she said.

“Yes, he's angry. But usually when he's in a temper, he reminds me how he'll kill me after we get through this.”

“Perhaps he is
very
angry,” she suggested.

“If you must know,” Robard interrupted, “I am studying our enemies.”

“To what end?” I asked him.

“I don't know yet,” he said.

They had stripped us of our weapons and my satchel and piled them in the wagon behind the driver and his mate, far out of reach from the cage. A weapon would be useless in the small, enclosed space, and I couldn't fathom what advantage Robard thought he might gain, locked away as we were.

With nothing else to do, I sat quietly as the wagon rolled along. It was rough riding, and as the sun moved toward the west, it became even more uncomfortable, bouncing along in the heat. A short while later, the Captain of the Guard gave halt, and the men dismounted, leading the horses to a small spring. One of the men on the wagon seat got down from his perch and pushed a water skin through the bars, offering it first to Maryam.

She lowered her head while reaching for it, then quickly rose up and reached through the bars, grabbing the man by the wrist and twisting it sharply to the side. He screamed in pain, dropping the water skin. As the man struggled to free himself from Maryam's grip, she reached out with her other hand and twisted his thumb backward. We heard a sickening pop and the man screeched again, finally yanking his hand away from Maryam's grasp.

“Swine!” she yelled, spitting at him.

The man howled, struggling to pull his sword with his good hand. The other guards watched and jeered now as the man thrust it through the bars at Maryam, who easily ducked out of the way.

He cursed at her, protesting his broken thumb. But he couldn't move his sword quickly between the bars, and before I knew it, Robard had leapt forward and wrestled it from the man's hand.

“Robard, no!” I shouted.

Moving like a cat, he reached through the bars, grabbing the man by his tunic first, pushing him backward, then slamming him headfirst into the side of the cage. The man groaned and slumped toward the ground, but Robard held him up, turning him and putting his left arm through the bars and around the man's neck. He held the sword at the now unconscious man's throat.

“Release us now, or he dies!” Robard commanded.

All of the guards drew their weapons, then stood still, not sure what to do.

The Captain of the Guard strode over to the wagon and stood a few feet away, his sword pointed down at the ground.

“Let him go,” the Captain said quietly. He removed his helmet and held it in his free hand. His beard was dark brown, and he was covered head to toe in dust and mud from the ride. His hands were gnarled and scarred, and it looked like his fingers had been cut or broken many times. He was definitely someone we shouldn't trifle with.

“Not until you unlock the cage and return our weapons,” Robard said.

The Captain sighed. “You won't kill him,” he said.

“What? I surely will!” Robard replied, more than a little put out.

“Were you a Crusader?” the Captain asked.

“I was. What of it? Quit trying to stall us! Open the cage and let us go or your man dies,” Robard insisted.

“You were a King's Archer? Your bow is a fine weapon. Is it Welsh-made, by any chance? I've always heard how Welshmen make the best archers,” the Captain said nonchalantly.

“Welsh? Welsh, my arse! A Welshman couldn't hit the ocean from a boat. That's English yew there. The finest there is. Now, I've had enough of your games. Open this cage and release us.” Robard tightened his grip and pushed the sword deeper into the man's neck.

The Captain sighed again. His eyes were tired and world weary, but they glinted with determination. Instantly, I knew he would let his man die before he freed the three of us. He stared at Robard.

“I'm afraid I can't do that,” he said quietly.

“Do it now!” Robard commanded.

“No,” the Captain answered.

“I'll kill him!” Robard shouted.

“Then do it. But you're not going free,” the Captain said.

Robard's face fell and his eyes narrowed. Maryam and I sat slumped in the cage, too stunned to say anything. Time went by without a sound from anyone except the ragged breathing of the unconscious guard. Finally, Robard saw the same thing in the Captain's eyes I had. He reluctantly tossed the sword to the ground.

The Captain gestured to two of his men, who stepped forward and took the guard from Robard's grasp. They lifted him up onto the wagon seat where he sat slumped against the driver, who took up the reins.

“Mount up!” the Captain commanded, and shortly we were back on our way. The Captain and the guards rode on, undisturbed by what had just happened.

Robard pounded his fists against the iron bars in frustration. “I smell your friend Sir Hugh,” he said.

“I'm not sure, Robard,” I mused. “I'm certain he would have headed for the southern coast first. We were careful as we traveled north. . . .” I let my words trail off. In truth, I did not know what to think.

For the rest of the afternoon, we rode on without stopping. We had kept the water skin inside the cage and passed it around a few times. There was little conversation as we rolled along. Since we had left Montségur those many days ago and walked ever northward, I had assumed we would reach the northern coast eventually, but I had no idea how much country there was to cross or how long it would take us. Now as our small band kept moving along, a familiar smell came to me. I sat up, taking a sniff of the air.

“What is it?” Maryam asked.

“I think . . . it's the . . .” I still wasn't sure.

Then the forest cleared, and a small city shadowed by a large castle lying along the seacoast came into view.

“We're at the ocean,” I said. “I don't know which town this is or what part of the coast we're on, but we must be at the Channel.”

Robard and Maryam were not cheered by the news, and given the circumstances, I couldn't blame them.

Within a half hour we pulled inside the castle. As the gate was wheeled shut, the guards dismounted and several grooms hurried forward to take their horses to the stables. The driver of the wagon unlocked the cage door with an iron key.