Jeri Westerson - Cup of Blood

“As you see,” he said, opening his arms, “I am still alive.”

“Yes. God must love you greatly. Or does not wish eternity yet with you.”

Crispin waited. Was he to be escorted from court? Surely Lancaster would not turn him in. He wondered just why Lancaster asked to see him at all. He hoped it was because of their mutual affection. But times had changed. Crispin was no longer the asset he had been. If he were found in Lancaster’s quarters, even now after seven years…

Lancaster turned back to the fire. The years fell away and it was again him and Crispin plotting and planning. He remembered quiet evenings in these chambers while Lancaster’s first wife Blanche played a psaltery. They would sit together, a family, listening to the quiet strains of music before a roaring fire. Occasionally, Lancaster’s son Henry would join them. Henry, the same age as Richard, seemed a world apart in temperament from his monarch cousin. Not often at court, Henry likely stayed busy with his own knight’s training. After Blanche died, Lancaster married Costanza of Castile. She was not the motherly matron that Blanche had been to him, but he missed her, too, and her kind attention.

Crispin suddenly frowned. It didn’t do to fall into the trap of sentimentality. There would be no more quiet evenings by Lancaster’s fire, no more private moments with the man. He looked up at the duke and saw all the same thoughts pass over Lancaster’s features. Lancaster scowled and he suddenly seemed much older.

“Listen carefully,” Lancaster said at last. “I will have de Marcherne brought to me now and you will have no more than a quarter hour to see to your business in his rooms. After that, I am no longer responsible. I did not see you and I did not speak with you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Go now. If I recall, he is in the west corridor.”

Crispin longed to clasp Lancaster’s hand, but that intimacy had long past. Crispin bowed low instead before he hastily departed.

Jack hovered in the shadows trying to disappear when he noticed Crispin. “Master!” Jack scurried alongside him. “What happened?”

“He’s helping us, but we must hurry.”

Crispin trotted and Jack followed. They skirted pages and servants and finally made it to the west corridor. Crispin moved Jack and himself into a small window alcove and pulled the drapery around them. “We must wait here,” he whispered. He grabbed the two curtains with his fists and peered through a small crevice.

A page strode down the passageway and entered the door to a suite of apartments. Not long after, he came out again followed by de Marcherne and two of his men. Like a military unit, they marched down the passage and soon disappeared into the distant shadows.

Crispin opened the curtains and without bothering to motion to Jack, went up to the door and pulled on the door ring.

Locked.

He knelt. Using the long metal aiglet from one lace of his shirt and his dagger’s point, he inserted both into the lock. He fished and jiggled until the pins set and the lock released.

Jack whistled. “Blind me. Where’d you learn that?”

“You’d be surprised at the things I’ve learned.” He pushed open the door and peered inside. At first he feared the other men would be lying in wait for him, but a cursory examination of the chamber told him otherwise.

Crispin moved to one of the chests and opened it. He rummaged through the many layers of rich clothing until his fingers encountered something hard. He removed a box, tripped the lock in the same way as he had the door, and opened it. Brooches, rings, other fine jewels. Nothing of any consequence. He handed the box to Jack to return to the chest and immediately grabbed the boy’s hand. “Jack, there are no spoils from this venture. Put it back.”

“But Master! Surely you don’t think-”

“Jack, I am not a fool. I saw you take the ring. Now return it.”

Grumbling, Jack cupped his palm and spit the ring into it. He stuffed the wet object back in the box which he placed with care under the clothes in the first chest.

Crispin checked the other chests and found nothing. He stood looking at them before he knelt to the first chest again. Opening the lid, he examined the inside, running his fingers along its edges. A soft click, and a panel opened. He reached in and removed an empty pouch. Embroidered on it was the Templar’s cross.

“Jesus mercy,” whispered Jack.

“Indeed.”

Crispin rummaged inside the trunk’s secret hiding places but found nothing more. He likewise searched the other chests and found similar hiding places, but those contained only silver and gold coins.

Crispin returned all to its proper order when they heard footsteps approach from the passageway. “Quick, Jack. Go to the window and hide behind the curtains.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

Jack complied and Crispin moved to a large chair and relaxed into its velvet cushion just as the door opened.

De Marcherne’s men noticed Crispin first. Both drew their swords and advanced on him. De Marcherne turned and his surprised expression changed to one of admiration.

“Hold!” he told his men. Crispin did not move and glanced from one sword tip to the other. “Well, Crispin,” said de Marcherne. “What a welcomed surprise.” He assessed the room. Satisfied, he addressed his henchmen. “Put away your weapons. I would speak with this man alone.”

The henchmen did as told but moved hesitantly toward the door. “Go on,” de Marcherne insisted, encouraging them with a sweep of his hand.

Once alone he sat in the chair opposite Crispin. “Have you come to accept my offer?”

“To be a knight in the French court?” Crispin chuckled mirthlessly. “I would not ask a dog to do that.”

De Marcherne frowned. “Well then. Why are you here?”

“I have some questions for you. I would rather ask them in the manner you asked me.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Unfortunately, I am in no position to do any such thing.”

De Marcherne’s face relaxed. “No, of course not. I do wonder at the gall of your being here at all. I will not even ask how you got in here.”

Crispin shook his head. “ I am asking the questions.”

“I could easily call the palace guards. It would not go well for you.”

“It hasn’t gone well for me for some years. However. My questions. Tell me about being Grand Master.”

De Marcherne laughed, a long, rolling laugh, one that included his clapping in amusement. A laugh that only made Crispin’s apprehension tighten and his anger sizzle.

“I am amused that you are so intrigued by this.” He shook his head. “Yes, I was Grand Master of the Order of the Knights of the Temple. For many years. I knew their secrets, I knew their membership, and where each resided. I knew who was loyal and who was not. I meted out punishment and my word was law. It was a sacred task of unimaginable power. ‘So’, you must be thinking, ‘why did he leave? Was he ousted? Threatened?’ The answer, my dear Crispin, is that I left it all behind.”

“Forgive me,” he said dispassionately. “But I think you are lying.”

“Indeed? No. I left it. I foreswore my brothers and I sold their secrets, and I nearly got away with the grail. Why?” His smile widened and his even teeth gleamed in the firelight. He lifted an index finger and ticked it from side to side.

“You won’t tell me.”

“Patience, Crispin. I must keep you interested and involved. I do not think of you as my quarry, as I think of so many men. I think of you as an equal.”

“Merciful God.”

“Oh, it is a compliment, though you may not recognize it now. You see,” he said leaning forward, “I believe you will convert to my way of thinking once you know all. You will become my ally.”