J. Tomlin - The Templar's Cross

Law leaned forward, hands on his knees, and scowled. “A pretty fairy tale, but what does that have to do with dead men now in Perth?”

“I am coming to that.”

Law sighed, but made a circling motion with his hand for the man to get on with the tale.

“This was all in the year of the great battle at Bannockburn-1314. A few Templars who were friends of King Robert the Bruce found refuge in Scotland on their way to what they hoped was safety in Norway. They fought in that battle. After all, King Robert and all of Scotland were under interdict and at odds with the pope. An enemy of my enemy is my friend, or so they thought.

“But King Robert was equally desperate to make peace with the pope. He had to have them out of Scotland, so he ordered them gone. In their haste, part of the treasure was hidden to be retrieved later. That was the cross, left behind and ne’er reclaimed.” Wrycht beamed. “So what do you think of that?”

Law raised an eyebrow. “Are you actually saying that after a hundred years you know where this great Templar treasure is hid? That it hasn’t been found in so much time?”

“I have seen the lists in Paris of the treasure that was seized. It is clear that much did disappear. Nor is there any question that some few dozen of the Templars escaped France. Moreover, in Rome whilst working for a patron, de Carnea found a letter from one of the Templars in Scotland to a secret ally in Rome. He was to retrieve the cross to help Templars all over Europe who were trying to escape torture and execution. But travel to Scotland was nearly impossible. The English made sure of that by their blockade at sea. He died before he could act. By that time, the remaining Templars had been wiped out.”

“All right,” Law said blandly, wondering if he was expected to believe this nonsense.

“There is nothing in any record to show that the lost Templar treasure was ever recovered, although you may be sure the French king tried everything to do so. No, there is no denying that part of the Templar hoard came to Scotland.” Wrycht gave a regretful smile. “I admit that it was de Carnea who first came across the letter.” He smirked. “Needless to say his patron, seeking something else for the pope, never knew of it. The letter led him to the archives in France. He brought me into it because he kent I could find a good buyer and being a Scot could help him reach it in the first place.”

Law stroked his beard. “So it actually belongs to the king of France.”

“The king of France!” Wrycht got up to refill his cup. “No more than it belongs to the Jacques de Molay, long since nothing but a pile of ashes at the stake where he died cursing King Philip. It belongs to whoever can find it and is strong enough to hold it.”

“So far it would seem no one is that strong.” If it existed . But if he was paid, what matter to him if it existed or not and in looking for it, he just might discover who had murdered Duncan. If there was still a debt between them, finding that would put it paid.

“I’ll pay you. You need the coins. That is plain to see.” The man rushed to a small kist at the foot of the bed and flung it open. He shoved the contents aside, fumbled cursing for a moment, and straightened with a leather bag in his hand. He held it out to Law. “Fifty demi-nobles. It is everything I have except for a few coins to pay for my lodging until I have the cross. It must be enow because if you dinnae help me, I am a dead man! You must find it before whoever else is seeking it kills me.”

Law clicked his tongue on his teeth. This was enough coin he could take his time finding a new lord to serve. With that much he might even find a new plan, so he took the bag and opened it to see it was filled with gold coins bearing the likeness of King James. He pulled the drawstring tight and thrust it into his doublet. “I’ll see what I can do for you. Mayhap if I track down where de Carnea was abiding, it may give a hint who killed him. But I can give you no oath except that I’ll do my best. I’ll come back tonight to tell you if I’ve learnt anything.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, letting the door fall closed behind him.

It was midafternoon and the bells of Nones were ringing when Law returned home. Cormac lounged on the edge of Law’s bed, tuning his clarsach.

Law sat at the table and asked, “What’s to do?”

The young man raised an eyebrow. “Nothing here, but you look like a cat that’s been into the creamery.”

“This business is dangerous and I’m being spun lies. Still it has paid enough coin that I dinnae care.” His mouth twisted in a sardonic grin. “Duncan was a hard man to get along with. Not that I’d say so to the sheriff. In fact, if you’ll carry a coin to the priests for the repose of his soul I’d be right grateful.”

“I shall if you like.”

“Good lad. How is your Gaelic second sight the day?”

Cormac sat up straight. “I’m no seventh son of a seventh son, you Sassenach. Nor am I a lad.”

“Saying so proves that you still are.” Law patted the bag of coins tucked under his doublet. “But what did you think of Lord Blinsele?”

“He looked down his nose at me, but all lords do that. He seemed no worse than most, more courteous than some.”

“He’s no lord and has at least one name too many. He started as a Lord Blinsele and then turned into a Maister Wrycht, and the nonce he says it is actually plain Johne Wrycht. But he still had gold to pay me, so I can overlook a few faults.”

Cormac plucked a single note on his clarsach. “Law, if yon dead men are anything to judge by, he is deep in trouble. Are you going to help him?”

Law frowned and opened his mouth to reply. The sound of footfalls on the stairs made him pause. Cormac rose and went to open the door.

A woman was halfway up the stairs. Her blue woolen gown was simply cut but was decorated with embroidery around the low, scooped neck, so that her long neck and fair skin were shown off. She was slender and high-breasted; her narrow hands were clasped at her waist. Her black, glossy hair was pulled back into a snood at the base of her neck. She climbed the stairs with slow steps, looking at Law with sapphire-colored eyes the exact shade of her dress. The fragrance of rose petals wafted before her. She looked the kind to use her wiles to get her way, though that had never worked well on him.

As the woman passed Cormac, he flashed a grin and winked at Law from behind her back. He stepped out and softly pulled the door closed behind him.

Law stood and inclined his head to his visitor, saying, “You have me at a loss.”

She murmured, “I shock you by coming here unescorted, but I vow that it was out of necessity.”

“Certes.” He bowed and indicated the stool beside his table.

“Thank you,” she said in a soft, melodious voice. She sat down primly, arranging her skirt around her.

Law leaned a shoulder against the wall. “What is it that brings you here with such necessity…my lady?”

“Marguerite de Neuillay. Please, but you must call me Marguerite.” She looked down at her hands as she returned them to her lap. “Nuns do like to gossip, you know.” Looking up with a shy smile, she said, “I stay in the guesthouse at St. Leonard’s Religious House, and they have been abuzz about what was said at the assize and that your friend’s death was…related…somehow to the sad murder near the bridge.”

She gracefully clasped her hands over her chest as though at prayer, and a gem sparkled on the ring finger of her right hand. “I want you to know that I went to the church to offer prayers for the repose of your friend’s soul.”

“That was kind of you…Lady Marguerite.”

“Forgive me.” She leaned forward slightly, looking earnestly into Law’s face. “I don’t come to gossip. I came to Scotland to find my only remaining brother, who is somewhere in your…what are they called? Your Highlands?”