J. Tomlin - The Templar's Cross

His blood rushed, pounding in his ears, and his breath came fast. He wanted to glance over his shoulder to be sure they weren’t behind him as well, but he wasn’t going to take his eyes off them. He reached for his sword.

“Sir Law?” the scar-faced man said as he tossed back the edge of his cloak to show a crossbow. It was cocked and ready. The men on each side bared their swords.

There was a sound of the door opening behind him, a gasp, and it slammed. He hadn’t expected aid anyway. “Gentlemen,” Law said. “I fear one of your companions is missing.”

“You’re to come with us.”

“I doubt that would be good for my health.”

Scarface lifted the crossbow. “Do not doubt that you’ll die if you do not.” His mouth twisted into an ugly sneer.

Law tipped back his head to gaze for a moment at the pewter-gray sky. Taking a quarrel would not help his health either. Crossbows were slow and not nearly as deadly as the English longbow, but one could make him just as dead. He nodded.

Scarface wordlessly motioned Law to move ahead with the two swordsmen leading the way. He brought up the rear, covering the crossbow with his cloak once more. Law pondered the possibility of grabbing one of the men from behind, but he was sure he would be shot in the back before he could escape. Besides, since they hadn’t already killed him, he was curious exactly who their mysterious employer was.

They snaked through back alleys and small vennels in the general direction of Speygate and Watergate. When Law took too long to turn into a dark, odiferous passage, Scarface grunted a command to move faster. He only hoped he wasn’t headed for another blade in the back, because this time their aim was likely to be better.

Finally they turned into a decent street not far off Speygate. Narrow, closed-face houses lined either side. Their footfalls echoed in the empty cobbled way. A hand landed on Law’s shoulder to stop him, and he glared at Scarface, shaking him off.

Through a gate, a familiar wooded garden spread before them where he’d followed Marguerite and her youth. One of the men rapped at the door of the stone-built house; it was opened by Dave the ratcatcher. Law’s mouth twitched at the man’s darting look. Law stepped warily though the door. A tall man past middle age came to meet him, so smoothly bald Law thought he must take a razor to his head. His cheeks were razored as well but a short, neatly trimmed gray beard and mustache surrounded his lips. From whisky-brown eyes he gave a long, searching look. He advanced to meet Law with a long stride, footfalls like thudding hammers. He wore a black velvet doublet laced up the front with gold cord, black hose, and calfskin boots.

“Sir Law,” he said with a nod. “First, I must apologize that my men tried to kill you. It was merely a misunderstanding. They thought you had killed de Carnea and had something belonging to me.”

Law gave a half bow. “Would it be possible to ken to whom I speak?” He had a good guess but this was no time for guessing.

The corners of the man’s mouth crinkled although he did not quite smile. “There is no reason you shouldn’t know. I am Edmund Carre, a humble merchant.” Carre motioned to two high-backed wood chairs with a table between them that held a flagon, two goblets, a closed silver casket and some parchments held down with a dagger.

A wood fire cracked on the hearth with a sweet smell of pine. Law sat down. When he glanced around, Dave had disappeared but one of the guards took up a position near the door. The door in the far wall was shut and to the side two high arched windows looked out onto Watergate. Between them on the wall hung a tapestry with a scene of noblemen feasting in a garden, all turned out in their best velvets and furs. Hounds lounged at their feet while servants carried platters piled high with food. In a nearby field, peasants gathered in their lord’s crop of golden grain. It was a world until recently Law had inhabited. He wasn’t sure how one lived otherwise, but supposed he would be forced to learn.

“As I say, I thought you had killed de Carnea, but I now believe I was mistaken. You haven’t what was to come to me.”

“I did not kill him,” Law said. “So you believe that he had this mysterious item, and it was stolen?”

“Indeed. But no one steals from me,” Carre said evenly. He took the other chair. “Not and escapes.”

“Who do you think stole it?”

“You know the two of them. Marguerite de Neuillay and Johne Wrycht, not that they always go by those names.” He leaned forward and filled the goblets, although his hard gaze never left Law’s face. “I commissioned them to recover a cross, long lost. No one else knew where it was or had seen the letters.”

“What about de Carnea?”

With a slight curl of his lip, Carre said, “He was a pet of Marguerite’s, but he did have a facility for finding rare documents.”

Law took a slow sip of the wine, better than anything he’d had since he’d returned to Scotland, soft and rich on the tongue. “They thought they could not have retrieved the cross without him. He was able to pass himself off as a priest.”

“How they did their job was no concern of mine, only that it was done.” His shook his head sadly. “Now they claim that whoever killed him stole it.”

“And it is lost. When did you discover that?” How long had Carre been in Scotland? If he asked enough questions, perhaps he could learn more about the man’s movements. But he’d have to take care if he also wanted to get out alive.

Ignoring Law’s question, Carre said, “Or else they have it and plan to flee with it. You have no idea how valuable that cross is to me. Not just the gold and gems, but recovering what the Templars stole when they fled. As a tool, a lever, to gain my ends in Rome, it is invaluable. I paid for it and I shall have it.”

“I dinnae have it. Whether one of them does…?” Law took a slow sip of wine, his gaze thoughtful on Carre’s face. He wouldn’t mind handing the thing over, but not before he extracted all the information having it would bring him. “That is an important question. And you have no idea where the thing is.”

Carre’s look was icy. “If I did, I would not waste my time talking to you. If you haven’t it, I believe you can get it.”

“Tell me this, Maister Carre. Have you ever seen this cross? You are certain that de Carnea found it?”

“It exists or did when the Templars hid it, and had it been found in the past, it would be known. That means that it was where de Carnea went to retrieve it. He was murdered for it. There is no other explanation.” He waved a dismissive hand towards the door. “Taylor said that you are in it up to your neck, but a landless knight would ne’er know the right people to sell the thing. I don’t care if you killed him or you come by it otherwise, I will pay generously.”

“I have no desire to acquire such knowledge about selling it. I am no merchant.” He put the goblet down. “How much is this cross worth to you is what interests me.”

Carre put his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “I’ll pay a hundred English gold nobles if you put it into my hands.”

Law pursed his lips in a silent whistle.

“I hardly think any loyalty you have to Marguerite or any desire you might have for her…attractions…would outweigh that. A man like you could live well for a long time on such a sum.”

“She and Wrycht have lied to me with every word. I can say my loyalty equals the truth they’ve told me.” How much truth Carre was telling was another question. One look at the man’s face told him it was best not to mention his doubts. Part of it was probably the truth, but all? Law was certain not. “If I can find it, I believe we can do business.” Even more, how much would he learn playing each of them against the other, but he certainly wouldn’t say that.