J. Tomlin: The Templar's Cross

Year of Our Lord 1424, Near Stirling, Scotland

It had been years since Sir Law Kintour had made the ride from Glasgow to Stirling. The road was well made and busy with merchants who kept their distance from two armed riders, traveling in a cloud of late summer’s dust. With Duncan beside him, they trotted their horses through villages, ignoring barking dogs and weans who scattered out of the way as they passed. Kilslyth bustled with a fair day crowd, so they had to wend their way past stalls piled with kale and leeks, a pen filled with shaggy cattle, and a towering cartload of firewood. Past the town, Law kicked his horse to a canter, gritting his teeth against a knife’s edge of pain that stabbed into his left thigh.

Law was damned if he would give Duncan, five years his senior and his belly big under his leather jerkin, the satisfaction of calling for a rest, so they rode on toward Stirling where he was sure he would find a place in the new earl’s service. As they passed fields ripe with barley, a few men and women in rough hodden-grey stopped swinging their sickles through golden barley plants to watch the two pass. Scotland was not so long at peace that people were not wary of armed men after the chaos of the late king’s reign and the interminable fighting while King James was imprisoned by the English. By the time they rode through the Stirling town gates, Law’s doublet was sopping with sweat and he felt gray from pain. The two clattered up the High Street, snaking their way through the traffic. His horse snorted and tossed its head at rowdy cries from peddlers and shouted bargaining of servants and wives buying food for their dinner.

“Will your cousin be here, so we can reach the earl, do you think?” Duncan asked as he nudged his horse to skirt past a pudgy woman clutching a basket of dark green kale to her ample breast.

“He’d be no help but I’ll find someone I kent when I was in the Duke’s service. I’m sure of it.” His cousin, oldest son of his father’s elder brother, had been in the following of the old Duke of Albany, who’d been no friend to King James at the very least. Law doubted his cousin would be in favor at the court of the newly returned king. But Law had been in the following of the Earl of Douglas before he died, and the earl’s son was a close friend to the king. Law knew many who followed the son, now Earl of Douglas since his father’s death in battle. Law looked at every face as they passed, hoping he would see one that was familiar. The earl was in Stirling with the king and certainly he would not have come without at least a hundred or more of his own knights in his tail.

They were halfway up the steep hill to Stirling Castle when Law spotted a tall, leather-faced man in a tabard marked with the crowned heart of the Douglas device over shining armor. “Tam!” Law shouted.

The man stared at Law open-mouthed before he exclaimed, “By the Holy Rood! I thought you were dead.”

Law stifled a groan as he swung from the saddle, praying that his leg would hold him after the long ride. “Near enough,” he said through gritted teeth. He slung an arm across his saddle and let the horse take most of his weight. It wasn’t usually so bad since a month had past but was still only half-healed, and the ride had nearly done him in. “I am looking for an audience with my lord earl. Or does he call himself duke now?”

“Ach, no, he seems content enough wi’ calling himself earl,” Tam, sergeant in the Earl of Douglas’s service, said. “The king would have his head if he went to France to claim his father’s title there. I think you’ll be welcome. As far as I ken, he has nae spoken to anyone who lived through the battle.” He considered Law with his bushy eyebrows raised. “You weren’t captured, then?”

“No.” He tilted his head toward Duncan. “Duncan here helped me off the battlefield. We managed to escape, though it was a near thing.”

Tam considered Law and gave a sharp, quick nod. “You look right knackered. Can you stand without that horse to hold you up?”

“Aye,” Law said. “I’m still healing, and it pains a wee mite. Where is his lordship?” He wouldn’t mention that with twisted scarring and mauled muscles, his leg would most likely never be strong again. He would somehow grow strong enough for battle again, though, because he must.

“He’s attending the king’s grace.” Tam was giving Law an assessing look but he waved in the direction of the castle.

“I must speak with him. Can you get me in? He may want my story of the battle, and I’ll offer him my service.”

“Certes. I’m bound there. He sent me to carry a message, but I’m done with it the nonce. Getting you in should be worth something to you, though.”

Law snorted. “All the coin I have on me is a tale. I can recite you the story of the battle and his father’s death over an ale. After I see the earl.”

Tam scrunched up his leathery features but after a moment he nodded. He pointed to a hostelry up the street. “We can settle your horses there and go up to the castle. I can get you in but the story had better be good.”

“If a bloody tale is a good one, that’s what you’ll have.” Law was forced to let go of the saddle in order to lead his horse to the stable yard in front of the two-story hostelry that was bustling with a crowd from the court. “You can meet me at the inn this evening and I’ll tell you how my lord the Duke of Touraine met his death.”

Duncan climbed from the saddle with a sigh of relief. He ran a hand through his sweaty damp hair. “I’ll wait at the inn. I want ale.” He had been in the Earl of Buchan’s force, so had no stake in seeing the new Earl of Douglas. Buchan had died in the battle as well, so Duncan was in no better situation than Law for a patron. A landless knight with no patron was as useless as a toothless rat terrier. Once Law was taken into the earl’s service, he’d have a chance to plead for Duncan as well.

Limping like a halting old man, Law led his horse up the street and tossed a penny to the stable lad to curry and water him. “How is the court?” he asked Tam as the man slowed his pace to Law’s speed.

“As unsettled as you would expect,” Tam said morosely. “Since he returned, the king is reining in the nobles like they’re unruly horses and many dinnae like it, especially the late Duke of Albany’s grandsons.” He lowered his voice and glanced around to be sure no one was listening. “The king arrested the duke’s eldest boy and war is brewing. There’ll be fighting, you may be sure of it.”

Law grunted in a neutral tone. The Earl of Douglas would be supporting the king and if fighting was at hand, he’d need all the swords he could raise. That should bode well for him and for Duncan.

Sweat dribbled down his sides and face, and his leg burned at the hard use it had had. But walking began to loosen the cramp, so by the time they reached the huge, gray stone castle, a maze of turrets and parapets, it had eased. He welcomed the coolness within the stone walls when the door of the keep closed behind them. He followed Tam through a string of chambers. He scanned the courtiers for a familiar face, but there were none amongst the men sitting and standing about, playing cards, dice or chess. The air was heavy with the sound of men’s voices talking about tomorrow’s hunt and with the smell of musk and lavender and summer sweat.

“My lord was playing chess with the king when I left,” Tam said. “Wait here, Law, and I’ll see if he will speak to you between games.”

Law grimaced. He honestly was not sure how much longer his leg would hold him after the long ride, but he nodded. He watched as Tam’s broad shoulders disappeared into the next room. He couldn’t let the earl see how badly he limped, so he turned so he could discreetly rub at his leg to loosen the cramp. The earl must accept his service. It was unthinkable, not.