Michael Spradlin - Trail of Fate

Staring at the flames, I worried about Celia, remembering how I had been followed by the King’s Guards in Dover. They had shadowed me through the marketplace and had taken some strange interest in me. I had no idea what they wanted. But they acted with impunity. Powerful men like kings and archbishops always had plenty of soldiers and thieves to do their bidding. It wasn’t fair.

The fire helped me relax, and I realized how tired I was. Maryam was stifling yawns as well. Robard volunteered to take the first watch, so I lay down next to the fire and closed my eyes, asleep in seconds.

Robard shook me awake a few hours later. He had banked the coals and the fire glowed. The warmth was comforting in the chill of the night as I held my hands over it, still feeling groggy and sore, and wincing at any movement of my still aching muscles.

Instead of keeping a sharp eye for anyone who came our way, I squatted close to the fire and closed my eyes for a few minutes. In my dream, the humming sound of the Grail came to me again. It pulled me up from the darkest depths of sleep, and when my eyes opened, its song was replaced by Angel’s low growl. Maryam and Robard were still asleep, but it was nearly daybreak. Scrambling to my knees, I searched the surrounding woods, feeling like I had just awoken from a bad dream. Angel snarled again, louder this time, and stood, teeth bared, staring into the darkness.

“Bonjour,” a voice said quietly from behind me.

I jumped in the air and my hand clutched the hilt of my sword as I spun around.

There on the beach a few yards from the fire was a large force of mounted horsemen. They were all dressed in black tunics with gold crosses on the chest. Each of them was heavily armed with sword, lance and shield. At the head of the column rode a very tall, resplendent-looking man wearing the same black tunic but with a golden cape, rimmed with white fur, around his shoulders. His beard was neatly trimmed, and in the gathering light I could see his dark hair and black, cold eyes. He wore a very large ring made of gold on his right hand. He was a priest or monsignor of some rank. Having grown up around monks, I still thought it odd to find a man of God in command of troops. But it was not an uncommon practice. Celia had made mention of an archbishop who was angry with her, and it appeared he had sent his most trusted priest to track her down.

He stared down at me with an expression on his face I couldn’t quite place at first, then did. Amusement. He dismounted and strode toward the fire until he stood just a few feet away. Angel did not like his uninvited invasion of our camp. She growled again, moving between me and the stranger.

“Looks to be a ferocious dog. Does he bite?” the man asked.

I nodded.

He chose to ignore Angel, who backed up until her rump rested against my leg. I could feel the tension in her body and had no doubt she would spring in a heartbeat if this man made the wrong move. “You are dressed as a servant of the Templars, are you not?” he asked. He spoke English with a very thick French accent, reminding me of King Richard. But I understood him just fine.

I nodded.

“Do you intend to draw your sword?” he asked, pointing to my hand, which still clutched the hilt of my weapon.

I shook my head. He had yet to give me a reason.

“Good. Are you able to speak?” he asked.

I nodded again, which made him smile.

“Excellent. Then I’m hoping you will be able to help me locate a group of outlaws. I suspect you crossed paths with them last night,” he said. His tone said he knew this to be true and it would be useless for me to deny it. He never took his eyes off me.

Without moving my head, I glanced down. Robard’s eyes were open and he was looking at me, trying desperately to figure out what to do. His wallet and bow sat leaning against a tree trunk a few inches from his hand.

“Please leave the bow and arrows where they are,” the priest said, evidently aware that Robard was awake. There was a lack of menace in his voice, which only made him sound more formidable. He spoke with a casual certainty as if expecting us to obey his commands without question.

Very slowly Robard rose to stand next to me. He yawned, running his hand through his hair as if he wasn’t bothered by any of this at all.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Robard said.

“Then you must allow me to introduce myself,” the man replied. “I am the High Counsel to the Archbishop of Languedoc. My men and I are on the trail of six heretics. We followed them to your camp upstream. We lost their trail north of here and then followed your tracks. Now, if you please, I would like to know, where are they headed?”

I had a feeling this High Counsel would not take well to deception.

“Heretics? I thought you said you were on the trail of outlaws,” Robard asked.

“One and the same,” he replied.

“We need to know which,” Robard said. “I have no use for heretics, but outlaws, well, that’s a different story. So which is it, Father?”

The High Counsel’s eyes narrowed and his face turned to stone. I groaned inwardly. Not now, Robard.

“We had no idea they were heretics, Father,” I interrupted before Robard could say anything more. “We were shipwrecked east of here a few days ago. They found us on the beach and offered us food. That’s all. I can’t say for sure where they were headed, but I heard the word Perpignan a few times. Might it be the name of a city or town?”

The High Counsel had locked eyes with Robard while I spoke, but now he looked at me again.

“Perpignan? Yes, it’s a nearby city. Are you sure?”

“If it is west of here, it must be where they are headed. When they broke camp, they headed south, riding in the shallows. They must have been trying to hide their tracks from you. They probably turned west downstream.”

The High Counsel looked at me, his black eyes never wavering. I don’t think he even blinked.

“Why would they head to Perpignan?” he asked, thinking out loud.

“Can’t swear to it, Father, as I speak only a little French, just heard them mention it. And they said something about reserves . Doesn’t that mean ‘supplies’? Maybe they needed something there?” I had spun a vast web of deceit now and hoped the High Counsel and his men would leave soon so I could resume breathing.

He studied me, his brow knitted together ever so slightly, then turned and spoke to one of the mounted riders behind him in hushed tones.

“Very well. Thank you for your assistance. We shall ride toward Perpignan and see if we can pick up their trail. If you come across them again, avoid them. They are outcasts and enemies of the church. They have committed grave sins against God,” he said.

“Yes, Father. Of course,” I said. “May God have mercy on their souls.”

He remounted his horse and the column slowly moved westward. He stopped, turning his horse back toward us.

“If I find out you’ve lied to me, Templar, God will be the only one to grant you mercy.”

What a rude fellow,” said Robard as the High Counsel and his men faded into the distance.

“Who was rude?” Maryam said as she staggered to her feet.

“So glad you could join us. Help us fend off the attackers,” Robard teased.

“What are you talking about?” she mumbled.

“We just met Celia’s pursuers,” I said.

“Nice men, one and all,” said Robard.

“What did they want?” Maryam asked.

“They referred to Celia and her band as heretics and outlaws,” I told her.

“Actually he said outlaws first and then heretics,” Robard pointed out. “Then Tristan told this fellow, who calls himself the High Counsel to some Archbishop of Lancelot, an elaborate fib to throw them off the trail.”