Deborah Simmons - The Last de Burgh

Although Emery looked sceptical, Nicholas wasn’t concerned with the purpose of the place, only where it might lead. But a cursory glance revealed no exit, and he wondered whether they had walked all this way only to view a curious site, perhaps long forgotten. Were they below the preceptory or somewhere else, maybe even in a passage connecting two churches, one above and another below?

Wary of spending too much time in the tunnel, Nicholas gave the lantern to Emery, while he searched more carefully. He looked for the kind of stone they had found in the church, a carving of a Green Man, mouth wide open, as though in some sort of agony.

As he moved onwards, Emery followed, providing the light for his inspections. Although the boy could not be faulted, Nicholas felt distracted, for he was all too aware of his companion’s nearness. He even had an unnerving urge to turn towards the boy, which he promptly quelled.

What the devil ailed him? The answer that came only unnerved him more. Was it growing warm in here? Had the air become close? With a grunt, Nicholas forced himself to focus. All he had to do now was find the opening. But what if it lay above them? Without a ladder or rope, they could not hope to scale these walls. And the entrance might be unrecognisable, perhaps something he had already passed.

And as if he wasn’t grappling with enough, his light dipped, casting wild shadows upon the very area he was trying to examine. With a low oath, Nicholas turned to rebuke the boy, but the reprimand died on his lips. Emery had gone pale and wide-eyed, as though staring at some unseen horror.

‘What is it?’ Nicholas whispered.

Emery raised a hand to point in the direction of other carvings, most notably one of a Templar over five feet in height. ‘I thought …’ the boy began, only to trail off, as though unable to continue.

‘What?’

‘I thought I saw something,’ Emery whispered, haltingly. ‘A pair of eyes watching us.’

Motioning the boy to silence, Nicholas put a hand to the hilt of his sword. Anything might be waiting in the blackness that lay outside their small circle of light. Bats were common enough in caves, but other, less friendly creatures might have wandered into the tunnel—or be kept there by the Templars to guard their secrets.

Nicholas rose slowly to his feet, though he saw nothing stirring and heard no scurrying or snarling. He turned to scan the rest of the chamber, but Emery stopped him with a gesture.

‘No, they were there,’ the boy insisted, pointing at the carving of the Templar. ‘Its eyes … looked like … human eyes.’

Nicholas would have dismissed such a claim, but Emery did not seem given to whimsy, and the strangeness of their surroundings made anything seem possible. The boy had not declared that the stone came to life, just that it had human eyes, and he considered the answer to such a puzzle.

Approaching cautiously, Nicholas motioned for Emery to hold the lantern for closer inspection. One of the largest of the carvings, the Templar resembled those that graced the tombs of such knights, except the figure was standing upright, his huge sword in front of him, pointing downwards.

Moving closer, Nicholas reached towards the dark recesses of its features, touching a finger to the sightless orbs. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find the sockets empty, but the surface was as solid and cold as any statue. Perhaps Emery had been fooled by a trick of the light. Still, Nicholas ran his hand over the figure’s outline, attempting to move it as he had the stone in the church. It did not budge.

Reaching the bottom, he sat back on his haunches, eyeing the sword that pointed towards the earth at his feet. It was no different than any other of the outcroppings, yet its size and position made it more realistic than the others, as though it stood guard over something. Nicholas slid his fingers into the crevice below, and this time, he felt something give.

Tugging at the sword, Nicholas pulled the entire piece outwards and wondered if he had finally found the entrance to the preceptory. But Emery’s gasp of alarm made him step back. Had he opened some kind of crypt, or was something very much alive hidden inside? He could only hope that Emery’s brother was not entombed within.

Drawing his sword, Nicholas was prepared for anything, but when the makeshift door swung wide, no corpse was revealed, only the small figure of a man. He was no warrior, either, but wore the brown robes and serene expression of a monk. And unlike Brother Gilbert, he appeared unconcerned by the sight of the visitors, even in this underground sanctum.

However, he closed the portal before turning to face them, hands clasped before him calmly. ‘You have no need of your weapon here, my lord,’ he said in a soft voice. Old and wizened, he was hardly a threat, especially with the entrance shut behind him. None the less, he was an imposing figure and appeared to know more than he should.

Although Nicholas sheathed his sword, he vowed to keep his wits about him and nodded at Emery, glad to see the boy’s hand steady upon the lantern.

‘I am Father Faramond and I have been expecting you,’ the priest said.

Nicholas heard Emery’s indrawn breath at the words, but, unlike Guy, he did not think the Templars possessed of any unnatural powers. There was a more sensible explanation for this greeting and Faramond soon gave it.

‘Knowing your sire, Nicholas de Burgh, I feared you would not be easily dissuaded or dismissed,’ he said.

‘It was you behind the eyes of the carving, looking at us through some kind of slit,’ Nicholas said.

The priest nodded. ‘It is an old device, a precaution of our forebears, yet none in all these years have penetrated to this, our most private of places.’

‘And what is the punishment for intrusion, Father?’ Emery asked. By his tone, the boy expected the worst, though Nicholas had no intention of being killed for trespassing, no matter how ancient or sacred the site. His fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword, a nearly imperceptible movement, yet the priest must have noticed.

‘Although we are a military order, we do not do murder, my lord.’

Nicholas was glad to hear it, but considering his earlier reception at Temple Roode, he was not prepared to trust any of the brethren, no matter how unassuming. At least not yet. So he kept his hand where it was, just in case the killing of enemies of the order extended to those who might reveal their secrets. And he tendered a warning. ‘If you know my father, then I hope you would not rouse the wrath of the de Burghs.’

‘And I hope that I might trust such a one not to betray us,’ Faramond answered, his tone gentle but firm.

Lifting his brows, Nicholas nodded his agreement and a silent understanding passed between them before the priest turned towards Emery. ‘As for you, child, you are bound by more than he to keep your silence.’

Emery paled and nodded, as though fearful, a circumstance that made Nicholas’s fingers tighten around his weapon. ‘If we are the first to penetrate this place, how did you know to look for us, or do you keep watch here at all times?’

‘Oh, no,’ Faramond said. ‘We rarely gather here any more. I instructed one of the shepherds to report upon your whereabouts. When you went directly to the church, I took up my position here. The de Burghs are known to be tenacious, among their many admirable qualities.’

Faramond paused. ‘However, my brethren may not be as untroubled as I by your incursion. Therefore, let us make this meeting as brief as possible. What is it you seek at Temple Roode, my lord?’

‘As I told Brother Gilbert, who was less than helpful, I am looking for a Templar knight who gave his name as Gwayne. He assaulted me as well as this young man’s brother, Gerard Montbard, a Hospitaller who is now missing.’