The Last de Burgh

Emery blanched. The Templar! He would soon make his way to this place, whether directed so by the brethren at the commandery or not. And though Gerard hadn’t spoken of a de Burgh, he had warned about the Templar. Emery swallowed hard.

‘Yes, I am Emery. And Gerard was here, injured, but he was gone when I awoke,’ she said. ‘I was just going to search for him.’

‘On foot?’ the young man asked, his scepticism obvious.

‘He’s my brother,’ Emery answered.

While the young man continued to eye her suspiciously, Nicholas de Burgh nodded his approval of her statement and Emery felt a sudden kinship with the great knight. Uncomfortable, she glanced away, for she had nothing in common with such an exalted personage. Yet she would rather trust him than the Templar and she had little chance of helping Gerard on her own.

Emery cleared her throat. ‘Will you help me find him, my lord?’ She held her breath as she waited for the man’s answer, an eagerness that had nothing to do with Gerard seizing hold of her.

‘You may ride with my squire, Guy,’ he said and Emery loosed a low sigh of relief. Although Guy muttered a protest, after a quelling glance from his master he motioned for her to join him.

However, when Emery swung up behind the squire, she realised the problems inherent in joining the two males. Years ago when she had accompanied Gerard, he had been well aware of her disguise. Now she would be forced to hide the truth or forgo her place, for no man would condone such behaviour from a grown woman.

Despite these concerns, Emery felt her earlier fear and dread slip away, replaced by a certain anticipation. Uncomfortable once more, she reminded herself of Gerard’s warning and resolved to trust no one, no matter how handsome and powerful. Yet, as Guy swung round towards the knight’s great destrier, Emery had the strange sensation that she would follow Nicholas de Burgh to the ends of the earth.

If only she could.

Chapter Two

Nicholas gazed out over the endless moor and swore to himself. The few paths that cut through the heather were barely discernible and seemed to lead nowhere, twisting back upon themselves, while carpets of green moss disguised treacherous bogs. The bleak landscape was a far cry from the gentle hills around Campion, and Nicholas felt a sudden longing for his home. Would he ever see those golden towers again?

The thought made him glance towards Guy, who made no secret of his wish to return. Their simple journey had turned into something else entirely, and Nicholas felt a stab of guilt for keeping the boy away for so long. But he told himself that sooner or later Guy would go home—with or without his master.

Nicholas looked away, unwilling to meet his squire’s gaze. Guy had been reluctant to take up the Hospitaller’s cause, claiming that whatever happened between two strange knights was no one’s business. But Nicholas was eager for the task, for it was an improvement over his recent recklessness. Aimless recklessness.

Even Nicholas had to admit to that truth. Their current search gave him a purpose which he sorely needed. And if he would like to prove himself after being bested by the Templar last night, who could blame him? Perhaps he could even banish the doubts that had assailed him these past months. But that possibility seemed slim now that he had lost Gerard’s trail.

Scowling at the empty moor, Nicholas wondered where to look. Loath to disappoint the Hospitaller’s brother, he glanced at the boy, only to find Emery’s gaze upon him, startling in its intensity. The boy’s eyes were blue and Nicholas felt an odd catch in his chest at their brightness. The sensation made him glance away, as though he had been caught ogling another man’s wife, and he saw his squire’s curious expression. Annoyed, Nicholas drew to a halt and dismounted, leading his horse to a narrow stream, but Guy, who soon joined him, was not fooled.

‘What is it, my lord? Have you lost the trail?’

Nicholas frowned. Once he would never have heard such a question, couched in tones of concern, from anyone, let alone his squire. But that was when everything had come easily to him and he took for granted the skills and privileges that he’d always possessed.

Things were different now.

Nodding, Nicholas scanned the area once more, as though he might spy something previously missed. But he saw nothing and his gaze returned once more to Emery, who was stroking the neck of Guy’s horse. For a long moment, Nicholas stared, transfixed by the gesture, before turning away to meet his squire’s inquisitive look. ‘Perhaps the boy can help,’ Nicholas said.

Guy snorted. ‘I think Emery is slow-witted, my lord. What’s more, I’m fairly certain—’

Nicholas held up a hand to stop his squire’s speech, having no patience for any further arguments. He had promised Emery’s brother aid, and he intended to honour his word, no matter what Guy might prefer.

His squire sputtered, but Nicholas paid him no heed and motioned for Emery to come closer. He hoped that Guy was wrong about the boy’s mental state. If the brother, Gerard, had left him near the Hospitaller commandery because he needed guidance, they had done ill by bringing him along.

‘Do you know this country, Emery?’ Nicholas asked, as gently as he could.

‘A little, my lord,’ the boy said, ducking as if afraid to meet Nicholas’s gaze. He was a handsome youth, quite striking really, with long lashes that hid those startling eyes …

Nicholas drew in a sharp breath. ‘Do you have any idea where your brother might have gone?’

The boy shook his head. He wore a snug-fitting hat that made it difficult to tell the colour of his hair, but his brows were nearly black and finely arched.

Nicholas glanced away, oddly uncomfortable. ‘Where do these paths lead?’

‘The moor is home to little except religious houses, the Hospitaller commandery, the Templar preceptory and—’

‘The Templars? Where?’ Nicholas asked. When Emery pointed towards a rise, Nicholas turned to Guy. ‘Perhaps we should enquire about our blackguard there.’

Guy’s frown made Nicholas swing back towards Emery. ‘Do you know of any such knight who would have a dispute with your brother?’

Emery shook his head, then spoke haltingly. ‘But last night Gerard warned me against a Templar, among others. I thought his ravings the product of fever until this morning, when a knight of the cross rode up to Clerkwell, the Hospitaller commandery that I … that is nearby.’

‘This morning? You saw a Templar and said nothing?’ Nicholas spoke more sharply than he intended, making Emery flinch. Immediately, Nicholas softened his expression, for the youth was just a stripling, slender and smooth-skinned. And he could not have known how eager Nicholas was to meet last night’s foe.

‘I was afraid and thought only of escaping, lest the Templar find me, my lord,’ Emery said and Nicholas felt churlish.

He eyed the boy thoughtfully. ‘You said the Templar went to the commandery, but if he was following your brother, he would have gone directly to your home. Perhaps the Templar simply went to the nearest Hospitaller commandery, hoping to find Gerard there.’

‘Wouldn’t these knights belong to the same house?’ Guy asked, sounding confused.

‘No,’ Nicholas said. ‘They are members of different religious orders, though, unlike most, both are military orders.’

When Guy blinked, Emery spoke. ‘The Order of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem was founded to provide medical care for pilgrims to the Holy Land, while the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon were founded to protect the pilgrims travelling there,’ he said. ‘The Hospitallers later became a military order, as well, so now both fight the infidels.’

‘Dangerous monks,’ Guy said, warily.

‘The monks themselves do not fight,’ Emery said. ‘Only the knights, the young and able, are sent east. Those who remain here are pious men who tend to their properties, raise the horses and provide equipment that is needed, while seeking donations to the cause.’

A cause that was failing, Nicholas thought. By most accounts, the Holy Land was all but lost and some blamed the military orders, charging that the once-noble and selfless knights had become corrupt, arrogance and greed fuelling their decisions. But Nicholas knew that it was easy to pass judgement from the safety of En gland. And the privileges granted these orders, free from taxes and tithes, often drew resentment.

‘I thought the Templars were already rich as Midas, the New Temple in London being filled with the king’s gold,’ Guy said, as if confirming his thoughts.

‘At the king’s pleasure,’ Nicholas said. ‘The Templars act as bankers, guarding wealth and arranging the transfer of it over distances, for they have long handled the monies used to fund their battles. I doubt that they have amassed much of their own, as they must continue to support the fighting in the east.’

‘The rules of these orders do not allow for personal possessions and require selfless commitment,’ Emery said.

Guy seemed unconvinced. ‘If that is so, where did the phrase “drunk as a Templar” come from?’ he asked. ‘And I’ve heard worse about them, too, strange rumours of hidden hoards and secret meetings. Why, look at what that one did to you!’

Nicholas tried not to wince at the reminder. ‘Perhaps not all are what they should be. Still, they could hardly condone the actions of the man we saw: attempted theft, intimidation and assault,’ he said.

‘Or maybe our man is not what he seems,’ Guy said, with a sidelong glance towards Emery. ‘He might not be a Templar at all, but simply garbed as one.’

‘Well, there is only one way to find out,’ Nicholas said. ‘Let us go see what the good brothers have to say. And if Gwayne, as he called himself at the inn, makes his home there, he might well have returned already.’

Guy greeted the suggestion with alarm. ‘If so, then he will be in his element, with a host of others at his beck and call.’

Nicholas frowned. The day had not yet come when he couldn’t handle a houseful of monks, but he refused to be drawn into a discussion of his abilities. ‘I doubt that the entire preceptory is full of villains,’ he said, sending Guy back to his mount with a look.

However, his own steps were stayed by a light touch upon his arm. Emery, eyes downcast and slender face flushed, was standing at his elbow. Nicholas felt that odd hitch in his chest again, an unwanted sensation that made him speak more sharply than he ought. ‘Yes?’

But this time Emery held his ground. ‘Beware, my lord. This country is isolated and the religious houses even more so. They have little contact with the outside world and answer to none except the ecclesiastical authorities.’

Had no one faith in him? Nicholas wondered. They were not facing an army, but a monastery populated by men whose fighting days were long over. Yet the blue eyes gazing up at him were fraught with anxiety, making Nicholas glance away and choose his words carefully. Even if his abilities were suspect, the power of his family was not. ‘Do you really think they would dare make enemies of the de Burghs?’

Yet Emery was not reassured. ‘I don’t know, my lord.’ With a bow of his head, the boy headed towards the horses, leaving Nicholas to mull over his earnest warning.

Having done battle more than once, Nicholas had not been concerned with the prospect of facing a few elderly religious brethren, but he was not so arrogant as to dismiss Emery’s words. Although it was unlikely that this remote preceptory was the home of violent men intent upon harming visitors, he could not deny that one Templar in particular was dangerous. Should there be more like him, Guy hadn’t the strength or skills for much combat. And as for Emery …

Nicholas found himself watching the odd youth’s graceful gait before turning abruptly away to find Guy eyeing him with an odd expression.

‘See? He’s not slow-witted,’ Nicholas said, inclining his head towards Emery.

His squire snorted. ‘That’s not all he’s not.’

Nicholas approached Temple Roode cautiously, but there was little that was forbidding about the sheep grazing in fields and the cluster of neat buildings: two barns, a church and a small house. The property was more a manorial farm than a fortress; there was no keep, no moat, no gate and no guards. In fact, there was no sign of life, not even of the lay people who presumably worked the land, yet all was in good condition.

The stillness was eerie, broken only by the sound of the wind moving through the spindly trees that surrounded the manor, and Nicholas saw the look of unease on Emery’s face. He did not share it, fearing nothing any more except his own failure to protect Guy and the boy. In fact, his main concern was Emery because his squire seemed ill disposed towards their companion.

Guy did not seem to understand that, despite the events of the past year, Nicholas was still a knight, sworn to aid others. He had agreed to help Gerard, which meant that Emery was now his responsibility, and he refused to listen to his squire’s arguments otherwise. He could only be grateful that, after several attempts at discussing the boy, Guy had lapsed into moody silence, for he had more important matters to consider than his squire’s petty jealousies.

Dismounting, Nicholas glanced around and wondered whether the residents had been called away or if they were ill. He was reminded of his brother Reynold’s experience with an abandoned village. However, if this place was abandoned, it had been only recently.

‘Hello?’ Nicholas’s voice was loud in the stillness, but none answered his hail. The horses moved restlessly behind him and Nicholas motioned for Guy and Emery to remain mounted in case they needed to make a hurried escape. Striding forwards, he put his hand upon the hilt of his sword, sensing that something was not quite right.

As if to prove him wrong, a man appeared at the manor entrance. Short, squat and balding, he wore a brown mantle that suggested he was more devout than dangerous. Still, he said nothing, forcing Nicholas to introduce himself.

‘Good day, Brother, I am Nicholas de Burgh. I wonder if I might have a word with you and your brethren.’

‘My brothers are in seclusion, fasting and praying. Are you lost?’ the fellow asked. Although traditionally, monastic houses gave lodging to travellers, he tendered no such offer.

‘My lord de Burgh, shall I tether the horses?’ Guy said, as though to protest this treatment.

Nicholas shook his head, for he could not force his way into a man’s confidence. Instead, he spoke calmly and plainly. ‘We are seeking a Templar knight nearly as tall as I, but more slender and with light-coloured hair.’

‘There are no knights residing here, my lord,’ the brother said, his gaze shuttered, his speech short. Nicholas tried not to draw any conclusions from the man’s manner, for he might have been isolated from the world for so long that he did not deal well with outsiders.

However, Nicholas made sure his own manner was cordial and encouraging. ‘Although he does not reside here, perhaps the knight we seek is associated with this preceptory. He might have trained here or he could be returning home from the Holy Land.’

The brother shook his head, but did not elaborate, leaving Nicholas to guess at the monastery’s usual inhabitants. He longed to talk to someone a bit more forthcoming. ‘Perhaps a brother who has been at Temple Roode longer might recall?’

Again, the man shook his head. If not vowed to silence, he certainly spoke as little as possible. But perhaps that was the way of the Templars. Their secrecy had led to much speculation about them, little of it good, and Nicholas’s opinion of the order was declining rapidly.

Although loath to distrust a holy man, he couldn’t help feeling that the brother was hiding something. Nicholas could claim few dealings with those in religious houses, but he had sought shelter in such places and never received this sort of treatment. Were the Templars so different, or was his search responsible for this reception?

He decided to change tactics. ‘Brother …?’

‘Gilbert,’ the man said, as though reluctant to part with that detail.

‘Brother Gilbert.’ Nicholas smiled. ‘My father, the Earl of Campion, is a generous contributor to your cause and I’m sure he would be most grateful for any information you can provide me.’

But the monk was unmoved. It seemed that the claims of Templars having become greedy and worldly did not apply to this remote area, or at least this member of the order. And Nicholas could not press him further. He could only watch carefully as he posed his next question.

‘You must have contact with other preceptories, so perhaps you have heard of this knight I seek,’ Nicholas said. ‘He gave his name as Gwayne.’

No flicker of recognition showed in Gilbert’s dour expression. ‘I know no Templar by that name.’

‘He attacked a Hospitaller knight,’ Nicholas said.

But even that news did not faze the man, who maintained his grim expression. ‘Then perhaps you should look to Clerkwell, the Hospitaller commandery, which is not far from here.’

‘Perhaps I will,’ Nicholas said. Nodding graciously, he turned to mount his horse without a backward glance, gesturing for his squire to precede him as they rode away. Guy obeyed and did not slow until they were out of sight of the preceptory. In fact, he seemed unwilling to halt, doing so only after Nicholas had stopped well away from the track. Even then, he kept looking over his shoulder, as though expecting the Pope’s armies to give chase.

‘‘Tis just as I have heard, my lord,’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘The Templars zealously guard their secrets. Why, ‘tis said they uncovered some hidden knowledge in the Holy Land that they now use to their own advantage.’

Nicholas gave his squire a wry glance. Guy had always been a superstitious sort and recent events had made him more so. Frequently, he tried to foist some talisman or charm upon Nicholas, claiming that the objects, whether a coloured stone or a splinter of bone belonging to some long-dead saint, bore special powers. Now, apparently, the Templars themselves were endowed with such.

‘I thought you considered them sunk in dissipation, not keepers of some ancient wisdom,’ Nicholas said drily.

But Guy was not to be dissuaded. ‘‘Twas eerie, my lord, even you must admit to that,’ he said, suppressing a shiver. ‘‘Tis certain they did not want us there, with none to greet us except that surly fellow, who ought to be taught how to treat his betters.’

‘Perhaps so, but I was loath to raise any suspicions with Brother Gilbert,’ Nicholas said. ‘Better he think himself well rid of us.’

‘You don’t mean to go back?’ Guy asked in an incredulous tone.

‘I would like to have a closer look at the place,’ Nicholas admitted. ‘Something didn’t feel right.’

Guy groaned. ‘Nothing felt right, my lord! Yet no good could come of probing into their mysteries. Who knows what goes on there? They obviously are hiding something.’

At his words, even quiet Emery glanced at him with an expression of alarm. ‘You don’t think they’re holding Gerard in there, do you?’

Nicholas held up a hand to stop his squire’s raving. While Templar preceptories in the east might have reason to keep prisoners, he could not conceive of the brethren locking up their own here at home.

‘I do not suspect the Templars of capturing their fellows, no matter what dark tales are whispered about them,’ he said, with a quelling glare at Guy. ‘Nevertheless, I’d like to take another look at Temple Roode.’

Naturally, Guy did not agree. ‘But if you do not think Gerard is there, then we will only be wasting precious time in our search for him.’

While his squire had a point, Nicholas was not prepared to leave the Templar preceptory behind on the strength of one brother’s dubious word. ‘‘Tis possible that a return visit may yield nothing, for Brother Gilbert may be concealing little more than his larder from hungry visitors,’ he said. ‘However, I would make sure the man who left me for dead is not enjoying the hospitality of the house.’

The reminder of the attack finally silenced Guy and Nicholas looked out over the moors, assessing the possibilities. ‘There’s really no means of approaching the place without being seen unless we wait until nightfall, and even then the moon will prove both help and hindrance,’ he said, remembering the stretch of open land that they would have to cross to reach the cluster of buildings. It was simply too barren, with few trees to provide shadows in which to hide.

‘There might be another way.’

To Nicholas’s surprise, ‘twas Emery who spoke and the boy coloured, as though regretting his speech.

‘Go on,’ Nicholas said.

‘It could be nothing but an old legend,’ Emery said, hesitating.

‘What old legend?’

Again Emery hesitated, but Nicholas urged him on with a nod.

The boy drew a deep breath, as though summoning his courage. ‘There have always been rumours of tunnels beneath the Templar property, going back to when they first settled there.’

‘Tunnels? What for?’ Guy asked.

Emery shrugged. ‘No one knows. Perhaps the Templars sought to travel from their preceptory to the village without notice. I can’t imagine where else they would wish to go in secret.’

Guy muttered something and crossed himself, obviously leery of either the Templars, underground passages or both. But Nicholas knew the value of tunnels. He had gained access to his brother Dunstan’s keep through just such means, foiling the enemies who held it. Castles, built for defence, often had escapes routes for use in times of siege.

But ’twas unlikely that a manorial farm, especially an ecclesiastical property like Temple Roode, could boast anything of the sort. Yet, what else had they to do until darkness fell? ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ he said, eager for a challenge.

Guy groaned. ‘And how are we going to discover in an afternoon what no one else has ever found, maybe for a hundred years?’

‘As far as I know, no one has ever looked for them,’ Emery said. ‘Why would they?’

Guy shook his head, as if dismayed by the folly of both of his companions, and muttered to himself in dire tones, ‘More likely, who would dare?’

Emery felt only dismay as they neared the village. What had she been thinking? While they wasted time hunting for tunnels that probably didn’t exist, Gerard could be travelling in the opposite direction, putting miles between them. She should never have spoken.

But who would have thought her opinion would carry weight with any man, let alone Lord de Burgh? Emery had forgotten how differently she was treated when garbed as her twin. It had been too long ago and she had since learned to keep her silence. So what had possessed her to speak, especially in such exalted company?

Emery shook her head. Nicholas de Burgh rode his huge destrier with ease, tall and proud, his gloved hands gripping the reins confidently. He was a noble, wielding the kind of power and influence that should strike fear into anyone pretending to be someone else. That, coupled with her brother’s warning, ought to have kept her quiet and wary. And yet …

Emery glanced away from the handsome figure and told herself ‘twas distrust of religious houses that had prompted the suggestion. She could not call it back now. But when they drew to a halt on the low rise that overlooked the village below, she was tempted. Where were they to find underground tunnels amongst the cluster of small homes, with people and animals roaming about?

Emery waited for some sign of scorn or rebuke from her companions, but Lord de Burgh appeared unperturbed as he looked out over the landscape. ‘Now, if you were a Templar, where would you want to go?’ he asked.

Blinking in surprise at the question, Emery turned to study the village she had not seen in some time. For a moment, the years fell away, and it seemed as though she were young and at liberty to explore the moors, Gerard at her side. And in that instant, the answer came to her.