The Mongoliad: Book Two

compound.

Shortly thereafter, other squires took their horses and they were escorted inside.

The interior of the place gave testament to the fires that had gutted it, but here and there amid the blackened stones, bits of old finery could be seen, like rare flowers poking through the floor of a burned forest. Dietrich and his men waited quietly just inside the entryway in the company of a stern-faced knight in the unmarred white surcoat and red cross of the Templars. So close, Dietrich felt the old bitterness rising in him once more. His own order had it in them to be as great, if not mightier, than the holders of this ruined house.

After Schaulen, who could say how far back that ascendancy had been pushed?

Burchard was also watching the Templar, calm assessment in his eyes. God’s hierarchies demanded a certain competitiveness, Dietrich reflected, and even allies sharing his great cloak could feel a certain animosity. At least his bodyguard was paying attention now. That was encouraging.

Dietrich’s contemplation was aborted by the approach of another Templar, this one older and harder faced. “Leuthere will see you now,” he said and gestured for Dietrich to follow.

Leuthere de Montfort was known to Dietrich only by reputation, but that was sufficiently lively and widespread to merit respect. He came from nobility, though in lieu of dedicating himself to the family name, he had opted instead to devote himself to the martial orders in the service of Christ. He was known for courage, zealousness, and an almost holy imperturbability in the face of adversity.

Sitting opposite him now, after having seen him but a handful of times at a distance, the man up close was precisely what Dietrich had expected.

“I am honored to meet you in person, Leuthere de Montfort,” Dietrich said, all casualness subdued, lowering his voice and deliberately intoning respect. As this man obviously warrants.

“Dietrich von Gruningen,” Leuthere replied, his face as stolid and almost as gray as a chunk of battered stone. “The honor is mine.”

They sat upon wood stools before the fire-blackened stones of a large hearth, its once-fine carvings now reduced to charred, grotesque mockeries. The whole interior was redolent of recent scouring fires, and perhaps even burned bodies. The Templars did not seem to mind-or even to notice.

Dietrich was directly opposite Leuthere. The third point of the triad they formed was occupied by Emmeran, commander of the contingent of Hospitallers in Legnica. He was of taller stature than Leuthere but projected less strength. In the present company, whose devotion was supposed to be absolute, Emmeran seemed strangely removed from the affairs at hand.

“We were discussing the matter of the Circus of Swords when you arrived,” Emmeran said more quietly. “You have heard the news?”

“I have just assigned one of my best fighters to the lists,” Dietrich replied. “I had hoped to speak with you both on the subject.” He paused and folded his hands in his lap. “What do you believe our purpose is in being here?”

“Something I myself have wondered,” Leuthere said with impenetrable calm. “When we came here, it was with the understanding that our swords were needed to keep this accursed Khan from laying waste to Christendom. Until the Shield-Brethren of Petraathen had the audacity to challenge the silence of the arena, my brothers and I were contemplating departure. After all, we are not sufficiently strong to lay siege to the Mongol encampments, and without the arena, we have had little reason to remain.”

Was that a faint hint of admiration in Leuthere’s voice for the Shield-Brethren-or consternation at their actions? Dietrich could not tell. Damn the man’s calm! Medusa herself could not render him more unreadable.

In the absence of certainty, he tried to steer their opinions toward concern, perhaps even alarm.

“The Shield-Brethren are not to be trusted,” he said. “They have already committed assault against my own order, and their actions at the First Field were rash-exceedingly rash. They have given us an opportunity to stall this Khan through bloodshed in his arenas, true enough, but that does not mean they are deserving of our support.”

“The matter of the horses, I had heard of that,” Leuthere said and looked aside placidly, as if discussing a matter of hounds and hares. “They were returned to you, were they not?”

This man is a veritable wall, Dietrich thought. I cannot tell what wheels turn behind his words. Is he a friend or a foe?

“Yes,” Dietrich replied. “Albeit in a manner that did little to demonstrate common courtesy, much less respect. There is also the matter of my battered men. But I am more concerned with the immediate matter of the Circus of Swords and knowing where the other orders stand than with seeking restitution for a possible insult,” Dietrich lied. “My words should be taken as caution against putting too much trust in the overly impulsive. It would behoove those of us who prefer a more disciplined plan to show solidarity rather than follow a trail left by the rash and the audacious, don’t you think?”

“Fairly asserted,” Leuthere said. He turned his cold eyes to Emmeran, seeking his counsel.

“I am not convinced this ordeal is more than a mummer’s farce,” Emmeran told them in softer tones. The Hospitaller seemed in all ways a man possessed of less verve than Dietrich and Leuthere.

God in Heaven, Dietrich thought, you are a warrior in the service of the Almighty. Where is your passion?

“We cannot leave now,” Dietrich replied more sharply than he’d intended. “The Pope has called upon us to be here. We cannot back down from such a command and such a charge.”

Emmeran raised his eyebrows. Leuthere was silent. “Forgive me, Heermeister Dietrich,” Emmeran said, “but I would have thought that, of all of us, you would understand the value of discretion and caution, given the tragedy that befell your predecessor.”

Schaulen. It is always about Schaulen. Dietrich felt the rage building inside like boiling water over an open hearth. “That was different,”

he said. He could not, must not, lose control in front of these two men. He had several leaders yet to see, and if word should get around that he was rattled and could not hide his anger, he would find himself truly without allies in a place that was already unfriendly to his order.

“Nevertheless, your point is well taken,” Dietrich said, laying his gaze on Emmeran. Coward. Sit and contemplate, if you like. Muse on the weak and the sick, while the Mongol host rolls over Europe and the Shield-Brethren bring our efforts to naught. I and mine will be doing something about it.

He cleared his throat. “Caution and discretion are not without their place.”

“You and yours mean to stay, then?” Leuthere asked. Whatever motivated Leuthere de Montfort, try as he might, Dietrich could not see behind the Templar’s mask.

“Yes. Somebody must encourage a different direction than that taken by our rash, so-called knights of the Virgin Defender. If others will not step up to that task, then I and mine will fill the void. If God wills it, others will then follow. It is a blessed path, and righteous.”

Whom God favored was not even a question in Dietrich’s mind. The Shield-Brethren had not, he strongly suspected, abandoned their pagan roots. A weed with beautiful branches was still a weed. Pull it from the earth and the roots would appear the same. Somehow, someway, Dietrich would do just that.

“I encourage you to speak to the other orders,” Leuthere said, indirectly indicating that the conversation had reached its conclusion. He extended a hand to Dietrich. His grip was powerful. “I thank you, Dietrich, for conveying what information you have. You have given me much to consider. I pray you find the way you seek. If God favors you, others will surely follow in your track.”

“Go with God,” Emmeran murmured and extended his own hand. This grip was also surprisingly strong.

“His will is always foremost in my thoughts,” Dietrich added, bidding both men farewell. Burchard and Sigeberht awaited him in the fire-blackened entryway, faces lighting with curiosity as he approached. He dismissed it with a wave of his hand as their horses were retrieved. His mood had sobered somewhat as he climbed into the saddle, but the humiliations continued to rankle, and the relative lack of progress here was unsettling.

Still, it had not been without its benefits. If he could show the worth of his own course, Leuthere had implied, the Templars might follow, and they would be a great strength to have at his back. Nevertheless, the battlefield could change rapidly in a short time, taking away one’s advantages and handing them to his enemies.

Dietrich remembered Emmeran’s words, much as they galled him, and now took them to heart.

As they rode out of the compound and headed back to their own chapter house, he silently vowed under the