archbishop was with them?'
With that, he darted forward and ran to bow before the august cleric. 'My lord archbishop! You honour us with your presence. Please, come in. You shall have the best room I can offer.'
Archbishop Bertrano gave the man a sour smile. 'I would gladly accept your hospitality,' he replied, 'but I believe the commander will have other plans for me.'
At the innkeeper's bewildered expression, d'Anjou put his arm on the archbishop's shoulder and said, 'Our cleric is on a special pilgrimage, you see. Nothing but cabbage and cold water for him, and a horsehair robe in the stable.'
'The stable!' cried the innkeeper. 'But, my lord, I could never allow it. Why, it would ruin me. Please, you must see that -'
'Just give him the room next to mine,' said de Bracineaux wearily. 'And bring us wine at once. You can stable the horses later.'
'Of course, my lord,' said the landlord. He hesitated.
'Well?' demanded the Templar.
'I have two rooms, my lord, but they are not next to one another. Unless, you wish to…'
'Just put him where I do not have to look at him, or listen to him snore.'
'At once, my lord.' The innkeeper spun on his heel and hurried inside, followed by Grieco, who caught the door and held it open for the important guests. De Bracineaux pushed the reluctant churchman ahead of him and, once inside, made for the low table before the hearth. D'Anjou came last and paused long enough to take Grieco's arm and pull him close.
'I will be wanting a companion this evening,' he told the youth.
'A companion?' wondered Grieco. 'I am certain my uncle would be most happy to oblige. I will ask him, if you -'
'The devil take your uncle, boy! I want a woman. The younger the better.' He gripped the young man's arm hard. 'Understand?'
He left the gaping Grieco at the door and, while the landlord bustled the silently disapproving archbishop to a room at the back of the inn, he joined de Bracineaux at a large table before the fire. He removed his gloves and put them on the table. 'God's eyes, but it is good to be dry again,' he said; sweeping off his hat, he tossed it on to the floor. 'I thought it would never stop raining.'
'You are soft, d'Anjou. You would not last three days in the East. You would have perished long before ever setting foot in Jerusalem.'
'Then you can have your Holy Land, and all that goes with it,' the baron replied airily. 'I will stay here and delight the ladies of Iberia.'
The anxious innkeeper arrived just then with a large jar and cups which he placed gingerly on the table. 'Wine, my lords. It is not mulled, but…'
'Pour,' said the Templar.
The innkeeper did as he was told, and then backed away as the commander raised his cup to his lips. He took a single sip, swilled it in his mouth and then spat it out. 'Agh!' De Bracineaux pitched the contents of his cup into the fire, then threw the cup at the startled landlord. 'I said I wanted wine, you dolt. Not this horse piss you serve everyone else. Now get you gone and bring me something drinkable-the best you have.'
The innkeeper's mouth worked as he tried to think of a suitable reply. D'Anjou stood, shoved the jar into his hands, spun him around, and sent him staggering back the way he had come. 'Look lively, man. My throat feels like old leather.'
The baron sat down again and began removing his boots, which he placed by the side of the hearth. He stretched out his feet to the fire. The Templar watched him without interest.
In a moment, the innkeeper came creeping back with another jar which he offered with extreme hesitation. At a glance from the Master, he proceeded to pour, but his hand shook so badly that he missed the edge of the cup and spilled wine on the table, almost splashing d'Anjou. 'Clumsy oaf!' snarled the baron, leaping to his feet. He snatched the jar from the cringing innkeeper. 'Get out and leave us in peace.'
The man scurried away and d'Anjou, returning to his chair, poured a cup of wine which he pushed across the table to de Bracineaux. He watched as the commander sniffed the offering, and then took a swallow. 'Passable,' said the Templar, whereupon the baron took up a hot poker from the hearth and plunged it into the jar.
'Mulled,' d'Anjou said, as the wine sizzled. Tossing aside the poker, he poured himself a cup and settled back into his chair once more, feet spread before the fire.
They drank and let the wine do its work; when de Bracineaux held out his cup for more, the baron filled it and said, 'I suppose this priest has a church somewhere close by. Has the archbishop said where it is?'
'The bloated pig's bladder of a priest professes not to know. He is more trouble than he is worth. I am sick of the sight of him.'
'Regrets?' enquired the baron.
'Since Santiago he has been worthless,' grumbled the Templar. 'And he was very little use before that.'
'I smell something cooking.' The baron lifted his nose and craned his neck around.
'Probably pork,' muttered de Bracineaux. 'I am heartily sick of pork, too.'
'What about some of that beef we saw coming into town?' said d'Anjou, sipping from his cup. 'Perhaps we should have Gislebert get us some.'
'He has better things to do than cater to your idle whims, d'Anjou.'
At that moment, the door opened and Gislebert appeared. 'Ah!' said d'Anjou, lifting his cup. 'The very man himself. Here now, sergeant, de Bracineaux thinks you have better things to do than serve my trifling fancies. Is that so?'
Gislebert glared, but made no reply. 'The men are lodged and the horses stabled.' He looked at the wine longingly.
'What news of Matthias? Did the abbot say where the priest might be found?'
The sergeant swallowed. 'He is not here. The abbot said he is expected to return to the monastery for the winter, but he has not yet arrived.'
'Then we shall go and get him,' said the commander. 'Where is he?'
'He is building a church on lands near here. It is no great distance-half a day's ride, perhaps, not more.'
'Then tomorrow we will ride out and convince this priest to join our happy pilgrimage.'
'That should be no great difficulty. His grace the archbishop can simply compel him under threat of excommunication,' said d'Anjou, pouring a cup of wine for Gislebert. 'Sit down, sergeant. You look faint from thirst.'
'Once we have the priest to lead us, we will abandon that puffing windbag at last.' De Bracineaux drained his cup and, as the baron refilled it, he shouted for the landlord to bring the food. When the innkeeper appeared, the Templar said, 'I have a taste for roast beef.'
'I have no beef, my lord,' the landlord said, wringing his hands in the cloth at his waist. 'My good wife has made a rabbit stew with shallots, wine, and mushrooms. Everyone says it is excellent.'
'I want beef, damn you! Beef!'
'But there is none to be had in all the town just now. Perhaps a young bull will be butchered in a day or two, and then I shall certainly get some for you.' He spread his hands helplessly. 'I have some sausages; and there is fresh pork. If you like, I will have my good wife make for you a fine -'
'Devil take you and your good wife!' the Templar raged. 'I want beef, and that is what I shall have.'
The innkeeper appealed to d'Anjou. 'I am sorry, my lord, there is no beef in all of Palencia.' His dark eyes implored. 'The rabbit stew is very good.'
'Bring it,' the baron told him.
'At once, my lord.' He turned and scurried back to the kitchen. 'I will bring bread, too.'
'And more wine!'
'At once, sir.'
The Master glared at d'Anjou. 'Never cross me like that again,' he growled.
'What – and do you mean to crucify the man?' replied the baron casually. 'For God's sake, de Bracineaux, there is no beef. Carving up our host will avail you nothing.' He leaned back in his chair, clutching his cup to his chest and closed his eyes, savouring the warmth of the fire.
