“You should know, then, that Philippe believes you might be a spy. I haven’t decided yet. But since we have the swords, don’t you think it best if you come with us? At least until we can decide what to do with you?”
“I have a sword,” I said defensively, having been caught completely off guard. I wanted to prove to them that a Templar squire is no one to be trifled with.
“Yes. I see. Two, in fact. We have six.”
She had a point.
Done with the discussion, Celia mounted her horse. She nudged him forward and held her hand out to me.
Reluctantly, I grabbed it and struggled up into the saddle behind her.
So far, France did not have much to recommend it.
3
We rode west along the beach for several hours without a word passing between us. As dusk approached, Celia rode farther inland toward the tree line. Soon we were riding through the wooded countryside. I hoped we’d find a place to stop shortly, as it was enormously uncomfortable riding the horse. I had overestimated my condition; each hoofbeat brought jarring pain, and every so often a groan escaped my lips. It grew worse when we crossed from the sand onto the more uneven terrain of the forest.
“Are you sure you aren’t hurt?” Celia asked.
“No, I’m fine, really,” I said through gritted teeth.
Celia chuckled, and then as if to intentionally vex me, slapped the reins and broke into a quick gallop. After a few yards, I couldn’t take it anymore and begged her to stop. This only made her spur the horse harder, and after we jumped a small creek, she pulled up into a clearing.
“Are you all right, Templar?” she asked.
With great care, I slid off the horse, nearly tumbling to the ground. With hands on my knees, I struggled to breathe, but each gasp only brought more pain.
“Just need a little rest, but I don’t want to hold you up. If you’ll just tell me where I can find the nearest port, I’ll sleep for a day or three and proceed on my own.”
“We’re stopping here for the night anyway. Here is fresh water. Philippe should be able to find us something to eat,” she said.
By now the other riders in the party had caught up to us. The other young woman and three of the men dismounted and began making preparations to camp for the night. Philippe spoke to Celia in low tones. It was impossible to hear what they were saying, but from their expressions it looked like an argument. She raised her voice at one point, and he glowered in my direction before riding off into the woods. The other members of her group paid no attention to their little spat.
In a matter of minutes, the horses had been tethered between two trees, their saddles removed. A small fire was built in short order, and two of the men scoured the nearby woods for more firewood.
The woman pulled a few cooking implements from a bag she had carried on her saddle. She knelt near the fire, adding more wood.
Still sore, I limped to a nearby tree, slowly lowering myself to the ground and leaning back against the trunk. Sleep came instantly. The clattering sound of Philippe returning woke me. It was still light, but the twilight shadows crept through the forest. Philippe dismounted, carrying some type of large fowl across his saddle. He handed it to one of the men, who left the clearing to clean the bird.
Celia was circling the camp, her hand on the hilt of her sword as if she’d been keeping watch.
“Feeling better?” she asked when she saw me awake.
“Yes, thank you,” I said.
“We’ll have food soon. Philippe is an excellent hunter, and Martine is an even better cook.”
Looking at Philippe, I saw no evidence of a bow or other hunting weapon.
“How does he hunt with no bow?” I asked.
“He has his ways.”
Wonderful. I was already on unfriendly terms with a large, enormously strong man with a sword who evidently captured wild game with his bare hands. My situation was improving by the hour. Using the tree for support, I clawed my way to my feet. My back and knee felt better, but I resigned myself to several days of pain and stiffness.
The fowl was cleaned and mounted on a wooden spit. Martine took some herbs from her bag and sprinkled them over the bird, then propped it over the fire. The sight of the food made my stomach growl in anticipation.
Celia smiled and walked to the fire. As I followed her with my eyes, I caught Philippe glaring at me. He had pulled his sword from his scabbard and was sharpening it with a stone. As he worked, he periodically ran his thumb along the edge, never taking his eyes off me.
I smiled and gave him a jaunty wave.
He was not amused. His eyes darkened and his jaw muscles clenched. It was quite possible he might jump across the fire and thrash me, but he returned to his sword. Then his head snapped up and he hissed, catching everyone’s attention. They were on their feet in an instant, silently drawing their swords.
The woods were quiet. Too quiet. Unsure what was going on, I was afraid to pull my own weapon from my belt, lest the friendly Philippe misinterpret it as a threatening move. Something was wrong.
Philippe slowly rotated, looking intently into the woods surrounding our camp. He cocked his head to the side, like a dog searching the underbrush for vermin. He stood about five yards away from me when without warning an arrow thunked into the trunk of the tree between us. Gray goose feathers were attached to the shaft, and I recognized it instantly.
Robard.
4
Philippe shouted out a command, and in a blur one of the men kicked dirt over the fire, dousing the flame. He let out a bloodcurdling scream and charged into the brush in the direction the arrow had come from. The other three men melted into the forest.
“Wait!” I shouted. “Robard, don’t shoot! These are friends!”
Robard didn’t answer, and when I turned to explain to Celia what was happening, I was startled by the sight of Maryam holding Celia firmly from behind with one golden dagger at her neck.
Oh no.
“Maryam, wait! Stop. Everyone stop.”
Celia was not moving but cursing rapidly. Maryam ordered her to drop her sword. Celia shouted something back and reluctantly complied.
“Maryam, let her go! For God’s sake, she’s a friend. These people have not harmed me!”
Maryam looked confused, but did not release her grip on Celia. I heard Robard shout, “Tristan, run! I have you covered!”
“No! Robard, stop! Please put down your bow! And watch out! You have a very large, angry Frenchman headed your way.”
“What?” he shouted back.
“Just don’t shoot anyone. I’ll explain everything. Come into the camp!”
Maryam still held Celia, but in the seconds I’d been preoccupied, Martine had advanced toward her, sword at the ready.
“Martine,
