We spent an hour in the late morning stopping to rest and building a small fire to warm ourselves. My wound ached considerably, and I strode back and forth near the fire, trying to work the soreness out of it. Maryam could see I was still troubled and approached me while Robard and Little John squatted by the fire, eyeing each other like two dogs measuring the distance to the last bone, each one waiting for the other to pounce first. Angel sat between them, watching them with curiosity.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Much better. Stronger every day, in fact,” I said. In truth riding horseback was growing unbearable. But remaining in one place long enough to heal was not an option.
“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “Is something on your mind besides the fair Celia?”
I shrugged. Maryam had an uncanny ability to extract information from me. She could read my moods and somehow found a way to make me reveal my secrets, often before I even realized what I was saying. And if my answers became short and clipped, she probed harder until she had sniffed out the truth. She’d never admit it, of course. Part of her wanted
“Something has been bothering you ever since we escaped the castle in Calais. What is it?” She went straight to the point.
“Really, it’s just my wound. Getting shot is no small thing. A seeping wound in one’s side tends to cut down on happy thoughts, you know.”
“Yes,” she said, flexing the very shoulder Robard’s arrow had wounded in Outremer. “But it’s not the wound, it’s something else. You act puzzled.”
“Hmm. Well, you could be right. I’m trying to figure out a way to keep us all from getting captured and thrown into prison. Or worse. I’d almost rather have Sir Hugh right in front of me, because at least then I’d know where he was. Having him in the shadows makes me jumpy. And as you both so recently reminded me, the only way out of this is for us, or rather me, to kill him. I, a squire to a Templar Knight, must somehow defeat a Marshal of the Order if he doesn’t slay me first.”
“Robard or I would be more than happy to dispatch him for you,” she said. A small smile came over her face at the thought of killing Sir Hugh.
“I appreciate it. Really, I do. But somehow, I think it must fall to me.”
“Almost since the moment I met you, Sir Hugh has been chasing you. . us.” She glanced over her shoulder to the fire, making sure Little John was out of earshot. “And it’s not the Grail that’s troubling you. We could easily see your relief when you revealed your secret to us. But ever since the castle, upon encountering that horrible queen. .” Her voice trailed off.
“All right. I’ll tell you what happened. But it has to be some kind of trick or deception Eleanor and Sir Hugh have concocted to distract me. I’m sure there is nothing to it. When we. . and you were. . on the barrel, just as Sir Hugh was about to. .,” I stammered, not wanting to relive it. “Eleanor said something to me.”
“Men!” Maryam sighed quietly. “Will you get on with it? What?! She told you what, Tristan?!”
“Eleanor. . She said she would see me dead before I ever sat on Richard’s throne.”
Maryam’s black eyes flew open in amazement.
“What!?” she whispered.
“What?” Robard interjected from behind us, never taking his eyes off Little John.
“Nothing!” we both said at once.
We stood silently for a while as Maryam considered my revelation.
“Do you suppose she was serious?” she finally asked.
“I don’t know. One moment she appeared quite sane. The next moment she was cackling away like a crazy witch,” I said.
“What are you two mumbling about over there?” Robard asked again.
“It’s nothing, really, Robard. Tristan just thought he might have seen something in the woods is all,” Maryam said.
“What? Where? Was it Templars? Guards? It could be bandits!” He leapt to his feet, his head swiveling back and forth, scanning the trail ahead of us for any sign of trouble.
“I think I was mistaken,” I said, glaring at Maryam. But before she could say anything else, we mounted up again and rode off.
Robard rode beside us for a long while, giving us little chance to talk further. I wasn’t ready to tell him yet. He undoubtedly would not believe me, and would make jokes I was not in the mood for.
After midday, we found the traveler’s road. Although seeing something so familiar was thrilling, I was hesitant to take such a well-used thoroughfare. But I worried we might become lost and not find St. Alban’s otherwise. And as the day rolled along, the woods and forest became more recognizable to me. We were getting closer. The weather was turning colder, and I welcomed the thought of a warm fire and delicious meal waiting for us at the abbey.
We finally broke through the forest and there before us was the abbey gate. I was so excited I gave rein to my horse and dashed up the lane leading to the courtyard, with my friends following quickly behind me. It took me a moment to realize something was wrong.
The trail leading to the abbey was lined with wooden crosses, each pushed carefully into the ground. None of them had been there when I’d left. I pulled my horse to a stop and jumped down, examining each one. From one cross hung a brother’s robe. Another held the abbot’s rosary. I would know it anywhere, for I’d seen it every day of my life, hanging from the rope belt he cinched around his waist. Each cross held a similar marker. Brother Rupert’s sandals. On another was a small crucifix that had belonged to Brother Christian, who had joined the order just a few short years ago. What was this? This couldn’t be. All of them? Buried here beneath the trees?
My heart rose in my throat, and I hurried back into my saddle as best my wound would allow and rode hard up the lane to the abbey courtyard. More crosses marked the way. First four, then ten, then twenty. Dear God, what had happened? Please, I prayed. Don’t let this be! It must have been some sickness. A plague must have struck a local village and the sick had come here seeking comfort in their dying days and had been buried along the lane. Please don’t let it be the brothers.
But the momentary joy I’d felt at the thought of being home turned immediately to anguish as I arrived in the courtyard and saw what lay before me.
“No!” I cried. I leapt from my horse and dropped to my knees, unable to hold back the tears. “NO!”
St. Alban’s Abbey had been burned to the ground.
13
My former home was a skeleton of ashes and cinders. The fire had been efficient: only a few charred timbers remained upright. In my soul, I knew it was the work of Sir Hugh. In Tyre, while he’d held us in our jail cells, he had sneered while telling me he had tortured the monks. I assumed then that he was bluffing, trying to scare me into revealing the location of the Grail to him. But it was no bluff. On my first night with the regimento in Dover, I remembered seeing him talking with two King’s Guards outside the Commandery. They had been secretive and cunning in their movements, and the guards had left him, riding off to the west. They must have come here. Why? If only I had told Sir Thomas! He might have been able to save them.
Sobs wracked my body. This was my fault. If I had refused Sir Thomas’ offer to join the Templars, if I had stayed here, none of this would have happened. Nothing made sense.
Maryam put her arm gently around my shoulders. “Tristan. .,” she said quietly.
“No. . no. . no. .,” I moaned, pounding the ground in frustration. “He killed them. He killed them all.”
Robard knelt down, also putting his arm on my shoulder. “Come, Tristan,” he said softly, trying vainly to pull me to my feet. “We’ll find out what happened here, I promise-”
“No!” I shouted, skittering away from them. “Don’t you see? He killed them all! They were completely innocent and he burned them to death! And it’s my fault!”
“Lad,” Little John spoke. “Who is it you speak of? I knew of this abbey. If it burned by treachery, who would do such a foul thing?”
