Unicorn Vengeance (20 page)

The crowd murmured to themselves in dissatisfaction, but little doubt had they or Wolfram that the threat was real. They parted reluctantly to grant a path to the Templar knights, uncertainty clouding their brows at the charge leveled against the Order. The king's knight's destrier picked a path across the distance, its nostrils flaring agitatedly. The Templar knights moved not a muscle.

“Heresy?” one asked archly. “Well had I thought that was the domain of the ecclesiastical courts, not the king's courts.”

The king's knight smiled again with strained politeness. “The king but puts his forces at the disposition of the Pope, for he has not the wherewithal to arrest so many at once.”

“Nor has he the wherewithal to stand against Philip,” muttered someone in the crowd. The king's knight spun, but could not identify the heckler in the sea of silently mutinous faces.

“You cannot hold us,” growled another Templar knight.

The king's knight shrugged. “It matters not. On this day, we are charged to arrest you.” He granted the half dozen Templar knights before him a wary eye. “One would hope that you might come along quietly, so as not to endanger those about you,” he murmured silkily. The knights exchanged a glance, then stepped forward as one.

“We will come without protest,” said the first that had spoken.

“And you will grant to me your weapons,” added the king's knight. The crowd gasped its indignation, as did Wolfram. The knight glanced over his shoulder with an uneasiness that showed his awareness of the numbers of those around him. “I must insist,” he added testily.

“Men of honor are we,” the Templar knight argued in a reasonable tone. “Our pledge will we give that we will not draw weapons against you unless provoked.”

The king's knight shook his head. “‘Twill not suffice. Your weapons, if you please.”

The tone of the exchange altered dramatically at that demand. Glances met and held across the crowd and suddenly it seemed the air was cooler, the threat to these knights that much more suspect. Wolfram feared for his brethren in that instant, even knowing that no one held sway over them but the Master and the Pope himself.

Yet they were being arrested like common criminals. Rounded up as one rounds up livestock for the slaughter. The image could not be dislodged from Wolfram's mind.

“Back for compline will we be,” the Templar knight assured his companions with a confidence Wolfram was not sure he was feeling. The Templar unbuckled his sword and presented it to the king's knight with no outward sign of hesitation. His shoulders were squared and his carriage was proud as he walked into the circle of those sent to arrest him.

His companions hesitated but a heartbeat before they followed suit. Wolfram's mouth went dry. No good portent could it be to see Templar knights imprisoned.

The crowd murmured with dissatisfaction to each other as the knights were led away. Wolfram strained his ears and heard the sounds of protest elsewhere in the Ville Neuve. Over a hundred knights there were within these walls, and he wondered abruptly how many of those the king intended to incarcerate.

He pulled his cloak about himself and stepped inconspicuously into the curious and disgruntled crowd that trailed behind the retreating party of knights. Toward the gates they rode, their destriers held in check that the walking Templar knights could keep pace. Wolfram's heart clenched as they passed the smaller streets that fed into the main avenue and more Templar knights were brought into the fold. He glimpsed the familiar faces of sergeants in the ranks of the crowd, their expressions mingling despair and anger.

‘Twas when they stood before the gates of the very Temple itself that he saw a scene he would never forget in all his days.

Fully eighty Templar knights stood within the circle of the mounted king's knights. The king's knights waited expectantly, the watching crowd shuffling restlessly, as they knew not what they might see.

The sight of the Master himself being led from the Temple on foot brought a simultaneous gasp of outrage from the crowd. The treasurer followed on his heels, and several other senior officers whom Wolfram did not recognize directly. The king's knights moved their horses, that the barrier betwixt Templars and crowd would be unassailable, as fury burned hot in Wolfram's chest.

What was this travesty of the Order's position? How dared Philip do this thing? He leapt onto a stoop, that he might better see the Master's fate, and in that instant his superior glanced up. Well it seemed to Wolfram that their gazes met for one endless moment and his heart lurched to a halt.

Then the Master glanced down, before any could guess to whom he had looked. Wolfram clung to the wall in disbelief as the king's knights rode through the open gate and escorted every Templar knight they had found to the hospitality of the king's own prison.

G
enevieve braced herself to meet Wolfram's gaze before she opened her eyes.

But for naught. He was gone.

She propped herself up and gazed carefully about the loft, but there was no sign of him at all. Genevieve frowned and shoved to her feet. She stalked the narrow space between the bales that ran the width of the loft, convinced he played some sort of poor joke upon her.

But nay. She was alone with her lute.

Of all the brass cheek! The truth brought Genevieve's temper to the fore once more. She folded her arms about herself and scowled at the floor. First the man weakened her will with persuasive kisses, then he disappeared! Not a doubt had Genevieve that ‘twas Wolfram's fault alone that she had been unable to fulfill her sworn quest, and she silently, roundly cursed his sorry hide.

Wherever it might happen to be.

Truth be told, it had been a relief to not find him here, as she had fully intended to slip away from him this day and this made her task easier. But still his choice irked her pride. No right had
he
to be the one to leave her behind! How could she leave someone who was not here? Indeed, what point was there? The man would never know how she despised him for foiling her plans!

Genevieve scooped up her lute in poor temper and made to leave. So annoyed was she that she lost her footing on the third rung down and was compelled to snatch at the ladder. Her motion set the cursedly unsteady apparatus swaying and she could do naught but close her eyes and pray.

Left it this way apurpose had he, Genevieve was certain of it. She gritted her teeth with resolve. If ever she had the misfortune to lay eyes on Wolfram again, he would sorely regret the day he had set himself to cross her!

Genevieve gained the stable floor with an ungraceful thud and an accompanying flurry of her lavish kirtle and chemise. She spared the ill-used garment a glance and shook her head at the dirt upon it. A peek over her shoulder revealed that the swatch torn from the hem by the portcullis was more obvious than she might have hoped. Indeed, she was doomed to flash a goodly bit of ankle when she walked, but there was naught for it.

The only way Genevieve could make her feelings clear was to leave before Wolfram came back.

If indeed, he had any intention of returning at all.

Genevieve cast her cloak about her shoulders, jabbed her chin into the air and sailed out into the street. Yet, despite her anger, she could not quite believe that Wolfram would simply abandon her. Not when he had pledged to help her. ‘Twas not enough doubt to change her intent, to be sure. But put a spring in her step it did to think that he was likely not gone for good. Indeed, the man would know the full depth of her ire when he returned to find her gone without a trace, and that gave her no small measure of satisfaction.

Her bold move would almost certainly not go unnoticed.

But where would she go? Genevieve's bold step faltered and she looked about the street, realizing the odd atmosphere for the first time. Something was amiss. People stood in small clusters, whispering to each other in a most unusual manner. ‘Twas true that Genevieve had heard some commotion earlier this morn, but after tossing and turning for the better part of the night, even the burning of the stables themselves would likely not have stirred her from her eventual slumber.

No matter what troubled these folk. Genevieve tossed her hair. What happened in the Ville Neuve had naught to do with her anymore. She was leaving Paris.

Of course, there was the matter that the Master had sought her out that she might meet the same fate as Alzeu. Genevieve's footsteps faltered and she glanced about herself, but the townspeople in the Ville Neuve seemed too occupied with their own business to have noticed her.

In truth, she had heard that tale from Wolfram alone, and now she wondered if there was truth in it. Might he have deceived her purely to ensure they spent the night together? Tales had she heard of the desires of men. Genevieve chewed her lip in indecision, until the disinterested manner of both sergeants and townsfolk in her presence finally reassured her.

Wolfram had lied to her. Another deed ‘twas that she could hold against him. Genevieve lifted her chin and walked briskly toward the Temple gates as she hastily planned. She would not be surprised if the barring of the gates had been no more than a coincidence. Indeed, it only made sense to seek out the truth for herself.

Foul man. How dare he think she was a woman of such meager virtue?

Her quest had failed, but Genevieve would fault herself no more for that. She had tried but had been weaker than she might have hoped. ‘Twas no more than weakness that had stayed her hand.

Now she would go home. ‘Twas as simple as that. Genevieve would return to Montsalvat and build that secure future she had desired above all else. Truly, Montsalvat was too far for any, even the king, to pursue a mere woman. The more Genevieve reflected upon it, the more she doubted she would be endangered at home.

If perchance Wolfram
had
spoken the truth, ‘twas only her presence in Paris that might prompt such action. Montsalvat was too distant to merit the trouble.

And it was home. She would raise goats and plant a garden and play her lute and mayhap, if she was fortunate beyond compare, some eligible suitor would rap on her gates. Mayhap even, one day, Genevieve would be able to rebuild the fortress of her forebears to its earlier majesty.

‘Twas enough of a dream to merit going home, even if Genevieve knew how little chance she had of making it all come true. She hugged her lute closer and hastened to the gates.

Mayhap she could be home before the full bite of winter was in the wind.

What she would do in that isolated fortress in the dead of winter, with nary a stick for kindling or a grain of wheat in the cellars, she did not permit herself to think.

* * *

Wolfram crept into the dormitory with practiced stealth. He glanced carefully to the left and the right, but none was about.

Indeed, the Temple was quiet beyond compare. But that suited his purpose well enough. He furtively made his way to his own bed but hesitated when he gained its side.

What if they were gone? The very thought was chilling, for who knew what horror could be wrought if they fell into the wrong hands?

No personal possessions had any member of the Order, but a concession had been made to Wolfram because of his particular skill. He strained his ears before bending to extract his treasure, but heard naught.

Hastily he bent and shoved his hand into the midst of his straw pallet. His fingers encountered glass vials, one, two, three.

They were yet here. Wolfram's breath caught in relief even as his hand folded around the vials of poison. He pulled out his hand, shoved the vials into his tunic, turned smartly and marched out of the dormitory, his heart pounding in his ears all the while.

There was naught else to keep him here.

A panic had settled within him when he saw the Master taken away. Mayhap it had been when the Master's gaze met his—Wolfram could not have said. He knew only that ‘twas imperative to put distance between himself and this place. Only the knights had they arrested, but Wolfram would have had to be slower of intellect than he was not to see that the frenzy could spread.

He could not even imagine what price his own head might bring, should he have the misfortune to be identified. An assassin who could no longer move invisibly was disposable indeed. And too many secrets did he know, not the least of which was the names of those he had dispatched. Wolfram was at risk, and that alone could prompt him to break one of the fundamental tenets of the Rule.

A brother remained in the house unless told to do otherwise. ‘Twas basic to the Rule, and though Wolfram acknowledged the magnitude of what he did, still he walked onward. Poverty and chastity were major vows, but obedience was the greatest of them all. Obedience and stability walked hand in hand; obedience and stability were the cornerstones of any successful monastic order like the Templars.

But nary a doubt was there in Wolfram's mind. He might not have been granted permission to leave the Temple in Paris, but leave it Wolfram would.

‘Twas his own hide at stake. He could not afford to be revealed. Was he to survive, he had to leave. Quickly, immediately, alone. His mind filled with purpose, Wolfram made to leave the Temple alone while he yet could.

Until a stray thought brought him up short.

But two knew his secret. But two could reveal him. One enjoyed the hospitality of the king. And one he had vowed to see to safety. Genevieve knew his secret, as well, and already had she proven herself untrustworthy.

Wolfram hesitated on the threshold.

Aye, he had pledged to aid her, but that had been afore she tried to kill him, he argued silently with himself. And he had seen her safely to sanctuary when otherwise she would not have escaped the king's court. Surely he owed her no more than that?

Wolfram shook the misgivings out of his head and began to walk away. The woman had tried to dispatch him from this earth. No matter if she had succeeded or failed, her intent to dispatch him surely voided any earlier agreement betwixt them.

But that persistent voice within his mind would not let the matter be. Would he not have done the same as Genevieve had he known one of his own brethren to have been brought to an early demise by the hand of a stranger?

Wolfram's resolve faltered. He could not say he would, but neither could he say that he would not. ‘Twas not reassuring in the least that he could not readily dismiss a possible similarity betwixt himself and Genevieve.

She alone could reveal him. That fact was unquestionable and was enough to send him in the direction of the stables. Well it seemed that he was not quit of this woman and her schemes just yet.

* * *

Tranquillity greeted him within the stables and Wolfram permitted himself a sigh of relief. Still there was not so much as a stable hand here. Dust motes danced in the golden autumn sunbeam that slanted through the doorway, the brightness of the sunlight making the shadows beyond appear yet darker. A horse snorted, another stamped, flies droned, a friendly hound came with tail wagging to sniff Wolfram's chausses. He ignored them all and made purposefully for the ladder.

On the second rung, Wolfram realized that not a sound was there from above, not so much as the whisper of a woman softly sleeping. ‘Twas too still in the loft. His breath caught in his throat and for an instant Wolfram feared that something had befallen Genevieve in the short time he had been gone.

It could not be! Not here in the peaceful bower of the stable. Busy had the king's men been, too busy with Templar knights to trouble themselves with a lutenist.

The explanation comforted him naught. Never should he have left her alone! Had they not been hunted just a day past? Wolfram bounded up the ladder and burst into the stillness of the loft.

Naught was there. He stared about himself, incredulous. He spun on his heel, as if he thought to startle something or someone hiding just behind him.

To no avail. Naught was here but the sunlight gleaming through the lattice of the vent and turning the hay to spun gold.

Genevieve was gone.

But where had she gone?

* * *

“Genevieve!”

There she was! The woman Wolfram pursued ran across the square far ahead of him. Wolfram rode through the Temple gates just in time to see a man leap forward from the shadows to grasp her arms.

“Genevieve!” Wolfram bellowed in relief, not caring for the moment who heard his cry. None would threaten her when he was so close! He dug his heels into his horse's side as the man gripping her arms gave her a savage shake. Endangered Genevieve was! And ‘twas the fault of none but Wolfram. Never should he have left her alone, even for those few moments this morn.

Had he had the chance to consider his response, Wolfram might have thought himself relieved to have found her, as ridiculous as that thought might have been.

‘Twas simply his duty that called him to task, naught else.

Genevieve jumped in a most satisfactory manner at his bellow. She spun, her eyes widening in such shock that Wolfram fancied he could see their vivid green. Relieved she was to see him, clearly, and that realization fairly made Wolfram dizzy.

No time was there for her gratitude now, though, for ‘twas high time he and Genevieve were safely away from the villains of Paris.

Wolfram bent low as he bore down upon the pair. The man leapt out of the way, but Genevieve seemed too surprised to move. Wolfram slowed the horse but an increment as he swept alongside. The villain swore to see his plans foiled as Wolfram scooped Genevieve up into the saddle before him with a deft grace he had never known he possessed. Her lute bounced harmlessly against the horse's side, and he was proud that even it had been rescued unscathed. The man's cries of distress rang in Wolfram's ears as he bore Genevieve away, but he spurred his horse onward.

Like some hero from an old
chanson
was he, Wolfram thought with a smug smile. Well satisfied was he with his accomplishment of his goal, indeed. Wolfram glanced down to the delicate maid before him, well expecting some token of her gratitude.

‘Twas only then he realized that Genevieve's eyes were flashing with something that looked markedly more like anger than gratitude.

“Imbecile!” she hissed through her teeth, and swatted him across the shoulder.

The blow was surprisingly hard and nearly unbalanced him. Wolfram regarded her with no small shock of his own as her eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Twas clear the woman's wits were addled, and he tightened his grip around her, that she not lose her seat.

“Unhand me, you barbarian,” she spat furiously. Wolfram pulled back slightly and granted her a wary eye.

“Mayhap you did not notice that I have just saved you from a dastardly fate,” he observed with all the calm he could muster. Genevieve snorted.