Beasts of the Seventh Crusade (The Crusades Book 4) (3 page)

"What is the meaning of this?" A new voice boomed from behind the crowd. A royal knight, clad in battle armor and riding a massive black stallion seemed to appear out of nowhere. He came from the direction of Paris, actually, and the crowd parted for him.

Artois let his foot off the constable and went back to his father, standing defensively between him and the knight. "I'm protecting my father from this pig of a constable."

Francois involuntarily shuddered. Artois was fearless, no doubt, but he was careless. No commoner spoke so bluntly to a knight of this man's rank. He held the power of life and death over mere peasants. He was probably a killer, too, who had sent men to the abyss in the heat of combat.

"What has your father done?"

"He's a Cathar! A Cathar!" the constable was on his feet now, though his front side was caked with mud and shit.

"There are no more Cathars," the knight said. "Are you a Cathar?"

"My parents were. I'm just a man with a bit of history," Raul said.

"If you are as eager to fight as your sons, there is a place for you all in the royal army." The knight pitched his voice for his next words, as the crowd began to grow around the noble stranger. "King Louis is calling up the Seventh Crusade! All men of able body are destined to join in this venture, to destroy the Muslims in Egypt!"

A few, dutiful "ayes" met the knight's words, but not the zealotry and enthusiasm he was hoping for. It was understandable. The monarchs and nobles of Europe had been crusading against the Muslims for hundreds of years, and they had almost nothing to show for their efforts. The first five crusades had mixed results, with few victories and many defeats. The Sixth Crusade was a resounding victory, although it was through diplomacy and negotiation rather than battle accomplishment. The Sixth Crusade had a timetable too, and the treaties of those days had expired.

"A crusade?" the big constable said, his skin paling. He brushed past the knight and the crowd, going to find Chief Louis. This was a royal edict and would need to be officially proclaimed throughout Troyes. The knight watched the constable go, his eyes frowning at the man's pudgy figure.

"Where does the governor of Troyes live? I must spread my message," the knight asked no one in particular. Francois and a few others pointed farther up the road, where the richer citizens lived. And then a feminine voice called out, "I can show you, I'm going that way."

It was Olivia. With a stab of jealousy, Francois watched the royal knight pull her up on his big horse. She scooted close to the knight, her chest pressing against his back, and the man kicked his heels in the beast's flanks. A moment later, they were gone.

"Damn," Artois said. "Another crusade? Who cares about the damn Muslims, when there are people starving here?"

"I don't know and don't care. Let's get out of here before Chief Louis and his fat deputy return," Raul said. Artois and Raul started up the street, going toward the cottage. Francois stayed where he was, though, staring at the dust cloud the knight's horse had kicked up. He didn't like the way Olivia had ridden off with the man, her curvy figure straddling his horse.

"Are you coming?" Artois yelled at him.

"Yes." Francois followed his father and brother back to their cottage, his heart heavy.

"Eight months! Barely time to get one's affairs in order before you're hauled across the ocean to kill men you don't know! Eight months' notice for us poor men, while that royal bastard and his friends have been planning this damned crusade for years," Raul said, for what seemed to Francois like the hundredth time. They were in their cottage, eating cheese and mutton, three days after the royal knight had come through Troyes.

The peasantry was the last to know about the Seventh Crusade. Over the coming days, more information was spread around. It was a crusade being undertaken by one leader, King Louis IX, and it would be waged in the early spring months of 1249.

"Eight months is better than two," Francois ventured.

"It's not the time, Fran, not the time," Raul said. "It's the principle of it! The Muslims never did anything to me, or us. There won't be any songs of our exploits in the battles, but we'll be in the thick of it, bleeding and dying. And if we win, what do we get? Riches? No, those are reserved for men born into privilege."

"What choice do we have?" Artois asked, juices dripping down his chin.

"We're going to see my brother, in the Duchy of Toulouse."

Francois and Artois stopped eating. Toulouse was in southern France, a region broken by the Albigensian Crusade; the war on the Cathars. They knew Raul had a brother in Toulouse, a man who still clung to Cathar idealism and resisted the kingdom of France. Traveling there would be dangerous and hard.

"Why are we going there?"

"To see my brother, Christof! He will want to know of this "Seventh Crusade." He is a former slaver, a ruthless man who profits from the suffering of others. If we're going to Egypt to kill Muslims, I want Christof by my side," Raul answered. He sat down, not entirely confident in his decision, but it was not one he had come to lightly. Christof was a violent, unpredictable character, and Raul had not seen or heard from him since Artois was a little boy. They were similar, those two, and Raul would rather go to war with them than any other men. Francois, too, though he was a thinker and problem solver, not a true killer.

"Sounds like an adventure," Artois said. "When do we leave?"

They packed up everything of value the following day—Raul's tools, their weapons, and clothes. They used the gold livre from capturing Leaf to purchase three packhorses. They were foul-tempered, ugly beasts, but they were bred to withstand hardship and march hundreds of miles with minimal food and water. On the night before departure, Francois went to Troyes to see Olivia.

He did not know where she lived, exactly, only that her house was in the district where the constables roved, looking for grimy peasants who were out of place. Instead, Francois went toward the jail, his brown hood covering his head. The streets were empty at night. Despite the strong presence of the church, folks were superstitious and believed evil things came out in the dark hours. When Francois reached the black doors of the jail, a man spoke to him from the shadows of the building.

"Who are you?" his voice was low.

"I am Francois Coquet."

"Why are you here?"

"I am lost. I am looking for the residence of Patrieux D'Mance." That was Olivia's father, and he was well-known as a competent scribe by the local provisional offices. The jailers would know him, too.

"Ah, looking for a bit of loot, are you?"

"I know his daughter."

"Yes, yes, I understand," the man said, stepping out of the shadows. He was gaunt and tall, with a pungent odor that washed over Francois when the man opened his mouth.

"Don't come close," Francois said, stepping back and letting his hand drop to his hip. He had a razor-sharp dagger, but he didn't want to use it.

"No problem, no. No problem." The man stopped a few feet from Francois, his eyes unfocused. He seemed crazy. "I know where the man called Patrieux lives, but it will cost you."

Francois resisted the urge to wrap his hands around the fool's throat. Was nothing free? He plunged his hand into his pockets and extracted a bronzed penny. It bore King Louis' likeness, and Francois held it up for the man to see.

"You will show me, and then I will give you this," Francois said.

"Follow me," the man said, eager to be paid.

He was clever, Francois had to admit. He used the main roads, but dashed off into the alleyways at the slightest noise. He kept moving in the same direction, more or less, and they soon arrived at a grand estate. High, sharp gates surrounded the large property, and Francois felt his heart weaken; he might not get to see Olivia before he left for Toulouse, after all.

"Thank you," he said to the man, and he flipped him the coin. The strange man caught the coin and disappeared into the gloom, making no noise but leaving a foul odor behind him. Francois looked back at the estate. The house was set behind a copse of trees, perhaps a quarter mile from the main road. There were no visible guards at the gates, but Francois knew they were somewhere, waiting for a Cathar to be foolish enough to trespass on the grounds.

He had not come this far for nothing. He walked around the side of the gates until he found an old elm, hanging over the fence. Low branches were around the trunk of the tree, inviting Francois to test his courage. As he reached for the lowest branch, an image of Olivia and the royal knight flashed in his mind, riding off together. Francois gritted his teeth and stepped away from the tree.
Why would Olivia want to see me, a poor, half-Italian son of the local pariah? I'll get myself killed trying to see her tonight,
he thought.
And what was I even going to say to her? This is a fool's errand.

Francois got back on the road, looking back one final time at Olivia's home. A loud CREAKKK pierced the night, and the gate to the estate swung open. To Francois' shock, Olivia walked out, unescorted. She wore a small, red cloak and had a sword on her hip. Despite her attempt to look threatening, she had the obvious curves of a woman, even with her cloak on. Still staring, Francois realized too late that she was walking straight toward him. Her head was down, as if she didn't register his presence.

"Olivia," he said. She looked up sharply.

"Francois? Is that you?"

"Yes."

"Oh, it is you," she said, her voice flooded with relief. "What are you doing here? I was going to come see you tonight, though I feared traveling the streets alone."

"You were coming to see me? Why?"

"I want to go to Paris. I want to see the city of my parents. I want to see the royal palace and monuments of the past. I wanted to ask you earlier, but after that incident with your father—"

"What?"

"I thought it best to travel at night, so we could meet in private. But, there is going to be another crusade, and if you go, I may never see you again."

Francois' stomach knotted and a bead of sweat fell from his forehead, despite the cold. The thought of walking the streets of Paris with a beautiful girl on his arm was overwhelming. They could take lunches in the street cafés and cozy up together at night. But Raul and Artois were going to Toulouse, the war-torn fields of southern France. Did his father really need him, anyway?

"My family is leaving Troyes tomorrow, and we might never come back," Francois said, seeing the confusion dawn on Olivia's face.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

Francois thought about telling her, but that could jeopardize the Coquets' plans. It was best if no one knew they were leaving, so royal knights didn't hunt them down, eager to punish men for running from a war. "I can't tell you," he finally said.

"Oh." Olivia's voice was a whisper, and she couldn't meet Francois' gaze.

"What is going on with you and that royal messenger? I saw you two ride off together," Francois asked. If he went to Toulouse and never knew, graphic dreams would haunt his sleep.

"I showed him the governor's house, nothing more," she replied. "There is no other man I want to take me to Paris, Francois. If you are going away with your family, or if you are going on the Seventh Crusade, I will wait for you."

They spent that night together. Olivia's father had accorded her a private cabin, adjacent to the main house, and they filled the cabin with sweat, tears, moans, and dreams of the future. Francois left her sleeping the next morning, so beautiful and pure, and he went back to his father's house. Raul and Artois were just waking up, gathering their possessions and wits for the hard journey ahead. When Francois stepped through the door, Artois sensed his little brother's satisfaction immediately.

"I wish I had thought to go to town last night; hopefully there are some girls in Toulouse," Artois said wistfully. Francois grinned and they left within the hour. Traveling down the
Rue de lieux,
Francois looked back at Troyes one final time. There could be no more room in his heart for weakness or compassion. He was going away to see his vicious uncle and possibly other relatives. The road south beckoned, dark and perilous.

Chapter Three

KING LOUIS IX PRESSED DOWN, feeling the girl's generous breast. She was a beauty: nineteen and dark-haired. Louis pushed into her one final time, letting out a primitive, throaty groan, and he was done. He rolled off the girl and lay in bed, looking up at the tapestry of Saint Augustine above him. White angels, muscular and beautiful, tumbled in the clouds.
I will be one of them someday,
Louis thought,
I am ordained to grace the heavens above.

"My king?" the girl asked, not sure if she should leave or not. She had been overwhelmed to receive an invitation to the palace, but Louis had hardly spoken a word to her since she arrived. He had instead communicated with his hands, removing her clothes and contorting her body as he saw fit.

"You did well," he said. "I will remember you for future deeds. Now, I have business to attend to, please find my attendant and he will show you out," Louis said, already forgetting about the girl. He stood up and went to his window, hearing the girl's faint footsteps behind him as she dressed and left.

Paris was his city. France was his country. In the beginning, King Louis had three older siblings, but they had all died as children, and thus, he was crowned when he turned twelve, after his own father died. He did not have full power at twelve, of course, and his pious mother ruled as regent until Louis came of age. Now he was thirty-six and the sole ruler of the greatest nation on Earth.
Except, France is not the world's most powerful country, not anymore,
Louis thought bitterly.

Egypt was growing in power, its zealous Muslim prophets spreading their religion around the world, like an infection overtaking healthy tissue. If that wasn't enough, there were those terrifying horsemen from the east, the ones who called themselves Mongols. They were purported to have the greatest military force on Earth. With a sigh, Louis sat down on his plush couch. He had more enemies every day it seemed.