Unicorn Vengeance (22 page)

“I knew not who you were!” Odo declared. Wolfram captured Genevieve's arms and trapped her back against his chest. She struggled futilely, then took refuge in spitting on the minstrel.

“No excuse is that! Have you no idea what has been risked?” Wolfram felt a wet splash of tears on his hands but he knew she would welcome naught of any comfort he might try to grant her.

“All is revealed,” Genevieve whispered tearfully, and it seemed that her resolve crumpled in acknowledgement of the truth. Her anger was spent, but Wolfram felt the knave for having to tell her the truth. The two men's gazes met helplessly as she sagged against Wolfram. “But where else might I go?” she asked through her tears, her voice so quiet that she might be asking herself.

“We cannot linger here,” Odo said carefully.

Genevieve flicked a venomous glance in his direction. “Thanks to you,” she charged, with some vestige of her former anger. “Though why you speak of ‘we' I cannot fathom. Do not imagine that I would have anything to do with either of you at this point.”

“You have little choice, should you desire to leave Paris alive,” Wolfram observed in an undertone. Genevieve stiffened against him, and he watched her chin rise defiantly.

“Even I am hard-pressed to believe my best option lies with a murderer,” she snapped.

“I for one do not mean to stay here,” Odo said with an evenness that Wolfram imagined cost him dearly. What was his intent? Wolfram narrowed his eyes skeptically, though the way Odo met his gaze again was reassuring.

“Nor do I,” Wolfram agreed. Though Genevieve's expression was mutinous, well did he know that she listened avidly to their planning.

“It seems that my little troupe has an engagement elsewhere,” Odo murmured.

Ah. There was an idea with appeal. “They will be watching the city gates,” Wolfram observed cautiously.

Odo smiled a thin smile, but his intent gaze never wavered from Wolfram's. “No one takes note of actors and acrobats,” he said quietly. “Come join my troupe. We will leave the city, though I know not where we might head.”

Genevieve granted Odo a venomous glance. “And why should I accept
your
aid?” she demanded.

Odo shrugged, though his gaze burned bright. “‘Tis clear a debt is owed from me to you. Among my kind such things are not taken lightly.”

‘Twas enough reassurance for Wolfram, though he well knew Genevieve still harbored doubts.

“We should go to Metz,” Wolfram offered impulsively. Both of his companions glanced to him in surprise, but he looked only to Odo. “The Templar knights have been arrested within all of France. ‘Tis over the closest border and in the opposite direction of Montsalvat.” And a place of memories for him, but neither of them needed to know that.

“I like your thinking well,” Odo agreed.

Genevieve spared an arch glance in Wolfram's direction. “Mayhap you should simply return to your Ville Neuve,” she suggested coldly. Wolfram shook his head.

“I cannot return there,” he said flatly.

“All of us are marked,” Odo confirmed. “Logical it seems in truth to venture forth together now that our destinies are entwined. ‘Twas only luck alone that saw me escape the court unscathed and I would not tempt fate by remaining overlong in Paris.”

“Think whatsoever you will,” Genevieve commented frostily, “but no intention have I of venturing anywhere with either or both of you.”

“Do not be a fool, Genevieve,” Odo muttered.

Genevieve tossed her hair and stepped quickly out of Wolfram's grip, the very image of the impetuousness of the fair sex. “I will take my chances alone,” she asserted with bravado.

“No chance have you alone,” Wolfram argued flatly. “‘Tis as simple as that. Should you choose to live, you must make your way with us.”

Genevieve's eyes snapped. “I will do no such thing.”

“A promise did you make to me,” Odo said in a low tone that told Wolfram the other man knew he had Genevieve cornered. She regarded the minstrel warily, her manner doing naught to dismiss Wolfram's suspicions.

“You would not,” she murmured threateningly. Odo merely nodded, clearly well pleased with himself.

“I will and I do,” he asserted boldly, and his expression became more assessing than Wolfram had yet seen it. “One condition to be named later did you promise me, that you might play where you chose. This condition I name as your accompanying our party to Metz.”

“You cannot do this thing,” Genevieve murmured angrily.

Odo cocked a brow. “I do this thing for your own welfare alone,” he maintained.

“I will not,” Genevieve argued. Odo's gaze flicked to Wolfram, but he had already stepped behind Genevieve again. Should she defy them, ‘twas good to know they were both so bent on seeing her safe, one way or the other. He would toss her over the back of his horse to see her away from Paris, if need be.

“Yet again, I am compelled to ask you if your word is worth naught,” Odo said silkily. Genevieve swallowed carefully and glanced from side to side as if seeking some escape.

Genevieve looked as though she might have said something else, but Wolfram reached down and firmly captured her hand within his. Soft ‘twas and he closed his fingers resolutely around it, as though to show her somehow that he intended to let naught happen to her.

To his astonishment, the tension seemed to filter out of her at that contact.

“To Metz and no farther,” she stated weakly. Odo nodded.

“Then shall we be even,” he agreed. Genevieve was not so resolved to their will that she refrained from a sardonic snort.

“I should think we would be markedly more than even,” she muttered. Too relieved was Wolfram that she had finally agreed to take offense at her tone.

“We shall have to sell the horse,” he said, forcing himself to think of practical matters. Odo spared the beast an assessing glance and nodded.

“Aye, too fine is he for our kind. Attention we do not need, and the coin will be of aid. Well might it be long before we can busk again.” Odo glanced to the clear blue of the sky, and Wolfram scowled at the lateness of the hour. When the two men's gazes met again, they nodded as of one accord.

“We should make haste,” Wolfram said. Odo nodded again and set a quick pace toward the far side of the square. Wolfram kept Genevieve's hand firmly trapped within his own as he led the horse in Odo's wake, surprised that she seemed to have naught more to say.

Well did he expect that that might change once they were safely outside the city walls. Indeed, he more than expected it—he dreaded as much.

J
ust after a chilly gray November dawn, in a dark corner of the château on the île de la Cité, a bargain was struck.

The Master of the Temple of Paris was awakened by the sound of a key turning in the lock of the cell he had occupied these two weeks. The room was yet shadowed and filled with the dampness of the night, but the import of that sound could not be mistaken.

Visitors. His heart leapt, his defiant mood not in the least improved by his incarceration in the company of rats. Loudly had he cried for justice in the early days, vehemently had he demanded the summoning of ecclesiastical authorities, stridently had he demanded to be released as a man of honor on his own recognizance.

His demands had fallen on deaf ears.

Mayhap until now.

The Master shoved to a sitting position and straightened his belted, plain linen tunic just as the door swung open. A bevy of brightly burning lanterns were shoved into the room so hastily that he blinked at the unexpected light. Wicks were left long, the lamps crowded together on the table close afore him so that he was forced to squint at their brightness.

Well he knew this trick, for he had used it oft himself when he wished to keep his identity unknown. The Master narrowed his eyes and peered through the light as best as he was able. He detected a guard on either side of him, most assuredly to keep him from bolting. The dancing flames effectively deterred him from leaping forward and the solidity of the stone wall behind him severely limited his options for movement.

He thought he detected a tall shrouded figure sweeping into the room and taking his place behind the bright flames. Just out of sight his interviewer was, and the Master grudgingly acknowledged that man's experience.

“Something have you that we desire” came a muffled voice, evidently pitched low, that the Master might not identify it.

Immediately he thought of the Temple treasury, and resolve grew hard within him. Never would he reveal its whereabouts to the crown. Never under any terms. Property of the Order alone were those riches, and the Master would surrender their guardianship to none but the Master of the Temple of Jerusalem himself.

And then only if that man was as determined to keep them to the Order as he.

Certain he knew what was at root, the Master remained stubbornly silent.

“Well do we understand that you wish to be released on your own recognizance,” the voice continued unhurriedly. “And as a man of honor, we well know that your pledge to remain within the Ville Neuve is a reliable one. But we would have something in exchange. A proof of your good will, shall we say.”

When it seemed some response was awaited, the Master nodded understanding warily. Truly Philip ventured too far this time. Surely the Pope would slap him down and call him to order. Surely this affront could not pass unchallenged.

But two weeks had passed and the Master had heard naught from Rome. He wondered in this dark moment whether the Pope was as firmly held under Philip's thumb as he had long suspected.

If so, that boded naught good for the Order.

“But two requests have we, and well it seems to me that they are so insignificant as to be laughable. A trinket of your loyalty, if you will. Surely this can be construed as no more than a formality between men who understand each other.”

The Master braced himself for the worst with that disclaimer, but deliberately kept his expression benign. If ever he saw release from these walls, he would personally ensure that Philip sorely regretted this travesty.

“A woman there is with whom we would speak,” the voice continued reasonably. The Master was so astonished at this that he doubted he was entirely successful in concealing his surprise. His visitor's next words confirmed as much. “Aye, well might you scoff at such an objective, for ‘tis but a whimsy of the crown. The king wishes but to offer his hospitality to the lady that he might have converse with her.”

The Master raised a brow. Little doubt had he that he could venture a solid guess as to who this woman might be. And he heartily doubted that converse was within Philip's goals. “Hospitality the likes of mine?” he asked skeptically, and was rewarded with a low chuckle.

“The technicalities mean little at this date, and indeed I myself do not know precisely the king's intent. It matters naught to you and me, in truth.”

A fool the Master had been to trust the word of the party sent to the gates that morn. Stormed the gates, the king's knights had, that first party doing naught but seizing the gatekeeper, that the drawbridge might not be raised against them. Had they not done so, the woman might yet be within the walls of the Ville Neuve.

As might the Master have been all these days. The Master gritted his teeth yet again in recollection, knowing full well ‘twas too late to effect a change.

“Who might this mysterious woman be?” he asked mildly.

“Genevieve de Pereille is she. The daughter of a petty provincial lord,” his visitor supplied dismissively. Aye, she was that, the Master thought, though that lord had paid heavily for his petty provinciality. Surely these men were not such fools as to imagine that
he,
the Master of the Temple of Paris, could not divine their game?

‘Twas their own meddling that had freed that very woman from the Master's secure grip and sent her who knew where.

Although the Master well fancied that even if he knew not where Genevieve might be, then he likely knew with whom she kept company.

There was an expectant silence, but the Master revealed naught of the direction of his thoughts.

“Ah...” His visitor chuckled under his breath. “Well do I see that you would know the fullness of the offer afore you decide. The second condition is nearly as paltry as the first, as you will see, so your reservations are for naught. A small request ‘tis, really.” He hesitated, and the Master knew that this was the meat of the matter, and not likely to be small at all.

“A man have you within your ranks, an
Italien
of the finest order whom the king would like to welcome within the ranks of his own employ.”

The Master's heart lurched at this news. Philip desired to know Wolfram's identity. Did he truly mean to employ Wolfram as an assassin? Or could the Master be betraying Wolfram to his death? Indeed Wolfram knew overmuch about Philip's commissions.

‘Twas tempting to betray Wolfram thus, for the responsibility for whatever fate befell him could not be laid square at the Master's door. Well enough did he know that this conversation would be known to have occurred by few and acknowledged to have occurred by still fewer.

He should put up a pretense of objection, he decided.

“This I cannot do,” the Master said firmly. “The man's pledge is to the Order and no right has any man to come betwixt a man and his vow.”

“We see no reason to break the man's vow,” his opponent countered smoothly. “He may continue to live in whatever fashion he desires as long as he makes his home within the court.”

“Nay,” the Master argued. “‘Tis in the Rule that a Templar brother must reside within the walls of a Temple alone. He must live with his brethren.”

“We must insist,” the visitor hissed.

“Revealed he would be and of no use to you,” the Master argued. He fancied the man on the other side of the flames smiled and knew they intended no good for Wolfram.

But did it matter to him, in truth? What were they prepared to offer him, the Master, in exchange?

“Certain am I that you can be convinced of our resolve,” the visitor purred. The Master intuitively understood the threat.

“And if I agree?” he demanded tightly.

“Then you and six knights of your choice will be released on your own word.” The visitor's words were clipped and efficient. “Those who remain in custody will be granted finer quarters until this matter is resolved.”

Six. That would see the officers of the Temple released and mayhap one or two more. The Master pursed his lips, knowing full well that he could orchestrate the release of the rest better from within the Ville Neuve.

For if this arrest had been carried out throughout France as he had been told, his first loyalty had to be to those knights in custody. ‘Twas his office, after all.

Still had the Master a few tricks up his sleeve.

“Naught can I engineer from here,” he complained testily, and sensed relief coursing through the man opposite. So, they had not been as certain of his response as they might have liked. The Master's resolve grew, and a germ of his old audacity took root within him. “Indeed, I shall have to go myself to fetch these two.”

“A man can we spare who confesses an interest in this situation,” the visitor acknowledged.

“No interest have I in delegating a task of such import to me personally to one of your inept aides,” the Master argued.

The visitor hesitated, but the Master smelled his uncertainty. This concession he had to gain, for Wolfram might well not return to Paris. Ever.

And the Master suspected his visitor knew he had little choice but to accept the terms.

The visitor paced the width of the cell and back afore he decided. The Master's palms grew damp but he gave away naught of his concern in his posture. The air virtually crackled in the small room, and the Master fancied he was not the only one holding his very breath.

“My word is yours,” the visitor conceded tersely. He spun on his heel, and the Master sighed with relief as he saw the hem of a cloak flutter against the scant light of the corridor outside. The lamps flickered from the breeze, then were summarily gathered up and the Master was left alone in the cold gray light of his cell.

He would have his release and his vengeance. An errant sergeant would he curtail and an annoying risk would he eliminate, all at the behest of the crown. Naught would be traced to the Master himself.

And still there was the matter of the Treasury, he recalled victoriously. Should Philip aim to deceive him, the Master had yet another advantage on his side.

Only a matter of time ‘twas afore the crown's representatives completed their counting and discovered no more than the crown's own funds secreted in the Paris Temple's vaults. Indeed, the Templars did store and administer the king's own funds, but readily enough could the Master guess that Philip would have hoped to grasp all of the Templars' own resource in his seizure of the Temple and the Ville Neuve.

But a single slip of the tongue weeks past had it taken to prompt the Master's suspicions. And that had been enough to see one of Philip's purposes thwarted. Nigh on a month ago, the Master had transferred the Temple's own wealth elsewhere, covertly and in easy stages, though not even torture would drag a destination from his lips. The ships had left the Templar port of Le Havre fully a fortnight past.

Though ‘twould be long afore he admitted even that much, if ever he did. The Master permitted himself a thin smile of satisfaction at a match well played.

Nay, the Master of the Paris Temple was not without aces to play in this game. ‘Twas clear that neither Philip, Wolfram nor this Genevieve understood the manner of opponent they had engaged.

* * *

‘Twas in a good-size town three weeks after leaving Paris that they found the Temple razed to the ground.

The troupe had walked hard every day, putting as many leagues behind them as possible at Odo and Wolfram's insistence. Genevieve's anger had sustained her for the first few days, but then it had started to ebb away, leaving her more tired than afore. Still they pressed on. Food became sparse and coin nonexistent. Conversation was surly and brusque, and tempers were short.

Genevieve knew she was not alone in glancing periodically over her shoulder for signs of pursuit. The solid walls of the town ahead had prompted new hope to stir within her heart. ‘Twas true they were still within the realm of the French king, but mayhap this town was far enough from Paris that they could busk. A warm meal would go far toward restoring the camaraderie within the troupe. And there had, after all, been no evidence that they were being followed. Mayhap they had truly slipped through the net.

The burned shell of the Temple, however, was a brutal reminder of the proximity of Paris. The troupe halted as one to stare at the wreckage. They had heard rumors that the Templar knights had been arrested throughout France, but ‘twas still a shock to see the remains of such a brutal response.

Genevieve watched Wolfram step silently away from the mute group. He hesitated before the charred ruins and she saw his gaze dance uncomprehendingly over what remained.

Well it seemed that he was struck numb by the sight and could make no sense of it. Wolfram's hands clenched and unclenched but once, and though that was the only move he made, it reminded Genevieve forcefully of the compassion that had flooded her when first she touched him. She ached to go to him, even after all that had passed between them, but hesitated with the fear that he would turn her aside.

“Good sir, tell me if you will, what has happened here?” Odo hailed a shopkeeper bustling past with a cheerful air. The man wiped his brow and slanted a telling glance to the remains. Genevieve followed his glance and found her gaze snared by Wolfram's stillness yet again.

For one of the Order, this must be a chilling sight. Genevieve's heart wrenched sympathetically, though she doubted he would welcome any consolation from her. Truly all the cards were on the table betwixt them now, and she had not as yet the fortitude to risk being spurned.

But a man was he, she thought suddenly, and no less human than any other, regardless of the task he had fulfilled.

“The Temple ‘tis, or mayhap I should say
‘twas
the Temple,” the shopkeeper supplied gruffly. “Set to blaze ‘twas, in the night after the arrests.”

“The arrests of the knights of the Temple?” Odo asked, though indeed they all knew the answer. The shopkeeper nodded tersely and Genevieve fancied a shiver tripped across Wolfram's broad shoulders at the reminder.