Little John agreed to ride on with us the next morning. He gathered up his meager belongings in a small cloth bag, which he slung over his shoulder. He left us alone briefly to retrieve his mount, hobbled deep in the woods. Watching him ride turned out to be quite humorous, since he was nearly as big as the horse. He sat low in the saddle, his feet nearly dragging on the ground.
Robard and John worked toward an uneasy peace. They avoided each other for the most part, and whenever we stopped to water and rest the horses, they didn’t speak to or acknowledge each other in any way. Maryam and I were more than content to let things go as they were. Angel, however, had fully accepted Little John as a member of our group, and I couldn’t deny it felt safer having him along with us.
As we rode toward St. Alban’s, I finally had a moment to give more thought to the Queen Mother and her improbable declaration. Sir Hugh had seen us in Dover. He would send word to Eleanor of Aquitaine, and she would certainly send more soldiers to help in the search.
We had encountered no patrols since racing from Dover. We’d skirted every town and village, and succeeded in avoiding any contact with Templars or King’s Guards. Assuming they had lost our trail, at least for a while, I allowed myself some small measure of hope. Here, on our home soil, and with the help of my friends, we might actually be able to escape Sir Hugh’s clutches.
“You’ve been very quiet lately,” Maryam said to me as we rode along.
“Hmm? Oh, sorry. Just thinking is all,” I said, distracted.
“What about?” she asked.
“The usual questions,” I said. “Is Sir Hugh following us? Where are the King’s Guards? How will we get to Scotland? And I’m wondering if-” I stopped, not wanting to mention Celia’s name out loud and be teased relentlessly for it. But I found that as we drew farther away from Sir Hugh and whenever I was not fighting for my life, Celia’s face invaded my memory.
Maryam and I trotted easily at the head of our small column. Robard and Little John followed.
“She does, you know,” Maryam said after I’d been silent a moment.
“What? Who does?” I asked, confused.
“Celia. She thinks of you, Tristan.”
“I didn’t. . I. . Do you really think so?” I stammered. It was no use to deny that Celia had been what I was thinking about. Maryam just knew these things.
“Of course,” she said.
“How do you know?” I asked her.
“By the time we left Montsegur, Celia was already in love with you. Of course you didn’t know it.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous. We hardly even talked or. . We barely know each other,” I protested.
“You don’t choose love, Tristan, love chooses you. Think of it. You went back to help her. At great cost and sacrifice, I might add. Don’t you remember how she looked at you when we entered the gates of her fortress?” she asked. “When she saw you there, the happiness in her eyes. . Trust me, it was love.” In truth I had no idea how she had looked at me, for I could only remember being awestruck by seeing her there again.
“Looked at me? What. . I. . don’t. . Maryam, that’s crazy,” I said.
“It might be, but it’s also true,” she said. She goaded her horse forward and rode ahead of me, as if to say that in her opinion, the matter was closed.
Toward the afternoon, we had to stop more frequently as John’s horse struggled to keep up with us under the immense girth of its rider. I kept my voice low, for I had no wish for Robard, or especially Little John, to overhear. When we were besieged at Montsegur, I had told my friends the true nature of the task Sir Thomas had lain before me, and Maryam had readily embraced it as the truth, informing us she had heard the song of the Grail in Outremer. Robard still didn’t believe I carried the Holy Grail. And as much as I trusted that Little John was noble and good, I did not intend to reveal to him the full extent of my mission.
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 me to believe she couldn’t tell when I withheld things from her. But she was always a step or three ahead of me.
“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.