was undergoing his long, slow recovery, his comrades in Acre were overrun and slaughtered by the Seljuk Sultan’s Mamelukes.
Hampered by his crippled arm, which was too gravely disabled for swordplay, de Thierry eventually returned to duty and was rewarded for his years of faithful service with the post of Preceptor of the Commandery of La Rochelle, a posting that he had rightly regarded as the highest honor he could have earned.
Preceptorship of a commandery was a military posting, as opposed to the administrative rank—something of a cross between an abbot and a small-town mayor—held by the preceptor of a Temple. Throughout Christendom the Temples run by the Order were civil institutions, financial and administrative posts, and their members, all nominally Templars, were artisans and traders of all stripes. Commanderies, on the other hand, were garrisoned posts, staffed by the fighting members of the Order, the knights and sergeants, and their purpose was purely military—the protection and guardianship of the Order’s affairs. The preceptor of a commandery was the first officer, responsible for all aspects of the installation, and nowhere was that responsibility more onerous or honorable than in La Rochelle, the most important location in France for the Order’s trading activities.
The commandery in La Rochelle, fronting the harbor with its extensive and easily defensible anchorage for ships of all sizes and types, was the primary garrison in the entire country, utterly essential to the worldwide welfare of the Order and its business. All of the industries and activities that the Templars pursued throughout Christendom and beyond—manufactories, plantations, orchards and farms; warehousing and storage facilities for the trading and sale of goods; distribution channels for commodities of every kind; real estate holdings and international banking activities—intersected at one time or another in the Commandery of La Rochelle, on the wharves and piers of the harbor or in the holding warehouses or the cargo shipping sheds.
Now, staring down at the preceptor’s still form, it came to Will that in merely witnessing this death, he was witnessing the end of an epoch. De Thierry was gone, and with him had vanished an era of unshakable integrity, absolute honor, and the purity of an ideal.
No more, Sinclair thought now. No more honor in the eyes of the law. No more fearlessness in the faithful performance of duty. And no more trust in the integrity of kings from men of goodwill. Farewell, old friend. You will be sorely missed, but you will suffer nothing by missing what will come tomorrow.
He turned away with a sigh and looked at Tam Sinclair, standing across from him on the other side of the three corpses. “Tam, send someone to bring Tescar. Tell whoever you send to say nothing but to bring him directly to me.”
“What in God’s holy name has happened here?” The voice was loud, and Sir William turned to look at the man in the doorway, then raised his hand to attract his attention. When the white-robed brother looked at him in outrage, the knight raised one finger, bidding him wait, then turned back to Tam. “Remember now, your man must say no word to Tescar.”
“Aye, I’ll send Ewan. He knows how to keep his mouth shut.”
Sir William made his way then to the newcomer. “What is your name, Brother?”
The other man blinked at him, plainly wondering who he was, pale faced and clean shaven yet wearing the surcoat of a Temple Knight. “I am Brother Thomas,” he said. “I run the infirmary. What has happened here?”
“Are you surgeon or physician, Brother Thomas?”
“I am both, but—”
“Excellent. Now listen closely. I am William Sinclair, recently appointed to the Governing Council. I am beardless because I came here tonight in disguise, bearing instructions from our Grand Master in Paris to the preceptor and the admiral here in La Rochelle. And what has happened here is assassination. The preceptor has been killed, and the admiral has had a narrow escape. He is unconscious but unwounded, it appears. Listen carefully, therefore, to what I require of you, and take this under your vow of obedience. There are four dead men in this room. That one over there by the wall was one of the assassins. Behind the table at the back there you will find the bodies of two of your own garrison who were posted here tonight as guards, and the Brother Preceptor himself.
“You will bring your people here immediately, enjoining them to silence and obedience as I have enjoined you, and remove the bodies to the hospital. And then you will set them to cleaning this place up, removing the bloodstains and restoring the room to its former condition. As soon as you have issued your instructions, I need you to bring Admiral St. Valéry back to awareness. I have orders for him from the Grand Master, and their gravity permits no further loss of time. I need him—our Order needs him—awake and alert. Do you understand me, Brother Thomas?”
Brother Thomas nodded, but his eyes were drawn to the red-bearded man slumped unconscious over a table, closely watched by two of Tam Sinclair’s sergeants. “Who is that?”
“A prisoner. The second assassin. We will see to him. He will be in no need of your assistance for a while yet.”
“Yet?”
“Hurry, Brother Thomas.”
Tescar and Brother Thomas passed each other in the doorway, and Tescar stopped, mouth hanging as he gaped at the unconscious Godwinson. Wasting no words, the knight quickly told the sergeant what had happened, and then asked him for the names of the two deputy commanders, naval and garrison based. He remembered both names and sent Tescar to summon the men, again with a warning to say nothing of what he knew.
2
An hour later, having done everything that he could do to repair the ravages caused by the man Godwinson and his murderous associate, Sir William finally found himself back in the Day Room, with nothing to do but wait upon events that he could not control. He crossed his legs, shifting his backside as he sought a comfortable spot in the wooden armchair by the fireplace of the great, freshly scrubbed room that was the center of the Commandery’s daily affairs. He no longer wore his mail hauberk and surcoat, having changed them for a plain white monk’s habit, covered by the simple but richly textured white mantle of a Templar knight, with the embroidered cross on the left breast. He had not, however, set aside his sword, and now he sat staring into the flames and frowning, one hand supported on the cross-hilt of his upright weapon as though it were a staff. The entire room smelled of lye soap, and his eyes were burning from the stench of it, but he could tell it was fading, if only gradually. Nonetheless his head was aching from the stink, and he had spent much of the past hour outside, conducting the business of the garrison in the fresh air.
Godwinson, whatever his true name might be, was safely locked up in a heavily guarded cell. He had regained consciousness eventually, but had refused to say a word when they interrogated him, and Sinclair, finding himself growing dangerously angry, had ordered him taken away and confined. He had then briefed the two deputy commanders on how to pacify the outraged and humiliated garrison, although he had said nothing to either of them about the purpose of his mission there. They had accepted his credentials and had carried out his wishes obediently, accepting it as their duty.
He could tell them nothing of the truth, however, before he had informed St. Valéry of his reasons for coming to La Rochelle. He had returned from the infirmary a short time earlier, where Brother Thomas had assured him that the admiral was showing signs of returning to consciousness and that he expected no complications as a result of the violent fall. The crossbow bolt had missed the admiral’s body by the narrowest of margins, striking his cuirass and glancing off to lodge in the metal mesh of his hauberk, the violence of its delivery throwing the old man to the floor.
It still lacked three hours until midnight, and all the Scots knight could do was wait and try to hold himself in patience until St. Valéry was well enough to talk to him and listen to his tidings. Once those were formally delivered, Sir William could take over the admiral’s command, at least until such time as the man was fit to resume his post properly. Sinclair had the authority to do so in an emergency, granted him by the Grand Master in person.
Across from him, Tam stood against the far wall, his