Nicholas said. ‘The Templars act as bankers, guarding wealth and arranging the transfer of it over distances, for they have long handled the monies used to fund their battles. I doubt that they have amassed much of their own, as they must continue to support the fighting in the east.’
‘The rules of these orders do not allow for personal possessions and require selfless commitment,’ Emery said.
Guy seemed unconvinced. ‘If that is so, where did the phrase “drunk as a Templar” come from?’ he asked. ‘And I’ve heard worse about them, too, strange rumours of hidden hoards and secret meetings. Why, look at what that one did to you!’
Nicholas tried not to wince at the reminder. ‘Perhaps not all are what they should be. Still, they could hardly condone the actions of the man we saw: attempted theft, intimidation and assault,’ he said.
‘Or maybe our man is not what he seems,’ Guy said, with a sidelong glance towards Emery. ‘He might not be a Templar at all, but simply garbed as one.’
‘Well, there is only one way to find out,’ Nicholas said. ‘Let us go see what the good brothers have to say. And if Gwayne, as he called himself at the inn, makes his home there, he might well have returned already.’
Guy greeted the suggestion with alarm. ‘If so, then he will be in his element, with a host of others at his beck and call.’
Nicholas frowned. The day had not yet come when he couldn’t handle a houseful of monks, but he refused to be drawn into a discussion of his abilities. ‘I doubt that the entire preceptory is full of villains,’ he said, sending Guy back to his mount with a look.
However, his own steps were stayed by a light touch upon his arm. Emery, eyes downcast and slender face flushed, was standing at his elbow. Nicholas felt that odd hitch in his chest again, an unwanted sensation that made him speak more sharply than he ought. ‘Yes?’
But this time Emery held his ground. ‘Beware, my lord. This country is isolated and the religious houses even more so. They have little contact with the outside world and answer to none except the ecclesiastical authorities.’
Had no one faith in him? Nicholas wondered. They were not facing an army, but a monastery populated by men whose fighting days were long over. Yet the blue eyes gazing up at him were fraught with anxiety, making Nicholas glance away and choose his words carefully. Even if his abilities were suspect, the power of his family was not. ‘Do you really think they would dare make enemies of the de Burghs?’
Yet Emery was not reassured. ‘I don’t know, my lord.’ With a bow of his head, the boy headed towards the horses, leaving Nicholas to mull over his earnest warning.
Having done battle more than once, Nicholas had not been concerned with the prospect of facing a few elderly religious brethren, but he was not so arrogant as to dismiss Emery’s words. Although it was unlikely that this remote preceptory was the home of violent men intent upon harming visitors, he could not deny that one Templar in particular was dangerous. Should there be more like him, Guy hadn’t the strength or skills for much combat. And as for Emery …
Nicholas found himself watching the odd youth’s graceful gait before turning abruptly away to find Guy eyeing him with an odd expression.
‘See? He’s not slow-witted,’ Nicholas said, inclining his head towards Emery.
His squire snorted. ‘That’s not all he’s not.’
Nicholas approached Temple Roode cautiously, but there was little that was forbidding about the sheep grazing in fields and the cluster of neat buildings: two barns, a church and a small house. The property was more a manorial farm than a fortress; there was no keep, no moat, no gate and no guards. In fact, there was no sign of life, not even of the lay people who presumably worked the land, yet all was in good condition.
The stillness was eerie, broken only by the sound of the wind moving through the spindly trees that surrounded the manor, and Nicholas saw the look of unease on Emery’s face. He did not share it, fearing nothing any more except his own failure to protect Guy and the boy. In fact, his main concern was Emery because his squire seemed ill disposed towards their companion.
Guy did not seem to understand that, despite the events of the past year, Nicholas was still a knight, sworn to aid others. He had agreed to help Gerard, which meant that Emery was now his responsibility, and he refused to listen to his squire’s arguments otherwise. He could only be grateful that, after several attempts at discussing the boy, Guy had lapsed into moody silence, for he had more important matters to consider than his squire’s petty jealousies.
Dismounting, Nicholas glanced around and wondered whether the residents had been called away or if they were ill. He was reminded of his brother Reynold’s experience with an abandoned village. However, if this place was abandoned, it had been only recently.
‘Hello?’ Nicholas’s voice was loud in the stillness, but none answered his hail. The horses moved restlessly behind him and Nicholas motioned for Guy and Emery to remain mounted in case they needed to make a hurried escape. Striding forwards, he put his hand upon the hilt of his sword, sensing that something was not quite right.
As if to prove him wrong, a man appeared at the manor entrance. Short, squat and balding, he wore a brown mantle that suggested he was more devout than dangerous. Still, he said nothing, forcing Nicholas to introduce himself.
‘Good day, Brother, I am Nicholas de Burgh. I wonder if I might have a word with you and your brethren.’
‘My brothers are in seclusion, fasting and praying. Are you lost?’ the fellow asked. Although traditionally, monastic houses gave lodging to travellers, he tendered no such offer.
‘My lord de Burgh, shall I tether the horses?’ Guy said, as though to protest this treatment.
Nicholas shook his head, for he could not force his way into a man’s confidence. Instead, he spoke calmly and plainly. ‘We are seeking a Templar knight nearly as tall as I, but more slender and with light-coloured hair.’
‘There are no knights residing here, my lord,’ the brother said, his gaze shuttered, his speech short. Nicholas tried not to draw any conclusions from the man’s manner, for he might have been isolated from the world for so long that he did not deal well with outsiders.
However, Nicholas made sure his own manner was cordial and encouraging. ‘Although he does not reside here, perhaps the knight we seek is associated with this preceptory. He might have trained here or he could be returning home from the Holy Land.’
The brother shook his head, but did not elaborate, leaving Nicholas to guess at the monastery’s usual inhabitants. He longed to talk to someone a bit more forthcoming. ‘Perhaps a brother who has been at Temple Roode longer might recall?’
Again, the man shook his head. If not vowed to silence, he certainly spoke as little as possible. But perhaps that was the way of the Templars. Their secrecy had led to much speculation about them, little of it good, and Nicholas’s opinion of the order was declining rapidly.
Although loath to distrust a holy man, he couldn’t help feeling that the brother was hiding something. Nicholas could claim few dealings with those in religious houses, but he had sought shelter in such places and never received this sort of treatment. Were the Templars so different, or was his search responsible for this reception?
He decided to change tactics. ‘Brother …?’
‘Gilbert,’ the man said, as though reluctant to part with that detail.
‘Brother Gilbert.’ Nicholas smiled. ‘My father, the Earl of Campion, is a generous contributor to your cause and I’m sure he would be most grateful for any information you can provide me.’
But the monk was unmoved. It seemed that the claims of Templars having become greedy and worldly did not apply to this remote area, or at least this member of the order. And Nicholas could not press him further. He could only watch carefully as he posed his next question.
‘You must have contact