The Last de Burgh. Deborah Simmons
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 with other preceptories, so perhaps you have heard of this knight I seek,’ Nicholas said. ‘He gave his name as Gwayne.’
No flicker of recognition showed in Gilbert’s dour expression. ‘I know no Templar by that name.’
‘He attacked a Hospitaller knight,’ Nicholas said.
But even that news did not faze the man, who maintained his grim expression. ‘Then perhaps you should look to Clerkwell, the Hospitaller commandery, which is not far from here.’
‘Perhaps I will,’ Nicholas said. Nodding graciously, he turned to mount his horse without a backward glance, gesturing for his squire to precede him as they rode away. Guy obeyed and did not slow until they were out of sight of the preceptory. In fact, he seemed unwilling to halt, doing so only after Nicholas had stopped well away from the track. Even then, he kept looking over his shoulder, as though expecting the Pope’s armies to give chase.
‘‘Tis just as I have heard, my lord,’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘The Templars zealously guard their secrets. Why, ‘tis said they uncovered some hidden knowledge in the Holy Land that they now use to their own advantage.’
Nicholas gave his squire a wry glance. Guy had always been a superstitious sort and recent events had made him more so. Frequently, he tried to foist some talisman or charm upon Nicholas, claiming that the objects, whether a coloured stone or a splinter of bone belonging to some long-dead saint, bore special powers. Now, apparently, the Templars themselves were endowed with such.
‘I thought you considered them sunk in dissipation, not keepers of some ancient wisdom,’ Nicholas said drily.
But Guy was not to be dissuaded. ‘‘Twas eerie, my lord, even you must admit to that,’ he said, suppressing a shiver. ‘‘Tis certain they did not want us there, with none to greet us except that surly fellow, who ought to be taught how to treat his betters.’
‘Perhaps so, but I was loath to raise any suspicions with Brother Gilbert,’ Nicholas said. ‘Better he think himself well rid of us.’
‘You don’t mean to go back?’ Guy asked in an incredulous tone.
‘I would like to have a closer look at the place,’ Nicholas admitted. ‘Something didn’t feel right.’
Guy groaned. ‘Nothing felt right, my lord! Yet no good could come of probing into their mysteries. Who knows what goes on there? They obviously are hiding something.’
At his words, even quiet Emery glanced at him with an expression of alarm. ‘You don’t think they’re holding Gerard in there, do you?’
Nicholas held up a hand to stop his squire’s raving. While Templar preceptories in the east might have reason to keep prisoners, he could not conceive of the brethren locking up their own here at home.
‘I do not suspect the Templars of capturing their fellows, no matter what dark tales are whispered about them,’ he said, with a quelling glare at Guy. ‘Nevertheless, I’d like to take another look at Temple Roode.’
Naturally, Guy did not agree. ‘But if you do not think Gerard is there, then we will only be wasting precious time in our search for him.’
While his squire had a point, Nicholas was not prepared to leave the Templar preceptory behind on the strength of one brother’s dubious word. ‘‘Tis possible that a return visit may yield nothing, for Brother Gilbert may be concealing little more than his larder from hungry visitors,’ he said. ‘However, I would make sure the man who left me for dead is not enjoying the hospitality of the house.’
The reminder of the attack finally silenced Guy and Nicholas looked out over the moors, assessing the possibilities. ‘There’s really no means of approaching the place without being seen unless we wait until nightfall, and even then the moon will prove both help and hindrance,’ he said, remembering the stretch of open land that they would have to cross to reach the cluster of buildings. It was simply too barren, with few trees to provide shadows in which to hide.
‘There might be another way.’
To Nicholas’s surprise, ‘twas Emery who spoke and the boy coloured, as though regretting his speech.
‘Go on,’ Nicholas said.
‘It could be nothing but an old legend,’ Emery said, hesitating.
‘What old legend?’
Again Emery hesitated, but Nicholas urged him on with a nod.
The boy drew a deep breath, as though summoning his courage. ‘There have always been rumours of tunnels beneath the Templar property, going back to when they first settled there.’
‘Tunnels? What for?’ Guy asked.
Emery shrugged. ‘No one knows. Perhaps the Templars sought to travel from their preceptory to the village without notice. I can’t imagine where else they would wish to go in secret.’
Guy muttered something and crossed himself, obviously leery of either the Templars, underground passages or both. But Nicholas knew the value of tunnels. He had gained access to his brother Dunstan’s keep through just such means, foiling the enemies who held it. Castles, built for defence, often had escapes routes for use in times of siege.
But ’twas unlikely that a manorial farm, especially an ecclesiastical property like Temple Roode, could boast anything of the sort. Yet, what else had they to do until darkness fell? ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ he said, eager for a challenge.
Guy groaned. ‘And how are we going to discover in an afternoon what no one else has ever found, maybe for a hundred years?’
‘As far as I know, no one has ever looked for them,’ Emery said. ‘Why would they?’
Guy shook his head, as if dismayed by the folly of both of his companions, and muttered to himself in dire tones, ‘More likely, who would dare?’
Emery felt only dismay as they neared the village. What had she been thinking? While they wasted time hunting for tunnels that probably didn’t exist, Gerard could be travelling in the opposite direction, putting miles between them. She should never have spoken.
But who would have thought her opinion would carry weight with any man, let alone Lord de Burgh? Emery had forgotten how differently she was treated when garbed as her twin. It had been too long ago and she had since learned to keep her silence. So what had possessed her to speak, especially in such exalted company?
Emery shook her head. Nicholas de Burgh rode his huge destrier with ease, tall and proud, his gloved hands gripping the reins confidently. He was a noble, wielding the kind of power and influence that should strike fear into anyone pretending to be someone else. That, coupled with her brother’s warning, ought to have kept her quiet and wary. And yet …
Emery glanced away from the handsome figure and told herself ‘twas distrust of religious houses that had prompted the suggestion. She could not call it back now. But when they drew to a halt on the low rise that overlooked the village below, she was tempted. Where were they to find underground tunnels amongst the cluster of small homes, with people and animals roaming about?
Emery waited for some sign of scorn or rebuke from her companions, but Lord de Burgh appeared unperturbed as he looked out over the landscape. ‘Now, if you were a Templar, where would you want to go?’ he asked.
Blinking in surprise at the question, Emery turned