Thomas could do nothing for the priest; unless his corpse could be found the poor man’s soul would linger in purgatory. Even if it could be found, Thomas knew there would be little hope for the priest’s soul if he’d died without absolution or without time to say final prayers. For the sake of the Lescolopier family, Thomas hoped they had had time and the opportunity to murmur a quick prayer before their torturous deaths.
And the tiny girl? Had she the wit and composure to say her prayers before her rape and murder? Was she damned, or saved? Was he now wasting his time trying to say the Office of the Dead over her body? Dear Lord in heaven, was his unborn daughter now trapped in purgatory, too?
“Brother Thomas?”
Thomas dragged his thoughts back to the matter at hand, realizing his voice had stumbled to a halt mid-prayer, and he nodded to de Noyes, moving smoothly back into the ritual.
Apart from de Noyes, there were only ten soldiers in attendance. All other soldiers were out scouring the countryside for more peasants, and as for the peasants they’d brought back for justice the previous evening, they were all now rotting in hell, their earthly corpses flung to the crows in the fallow field.
Thomas raised his hand in a final benediction, and de Noyes motioned to the soldiers. They moved forward quickly and gathered up the shrouded corpses.
Shallow graves had been dug in the cemetery: de Noyes could waste no time trying to dig out a vault within the church itself.
As Thomas shrugged off the chasuble he’d donned for the funeral mass, de Noyes stepped up.
“You will continue on your way?” “Yes. I must get to Paris.”
“I thought you said you were on your way to your home friary in England. There are many roads leading to the French coast that will not take you through Paris.”
“There is someone I must see there.”
“Then you are a fool! There is no one that you could need to see so badly you would risk your life so carelessly. Paris is in open revolt, man! You do not need to—”
“Listen to me, de Noyes! You have seen what has happened here. Murder so foul that it can only have been instigated by the minions of the Devil himself! Yes?”
De Noyes was silent, staring at Thomas with eyes sharp with anger and grief.
“This village has been touched by evil,” Thomas continued, speaking low but forcefully. “Foul evil that has spilled out from the gates of hell and into Christendom.
I have seen it, and spoken with it. The final battle between good and evil is about to be played out in our lifetime, Gilles.”
Now de Noyes’ eyes widened.
“Do you doubt what I say?” Thomas said. “How can you? Evil walked into this village and whispered in the peasants’ idiot minds. Nothing else can explain the defilement of the Lescolopiers. Nothing else can explain the foulness of their murders, or the troubles spreading about France now. Gilles, demons walk among mankind—”
“And you think to stop them?” There was little respect in de Noyes’ voice. “You did not stop my sister’s murder.”
“I—”
There was a shout and then the distant sound of horses’ hooves and Thomas and de Noyes hurried outside.
A party some twenty strong had ridden through the village common and, following
the pointing fingers of de Noyes’ men, now approached the church.
De Noyes stared, then jerked in his breath in astonishment. “Sweet Jesu!” Thomas glanced at de Noyes, then back at the riders now drawing their mounts to a halt before the church. Most of the riders were men-at-arms or richly-clothed servants, and all appeared to be grouped about two riders just behind the leading four men-at-arms. “My prince!” de Noyes said, and dropped to a knee. Thomas looked carefully at the two whom everyone else protected and deferred to. One was a woman, barely out of girlhood, thin and pale and with dark hair that had been disarranged by the ride and the tug of the hood of her blue cloak.
The other was a man of some twenty-four or -five years, as dark-haired and pale-faced as the woman, but far more obviously discomposed. He looked between de Noyes and Thomas, then relaxed slightly as he realized they posed no threat.
“Who are you?” he asked in a thin, cracking voice.
“Gilles de Noyes, your grace, of the lordship of Maronesse, and your humble and obedient servant.”
“De Noyes? Maronesse?” The young man fidgeted and looked from side to side uncertainly.
The young woman leaned close to him, and said something in a low voice.
Her eyes did not leave de Noyes and Thomas.
“Ah,” the man said. “Maronesse is just south of Montmirail, is it not?”
“Yes, your grace.”
The man turned his head toward Thomas, visibly less curious about him. He was, after all, only a priest.
Thomas did not introduce himself immediately. He well knew this man, although he’d not seen him for at least eight years. Prince Charles, Dauphin of France and heir to the French throne.
Thomas had never seen any man apparently less ready to shoulder the responsibilities his grandfather’s capture thrust upon him than the Dauphin. His eyes were fearful, his entire demeanor unsure, and he did not seem capable even of giving coherent directions regarding the use of a privy, let alone the ordering of a nation.
And what was he doing here? “My name is Thomas, your grace,” he said. “Of the Order of Preachers.”
“Well, I can see that” Charles frowned a little. “Your face seems familiar.”
“All priests look much the same, my lord.”
“Well, perhaps that is so. De Noyes,” Charles turned back to the knight, “how many men do you have at your disposal?”
“I have sixty sergeants with me, but, given a week or more, can call to my back some eighteen knights and over a hundred men-at-arms. They are yours, your grace!”
“Ahem. Yes, well…”
“I find it strange that you should be riding east, your grace,” Thomas said. “Surely Paris would be safer?”
Charles’ face flushed, and several of his men-at-arms made as if to ride forward, but it was the woman who spoke.
“Paris is in open revolt,” she said in a clear voice. “I and my brother have been forced to flee.”
The Princess Catherine, Charles’ younger sister. Thomas had never seen her before.
“Name your destination,” de Noyes said, “and I will join you there within ten days with all the knights and men-at-arms I can muster!”
“Ah… um …” Charles said, and suddenly Thomas understood very clearly what had happened.
For whatever reason, and through whatever means, Paris had risen in revolt, and Charles had thought only of an escape, not of a destination.
Why east? Probably because the Dauphin had been closest to the eastern gate of Paris when he’d decided to flee, or perhaps the eastern gate had been the only one open.
“We ride to la Roche-Guyon,” Catherine said. “There my brother will raise the force necessary to retake Paris and repel the bastard English.”
It was a shame, Thomas thought, that she had been horn the woman and Charles the man. Catherine displayed jar more spirit and determination than her brother.
De Noyes nodded. “It is a strong castle, your grace. And a good site from which to launch your campaign.”
Charles looked distinctly unhappy, and Thomas realized that the last thing the man wanted was to launch a campaign against anyone at any time.
Sweet Jesu, Thomas thought, the Black Prince has won here and now!
“Then we thank you, good sir,” Catherine said, and smiled sweetly at de Noyes.
“If you know the names and situations of those that might join us, perhaps you could use some of your men to send to them immediately?”
“It is done, my lady,” de Noyes said, bowing to Catherine, then turning to one of his sergeants standing close by and issuing urgent, low orders.
Catherine looked back to Thomas. “Good friar, from where do you hail? Your intonation is strange, and I cannot immediately place it.”
“I am come from Rome, my lady.”
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “You are English.”
An instant stillness fell about them as the attention of the Dauphin’s escort focused entirely on Thomas.
“I was born in England, my lady, but I am of the—”
“No man ever escapes his blood,” Catherine said, and, stunningly, her face twisted in hatred and she spat at Thomas’ feet. “I find you vile!”
De Noyes moved away from his sergeant and looked uncertainly between Catherine and Thomas.
“The friar has done good service here, my lady,” he said. “There has been a wretched murder done in this village. The lord, Sir Hugh Lescolopier, his wife—and my sister—Marie, their children and his sister Beatrice had been ravished, tortured and murdered. Brother Thomas performed the last rites and, just now, a funeral mass. Without him …”