The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One), Page 2

  ****

  An hour or so later, after some food and the exchange of news, Galeren pressed Bertrand for what purpose he thought he may serve.

  “Richard mentioned local trouble and I got the impression that he thought you would want me to….” he paused, “resolve it?”

  Bertrand le Roux was in his late fifties and had a kind open face, the type that hid no secrets and more importantly the type you could trust. Galeren trusted him more than he did most others. He was also a good friend of his father’s and despite his keenness to return to his own estate he would find it difficult to deny a man who held so much of his respect. Bertrand groaned.

  “Damn Richard! He has the subtlety of a lance through the head!” He shook his head and sighed wearily. “However, it is complementary that he would think that I would require your service in a delicate matter and he is right.”

  “You need only ask, Master.”

  “I know,” Bertrand smiled and drained his cup of its contents. “Another flagon?” he shook the empty vessel.

  “Why not?” Galeren answered, knocking back his wine. “I feel my bones warming with each sip. ’Twas a rough journey, I hate to admit it.”

  “Rough?” Bertrand rang a bell and a servant entered, he motioned to the flagon and it was immediately removed. “You are the only warrior that I have met who can persevere through any God forsaken conditions, be them baking heat or freezing rain.”

  “In my youth, perhaps.” Galeren mused reflectively.

  “Ahhh and what a youth,” Bertrand said with reflective admiration.

  “If you speak of Acre then it was a fleeting youth, I imagine my functional but inglorious medical pursuits disappoint you master?” The servant returned with a fresh flagon. Bertrand was quick to dispense its contents between them.

  “Not I,” he said with conviction.

  “My father perhaps,” Galeren said, staring into the depths of his cup.

  “Nor him,” Bertrand replied with equal certainty, “You fulfil honourable aims of the Temple, but the fact that you are such a damn fine soldier, and natural leader for that matter, leads many to believe that that is where your true purpose lies.”

  “Not that Bertrand,” Galeren shook his head firmly, “you know how I feel about the Temple’s current ideology.” He took a sip of wine before continuing. “But I am not here to argue the odds or press my views, it has never gotten me anywhere before. Let’s hear of this trouble on the estate.”

  Bertrand went to protest but then relented. He nodded his head and then sighed heavily before beginning.

  “One of our tenants, a tanner, was murdered several days ago. It has caused a quite a tumult.”

  “Understandable,” Galeren acknowledged, “do we know of the perpetrator?”

  Le Roux shook his head. Galeren tilted his and said, “A dispute settled without the law? You have no need of me if such is the case; Richard is more than capable of dealing with it.”

  “Normally I would agree, but the fact that this man’s throat was ripped out by, what has been described as, a gigantic wolf means that our involvement is necessary.”

  “Christ!” Galeren said looking at Le Roux whose face was full of concern.

  “There’s more, the witness, a nun, perhaps the intended victim, has described the murderer as…” Le Roux paused and then raising his eyebrows concluded, “a man who became a wolf.”

  “What?” Galeren nearly choked.

  “Aye. And while it is a story open to disbelief,” Le Roux shrugged, “we must investigate.”

  “Of course,” Galeren agreed, “what exactly has she said?”

  “That is for you to find out.”

  “’Tis a serious matter that must be handled delicately but I do not wish to put anyone’s nose out of joint at Temple Bruer by assuming charge.”

  “If you mean Richard then don’t worry. He is good for a battle but less than interested in matters of diplomacy. He longs for the days of the sword and his only interest in this has been to put pay to the rogue responsible.”

  “You have no reason to believe it is someone from within the Temple brethren?”

  “No. No one within would bear this man ill. He was a good tenant, hard worker, went to church and neither drank nor wenched. This is a stranger’s doing and that in itself is dangerous. So this must be settled quickly and without fuss. We have enemies aplenty, someone may be out to do us harm. You know how these things can escalate, these are superstitious times, brother, I have heard mention of witchcraft already. I want neither witch nor wolf hunt. I want this rumour quashed and quickly, I want whoever responsible found and this nun silenced if necessary.”

  “The first two requests I can execute but you ask the wrong man to commit murder of an innocent and if you ask another I will prevent it.”

  Bertrand laughed aloud, “Galeren, would I be so foolish to ask you to commit murder and that of a nun of all people!”

  Galeren shrugged. “Murder has been committed in the Temple’s name before.”

  “But not by my request,” Bertrand pointed out sharply, “murder is not my aim, prevention of it is. I mean discredit her testimony, confuse her mind, re-locate her – whatever is necessary.”

  “And under what guise are we heading this investigation?”

  “Simply, we will not tolerate the murder of one of the Temple’s tenants upon our own estate. Plus, we have livestock to consider, and we merely wish to discover whether a ravenous wolf is on the loose or a man and his hound with a grudge against the tanner.”

  Galeren laughed, “The latter is to my liking. But I thought you said that the nun may have been the intended victim.”

  “That is more likely.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it occurred at twilight and she was alone, coming from the village and heading back towards St Catherine’s. Nun’s are not wont to travel alone and at such a time.”

  “Mmmm, sounds as if she has more than one story to tell.” Galeren tilted his head, a pensive look in his eye.

  “Aye and that may serve our purpose well. If she has need of a secret to be kept then she may better be persuaded to alter her story.”

  Galeren nodded in agreement as he knocked back the dregs of his wine. “Trust I will do what needs to be done.”

  “I do, that is why I thank the Lord above that you rode through my gates this eventide.” Le Roux said, smiling at his former sergeant.

  “Thank not him, but the rains.” Galeren returned the smile to his old master and then said, “It is good to see you Bertrand.” He stood. “I will leave for the convent at first light.” Galeren bowed and then promptly left Le Roux’s chambers.

  Later, as he stood deep in thought listening to the rain pelt the eaves under which he took shelter, he sensed Parsifal’s approach and turned to greet him.

  “I thought you were abed long ago.” He said.

  “Curiosity has made me restless, sir.” Parsifal answered honestly, noticing that his master was scantly dressed in only a linen shirt, braies and black cloak. The weather never seemed to bother his master, Parsifal thought, and it should bother him less he noted to his chagrin.

  He looked at Galeren and considered him for a moment, the sharp look in his eye, his face furrowed in thought; it was a face full of mystery. Perhaps, there was some hero worship there and the fact that his master was neither boastful nor proud was the very reason for it. Yet, he didn’t understand why a man such as he was content to hide away in rooms filled with chaotic madness, tinkering with potions and experiments when all had said he could have been a good leader; their leader.

  Galeren seemed to have shied from climbing the Templar ranks to leadership and was, instead, on a medical crusade. Parsifal fully accepted that the acquisition of knowledge was part of their doctrine and none would deny that Galeren de Massard was one of the finest physicians the Order had, but he knew that many believed that Galeren had turned his back on his true destiny for which he was bitterly criticised, e
ven ridiculed; albeit behind his back.

  “Ahhh, what trouble’s afoot?” Galeren asked Parsifal’s question for him, bringing the young sergeant back to his purpose. Parsifal nodded then said:

  “You said there were no secrets.”

  “There are none here. There has been murder in the village and you will accompany me to the convent of St Catherine’s to question a witness.”

  “A nunnery?”

  “Aye. We leave early, ’tis only a short ride from here but I want to return to Faxfleet tomorrow, so get your rest now.” He paused and then said, “Unless you wish to come for a run with me?”

  “A run? In this weather?” he said in disbelief and then regretted it as he saw his master’s disenchanted expression.

  “’Tis good weather for a run. It would heighten your senses. Rain can confuse things; you should learn how it does and how not to let it.”

  Parsifal was about to concede hating to disappoint his master when a familiar voice bellowed out:

  “You need to harden the lad up or put him with the women. Mayhap he sews better than he battles.”

  Galeren noticed Parsifal’s face redden. “Your form of encouragement is why all of your sergeants wish for your last breath.” He said, but Richard laughed,

  “I care not for that; only that they last more than one swipe of a sabre on the battlefield.”

  “In any case,” Galeren said, smiling at Parsifal, “if he sews as well as I, then he will make a fine physician.”

  “You’ll need to make a warrior out of him if we go back to Palestine.” Richard continued. Parsifal’s face lit up at talk of the Holy Land.

  “You may stitch and sew well but you also know where to thrust a sword and more importantly, prevent being opened up by one.”

  “Let up Richard, Parsifal is as fine a swordsman as any sergeant of yours.” Galeren said.

  “Want to put that to the test?”

  “This sounds familiar,” Galeren rolled his eyes.

  “Well then?” Richard waited.

  “I don’t have time for this childishness.” Galeren returned with a bored tone.

  “Afraid?”

  Parsifal looked at Galeren and saw a dark danger enter his eyes. It was exciting to glimpse the other, hidden, side of his master.

  “You know what happened last time you said that.” Galeren reminded warningly.

  “Oh yes!” Richard said elated, “I do, in the days when you had more about you. I would welcome a whipping just to see the old Galeren return!”

  “Really? I rue the day. I was hot headed and arrogant, totally unpredictable – a fool!”

  Parsifal barely moved lest he disturb the men’s banter, he had never heard his master speak of his past or himself before.

  “You are the same today, brother, more of a fool though.”

  Galeren folded his arms and narrowed his eyes, Richard merely smiled. “You cannot change who you are. You have just locked that other self in a deep chasm and beaten yourself numb with books and study and surrounded yourself with the near-dead. Your heart will beat once more. What to unlock it though, eh?”

  “My heart beats fine. ’Tis you that needs to awaken from the past. You will find nothing in that dust, methinks our warrior days are drawing to an end.”

  “Really?” Parsifal suddenly called out, forgetting that his silence had made him obscure. Galeren whipped his head round. “Did I not tell you to get your rest sergeant? We ride at dawn.”

  Parsifal’s shoulders slumped. Damn! That he could not keep his big mouth shut. He wanted to go for that run now but his chance was taken; going now would seem for the benefit of Sir Richard and besides Galeren was now angered. He gave a shallow bow and left his master curtly, not wishing to press the matter further, save he receive a fierce tongue lashing.

  “The lad longs for the passion of war, mark me in that,” Richard said as he watched Parsifal walk away.

  “What do you know of passion?” Galeren said irritably.

  “More than you apparently. We are born warriors! Why do you revile something that you were born to do?”

  “I would rather save than take life.”

  “And the boy? Does he truly follow in your footsteps?”

  “They are not my footsteps. I merely teach and he learns well. He wants to be a physician, so he has told me often enough.”

  “On the battlefield perhaps, but not in a fetid infirmary. Why do you hide yourself away in such?”

  “I do not hide, I work. How do you pass the long days, brother?”

  “I prepare for the next crusade.”

  “Then you will have time aplenty for that. There will be no new crusade though perhaps we need it if attitudes like yours are the norm.”

  “Do you really believe that the Knights Templar can slip into the roles of farmers, bankers and physicians with our pasts? We are hated now for it brother. Defence of the Holy Land is all we have!”

  “Had,” Galeren corrected, “we are upon the eve of a new era,” he sighed heavily and then added, “but I share your concerns brother, that I do. Don’t think me lax.” He stared out into the rain.

  “What are we to do?”

  “Run.” Galeren said and looked at his friend. Richard shrugged; he knew he could take Galeren’s meaning whichever way he liked. “Care if I join you?” he asked.

  “You are always welcome,” Galeren smiled, “just try to keep up.” He challenged and turning he strode toward the preceptory gates.

  Chapter Two