Read Online The Prophecy of Death: (Knights Templar 25) by Michael Jecks - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Jecks
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lacked
the pendulous lips and excessive flesh of a brute like Baldwin’s late and sadly missed Uther. This was an entirely different
type, with a long, silky coat in several colours. Baldwin had seen dogs with these markings before, but rarely if ever quite
so pronounced: black all over, but for brown eyebrows and cheeks, with a white muzzle. The paws were all white, as was the
tip of the tail, while there was a large white cross on the dog’s breast. He moved with a heaviness, as was to be expected
with an animal that must weigh three stone, but there was a spring in his gait that spoke of his liveliness and strength,
and he ambled around the place, casting looks about him at all the people with such a benevolent, amiable expression that
Baldwin was smitten.
‘Stop dribbling,’ Simon said caustically.
‘He’s a beautiful animal,’ Baldwin said.
‘He’s a dog, Baldwin. A
dog
. If he’s a good guard he may have a use, but that’s all. Dear Christ in Heaven, man, haven’t you enough hounds already?’
‘Simon, I fear when it comes to matters of canine interest, you are indeed a peasant,’ Baldwin said loftily.
‘Aye. And peasants know when knights talk ballocks,’ Simon said unperturbably.
In her room nearby, Queen Isabella sipped wine.
She should, perhaps, have gone down to wish them all a good journey, but she did not feel it entirely suitable. No, perhaps
were she to do so, others might comment. Not immediately, perhaps, but later, and that was a risk she need not take, so she
would not. Instead, she stood at her window in the castle and peered down, sipping from her goblet of wine as she prayed for
their safety, and especially for the protection of the Bishop of Orange.
‘Godspeed, Bishop,’ she whispered.
For she knew that the Bishop had a most important message to take to England for her. A message to her son.
Chapter Four
Christ Church
‘Are you
sure
?’ Prior Henry demanded. He could feel himself sagging in his seat as he took in this new disaster.
The sub-prior, James, nodded grimly. ‘At least the relics themselves are safe, Prior.’
‘What on earth would someone have wanted to do that for? What is the world coming to, eh?’
It was a
disgrace
! If he weren’t a man of God, he would choose more select language for this abomination. That a man could kill another, that
was appalling, but men would do so. It was ever the part of man to kill others: for money, for jealousy, for pride, for anger,
for lust … the reasons were all known even to a Benedictine, and had been since the age of Adam, when one son killed another.
Well, so be it. If men wished to harm each other, there was little a man like Henry Eastry, Prior of the great Christ Church
of Canterbury, could do about it, but that a man would dare to break into the church itself and try to steal the relics upon
which the future of the Church depended, that was an entirely different affair.
‘So, clearly, this fellow attempted to break in, found his way to the reliquary, and there was accosted by poor Gilbert. Gilbert
gave chase, and the man slew him, and escaped.’
‘Yes, Prior. But what was Gilbert doing there?’
‘He was assistant to the—’
‘But yet he should not have been in there so late at night, Prior. This was the middle watch of the night, surely.’
‘What of it? That is the time that criminals will attack. Even churches are not immune.’
‘No – what was Gilbert doing there? Why was he awake?’
‘He heard something. He was woken.’
‘Perhaps.’ His flat tone betrayed his disbelief.
‘And at least nothing was stolen from the feretory.’
‘Not from there, no.’
The prior turned slowly to stare. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The man who escaped appears to have taken the oil, Prior.’
‘Eh? What do you mean? You told me that nothing had been stolen from the church. You looked carefully, you said, and nothing
was missing.’
The sub-prior looked about
the pendulous lips and excessive flesh of a brute like Baldwin’s late and sadly missed Uther. This was an entirely different
type, with a long, silky coat in several colours. Baldwin had seen dogs with these markings before, but rarely if ever quite
so pronounced: black all over, but for brown eyebrows and cheeks, with a white muzzle. The paws were all white, as was the
tip of the tail, while there was a large white cross on the dog’s breast. He moved with a heaviness, as was to be expected
with an animal that must weigh three stone, but there was a spring in his gait that spoke of his liveliness and strength,
and he ambled around the place, casting looks about him at all the people with such a benevolent, amiable expression that
Baldwin was smitten.
‘Stop dribbling,’ Simon said caustically.
‘He’s a beautiful animal,’ Baldwin said.
‘He’s a dog, Baldwin. A
dog
. If he’s a good guard he may have a use, but that’s all. Dear Christ in Heaven, man, haven’t you enough hounds already?’
‘Simon, I fear when it comes to matters of canine interest, you are indeed a peasant,’ Baldwin said loftily.
‘Aye. And peasants know when knights talk ballocks,’ Simon said unperturbably.
In her room nearby, Queen Isabella sipped wine.
She should, perhaps, have gone down to wish them all a good journey, but she did not feel it entirely suitable. No, perhaps
were she to do so, others might comment. Not immediately, perhaps, but later, and that was a risk she need not take, so she
would not. Instead, she stood at her window in the castle and peered down, sipping from her goblet of wine as she prayed for
their safety, and especially for the protection of the Bishop of Orange.
‘Godspeed, Bishop,’ she whispered.
For she knew that the Bishop had a most important message to take to England for her. A message to her son.
Chapter Four
Christ Church
‘Are you
sure
?’ Prior Henry demanded. He could feel himself sagging in his seat as he took in this new disaster.
The sub-prior, James, nodded grimly. ‘At least the relics themselves are safe, Prior.’
‘What on earth would someone have wanted to do that for? What is the world coming to, eh?’
It was a
disgrace
! If he weren’t a man of God, he would choose more select language for this abomination. That a man could kill another, that
was appalling, but men would do so. It was ever the part of man to kill others: for money, for jealousy, for pride, for anger,
for lust … the reasons were all known even to a Benedictine, and had been since the age of Adam, when one son killed another.
Well, so be it. If men wished to harm each other, there was little a man like Henry Eastry, Prior of the great Christ Church
of Canterbury, could do about it, but that a man would dare to break into the church itself and try to steal the relics upon
which the future of the Church depended, that was an entirely different affair.
‘So, clearly, this fellow attempted to break in, found his way to the reliquary, and there was accosted by poor Gilbert. Gilbert
gave chase, and the man slew him, and escaped.’
‘Yes, Prior. But what was Gilbert doing there?’
‘He was assistant to the—’
‘But yet he should not have been in there so late at night, Prior. This was the middle watch of the night, surely.’
‘What of it? That is the time that criminals will attack. Even churches are not immune.’
‘No – what was Gilbert doing there? Why was he awake?’
‘He heard something. He was woken.’
‘Perhaps.’ His flat tone betrayed his disbelief.
‘And at least nothing was stolen from the feretory.’
‘Not from there, no.’
The prior turned slowly to stare. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The man who escaped appears to have taken the oil, Prior.’
‘Eh? What do you mean? You told me that nothing had been stolen from the church. You looked carefully, you said, and nothing
was missing.’
The sub-prior looked about
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