CHAPTER 1
August 1102
The four knights rode together in companionable silence, though Amaury de Montvieux could not keep himself from urging his destrier to greater haste. After eight years, he was returning home from crusade. He was impatient to see the changes in his family holding, to duel with his younger brothers, and to confer with his father once more. He had so many tales to share and feared he had missed so much. Were his brothers married as yet? Did Montvieux prosper?
Surely Marcus had not been right in his dire prediction? The tavern-keeper in Outremer had granted a parting gift to each knight in their company: Amaury’s had been surrendered with a warning.
He was aware of the weight of the small rounded stone in his purse, for it seemed to grow heavier with each step closer to Montvieux. It was a curious dark stone, veined with glimmeringlines that seemed unworldly. It was smooth and rounded like a small egg, deep green, of a shape and weight to be hidden securely in his palm.
A stone from a winged lion’s gullet, Marcus had said. A stone that could detect poison.
How? Amaury did not know, but he believed Marcus’ remarkable assertion. There was something uncanny about the stone, something that made such a power seem plausible.
Worse, Marcus had insisted he gave the stone to Amaury to better confront the treachery that would greet that knight on his arrival home.
Treachery at Montvieux? Surely not. Amaury had been skeptical. But now, with his destination so close, he yearned to know for certain.
His fellow knights were Lothair of Sutherland, oft called The Viking for his fair hair and quiet demeanor. Lothair was both a fearsome warrior and a healer, and intended to continue to Provins to study under an apothecary there. Luc and Thierry Douglas were twin brothers from the north of England and better friends than foes. Their ferocity and composure in battle was almost equal to that of Lothair, and Amaury was glad to count them among his allies. Squires trailed behind the knights, whose armor showed signs of battle and wear. Amaury’s three squires rode their own palfreys and he had another loaded with gifts, baggage and acquisitions. Lothair had only one squire, while Luc and Thierry each travelled with one boy to tend their needs.
Though all four warriors had earned their spurs, none of the company came from so affluent a background as Amaury. He had been glad to share his advantages with his friends and he was anxious to share the hospitality of Montvieux with the men who had become as close as brothers.
He cast a smile at his oldest squire, Philip, who had accompanied him for his entire journey. The boy was the oldest son of the miller at Montvieux and he, too, was returning home. Philip, though, had spent half his life abroad. The boy grinned back, his anticipation as evident as Amaury’s own. He was growing to manhood now and Amaury realized he should plan for the awarding of Philip’s spurs. Aye, he must turn his thoughts to matters of peace instead of war, of stability instead of battles. He welcomed the prospect.
They passed through the great forest in the south of Montvieux’s territories, and Amaury could not help but note that the road was not as well tended as once it had been. The verges had not been trimmed back this year, or perhaps even the year before, which was uncommon. His father had always been vigilant in managing such details. Having growth next to the road created opportunity for bandits and other villains. Was something amiss?
Amaury touched his spurs to Ténébreux’s flanks as they broke clear of the forest’s shadows. The road from this point stretched north and west, a ribbon leading directly to Montvieux’s gates. But the gates were not there, for Montvieux was not there. There was no keep rising proudly on the horizon, no blue banner snapping against the sky. He might have forgotten the way home.
There was naught at all before him.
Nay! This could not be!
Amaury cried out and urged his destrier to a gallop. Philip was fast behind him on his palfrey, his concern palpable. The pair raced ahead of the company, though the others, too, hastened their pace.
When Amaury saw the black scorch upon the ground where the village had been, he thought his heart might stop. All of Montvieux had been constructed of wood, the motte and baileykeep, the protective palisade, the village and even the mill, and built of lumber harvested from that forest they had just left.
And it was all gone, save for the ash and charred marks upon the soil.
Montvieux had been razed to the ground.
Amaury and Philip exchanged a glance of horror.
“But when?” the boy asked, his voice hoarse. “But how?”
“Butwho?” Amaury demanded, though he expected no reply. He urged his destrier onward, passing over the area that should have been the gates. There was a line where the palisades had been burned, only some charred posts emerging from the ground. A large black scar marked where the hall had stood and silence pressed upon him when he halted his horse.
Where was his father?
Where were his brothers?
Where were all the people who had called Montvieux home?
He heard Philip make a sound that might have been a sob.
“There are no corpses, Philip,” he noted. “They must have fled to safety.”
The boy swallowed hard. “They could have been captured, my lord,” he said, his words thick.
“Not here,” Amaury said, hoping he was right. He realized his companions had come to a halt behind him.
