“I should have been here,” Amaury said hotly. “I should have held his hand at the last.”
The others were silent.
“Where is your gift?” Lothair demanded and Amaury was startled.
“What?”
Lothair put out a hand and Amaury belatedly understood. He surrendered the stone that Marcus had given him, the so-called poison stone. Lothair placed it against the lips of the dead man and even in the light of the candle, Amaury saw the stone turn black.
Philip caught his breath. Lothair frowned. Thierry crossed himself.
Amaury leaned closer. The stone might have been carved of obsidian. He seized it and peered at it, noting how it turned back to its customary green when removed from his father’s lips. He held it there again, horrified when it darkened again.
“God in Heaven,” he whispered. “He was murdered.”
“And Montvieux burned to the ground after his signet ring was claimed,” Thierry said.
“There is treachery here, as foretold,” Lothair said. “You cannot deny it.”
“It is not safe to linger in this place,” Luc added. “Who can say if we will be assaulted? You as his eldest son are the sole one who could rightfully challenge whoever has stolen your legacy.”
“But my brothers must be close. The villagers cannot have vanished.”
“We should move on. It is only good sense,” Lothair said.
They returned the lid of the sarcophagus to its place, then the other knights urged Amaury back toward the sunlight. His gaze clung to the familiar contours of the land, even without the structures he had known all of his life. Amaury could not deny his desire to stay. Montvieux had been his destination ever since he departed. It seemed wrong to leave, to abandon his father, and where would he go? He knew he would always yearn for Montvieux.
It was home.
“I say we all ride for Provins with Lothair,” Thierry suggested. “We shall halt at taverns and see what we can learn. There may be tidings or even gossip about your father’s death.”
Amaury nodded slow agreement. “I see the sense in that, but I must linger here one night.” He felt the restlessness of his companions. “It will grow dark before we can reach a tavern or town on that route. I have my tent from Outremer.” The other knights exchanged glances and Amaury felt their indecision. “One night,” he added in appeal.
It was Lothair who nodded and spoke the consensus. “One night,” he agreed. “But we ride at dawn.”
Amaury shook the hand of each knight in turn, glad of their agreement. They did not need to know that he would have stayed alone, even though he knew that was foolhardy. He reached to put a hand on Philip’s shoulder. “We will avenge them,” he vowed to the boy. “I swear it to you.”
“Aye, sir.” There was a stubborn jut to the boy’s chin. “We will.”
But if an army had attacked Montvieux, turning it all to ash, poisoning his father and spiriting away all those loyal to the holding, what could Amaury alone do to set matters to rights?
He did not know. He did not care. His honor demanded that he had to try.
He knew enough of war to recognize that he might not succeed, and that indeed, the quest might claim his own life.
So be it. He had lived every day of his life for Montvieux and he would die for it, as well.
Isabella de Marnisdid not like to hunt in the forests of Montvieux. She knew the game was plentiful, but no more so than in the forests of Marnis. To come to the neighboring holding to hunt felt like a violation to her, a slight to the family who had ruled these lands so recently. She and her half-brother might as well have been poachers.
Denis did not share her view. Isabella suspected he would hunt at Montvieux every day, if only to gloat in the triumph of Marnis over Montvieux. Montvieux had been brought to heel, as her father had commanded, and was now a daughter estate to Marnis.
It was also destroyed, every crumb of value burned to ash and every loyal villein dispersed. Only the deer and the pheasants remained.
Perhaps Denis would ensure that the forests were emptied as well, simply out of spite.
To Isabella, victory over Montvieux was a hollow one and hardly to be celebrated. Once they had possessed a neighbor, but now there was only ash and wind. Her ankle ached on this day,though the wind was not damp, and she was inclined to attribute it to Denis’ choice of hunting place.
It was late afternoon, the sun well past zenith and the shadows already growing longer. The day had been warm but not hot, the skies were clear, the breeze was light. The nights were already cooler and soon the wind would become chilly. They were returning to Marnis with two slain deer and a brace of rabbits.
