Two and Three Weeks following Trinity Sunday, 1198

Madeleine looked thoughtful when she finally departed Daria’s chambers. The covenant’s prima rarely called anyone into her presence, so Madeleine’s summons was as unexpected as the visit was lengthy.

It was a week later when the knight appeared. “In the village, my lord,” the peasant panted, having run the mile uphill to find Stephan in the outer bailey. “He rides up to the castle now!” Stephan called Michi over and quickly organized a squad of men. A lone knight was not likely looking for mischief, but he could do a lot of damage if he caught the complement unprepared. “What is his heraldry?” Stephan asked. The villager shrugged. “I do not recognize the colours, sir, but he bears a badge of Namur.”

Sure enough, the knight was on an errand for the Count. “My lord Etien of Namur will arrive tomorrow,” he informed Daria in the great hall, as Gaspard, Madeleine, and Stephan looked on. Geert de Das—that was the knight’s name—reckoned a party of six or seven with Etien, but to that would be added a score at least squires and servants, armsmen and pages and camp-followers. The castle burst into activity as soon as the knight departed: animals to slaughter and trenchers to bake for the feast; the great hall to be swept, new rushes laid down, and tables brought in; heavy rotas to be planned for the watch and the security of the village. Stephan would be Daria’s bodyguard, while Gaspard relied as always on Michi. Remi was not at the covenant.

The Count was a giant of a man, thick-necked and red in the face, with quick, calculating eyes and a manner that promised a sudden and dreadful temper. He arrived after nones with Geert and another knight Gervais, and a sandy-haired monk whose white habit with a red cross Maltese said as much about his vocation as his alert stature and wiry, upright build. A young lady, quiet and perhaps frail, was introduced as the Count’s niece, and another man in embroidered robes proved to be a mason. Each had a servant or squire, and a jongleur followed them in. The great hall was splendid, but despite the apparent honour given the Count, Morris seated him at the second table. The Count did not acknowledge the slight, but he did become restless when after a quarter hour Daria had still not appeared.

She swept in from the library with Stephan on her heels. There was little conversation as the meal was served, but eventually Daria addressed the Count. “The borders are a concern for me,” Etien told her, “Limburg is raising an army.” Daria was unconcerned. “Duke Waleran recognizes our status as an Imperial fief, just as I’m sure you do, my lord Count.” “What good is an Imperial charter when there is no Emperor?” demanded Etien. “Frederick Stauffen is excommunicate, and Otto doesn’t have the support of the German princes. If you hope a new Emperor will protect you, you will have years to wait—years of war, I think. And what of this?” A servant produced a document, which Daria gave only the quickest glance before waving it toward Gaspard. It was a letter from an agent of Duke Waleran, confirming a plot with Daria to bring troops of Limburg to Bois de Haillot. “A forgery,” Daria responded calmly. Etien didn’t press the issue. “I’m concerned for your safety here—you have nothing but academics to protect you. I can fortify your castle.” He was willing to formalize the agreement with a marriage—Daria to one of his knights, or even himself—but she replied that Triamore’s oaths prevented her from any such worldly entanglements. Etien grew angry, knocking over his chair. “Take what I offer now,” he demanded, “or by Christ’s wounds you’ll have nothing later!” If Daria was impressed she made no sign. “The lord who brings an army here will weep for his losses and curse the day he saw his fortune in these stones.”

Most eyes were on this exchange, but Michi noticed something else: The jongleur had slipped out—perhaps to the kitchens—but had not returned. With Daria retired, Michi caught Stephan’s eye and they went looking for the missing jester. They found him in the covenant’s vault beyond the pantries; he had opened two gates and was now considering the locks on the strong boxes. “Don’t kill me; I have taken nothing!” the young man exclaimed. Godwin was his name. “What are you after?” Stephan demanded. The thief looked puzzled. “The silver, of course. And other treasure. What else would there be?” They contemplated putting him to the sword right then, but Michi had a different idea. “Return to tha camp down there, and find out what tha Count there’s got in mind for us. You be our spy, see, and I won’t have ta cut out your liver.”

The feast wound down, and Etien returned after some hours to his encampment in the fallow field outside the village. [???] wandered down a little while later. Many of the villagers had departed to the safety of the castle bailey or the outlying hamlets, and all had surely buried their valuables. But a handfull were making a few pennies selling ale and trading news with the soldiers and servants of the camp, and [???] had little trouble finding a game of dice. He could learn little, but it was clear at least that the small force was not preparing an imminent attack on the covenant. But then, neither were they preparing to depart on the marrow, and there was definitely a sense that their business at Bois de Haillot was not concluded. And from the Count’s tent [???] did catch one small snippet of conversation: The mason, Evrard, talking to Etien. “I would need a more detailed tour to make a full assessment, my lord,” the mason was saying, “but the main work would be in the keep and the bailey. I’m confident the castle could be defensible by next summer, and possibly complete within a year—but it is a grand building, and it will not be finished cheaply.”

The Templar showed up at the gates the next morning. “I confess to curiosity about your doings here,” he told Gaspard and Madeleine when brought before them. “Much is said of wizardry, but I hear also that many scholars visit your library.” His name was Brother Chretien, from the Templar commanderie at Huy. “My lord Etien seems to have made up his mind about us,” Madeleine said. “I am not Etien,” the Templar responded. They gave him a brief tour of the keep and library. Conversation turned to the dragon in Verdun and the destruction of the robber-baron of the Ardennes, and Chretien seemed to warm to his hosts. Eventually they talked of the Count’s business at Bois de Haillot. “Etien owes the order a great deal of money,” Chretien explained, “and my preceptor Thierry le Bacheler is personally accountable for those loans. He has begun to worry that Etien will not be able to repay if he doesn’t complete his plans—which include owning this castle. I was sent along for a first-hand look at your community; I think Thierry is rather hoping I’ll uncover some witchcraft worthy of Templar intervention.” “And what have you found?” Madeleine asked. “I will advise my lord Thierry against direct support of Etien. But make no mistake about the Count’s intentions. And know that my voice is but one, and I fear it carries limited weight.”