“You have. Many times,” I said.
I took a breath and recounted the horror of my trip to St. Cécile. I told it in detail: the charred mounds, the eviscerated knight, the most graphic images sticking in my throat like memories that did not want to come out.
I told her of Adhémar, whose similar fate I had heard of at Baldwin’s court. Both knights were slaughtered, their villages razed. Both had recently returned from the Crusade. Just as I had.
“Why do you tell this to me?” she finally asked.
“You have not heard of such deeds? At court? Around the castle?”
“No. They are vile. Why should I?”
“Knights who disappear and return? Or talk of sacred relics from the Holy Land? Things more valuable than a simple fool like me would know.”
“You are my only relic from the Holy Land.” She smiled, trying to shift the mood.
I could see her trying to put the puzzle together. Why these horrible murders? Why now?
She took a wary breath. “I did not know of any such violence. Only that word has spread that Stephen has sent an advance guard to conduct his affairs before he returns.”
My blood lit. “This guard — they are here? At the castle?”
“I overheard the chatelain speaking of them with some contempt. He has served the duke loyally for years, yet these men are charged with some horrid mission. He feels they are ill-trained for knights.”
“Ill-trained?”
“‘Beyond honor,’ he said. Owing no allegiance. He says it is fitting that they sleep with the pigs, since they have the hearts of them. Why do you ask me this, Hugh?” Emilie looked into my eyes. I could see fear and I felt awful for causing it.
“These men are hunting for something, Emilie. I do not know what. But your mistress . . . she is not innocent in this herself. These might be Stephen’s men, but Anne knows what they do.”
“I cannot believe that.” Emilie shot upright. “You say this is a matter more important than any in the world to you. I hear it in your voice. These things you describe . . . they are most vile, and if they are Stephen’s work or Anne’s, they will have to answer to God for what has been done. But why is this so urgent for you? Why do you put yourself at risk?”
“It is not for Anne or Stephen,” I said, swallowing. “It is for my wife and child. I am sure, Emilie, their killers are these same men.”
I leaned back, trying to let the pieces fit together in my mind. This guard, doing the duke’s bidding. They had come from the Crusade. As had Adhémar. And Arnaud. And I.
“I must confront her,” Emilie said. “If Anne is behind such acts, I cannot serve here any longer.”
“You must not say a word! These men are vicious. They kill without a thought to God’s judgment.”
“It is too late.” Emilie stared at me glassily. Her look was not anxious but perplexed. “The truth is, when you were away, Hugh, I may have seen something too.”
Chapter 67
ANNE FLINCHED IN THE MAZE OF HEDGES under the balcony as she heard footsteps creeping up on her. A stealthy presence, most foul, like a shift in the