Pagan in Exile by Catherine Jinks Read Free Book Online Page A

cutting wood in your forest.’
    ‘I knew it!’ Berengar exclaims. ‘Didn’t I tell you? We ought to go down there and –’
    ‘Shut up, Berengar. Continue, Mistress.’
    She doesn’t seem at all uncomfortable. In fact she’s very self-possessed. Surprising, when you consider how young she must be. Twenty? Twenty-two?
    Awful to think what she might be kneeling on.
    ‘My lord,’ she says, speaking clearly and firmly, ‘Garnier’s son Estolt was working by himself when he heard shouting. He returned to his father and found Garnier with the man Clairin. Clairin had struck Garnier on the head with an axe.’ Her voice trembles slightly. ‘It was a terrible wound, my lord. He has not yet revived, as far as I know. Estolt seized the axe, but Clairin fled. So Estolt carried his father home on our cart.’ She waves a hand in the direction of the stables. ‘We have brought the axe with us, my lord.’
    Galhard nods. He seems to be thinking. The woman waits patiently as Berengar shifts about on his bench.
    ‘Why did you come here?’ Galhard says at last. ‘What do you want me to do?’
    ‘My lord, the forest is your forest. What happens there is your concern.’
    ‘Damn right it is.’ (Berengar, airing his opinions again.)
    ‘I believe that this man from the Abbey has been plundering wood,’ she continues. ‘Garnier has seen him there before, but not with an axe. Perhaps you want to take this matter up with the Abbot.’ She hesitates. ‘I think that justice should be sought for Garnier’s assault. He may not live, my lord. If he doesn’t, his family deserves some kind of recompense.’
    ‘Recompense! I’ll go down to the Abbey and find this Clairin and pull his guts out through his nose!’ Berengar roars. He slams his fist down on the table. ‘I’ll tear him up and feed him to the dogs!’
    ‘No. Please, no violence.’ The woman lifts her head. ‘I don’t want any violence.’
    ‘What you want, Mistress, doesn’t interest us at all,’ Galhard snaps, in a voice that would flay a dead camel. He looks at Roland, and jerks his head. ‘Come here.’
    Roland moves forward. A quick glance at me, over his shoulder. (Stay where you are, Pagan.)
    ‘This is my youngest son Roland. He’s just come back from the Holy Land. He used to spend a lot or time at the Abbey, so he knows his way around, there.’ Galhard sneers, displaying a collection of fangs that would put any of his lymer hounds to shame. ‘I haven’t set foot in that God-box for fifteen years, and I’m not about to start now. I know I wouldn’t be able to control my temper. That’s why I’m going to send Roland to speak with Abbot Tosetus.’
    Can’t see Roland’s face, so I don’t know how he’s reacting to this announcement. Probably hasn’t even raised an eyebrow. He rarely lets anything show, especially in public.
    ‘The Templars are always on at me about peace levies and the Peace of Toulouse and the Peace of Beziers and peace this and peace that,’ Galhard continues, in a threatening way. ‘Interfering with my private business. Trespassing on my land. Fancy themselves as peace-makers, for the right price. So I’m leaving this little matter to you, Roland. As a knight of the Temple, it should be the kind of thing you’re trained to deal with.’
    Roland bows. Can’t really do anything else, I suppose.
    ‘Take this woman with you,’ Galhard tells him. ‘Wear your fancy outfit. Make that bastard sweat. I want to know how much wood he’s taken, and I want compensation down to the very last twig.’
    ‘My lord –’ The woman dares to interrupt.
    Galhard swings his head around, and glowers at her. ‘What?’ he barks.
    ‘My lord, the Abbot will not talk to me. I doubt if he’ll even let me through the gates of the Abbey. He has very strong feelings about my . . . my establishment.’
    ‘I don’t care if he spits blood and dies at the sight of you! You’ll be there under Roland’s protection, and Roland is my son.