My army is assembling as I write, and will consist of every available man I can conscript, and one effect of that will be that I must leave my own castle defenses to the care of a tiny skeleton crew who will keep the gates closed until I return. Faced with the inevitability of that, and with the real possibility that I might not return at all from this campaign, I have made arrangements to ship my precious Margaret into your care. She and a small party will leave tomorrow. The man in charge of her party, appointed personally by myself, is called Giscard, and he and his two sons, Michel and Rombaud, are entrusted with sufficient gold, in three sound chests, to dower the girl suitably for any match you might arrange for her in future times.
I have no knowledge of when, or whether, you might hear from me again, my friend, but neither have I any doubt that my beloved daughter, in your hands and under your supervision, could be better served under any circumstances. Watch over her for me, and I hope to see you both again soon.
St. Clair
For the next three years, no word came out of England concerning St. Clair. No one even knew if the Scots invasion had been successful in the north. The Normans in the south of the country were still in power. That was common knowledge, but nothing was known for sure about anything else, because William Rufus willed it so and no one dared provoke his anger. Unknowing then whether his old friend was dead or alive, Baron Hugo had assumed full parental responsibility for the young woman by the end of her first full year of residence with him, and treated her exactly as he treated his own daughters, even going so far as to arrange her marriage to young Payn Montdidier in the autumn of 1092, as an eminently suitable match, advantageous to all parties, and one that he knew her father himself would approve. The bridal couple were nowhere near as visibly in love as Louise de Payens and St. Omer had been, but they enjoyed and admired each other, and everyone agreed that that was the required basis for a lasting and successful marriage.
For a time after that, life was idyllic for the three young men of the triumvirate. The two who were married lived in utter contentment, their wives the closest of friends, and Hugh, the unwed third, was more than satisfied to be able to work as hard as he wished on his studies of the Order of Rebirth without the distractions his now-preoccupied friends would normally have caused him.
The idyll came to an end on a day in May 1093, when Godfrey and Payn came to Hugh’s quarters together, looking decidedly ill at ease. Hugh saw at first glance that something was seriously wrong, and he immediately set aside the book he had been studying and stood up.
“What has happened? What’s wrong?”
Godfrey and Payn looked at each other—guiltily, was Hugh’s first thought—and neither one appeared to have any wish to answer him.
Godfrey sank onto a bench against the wall by the window. “They know,” he said.
“Who knows, and what?”
Payn cleared his throat. “The girls, Margaret and Louise. They know about the Order.”
“They what?”
“They know about it,” Godfrey muttered. “They’ve been talking about it, discussing and comparing their ideas, and they came right out and asked us about it, about what we do at the Gatherings.”
“In God’s name …” Hugh was barely able to speak, so profound was his shock. “What have you two done? How could you forget your oaths like that? Were they not awful enough, the dreadful penalties you undertook to suffer for betraying them?”
“We have done nothing, Hugh. We forgot nothing and we have said nothing. Neither one of us has as much as breathed a single word to anyone outside our Lodge. Believe me, we have asked each other everything there is to ask since we learned of this, and neither one of us has as much as whispered a word of anything to do with the Order.”
“Yet your wives know of it.” He waited, seeing only misery in their faces. “When did you discover this? How long ago did they ask you about it?”
“Today,” Godfrey said, meeting Hugh’s eye directly. “This afternoon, no more than an hour ago. We came to you immediately.”
“And what exactly did they ask you?”
Payn looked bewildered. “I … I don’t know … I can’t remember. I felt such horror when I realized what they were saying that I was struck dumb. All I can remember thinking is, They know. How could they know?”
“I felt the same way.” Godfrey was shaking his head, gazing into nowhere and frowning. “I didn’t think about anything else once I had recognized what Louise was saying … and I don’t really remember now exactly what she did say.”
“Then let’s approach this from another side. What did you tell them in the first place?”
“Tell them? Have you not heard a word we said? We didn’t tell them anything, Hugh. I certainly didn’t, and I believe Payn when he says he didn’t. But that’s not important—even although it is. What we need to know is what we should do now.”
His head still reeling, Hugh looked from one to the other of them, his lips pursed. “Well, at least that’s easy to answer. We go to my father and ask him what’s to be done. He will know, and he’ll know what to do about the two of you, too. But we had better go now … Did it occur to either one of you to warn your wives to say no more of this, to anyone?”
“Of course it did,” Godfrey snapped. “We were appalled, but we were not rendered completely witless. They won’t talk of it to anyone else, because we commanded them to say no more and they know how angry we are.”
“Very well then, now let’s make my father angry, too. Fortunately he is here. I saw him less than an hour ago, just about the time your wives were questioning you. Come on, then, let’s go and find him.”
Baron Hugo was in the smithy when they found him, supervising the shoeing of his favorite saddle horse. The beast was in its prime, but it had fallen on a treacherous slope the previous month, injuring its front right fetlock, and had been under the farriers’ care ever since. It had been judged able only that morning to return to its full roster of duties, and when Hugh and his friends arrived they saw immediately that the Baron’s attention was all for the horse and its new set of shoes, and he could barely conceal his impatience at their interruption, so that when he stumped off to a corner where they could speak with him in private, they followed him with unconcealed apprehension.
He listened to the first part of what his son had to say and then held up a hand, demanding silence. He looked at each of the three young knights in turn, then beckoned them to follow as he led them across the cobbled courtyard to his own chambers, where he dismissed the majordomo and his cleaning staff, then closed the doors securely behind them before waving to the three younger men to be seated. When they were all sitting, looking distinctly uncomfortable, the Baron cleared his throat and hooked a stool with his foot, dragging it closer to where he could sit on it, looking down at them.
“So,” he said, after a silence that seemed endless to the three, “if I am correct in my understanding of what you have told me, your wives asked you about what you do at the Gatherings, but you do not recollect exactly what it was that they asked you?” The Baron’s demeanor was remarkably calm, Hugh thought, for a man who had just discovered betrayal among his own family, and he admired his father’s control even as he tried to gauge the fury that must be simmering and bubbling beneath that calm exterior. From the corner of his eye he saw his two friends nodding their heads.
“And you are both convinced that they are aware of, or that they at