FIVE
The rider met them along a muddy track outside of Cologne. His horse was covered in sweat, and the animal staggered awkwardly when the rider slid down the saddle. Feronantus eyed the horse sadly, wondering if its rider had pushed it too hard.
The rider was a slight man named Domarus, who, unlike the rest of the company, had brought no maille with him. He wore a rough leather vest and bracers on his arms, and he carried only a bow, arrows, and a long knife. His saddle was nothing more than a leather frame and a blanket with a single strap around the horse’s barrel.
He was a scout, and he ranged far ahead of the larger, slower-moving party.
“They’re not on the river,” he reported to Geoffrey and the rest of the company. “I heard from several sources that there was a fire on board one of the ships when they reached Wesel. Four days ago. They unloaded and set off overland. On the other side of the river.”
Rutger groaned and Feronantus shook his head. No wonder they hadn’t seen any sign of the imperial party. They were on the eastern side of the Rhine, while the Shield-Brethren were looking for them on the west side.
Geoffrey remained unconcerned. “What about Koblenz and the gorge? Will they cross to this side there?”
Feronantus did not know enough about the geography of the surrounding area, and he could only assume the Rhine passed into more mountainous terrain near a place called Koblenz. It sounded like the sort of place that would force a wagon party to make a significant detour. The question was, which direction?
Rutger shook his head. “They wouldn’t wait that long. They’d cross earlier, or not at all. But if they didn’t, that would mean passing through Mainz and Worms.”
“Easy to acquire more guards along that route,” Geoffrey said. “But they would also not be able to pass without scrutiny, which would slow them down.”
“And they’d stop at Worms,” Rutger said. “The emperor has a palace there. There’d be no reason to take the ransom all the way to Speyer.”
Geoffrey looked at Feronantus. “What do you think?” he asked. “You are the one who sees subterfuge afoot. If I were leading the wagons, I’d stick to the safe routes—more people friendly to the emperor, more men who could be called upon to join me.”
Feronantus looked over his shoulder at the two dozen knights ranged behind them along the road. “I think it is odd that a complement of imperial guards who are all very much aware of the enormity of their cargo would lose their vessel to a fire.”
“Accidents happen,” Geoffrey pointed out with a shrug.
Feronantus stared at the Shield-Brethren quartermaster, trying to ascertain if the man was willfully unaware or simply testing his resolve and his ability to think carefully. It was obvious to Feronantus that the fire in Wesel had not been an accident. He knew it as clearly as he knew the sun would rise in the east. Was it the Vor that guided him, or was it just that obvious?
“They’re on the western side of the Rhine already,” he said.
“How can you be sure?” Geoffrey asked.
Feronantus caught Rutger watching him carefully. “I am,” he said. It was too complicated to explain, but he could see all the pieces of his argument clearly. It made sense in his head. He had no doubt.
In the first hour after the fire had started aboard the treasure ship, Willahelm had been concerned that someone might stumble upon the dead sailor in his cabin. But once the fire burst through the deck and began rampaging through the hold, he was no longer concerned that his part in the inferno that swept through the ship would be discovered. The sailor—one of the three navigators—had been sent by the captain, and there had been no time to learn anything more from the man. He glanced at the pile of oil-soaked blankets on the floor of Willahelm’s cabin and knew instantly what the imperial ambassador had been about to do. He tried to bolt for the door, and his cry of alarm turned into a rattling gurgle when Willahelm’s knife entered his back. Willahelm threw the man’s body on the oil-soaked pile, tossed a lit candle at the pile, and shut the door of his room as soon as he heard the growl of the oil igniting.
The next hurdle was convincing the imperial guard and the other ambassadors to cross to the western shore of the Rhine. He had anticipated more discourse concerning his suggested route, but the other ambassadors were in such shock at the idea of sabotage that they eagerly agreed to his levelheaded proposal. The western route was less traveled, he argued. They could move quickly and would not be slowed by other caravans and crowded towns. Look at what had happened at Wesel, he said, it was so very difficult to guard their cargo when surrounded by so many people.
Of course, it was actually easier for them to be ambushed along the western route, especially when the French did not have to cross the Rhine in order to attack them. They could commandeer the wagons and be in Leige before the emperor even knew his treasure had been stolen.
In Leige, he would take his share of the treasure and hire an expensive carriage to convey him and his wealth to Paris, where the king of France would personally thank him for providing the coin to finance an invasion of England.
It was such a lovely thought, and it made him inordinately happy during the tedious days following the accident at Wesel. First, they couldn’t find enough wagons, and then there were problems with the oxen. Throughout the continued delays, Willahelm maintained a calm mien and a steady perseverance that the other ambassadors found comforting.
If only they knew, he thought.
Mid-afternoon on the fourth day after leaving Wesel, a shout went up the line, and Willahelm sat up in his saddle, peering ahead at the rider charging at them along the dusty road. It was one of their forward scouts, and his surcoat was stained with blood.
“Ambush!” The cry spread through the caravan, and all around him, the imperial guard galvanized into defensive action. The drovers on the wagons began to whip their oxen harder, but they did not know where they were actually going, and in the following minutes, the wagon caravan descended into chaos as the oxen tried to flee and the imperial guard tried to drive the wagons into a more defensible unit.
And then the ambushers were among them.
Willahelm caught sight of men wearing blue-and-white surcoats. The drover on the wagon beside him screamed as two arrows struck him, and he tumbled off the plank of his wagon. The oxen, unaware they had lost their master, charged onward, and the wagon jounced as the wheels on the near side went over the fallen wagoner. Barrels shifted in the back, and one spilled out of the wagon, breaking as it hit the road. Silver scattered across the road, glittering in the afternoon light like a spray of water.
Willahelm was dazzled by the silver, and he didn’t realize he had been struck by an arrow until he coughed and felt something wet spatter from his lips. He looked down at the shaft protruding from his chest, pawing at it lightly as if it were not real. He heard a roaring noise, like thunder, and he glanced up in time to see something coming at his face. A small bird, he thought, wondering what it was doing flying in the midst of the battlefield, and then his vision splintered into a spray of glittering water.
My silver, he thought. It was slipping away from him. Falling out of his unresponsive fingers…