“Most of my life.”
“Have I ever bluffed a secret?”
The man shook his head. “But I must see it. It is the only way Hagan will believe this.”
Arnold moved toward the portal again. “Then follow me, fool.”
The trembling prior followed Arnold through the gate and into the streets of Villmar. Arnold looked amongst the folk milling by the inn. Where the devil is she? he wondered. If she ran off with it, I’ll—
“Hello,” came a voice.
The two men whirled about. It was Katharina.
“Move off, wench,” growled the prior.
“Good day, then,” she answered.
Arnold laughed out loud. “You’d best beg her pardon, Prior, and then look close in the woman’s hand.”
“What?” Mattias scowled. “I know thee, woman, from Weyer!”
“Ja, and I know you as well.” She lifted the folded letter from her gown and stepped back one pace. She slowly opened it so that Mattias could read it yet not grab it.
“Stand where you are, monk,” sneered Arnold. “Squint if y’must, but read it to yerself and know.”
The man’s lips muttered the words, and soon his eyes dropped. He nodded. “It is so, then.”
“Yes, good fellow, it is so. Woman, return the thing to your gown. He’d not dare reach in there … at least not here!
“Now, Prior, do this. Talk to the steward and explain your problem thoroughly. There is no need to send a search for the letter, for you’ll not find it. This I swear. You may have me arrested, but I’ll not have the letter on my person or in my humble cottage. You’ll not see her or the letter again until we’ve arranged our exchange.”
The prior cursed.
“You say Hagan is to arrive in Runkel on Thursday. Good. I shall meet you on the road between Weyer and Villmar an hour after compline prayers. You will come alone. There we shall discuss your decision and, unless you are a fool, the method of our exchange. Remember, Wilhelm and Heinrich of Weyer to be released and one-third of the profits of this letter to me. Agreed?”
The monk glared at Arnold with eyes molten with rage. Barely able to speak, he sputtered, “I shall meet thee then, and may thee burn in hell.” With that, the man spun on his heel and stormed into the abbey.
Relieved, Arnold turned to Katharina. “Good woman, well done. You make me proud to hail from Weyer!”
Katharina was troubled. “Why, sir, do you demand a third of the profit? It is too much to ask for that and for both men to be released!”
“Too much? How much is too much? Listen, wench. Do not tell me how to do my business. It is never too much. Do you think they’d ever give all that you ask? No! They’ll not give the third, I know that. Do y’think me a fool? But they might give us both men if I yield on the third. If they won’t, I would swear on my miserable soul that they’ll give us Heinrich at the very least!”
Katharina hung her head. “Alwin said it was not wise to press too hard and—”
“Alwin? The hunted Templar? He is with you? Another blessed secret to my account!”
Katharina quickly paled. “Arnold, if you betray Alwin, I’ll deal with the prior myself.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the man. “That’d be rich. Fear not, m’lady. Come! Let’s share a pitcher of ale. You’ve no cause to worry.”
Chapter Twenty-two
WISE AS SERPENTS
While Katharina and Arnold were busy in Villmar, Pieter, Tomas, and Otto had made their way carefully toward Weyer once more. It was in the late morning when they entered the village, and many of the folk were preparing their main meal of the day. Not wanting to be recognized, Tomas and Otto remained hidden in the shadows of their hoods as the three picked their way through the sprawling, haphazard collection of hovels and barns.
The day was warm and would soon be hot. Children dashed about in the summer sunshine, no doubt avoiding the many chores of the season as best they could. Housewives gawked curiously at the mysterious trio, and a few old men waved from their seats in the shade. It was a village like countless others—blessed with a few days of joy, burdened with months of sorrow.
“There.” Tomas pointed. “She lives in there.” Pieter followed Tomas’s finger to a poorly maintained hovel in the midst of many others. It was Frau Anka’s home. She was the widow of a dyer and was the village shrew. Once a friend to Heinrich’s wife, Marta, she had spent most of her life consumed with envy. Red faced, stout, easily angered yet fearful, the forty-year-old woman had few friends.
Otto hesitated. “Maybe we should just steal her away.”