“The stable!” he cried. “Cathari in the stable by the inn!” The Templar grabbed hold of two fellows and lifted himself to his feet. He pointed to the priest. “See if he is alive. He had more to tell.”
The priest was lifted and found still breathing, though weakly. “He’s alive!”
“Bring him to me!” barked Cyrill. “Let him talk afore he dies.”
The sergeants pulled the priest to a standing position and dragged him limp legged to their commander. The Templar lifted the man’s head by his hair. “Tell me! Tell me more!”
The priest’s eyes fluttered as he struggled to whisper. “Cathari… stable … black …”
“And what of the murderer? We’re in search of a murderer!”
An arrow sang again, this time piercing the priest’s neck. The man went limp, and his holders dropped him to the ground. Into the vacancy immediately flew another shaft, hitting the Templar captain squarely in the eye. Falling backward with a sickening cry, the man landed dead upon the ground.
“Find him!” cried a voice. As men went running in the supposed direction of the archer, others mounted their horses in search of the other Templar knight. Once found, he was informed of his comrade’s death and of the priest’s words. Messengers were sent in all directions, and within the hour, much of the army had descended upon the inn and its adjoining stable.
“Innkeeper!” cried the Templar.
The door opened slowly, and a trembling man came out. “He is not here, my lord knight.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s gone to Bern, m’lord.”
“Bern?”
“Aye, sir. With Lord Bernard.”
At the Templar’s signal, several footmen appeared with torches and tossed them into the inn and into every building nearby, including the stable. The army tightened its noose around this corner of the town as white smoke poured through thatched roofs. Soon flames licked the morning sky, and within moments, a stream of terrified folk poured into the streets from their burning cover.
A large company of horsemen trotted dispassionately among the coughing wretches and looked with only mild interest at a one-armed man and a little girl dragging a stubborn donkey into a smoky alley. Something else caught their attention, however. A comrade spotted a particularly closely huddled group just beyond the heat of a large warehouse that was belching flame and smoke. The lay commander summoned the Templar. “There.” He pointed. “Something’s odd about them. See, the others are running hither and yon, thinking only of themselves or their children. These are different. They seem unwilling to leave each other.”
“Good eye, soldier,” mumbled the Templar. He nudged his horse closer as he motioned for more soldiers to join him. “Circle them and move them from the smoke!”
In short order, the terrified group of men, women, and children was herded down the street and into the square by the fishpond near Dorothea’s burgher-house. The Templar ordered the prisoners to spread apart.
Suddenly, one of Roland’s knights shouted. “Over there, sir. A group in black!”
The Templar plowed past the crowd with a drawn sword and came upon a handful of gaunt youths dressed in black tunics and leggings. From another part of the street, a footman appeared, dragging by the hair a young woman dressed in a black gown. The Templar commanded silence. He ordered all those dressed in black to be brought before him. “Where is my prisoner?” he roared.
Confused, all were silent.
Another of Roland’s knights dismounted and knelt by a little girl who was clutching her mother’s legs nearby. He took her by the hand. “My dear, can you help us?”
“Non. Ju n’parli …” The tyke’s mother quickly clapped her hand over the girl’s mouth, but it was too late.
The soldier abruptly stiffened. “Langue d’oc! She speaks with dialect. Cathari to be sure.”
At the word, a great cheer resounded in the ranks. The Templar nodded and dismounted his horse. “Can you speak their language?”
“Oui, a little. But I am Catholic.”
The Templar smiled. “As you say. Ask them to swear by whatever God they worship that every one of them is here in our little net.”
The man posed the question, and an apparent leader stepped forward. He spoke in fluent German. “Mein Brüder, we may not lie. One of ours is missing.” The man pointed to the stable that had been reduced to ash and charcoaled timber. “I last saw him enter there, and he never came out.”
The Templar grabbed the man by the throat. “Tell me, demon, if he is the one who killed my brethren, if he is the betrayer you protect.”