Firebrand

Chapter 695: From One Saint to Another

From One Saint to Another

The shrine of Saint Laurentius looked how Martel remembered it. A few priests puttered about, tending to the temple, though they withdrew seeing the mage enter. Decorations on the walls, but no altar in the centre, only a staircase that led into the depths below the building.

Martel recalled his many previous visits to this place, speaking to the Friar or investigating the theft of its relic from the crypt. Everywhere he went in Morcaster felt like a journey to the past these days; he was beginning to tire of his memory’s insistence on dragging it all up to the surface. Perhaps he should follow Eleanor’s example and leave the city at the earliest opportunity.

The Friar sat on his usual bench, and Martel took a seat next to him. “Captain,” the monk greeted him. “How far you’ve come since we last met.”

“Whereas you’re in the exact place I left you.”

For once, the Friar chuckled. “Change is the privilege of the young. But I know you have much on your mind, so I will get to it, though it’s an odd tale to relate.”

Martel frowned, looking at the old man next to him. “What is?”

“This morning, I was asked to act as intermediary between you and a monastic order, the Demetrian monks. Or rather, a guest in their care desires to meet you.”

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“Well, who is it?”

Martel tried to stay calm and clearheaded; this conversation had suddenly become far more complicated. “How did he come to be with them? Two of my guards are dead, so I’m not feeling benevolent.”

“As he tells it, he was kidnapped from the palace under the pretence of a rescue. Yet his saviours turned on him, intent on killing him, and he fled. His father’s family has ties to Saint Demetrius, so he sought refuge with that order.”

Martel’s confusion only increased. Why would they remove him from the palace only to kill him elsewhere? Far easier to cut his throat right in his chambers. What had been their aim to begin with – somehow embarrass Martel or ruin the negotiations by making the prince disappear? But if so, killing him outright rather than simply removing him would serve that purpose better. Unless they intended to display his corpse somewhere publicly and avoid any possibility that Martel could cover it up. “Where is he? I’ll go and bring him back.”

“He’s skittish. He claims it was your own people who killed his guards and stole him away. He doesn’t trust any of your subordinates, only you,” the Friar explained. “If you’ll promise to let him remain free, hiding with the monks, he’ll tell you who organised his flight. But he’ll only meet you and perhaps your closest companions, out of fear of being betrayed again.”

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Martel stood up, scratching his chin as he looked around the temple. Barely any daylight reached within, making the stone walls dark. “When and where does he wish to meet?”

“The order has a convent near the Basilica. He’ll go there past midnight and wait for you in the crypt.”

Martel looked at the temple’s entrance to its own sepulchre in front of him. All of it brick and stone. A cold and sombre final resting place.

“I would remind you that I’m merely a messenger,” the Friar added. “I cannot speak to the veracity of this. Any of it.”

Martel felt a cold shiver down his spine, either at the thought of walking blindly into this meeting or because his own people might have betrayed him. Martel needed to know in either case. He could return to the palace and bring Eleanor with him to the meeting, but he had to make a decision now, on his own. He doubted that asking advice from Valerius, waiting outside the temple, would help. Finally, he turned back toward the Friar. “What do you think would happen if I died suddenly?”

“Riots on the streets. Either your officers turn on each other, or your soldiers turn on the city for revenge. Your negotiations will fall through, and the northern provinces will sense a wounded animal and march their legions here. Without you, I suspect the defence will not hold, and there’ll be fighting in the city yet again.” The Friar said all of this with a calm voice, looking directly at Martel.

“Can I assume you would prefer that I live, in that case?”

The monk shrugged. “I don’t care who rules the Empire, as long as there’s peace. Yes, you may assume so.”

That did ring true, given what Martel knew of his nature. “Can you get a man inside this monastery before the meeting?”

“That shouldn’t be hard.” The Friar gave him a scrutinising look. “Why?”

“Tell the Demetrians I’ll meet their guest as he requests. At the same time, without informing them, I need you to make some preparations for me.”

***

Martel walked out of the temple, still feeling uncomfortable. He could simply command his soldiers to storm the monastery and grab the prince, but if he spoke the truth, someone would ensure the young heir did not survive the encounter, and Martel would lose his chance to know who worked against him.

He did not truly believe any of his prefects would be, not any from the Tenth. But he did have four other legions beneath him, and undoubtedly, many soldiers and a few prefects only followed him because they did not dare to stand against their compatriots. Considering the fragile state of his current diplomatic efforts, he could not afford any blind spots.

Valerius, having served as his protector in Eleanor’s absence, untied their horses and gave Martel the reins to his mount. “Did you get what you needed, captain?”

“Not yet. But I will soon.” Ideally, he would have enlisted the Friar’s help with the negotiations as well, but he was already trusting the old monk more than he felt at ease with. Martel would see how tonight went first before taking another leap of faith.

Tonight, he would have the information currently being dangled before him or the prince back in custody, dead or alive. Any of this suited him. One this was resolved, one way or another, he could figure out how to deal with his current diplomatic impasse. In silence, the pair of mages mounted their steeds and began the ride back the palace.