The Gilded Crown by Catherine A. Wilson

dear. Is that bad?’
    â€˜My darling wife, I forget you know so little about horse care.’
    â€˜I’m afraid I know little about anything much at all!’
    â€˜That is not true. I am sure you would correct any religious deviance I may inadvertently commit.’
    â€˜Lord Wexford!’
    â€˜Yes, M’lady?’
    â€˜Now you are being wicked.’
    â€˜Yes, I am,’ he admitted as he pulled her closer to his side. ‘It is wicked to bait you.’
    â€˜Yes it is.’ She laughed. ‘When are you expecting Roderick?’
    â€˜Soon. We need to gather as much information about Dumbarton Castle as we can. The fortress is formidable and well-guarded. To be caught returning the sword would be as dangerous as to be found stealing it.’
    â€˜Do you know who took it in the first place?’ Catherine asked.
    Simon shook his head. ‘No, I was not informed. Why do you want to know?’
    â€˜Well, ’twas just that I was thinking of Denny Abbey and of the times I would scavenge the burned pastries from the pantry,’ Catherine explained. ‘The cook had long suspected thievery and was apt to lock the small room, but I discovered, quite by chance, the corner of the roof thatch had rotted away, leaving sufficient space for me to squeeze through.’
    A wry smile lit up Simon’s face. ‘You made a fine thief.’
    â€˜A fact of which I am most ashamed.’ Catherine blushed. ‘But I was never caught for the cook was not able to discover how her pastries disappeared.’
    â€˜I do not ever want to hear you say you know little, my clever, clever wife.’
    Unaccustomed to flattery, Catherine lowered her gaze.
    â€˜We need to seek the identity of the thief and discover exactly how he managed to gain entry to steal the sword.’
    â€˜That will not be an easy task, for who would admit to such an act?’ Catherine declared.
    â€˜True, but it is far easier to flush out a sinner than canonise a saint.’ Simon winked.

Gillet de Bellegarde reined in his horse and gazed up at the castle of Gisors. The fortress stood atop a motte, and was encircled by a mantlet wall of stone. In the past it belonged to the Dukes of Normandy, and had played many a role as a frontier castle until it fell into the hands of the Crown. Gillet stared at the octagonal keep and slowly made the sign of the cross against his body. It had also been the prison for Jacques de Molay, Grand Master of the Knights Templar, the unfortunate soul burned at the stake as a heretic. As the story went De Molay challenged his two accusers, calling for them to face God with him in judgement. Uncannily, both King Philippe IV and Pope Clement died before the year was out. The Knights Templar had fallen … or so it was supposed, though some whispered the order still existed in secret. Gillet knew it did. He belonged to it.
    It was through this connection and Simon’s visit to the alchemist, Nicholas Flamel, in Paris the previous year that the Countess de Gisors heard of Gillet’s current plight. Now the former Queen of France, Blanche d’Évreux, had sent for him. Maybe this task she required fulfilled would offer him a chance to earn back his freedom. She may be a former queen but it was known she could still whisper into the ear of the Crown.
    Cécile de Bellegarde stopped beside her husband and looked up at the stronghold. She nursed her own apprehension but for very different reasons. Blanche d’Évreux was the second wife to King Philippe VI of France, and rumour had it the widow still kept close company with her step-grandsons. Her favourite was none other than Duc Jean de Berri, the man to whom Cécile had once been betrothed. When the troth was broken, Cécile had left the palace without ever having spoken again with the Duc. Now they were to sup with him this evening. For the first time since that fateful day, Cécile wondered just how