At an hour past matins, on a brisk December day, Gerard d'Auxelles made his way through the marketplace of Tours and smiled confidently to himself. The Cold Fair was in its second week, with another two weeks to go, and already his stock of fine English wool had been sold out. All that remained was the purchase of goods to be sold across the Channel when he returned there next month to buy more wool, and this would be a very successful Fair for him indeed. And if his present errand proved fruitful, he would long bask in the memories of the Fair of 1090.

On he walked across the square, passing booths set up mostly by artisans this time of year and manned by senior apprentices bundled up against the cold. Here and there were some merchants selling wine or pastry but by and large, with the harvest long past, the Cold Fair had very little in the way of produce to offer a shopper. Food this time of year was best kept in the shops, or served at the taverns, one of which Gerard was trying to reach through the boisterous crowd.

But at last he won free of the milling crowd and turned off onto a narrow side street, stepping carefully about noxious smelling puddles as he approached a building at its end. The Coq d`Or was the inn favored by a certain class of person, and Gerard had need of one. He stepped inside, kicking snow and Jesu knew what else off his soles at the threshold, turning as the owner came to take his cloak for him. A few gold coins changed hands, the innkeeper gestured over his shoulder, and Gerard looked across the room at a blonde man sitting with his back to him. He looked at the innkeeper. "That's the one?"

"Yes, m'lord! I've never seen anyone like him. Jourdain picked a fight with the man and he was dead in minutes, bleeding his life out right out there on my doorstep!"

"Very good, Piccolet! Most excellent! If he takes my service there will be another gold coin in it for you." He smiled and then walked past the beaming Piccolet and finally came to a stop at the blonde stranger's table. The man was eating a roast chicken and tanned muscled hands were tearing the bird apart with ease. Gerard cleared his throat and the man looked up.

"Hello, I am Gerard d' Auxelles, and I have a proposition to offer you. Might I sit?"

The man nodded, then pointed at the other chair at the table. "Go on. I've not much else to do right now."

Gerard pulled out the chair and sat, taking a half-minute to study the warrior before he spoke. The powerful hands were graceful, the fingers tapered, but the wrists were those of a swordsman. He was tall, well proportioned, and, Gerard saw with a bit of surprise, quite young. Finally, there were the eyes, clear blue and slightly slanted, perhaps from a woman of the East taken to bed by a Crusader father.

Those eyes now looked sardonically across the table. "Would you like me to open my mouth so you might inspect my teeth?" The voice was pleasant, and the pronunciation perfect.

"My apologies… er… I'm sorry, I do not have your name."

"Call me Firnadan" He popped a piece of chicken into his mouth, eyes never leaving Gerard's. "Get on with it."

"Piccolet tells me you killed a man last night, Master Firnadan. Might I ask why?"

"He bothered me while I was eating." The tone of voice became bored. "It seems a trait of the people of Tours."

"Then I shall be brief. Are you in need of employ?"

"I'm on my way home to England."

That, thought Gerard, accounted for the strange name. "I have need of a bodyguard."

"Funny," the other replied after pointedly looking about them, "you seem to have made it here safely on your own."

"Not for me, for my late brother's child, Amaud. Our House has business rivals, and one of them murdered Jehan. There is another boy, an infant, back at Auxelles, but it is Amaud I fear for right now"

Firnadan scowled. "I'm no babysitter. And I want to go home to England."

"Exactly! And you shall! Look you, the Cold Fair is over in two weeks and I shall take the boy home. If you stay with me until then, I'll hire you to escort my goods as one of my guards to Lagny, and then you can travel on to your homeland as you wish. You'll earn enough money to buy your passage with enough left to bide you over until your next hire. What say you?" Gerard leaned back and waited.

Firnadan tossed the remains of the dinner onto his plate, then sat, considering. Just as Gerard was about to give up and leave, the man nodded. "Alright… you've hired my sword." He held out his hand and Gerard shook it, then wiped his own clean as Firnadan chuckled. "Where do I go?"

A few minutes later, a whistling Gerard set off for his home, a wide smile on his face. This Firnadan was exactly what he needed. Behind him, Piccolet was smiling as well as several more gold pieces were dropped into his palm.

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Blood for Blood: Part II

"Do you yield, sirrah?" Amaud d' Auxelles stared languidly at Firnadan, then allowed himself a small smile of triumph as the bodyguard tipped his king over with a long finger and nodded. "Well played, young master." Firnadan watched as Gerard's nephew set the chess pieces up yet again.

The merchant had said his nephew was a child, but a young man a year or two shy of twenty sat across the board from him. Amaud was a bit sickly, true, but he had a sharp mind, and Firnadan had learned much about the wool trade from his charge's commentary on the comings and goings in the house. There was little doubt that if Gerard were suddenly incapacitated, his nephew would be more than capable of replacing him.

"Another match?"

Amaud made a rude noise through his lips. "What else is there to do, hey? Uncle has me locked up here with you, when I could be out there at the Fair." He stared glumly out the window. House D'Auxelles was situated on the Rue du Temple not far from the Croncels Gate on the southwest edge of Troyes. While the front of the house faced in the general direction of the grain market and several churches, the rear of the building bordered the Trevois Canal, and across that sat the Tannery District. Even in winter the odor of the tanning factories was pungent, and so the family living quarters were in the front, while the servants and staff had the rear. Even so, Amaud kept a ball of cloves at hand. "If only he would let me out and away from that smell!"

"Then you shall have your wish, Amaud! After tonight, you will be free from it in truth, I have hated this house since first I set foot in it after my father purchased it." Gerard came into the room and took a seat to the side of the chessboard.

"Then all is ready for the trip home?" Amaud looked eagerly at his uncle. "We are going home?"

The merchant nodded. "Aye. My men took the strongbox out of town in a wagon. It is already safely behind the walls of the Franciscan monastery where no good Christian man would dare try to steal it. Our party will travel there on the morrow and then onto Auxelles."

Firnadan was reflecting that most bandits were not good Christians, when Amaud turned to him. "Come with us, Firnadan! Auxelles has the best wine in all of Champagne and we can use another sword to guard our monies."

"Our friend is anxious to return to his own homeland, nephew. He will travel onto Lagny with our goods for their Fair and then on to the Channel. I've arranged passage for him on the ship that fetches our wool. Now, if you will excuse us, Firnadan, I've family matters to discuss with Amaud."

The tall man nodded and rose. "Perhaps a game before you retire, Master Amaud?"

"Last chance for revenge, Firnadan? Of course!" Amaud smiled, and the tall man bowed to both men before he left the room.

*********

"Thank you for all you have done, Firnadan. You've kept him safe and more than that, kept him company." Gerard handed him a small but heavy coin purse. "It was most appreciated."

"You are too kind, Master Gerard. He's a good lad. If you don't mind my saying so, he should be given a bit more freedom." The merchant laughed. "I'm sure Amaud gave you a cutting comment or two on my legendary over-caution. His father used to say I would kill a snake three times over to ensure it was truly dead. But, I assure you, I will stop being overprotective." He held out his hand and Firnadan shook it. "I have an errand to attend to before tomorrow's departure. I shall be back in an hour."

"I shall be expecting you." Firnadan walked him to the door where several guards waited to escort the merchant through darkened streets. "Until later." The merchant smiled, and then walked out of the house into the night, glancing once over his shoulder as the door clicked shut behind him.

He took his left and the party walked to the corner of the next street, where two men in black stepped out of the shadows. Gerard stared at them, and then gestured back down the street towards his house. "There are only a few servants and a bodyguard. Do what I paid you to do." The taller of the pair nodded, and they seemed to melt back into the shadows as the wool merchant's party moved off down the Rue du Temple. Gerard motioned one of the men who was holding a torch to walk next to him. "Go back. Wait a few minutes for them to reach inside."

"Then set the damn stink hole to the torch."

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Blood for Blood: Part III

After Gerard left the house, Firnadan stoked the fire in the hearth and spent a few moments in thought. Perhaps this masquerade had not been necessary, but he had made a promise to a dying man, and he would keep his word. The problem was, could he take Amaud's offer to journey to Auxelles without arousing the suspicions of the boy's uncle? And, again, was it really needful to go further? Gerard seemed quite protective and was certainly taking more than ample precautions.

Firnadan was about to go upstairs when there was a noise from the back of the house, in the direction of the kitchen. The mercenary drew a long dagger from his sword belt, and stepping carefully, made his way into the connecting hallway. A second noise caused him to stop and look upwards. Something had hit the roof, and now a soft scrape on the wall followed. More than one, and coming from two directions. Then a creaking floorboard gave him away. There was nothing for it now but to gamble on instincts: his, and whoever was in the kitchen.

He backed up a step, moving more to the center of the hallway than he had been, then called out as if nothing were wrong. "Flore, have you any more of that stew?" He took a step forward, and then just before reaching the doorway, rolled into a tumble, somersaulting into the kitchen low to the ground. A sword clove through the air where his chest would have been if he had remained standing, its point sticking into the doorjamb.

Before his attacker had the chance to free it, Firnadan whirled on one knee and rammed the dagger up into the assassin's chest, then shoved the dying man to the floor and struck again. He rolled off the body, dagger ready, but there were no other opponents, just the bodies of Flore and her husband lying just inside the back kitchen door. A key in the lock told the story of how their killer had entered.

"Amaud!" Now he threw caution to the wind, drawing his long sword over his shoulder as he raced for the stairs. He heard the sound of glass shattering as he took the stairs two at a time, and just as he reached the top landing the thud of two feet hitting the floor hard. The second killer had entered by using a hook and rope to climb to the roof and then swung through the window into Amaud's room. There was a shout from within; perhaps it was not too late!

Firnadan stopped before the closed door, then bracing himself against the wall behind him, kicked the door in. Something hit him in the right shoulder, hard, and he looked down to see a slim dagger stuck there. It was only because he paused to stare at it that his half-elven hearing picked up a soft `click', and he whirled out of the doorway just before a second blade sank into the wall behind him. Then he ignored the pain and rushed through into the room.

A man almost as tall as he stood by the window, one hand on his rope, ready to make good his escape. Firnadan dove over the bed, knocking the other to the floor, and the two struggled desperately in the dark. Suddenly, the room was lit by an orange light coming through the shattered glass. The other man cursed, twisting desperately as he pulled his right arm free, but instead of pulling a blade he held his hand out towards Firnadan, fingers spread wide and flat. The mercenary barely jerked his head to the side as yet another dagger seemed to shoot from the man's wrist and slammed into the floor. The orange light grew brighter, and now smoke was drifting into the room from the stairs. Firnadan slammed his head into the man's chin, then rolled over so he pinned the man to the floor. "Give it up. The house is on fire."

"That bastard! He's not going to get away with this." The assassin yanked his right arm free, once more readying his weapon, but just as he let loose another, the half-elf twisted that arm so it pointed at the killer's own chest. The man gave a groan and died.

"Oh he won't get away with it; you'll just not be the one to see to it." Slowly, Firnadan rose to his feet and made his way to the bed. Amaud was dead. "I'm sorry, Jehan. I've failed you and your son." He turned back to the dead assassin, curious as to what the man had used to shoot daggers like that. Rolling back the sleeves of the tunic he found spring loaded sheathes, cunningly made so that flexing the wrist a certain way would either shoot a dagger or lower a blade to be gripped in the hand. He stripped them from the corpse and shoved them through his sword belt, then retrieved the blades as well. He paused, and then dropped the purse from Gerard on the body. Cries echoed from the street below as neighbors came to keep the fire from spreading. By now the stairwell was completely ablaze and impassable, and Firnadan felt himself growing weaker from the loss of blood from his wound. He walked back to the bed and stood over Amaud's body, then dipped one finger in the bloody sheets and streaked his own forehead.

"Blood for Blood"

*********

In the street below, neighbors and friends did their best to console the grief stricken Gerard, who had just returned to find his house an inferno and his nephew no doubt dead within. He was, naturally, inconsolable.

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Blood for Blood: Part IV

When the fire was at last put out, five bodies were found in the building. It appeared the assassin had killed Amaud and his bodyguard first, and then tried to escape down the stairs and out the kitchen, where the two elderly servants must have attempted to stop the murderer and all three were taken by the fire. Gerard paid for the burial of the three in his employ and a funeral mass at the Cathedral of St.Peter and St. Paul. He did not appear in public, keeping to a room in an inn by the Paris Gate for several days before beginning the long, sad journey home with the casket containing the body of his nephew. Along the way, he had time to worry about the whereabouts of the second assassin, but as time wore on he became more confident.

********

"Milord, I think he is awake." A cool cloth applied to the forehead brought the patient even more awake. Jacob ben Ruben stepped away from the bedside and his master, Count Thibault of Champagne, whom his subjects called with some affection "Trickster", took his place. He frowned briefly, then shook his head and laughed. "Well, young Blackthorn, you certainly are either brave or stupid, diving into a canal in the dead of winter with a dagger in your shoulder."

"I rather thought my chances of swimming were better than that of breathing fire, milord, given the circumstances."

"Hmm…yes." Thibault said gruffly as he drew a chair close and sat. "You gave us a scare, lad. The canal water poisoned the wound and you took fever. If not for Jacob here you might have lost the arm, or worse." Ian gave the Jewish physician a nod in gratitude. "I am doubly grateful that our mutual friend Ibrahim sent me to you with this crime, Master Jacob. My thanks." He turned his eyes to Thibault. "How long have I been here, m'lord?"

"Nearly five days. You missed your burial." Thibault filled him in on what had occurred since the night of the fire, then leaned back in his chair as he heard the tale of the murders from Ian. When the half-elf was done, the Count rose with a shout of anger and began to pace the room as the physician propped Ian up in bed, the better to begin feeding his patient some broth. All the while, Thibault was calling down imprecations of biblical magnitude on the head of Gerard d'Auxelles as he paced. Ian and Jacob sat patiently waiting until the Count's rage was spent and he finally sank into another chair to stare at Ian with a look of regret. "You realize, of course, he has gotten away with this? There is no way we can prove this. And even if I could, dare I run the risk of alienating the merchants I need to make the trade fairs of Champagne the best in Europe?"

"I don't understand," said Ian.

"How many merchants do you think will trade here when they find out I had placed a spy in the household of one of their own? It matters not it was for good reason; they will still see it as a threat and go elsewhere. When you came to me with the tale Jehan had told you on his deathbed, I agreed to this subterfuge. Now I can do no more."

"So the killer of Jehan and Amaud goes free?"

"I am truly sorry, Ian. There is nothing I can do without hard proof." He looked away in chagrin. Then Jacob cleared his throat, leaned closer to Ian and spoke softly. "What I think His Grace means is that there is naught he can do, officially. But, on the other hand, if someone were to, shall we say, unofficially, take action without his knowledge of what that action was beforehand, then…" He shrugged with a grin.

"Not another word! I do not wish to hear anymore of this!" With that, the Count of Champagne rose and resolutely walked out of the room before any more was said. Ian and Jacob both laughed, then silence fell as Blackthorn considered the problem. "We need a way to get him back here to Troyes."

"Not likely, I fear. The Fair is over, he'll not be back until Hot Fair in July."

"What if… what if he was told there was a house for sale, one suitable for a well-to-do merchant in a better part of town?"

Jacob smiled. "I think there are some that would fit that description, yes. I shall mention them to one of my patients, a man who does business with Gerard. If am right, he'll seek to gain favor by passing the information along. It may take a few weeks, so Gerard may not return here until after Lagny. By then you should be completely well."

"Oh I'm sure I will. In fact, I think I shall take up a new profession." He grinned up at the puzzled expression on Jacob's face. "Could you have someone fetch me a lute?"

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