Blood for Blood: Part VII

Over the next few days, things went from bad to worse. While Gerard was able to purchase the new house, it did him little good. No one wanted to speak to him, let alone do business. Wherever he went, someone was sure to whistle that damn song as he passed, and once, a group of street urchins threw snowballs at him, screaming the song at the top of their lungs. Even the head of his own Guild, a man he had helped win the position, greeted him coolly and cut their meeting short with some lame excuse. It was on the way back from this further embarrassment that Gerard came to the obvious conclusion. He was ruined. Perhaps it might be smarter to take what money there was and start over somewhere else, perhaps England. Yes, a fresh start would be the best thing!

When he returned to the house, he found it dark, and when he finally got a fire going in the hearth the firelight revealed an open, empty strongbox. It was too much. He roared for his men, and then when no one answered, he lit a candle and rushed shouting through the house. "You'll pay for this, whoever you are, you'll pay!" From the open door of his own upstairs chambers, a mocking whistle answered him. "WHO ARE YOU?" He rushed up the stairs, into the room, where the draft from an open window blew his candle out. Against the faint light from the street below, a figure turned to look at Gerard. "I think you know who it is, Master Gerard. I think you knew the other eve at the Coq d' Or."

"Firnadan?"

"Aye, Gerard d'Auxelles, it is Firnadan." The voice was the same, but gone was the deferential tone of an employee to his employer, replaced by a harder note, that of a man used to being in command himself. "I'm afraid both your assassins died that night, as did your poor nephew, to my shame. I promised your brother I'd protect Amaud from you, and I failed."

"What do you want of me? Money? You shall have it!" Gerard's hand edged down for the hilt of his dagger.

"Already have it, I'm afraid. And do not even try to draw that knife. I can see better in this light than you. Do you need proof? Your eye just twitched. Aha…again!"

"What are you, a demon?"

"No, but I am half elven, and I am entirely determined that justice will be done your kinsmen. When I found Jehan, he told me you were devious, but that you were vulnerable because of your single mindedness. I'm afraid I am guilty of it as well, and it cost Amaud his life."

Gerard shook with anger. "Just tell me what you are going to do. Are you going to kill me? Blood for Blood, is it?"

The mercenary shook his head. "Gold flows in your veins, not blood. So, I wrote that song, and used it to spread the story. Nothing fancy, but a tune that is easy to remember and constantly reminds all of what you did. You are finished in Tours, Gerard, and as a merchant, as soon as word gets out to other markets."

"I knew that already. I was going to leave, but my money is gone!"

"Not your money, the family's; the head of the Guild holds it now in trust for Jehan's other son. As for you, here." Firnadan tossed Gerard a small purse. There's enough there to take you to Lagny. What you do from there is no concern of mine. I'm not killing you, Gerard, because it would be too good for you. You can live out your days in poverty, a far worse punishment for you."

"Damn you!" Gerard tossed the coin purse back at his accuser, clawing for his dagger. There was a click, and something hit him hard in the chest, like a being hit with a fist. He looked down to see a dagger in him. This could not be happening. He turned for the door, and then screamed as his boot slipped on something and he stumbled out and over the rail to fall to the floor below. Ian Blackthorn bent over and picked up the gold coin that had tripped Gerard and then went to look down from the rail. Gerard d'Auxelles lay dead atop the empty strongbox.

"My apologies, Gerard," Ian murmured. "It appears you did have blood in you, after all".

********

The choir voices rose on the cold winter air and filled the Cathedral with the beauty of the Requiem. Outside, two figures stood in the shadows and listened. "Ironic, is it not?" asked Jacob ben Ruben. "Such beauty to mark the end of such an evil man." Ian Blackthorn was not pleased. "They should have buried him in an unmarked grave."

"But this way suits Count Thibault's purposes. There was no real proof of the man's guilt we could show, after all. We couldn't use you because of the issue we spoke of before. This way, the stability of the Fairs is ensured."

"Of course. The unfortunate Gerard falls in the dark in his new house, landing on the knife he drew for protection against whatever he thought was lurking in the dark." Blackthorn snorted in distaste. "It matters not HOW justice is served my friend, only that it is. Milord Count is pleased. And the welfare of Jehan's younger boy is guaranteed by the Guild. Everyone is pleased."

"I'm not. Neither, I think, would Jehan be. Shalom, friend Jacob."

"Shalom, my friend" The big man nodded, and then moved off. Behind him, the music of the choir lifted to the heavens in prayer. But it was not Gerard the music brought to Ian's mind.

"Requiescat in pacem, Amaud"