TRENT, 1380, in the aftermath of the battle.

The battle was over…

Fritz’s intervention for the Republicans had finished to turn the tide of battle in their favour. I’m sorry it cost him his life, I could have befriended such a man, Hughes mused.

Hughes had fought as hard as he could but looking over the field, all he could see was the mass of dead bodies, a large part the men he had led to that final confrontation…

But looking a bit further, Hughes could see some riders spurring their horses away from the battlefield as fast as their horses would go. From the distance he could see that the men wore the livery of Hapsburg, the man that had defiled his arms in front of the whole Diet, the man who in the midst of battle had been ready to betray his fellow fighters to save his own life.

Looking around him, he saw Guillaume, his old Templar brother nursing a bleeding arm and Thierry Foucault the French quartermaster turned bodyguard, dry-retching from the stink of blood and death that was slowly spreading over the battlefield.

Sensing his stare, the men looked as one towards him. Hughes looked back to the distance where the riders were rapidly getting away. Knowing full well what was on Hughes’ mind, Guillaume gave the order.

“Men, get on your horses !!! We ride !!!”

Soon, all men were mounted and riding at a fast pace on the trail of Hapsburg, leaving the battlefield behind.

And ride they did… For every single day of the following week… Hapsburg horses had been fresher than those of Hughes’ men and thus had quickly gain enough distance to be lost. However, a noble of the Reich could pass unnoticed in the villages he went through. Added to the fact that only the best inns could only suit the expensive tastes of the felon, the trail remained hot, allowing Hughes to follow if only one or two days late…

Finally, they reached Marseille. From the gatekeepers, they learned that Hapsburg had entered the city but no more information was available.

Hughes took lodging at the “Port-blocking Whale”, an inn where Thierry had often provided lodging for the commanding officers he had been serving. Having washed away the dirt and grime from the battle and the trip, Hughes gathered his men in the inn main room to give them his orders.

“Hapsburg is here… We are sure of that… We will comb the city, street by street, inn by inn until we find him… Go at it by squads of two so that one can remain watching whatever premises you find him in while the other comes back here to report their findings… Thierry, we will search together… We’ll meet here at dusk… We must bring him to justice… For our dead comrades…”

The search parties went through the town questioning inn- and shop-keepers, militiamen, sailors, whores and beggars…

Hughes and Guillaume were among the last of the search parties to come back to the inn. Only Thierry and one of the other men were still missing. Though some had heard news of Hapsburg’s passage through the city, the trail went cold two days before. Nobody had seen him since either going out of the city or within its walls.

Hughes was growing tense the more reports he heard. Dusk had fallen and still Thierry hadn’t come back. This added to the tension Hughes felt. If Thierry had fallen into an ambush, there would be nowhere on Earth Hapsburg could run to avoid Hughes’ wrath…

As the evening progressed, one by one the men filed out of the main room to their upstairs rooms until Hughes was alone in the inn, save for the innkeeper, a rudy fiftyish man counting coins behind his counter, with hardly a glance for Hughes.

The call for midnight went by and still no sign of Thierry. Out of sheer exhaustion, Hughes dropped asleep, his resting on his elbows on the table, an unfinished mug of wine in front of him.

Raucous laughter brought him out of dark dreams of blood and gore, the battle unfolding once more in his mind’s eye. Someone started banging on the inn’s door with un-articulate calls.

Master Labarthe, the innkeeper, ran down the stairs with a large cudgel in hand and taking a large iron key from behind the counter, went to the door. Signalling for Hughes to remain where he was, he put the key in the lock and opened the door to reveal Thierry and his comrade, fully in their cups. Recognizing them as some of his patrons, Master Labarthe dropped the cudgel he had lifted over his head and with a shake of head slowly went back to his own apartments.

Shoving his comrade towards the stairs, Thierry swerved between the tables in the direction of Hughes. Finally sitting himself after upturning several stools and benches, Thierry reached for the mug in front of Hughes and drained it in one gulp. Letting go of a huge belch, he suddenly seemed to sober up as if his drunken state had all been a sham.

“Sorry for being late but we had to go through a few taverns and sailors’ bars to follow some trail we heard… Hopefully, I’ve been through so many drinking matches that I can hold my own, even when faced with hard-drinking sailors… Anyway, ten drinks led to one sailor telling us of a noble inquiring for passage on a ship, ten more in another tavern led us to a cargo-master who loaded the said ship, ten more in another bar led us to the captain of the ship which confirmed that a noble whose description fit Hapsburg had requisitioned his ship, without its crew and has put sail two days ago…”

Hughes cut him short

“Where is he heading ?”… Wait a minute… You said without a crew ?”

“Yes, strange, isn’t it ? I thought I had gone too heavy on the liquor with the man at that point but his boatswain confirmed that the ship had left without a single one of its crew onboard…”

“Surely Hapsburg will have procured some other sailors for the voyage…”

“No, no hiring has been made for that ship… There is only Hapsburg, his men and some whores, if I heard’ em right…”

“So there’s no way to tell where they are heading ? Par les couilles du Grand Maître… He will succeed in getting away… I can’t believe it… »

“There is one more thing I must tell you… Some more drinks led us to another ship captain who crossed the path of Hapsburg’ ship… It was headed roughly south-west towards the Straits at Gibraltar and it seems it was a woman who was manning the helm… The man who told me the story swore on his own ship that was the truth…”

“Thank you, Thierry… Once more, you’ve been of great help… Go get some rest, I’ll meet you tomorrow…”

Seeing the sad look on his friend’s face, Thierry hesitated but a gesture from Hughes chased him up the stairs to his room.

Hughes reached behind the counter, took the key and opened the door. The breeze from the sea brought a cool and refreshing air in the heat of this summer’s night. Walking through the streets towards the harbour, Hughes contemplated the last years of his life : his flight deemed to secure the Templars’ future, his return to Europe and his joining the Reich, the years of fighting the French, making them pay for the destruction of his Order, his last fight for an utopian idea of a Republic, an idea that would never see fruition even though the Illuminati had won the day… Hughes couldn’t believe that they would release the reins of power they had held for so long. It seemed his fight by their side had been in vain although it was better than having fought for the Kaiser. It saddened him to think of all the lives lost because men chose to follow him, to their doom.

Lost in his thoughts, Hughes had finally reached the harbour where the many ships riding at anchor bobbed up and down in the calm waters of the port. There were all kind of ships to be seen, from slim Byzantine galleys laden with the riches of Orient to heavy and bulgy cogs plying the waters of the Mediterranean Sea from Italy to Spain and down to the northern coast of Africa… Hughes’ gaze went to the horizon and beyond to the coast of Africa with its riches of gold and ivory…

Africa… Gold…

Having reached a decision, Hughes turned on his heels and went strolling slowly back to the inn, oblivious to the spectacle of the sun slowly rising in the east and casting shimmering golden rays on the waters of the bay.