The Tolls of Death: (Knights Templar 17) Read Online Free Page A

happy. Nicholas had lost the frivolity of bachelorhood and gained the stern duty of responsible manhood. He now had a woman to serve and protect, a duty and honour he would relish, Gervase knew.
    At the time, Gervase had not realised that he had lost his companion for ever.
    Stumping into the vill later that day, Serlo frowned at all about him. He was in no mood for a chat. He had a task to perform – not a pleasant one, either.
    Serlo had tried figuring out all the ways he could of earning a little more money. There were the tolls, of course. He’d done what he could with them, but the fact was that the threatening clouds of war were putting travellers off. Even the merchants who normally came this way had stopped. Serlo had borrowed heavily to buy ‘the farm of tolls’ – the right to charge – and it was all wasted. It was so bad, he’d gone to speak to Gervase, but the steward had only grinned smarmily at him, saying that once he’d bought the right to charge tolls there was no mechanism to reduce it or give him a refund.
    The only way to make money from the tolls was to conceal a proportion of them from his brother. Alex had helped to buy the farm for a share of the profits, and it wasn’t Serlo’s fault that there were none. Anyway, Serlo could bump up the share to Alex when things looked a bit better. He didn’t want to steal from his own brother. No, but he had to show that he was competent.
    That was the problem. Serlo, the younger, always felt that his brother was patronising him, even when he knew perfectly well that Alex had no intention of doing so. He was just as good as his brother, Serlo told himself: he’d not had quite the same luck. Alex always managed to make money, but when Serlo tried to do so, itnever quite worked out. It wasn’t his fault; these things just happened. Alex could stick his hand into a midden and come up grasping rose petals; Serlo would find nothing but turds.
    For now, the main thing was to get hold of some extra money. He’d decided to start by increasing Athelina’s rent. She had a lover – let
him
pay. He could afford it, God knew. He was one of the richest men about here.
    He had reached her home – a large building with a door in the middle of the whitewashed wall that faced the road. Walking down the path between her vegetable beds, he saw how her plants were thriving. She could easily afford to pay a little more, he thought. He needed the money more than she did.
    At her door, he braced himself, then rapped sharply on the timbers.
    It was a week or more before Athelina approached her lover, and then her nerve almost failed her. She could do nothing until she had spoken to her protector – but he was unavailable again. For a long time Athelina had been used to being received with some honour at the gate, courteously escorted to the room where she could be enjoyed by her man in peace, but now, that was no more. The nearest she got was the lewd suggestion from the gate-keeper that he should service her in the place of her man.
    That was proof enough. If the doorman dared try his luck, all in the castle must know that her man had deserted her. It was no surprise, after all. She’d guessed as much when she saw the strumpet in the vill. It was clear that he’d found a new woman, and had no more interest in her.
    Still, all was not lost. It was not easy for her to play the whore, because she’d always made love
for
love’s sake, not for money, but now she must earn her keep. Whatever happened, they must not lose their home. She could not make her children suffer like that. No, she would entertain any man who could afford her. So shecombed her hair, standing in front of her plate of polished copper. Studying herself, her tunic untied, she could see much still to admire. Her breasts were large and firm still, not flaccid like drained sacks; her belly was flat, her hair luxurious. In a darkened room, it was possible a man might notice her large eyes and ignore the