The Wild Baron (Baron 1)

Now that was a kicker. Susannah frowned down at the small scrap of paper, then up at Rohan. “The squiggly lines are a river. Which one, I wonder?”

“I have no idea.”

“What’s ‘DU’?” Charlotte said. “The beginning of a town name? A shop? This is depressing. I had hoped for a better map, even though it is only half a map. It is of no use at all.”

“I think perhaps these tiny blocks do represent houses and that they also represent a specific street in some town in Scotland, one that has a river running through it,” Rohan said.

“How do you know that?” Charlotte asked, her smooth white forehead puckering in a frown. Rohan traced his fingertip along the blocks. “Yes, I see. That’s really quite clever of you, dearest.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Excuse me,” Susannah said, “but I can see that they represent a line of buildings myself. I am just as clever as Rohan.”

Charlotte looked at her thoughtfully. “I don’t know you well enough yet to judge that, Susannah. Now, why did George have this map? Why did he hide it in the locket? And this key—”

“Yes,” Rohan said, “the key.” He laid it flat on his palm close to the candlelight and brought the magnifying glass over it. He grimaced. He tilted the glass first one way and then the other. He became aware that Susannah and his mother were crowding in again. “I can’t make out what someone carved on it,” he said finally.

Susannah took the magnifying glass and studied the marks on the tiny key. “I believe it’s Latin,” she said at last. “Yes, it appears to be a name, but it is so worn into the gold I can’t make it out.”

“Nor can I,” Rohan said after a few minutes. “Are you sure it’s Latin, Susannah? How do you know it’s Latin? You’re a woman. Couldn’t it just as well be German or Greek?”

“Now, dearest, that sort of remark isn’t going to bring you a pleasant rejoinder. I did agree that it is too soon to judge Susannah’s degree of cleverness, but I do not believe that she is utterly ignorant.”

“Thank you, Charlotte. I think. Yes, it’s Latin as well.”

There was a knock on the door. Rohan arched an eyebrow.

“Oh, who now?” Susannah said, throwing up her hands and staggering to the door.

“Damnation, you’re still too weak to do that. Susannah, stop.” She did. He clasped her around her waist and held her against him, saying, “Come.”

It was Toby, in his nightshirt. “I couldn’t stand it,” he said, rushing into speech. “Please, what’s happening? Did you find anything?”

Rohan picked Susannah up and carried her to the bed. “You will stay here and you will not complain.” He tucked her in, then turned to her brother. “We found a half of a map inside the locket George gave your sister. Written on it is ‘Seek the room below the tide.’ And two letters of what is perhaps a town name. Your sister here believes there’s a Latin word on this small key we found with it. I don’t suppose you can make out what’s carved into the gold?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, coming closer to Toby, “can you make it out?”

Toby looked at Charlotte, at the lovely clothes she was wearing, and stammered, “I’ll try.” Toby studied the word, then inked the quill and wrote it out. He looked at Rohan. “It is Latin. I believe it’s a name. ‘Leo’ with roman numerals after it. An I and an X.”

“Leo,” Rohan repeated. “Yes, you’re right. It’s ‘Leo IX.’ A pope. Well, this could prove interesting. Toby, come with me to the library. We have a bit of looking up to do. No, Mother, please stay with Susannah, otherwise she will come after us and likely fall down the stairs and break her neck.”

Charlotte didn’t look happy. She saw that Susannah was swinging her legs over the side of her bed, and so she said quickly, “Very well, I’ll stay here. But you will hurry, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

They returned to Susannah’s bedchamber in twenty minutes. Rohan was smiling and rubbing his hands together. Toby was looking thoroughly confused. “What is it?” Susannah said, trying to sit up, only to have Rohan gently push her back down. “What did you find?”

“Leo IX was a pope in the eleventh century, specifically from 1049 to 1054.”

The women stared at him blankly.

“Why do we have a key that belonged to Leo IX? However,” Rohan continued after a moment, “we checked on something else too. The map refers to something in Scotland. What would Leo IX have to do with Scotland? It was a dangerous, violent time. No pope visited Scotland, but just maybe a Scot did journey to Rome to see the pope. Toby and I looked up the king of Scotland during Leo IX’s reign. There was only one. Macbeth. He was murdered by Malcolm in 1057, who usurped the throne. This happened after the pope was already dead.”

“Usurped the throne?” Charlotte said. “But Shakespeare made Macbeth the usurper.”

“That was all politics,” Rohan said, looking down at the key. “When Shakespeare wrote the play, James VI of Scotland had just come to take Elizabeth’s throne, in 1603, thus becoming James I of England. No, the real Macbeth was a fine ruler. He was so popular, peace prevailed so thoroughly throughout his reign, that he was able—” He stopped and smiled hugely at the two women. Then he began to whistle.

“If you don’t tell us, I will flatten you,” Susannah said. “Now spit it out. What did you find?”