"Yes."

Avery looked up at Lesauvage. The young man held his injured hand cradled in his lap. Red streaks along his forearm showed the onset of infection. Even though Lesauvage had wounded him, Avery still looked surprised by the man's quick admission.

"So here I am," Annja said.

"What good are you?"

"I memorized the charm," Annja said. "I know what it looks like. Do you?"

Lesauvage drew back his hand to strike her. Annja didn't flinch, fully expecting to feel the weight of the blow.

"Don't," Roux said. There was something in the old man's voice that stayed Lesauvage's hand.

The criminal stepped away, fastening his gaze onto Roux. "You should have stayed out of this, old man."

"Perhaps," Roux replied. "But, then, you don't know who you're trifling with, do you?"

Annja watched Lesauvage. This wasn't like the final tense moments in a movie where the villain laid out his plans for conquest. In the movies, the script kept the villain from killing the captured heroes. Annja was desperately aware that there was no such script here.

Joan of Arc died at the hands of her enemies,Annja thought. For a moment she believed Lesauvage was going to kill Roux.

"What do you want?" Annja asked.

Visibly restraining himself, Lesauvage took a deep breath and turned to face her. The constant roar of the tires against the pavement filled the van. They were obviously headed for a destination, but Annja had no clue what that might be.

"How familiar are you with the Brotherhood of the Silent Rain, Miss Creed?" Lesauvage asked.

"I know they represented the church and were known for keeping to themselves," Annja said. "They worked on scholarly pieces for the church libraries and were self-sufficient. I know they also took a stand against the French noblemen who wanted to continue the Wild Hunt. I know their monastery was destroyed in 1767. I assume that was done by the same French noblemen they displeased."

"It was," Lesauvage said. "But that monastery was destroyed and the monks slain for more than mere interference."

Annja waited. She'd baited him. She could see that. He loved knowing more than she did and he couldn't hold that knowledge back.

"The Brotherhood of Silent Rain wasn't just against the Wild Hunt," Lesauvage said. "They also protested the search for the Beast of Gévaudan, saying that the creature was imagined and the poor people were killed by the noblemen only to justify the Wild Hunt."

"Why would they do that?" Annja asked.

"Because," Lesauvage said, "they were providing safe harbor for La Bête. The beast was living among them."

Chapter 27

"HOW DO YOU KNOW La Bête was living at the monastery?" Annja asked.

Lesauvage showed her a grin, then lit a Gaulois cigarette and breathed out a plume of smoke. "You're not the only one who does research, Miss Creed."

"Not to be offensive," Annja stated evenly, not truly caring if the man took offense, "but you hardly seem the sort to crack a book."

"I didn't." Lesauvage stared at her coldly. "All my life I've been told that a knight named Benoit of Mende, nicknamed 'the Relentless' because he never gave up on anything he set his mind to, found out that the monks of the Brotherhood of the Silent Rain were providing shelter to La Bête. He blackmailed the monks into giving him a huge ransom."

"Instead of telling others who might help kill the beast?" Roux asked.

Lesauvage grinned. "Benoit was truly a man after my own heart. Always looking after himself."

"How did he find out the monastery was sheltering La Bête?"

"He was a master of the Wild Hunt. No beast – no man – was safe once Benoit took up the trail." Lesauvage's eyes gleamed with excitement at the telling. "He followed the creature back there in 1767. The following morning, he went to Father Roger, who was master of the monastery, and told him they would have to pay for his silence. Reluctantly, the monks agreed. And they began to gather up the gold and silver Benoit exacted for his price. But he knew they would try to betray him. After all, everyone knows you can't trust the English."

"The English?" Annja repeated.

"Father Roger was English. He was banished to the Brotherhood of the Silent Rain years before for some transgression against the church."

"What transgression?"

Lesauvage shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Annja knew it did. Lesauvage was missing a large part of the story, but she thought she had it. "Go on."

"Thank you," the man said sarcastically. "At any rate, knowing he couldn't trust the English, Benoit arranged to accept delivery of the ransom. He and his men fled from the monastery that day. A sudden storm rose up and chased them down the mountain."

"What mountain?" Annja asked.

"Up in the Cévennes," Lesauvage said. "That's where we're going now. We'll see how well you remember the charm."

Annja didn't respond. "You're looking for the treasure."

"But of course. On his way down the mountainside, Benoit fully expected to be attacked by the monks. What he had not counted on was being pursued by La Bête. He thought to outmaneuver the monks, though. There are some old Roman ruins up in the Cévennes."

"Several of them are at Nîmes," Annja said.

"You know of them? Excellent. But there are several others. The Roman legions marched everywhere through France on their way to conquer the rest of the known world. They left garrisons, temples and buildings everywhere they went. Quite the builders, the Romans. Benoit chose to hide his treasure in those ruins."

"And you believe it's still there?" Annja shook her head.

"I do."

"That was 240 years ago."

Lesauvage glared at her. "The treasure was never found. Benoit and ten of his finest knights, accompanied by twenty peasants, raced down the mountain with La Bête on their heels. Benoit had counted on having the day to help him. Instead, the sky had turned dark and rain lashed the forest. The horses skidded and tumbled, hardly worth attempting to ride."

"On the ground, in full armor, the knights were sitting ducks for La Bête," Annja said.

"They had no chance," Lesauvage said. "La Bête was among them in minutes. Benoit said that he heard the screams of his men as they were slain."

"I guess he didn't stay to help them," Roux said dryly.

"Benoit was no hero," Lesauvage said. "He was a fighter. He stayed and fought only when he knew he was going to win. Against the rain, unhorsed and on the treacherous slopes of a forested mountain, he knew he could not win. His only victory lay in survival, being able to live to reclaim his fortune. So he ran."

As Annja listened to the man's words, she imagined what the battle must have been like. She'd seen La Bête's huge body in the cave. Trapped in their armor in the mud as they had been, instead of secure on horses, the knights had little chance.

"In the end, the knights were all slain," Lesauvage said.

"What happened to the peasants?" Annja figured she already knew, but she had to ask.

Lesauvage grinned. "After they'd helped hide the treasure in the ruins, Benoit and his men killed them. Well away from the hiding area, of course."

Roux growled a curse.

"Secrets, you see, are hard to keep when they're shared so broadly," Lesauvage said.