by Jack Whyte
Justin’s eyesight was evidently adjusting rapidly, for he addressed the clerks next, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Keep working, brethren,” he said. “God’s work is never done, and yours will bear no interruption. St. Clair, come with me.”
André followed the irascible monk along a narrow passageway that led to the stone-walled room that Justin had appropriated for his own use. As the older man threw open the doors and marched inside he pointed with a thumb to a high stool that stood beside a long work table beneath high, vaulted windows.
“Sit.”
Justin moved to the far end of the table and picked up three small, tightly rolled missives, and he spoke as he broke the seals and scanned their contents briefly. “Your cousin has shown up in Acre, alive and apparently well, though some of his Templar brethren appear to dispute that opinion. Word reached us two days ago— a messenger from a trading ship on its way to Malta. I’ve had people hunting for you since the night before last, so I know you have not been in the castle, or aboard a ship in harbor or even in Limassol. That would be called desertion by some people I know, and at best it indicates a lack of responsibility. Where were you?”
“Being responsible. I was about the King’s business.”
Brother Justin put the three messages down carefully and drew himself up to his full height, looking squarely at André St. Clair for the first time. There was something new in St. Clair’s voice and it had captured his ear immediately, and now Justin spoke slowly, his tone calm and measured.
“And since when has any king’s business taken precedence over that of our Order?”
“Never before, Brother. And not now. That is why I am here.”
Brother Justin pulled a nondescript piece of rag from his sleeve and used it to brush crumbs from the dingy, much-stained white robe stretched tautly over his belly and then, clearly requiring still more time to think, he wiped the corners of his mouth with it, drawing attention to his bulbous, mottled nose and pendulous lower lip before stuffing the rag back whence it had come and nodding his head ponderously.
“You still have not told me where you were, and as your Master of Novices I must insist on knowing.”
“I was hunting, ten miles or so beyond the city, in Isaac Comnenus’s hunting grounds. We were caught in the storm yesterday and had to spend the night in a cavern. Came back this morning, shortly after dawn.”
Justin was looking at him strangely. “The King’s business sent you hunting without him? That seems strange. I saw the King last night, here in this castle.”
“I have no doubt you did. He was not with us. He set me to accompany and attend his wife and his sister, the ladies Berengaria and Joanna, both of whom are excellent hunters, better than many a man I know.”
Brother Justin shivered suddenly and looked about him, rubbing one hand against his arm. “It is cold in here,” he muttered. “I should have a fire. No matter how intense the heat of the day outside, these old stone walls keep it out there and keep these big rooms cool. I distinctly felt the temperature fall again there, moments ago …” He raised his eyes to gaze up at the vaulted and groined ceiling. “I know you have many things you wish to tell me, Sir André, but first I must ask you for clarification on one small matter. Am I to believe you spent a night in a cave with Queen Berengaria and Queen Joanna? Alone with two women, but for some hunters?”
“Hardly alone, Brother Justin. There were twenty-six of us there, in addition to the two Queens.”
“Twenty-six. And how many of those were women?”
“The only women there were the two Queens, and even they were dressed as men.”
“I see. And does this … expedition have anything to do with your seeking me out now?”
“Everything.”
“Then clearly you have much to tell me. But before you do, and while I yet have a voice with which to speak, is there anything you wish to ask me?”
“Aye, Brother. Where has my cousin been for so long?”
“In prison, in the hands of the Saracens. He was at Hattin, but managed to escape alive, only to be taken soon afterwards.”
“So why did we not know this sooner? We knew the names of most of those killed and captured, did we not?”
“Aye, but apparently your cousin changed his name—his whole identity, in fact. He knew that Saladin had executed every Templar and every Hospitaller captured at Hattin, so he concealed the fact that he was a Templar. The battle was long over when he was captured, and he had rid himself of everything that would identify him with the Temple. He even took the name and ranking of his closest friend, a Scot like himself who had been his boyhood companion, a fellow called Lachlan Moray, who was also a knight and died at Hattin, but was not of either military order.”
“So Alex denied the Temple?”
“He did, for the greater good of our Order of Sion.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because the word we received was sent to me, not to the Temple. It was not written by a Templar.”
“I see … And I suppose therefore that I will be permitted to know nothing about this greater good that he perceived.”
“I did not say that. In fact you will know everything about it, and about Sir Alexander’s task and duties for the brotherhood. But first I want to hear the concerns that brought you here in search of me. You have never come directly to me before, so why would you do so now? I confess I am greatly curious.”
St. Clair then told him everything, omitting absolutely nothing, so that for the ensuing hour and more Justin sat rapt, watching André’s lips and missing not a nuance of the tale unfolding in front of him. When the younger man fell silent at last, neither of them made any attempt to speak for a long time. It was eventually Justin who broke the silence.
“Hmph,” he grunted, then fell silent again for a short time before adding, “Well, then, why are you here? Why would you not simply go ahead and take what you have been offered? You have sworn no vows and undertaken no obligations to this point that might prevent you from doing so. Most men would do anything to gain what you are offered. You have not refused the honor, have you?”
André was frowning. “No, I have not. Not yet, but—”
“Then why tell me about it, in God’s name? Why would you even hesitate in this?”
“You yourself used the word that stops me.”
“I did?” Justin frowned now. “What word was that?”
“Honor, Brother. It is an ideal, and a reality that I value highly, particularly since it seems to be greatly out of use and favor nowadays.”
“Aah … Honor, I see. Yes, honor can be inconvenient.”
St. Clair shook his head. “I disagree, Brother Justin. I believe that honor is never inconvenient, and the lack or absence of it in any situation repels me. I see nothing of honor, no slightest trace of it, in what I have described to you here.”
“And so you will have none of it, is that what you are tell-ing me?”
“Aye, sir. It is.”
“You set a high standard for others to follow, then.”
“No, I do not. The standards I may set are mine alone, for me to follow. I expect no others to accept my dictates. They are my own, as is my honor.”
Justin pursed his lips and nodded. “Good man. So mote it be. I expected no less of you, and you have my full support. But tell me, why did you not go directly with this to de Sablé? He has your interests at heart and holds higher rank within the brotherhood than I do. He also wields more influence in matters like this.”
St. Clair had started shaking his head as soon as Justin spoke de Sablé’s name. “I dared not. Sir Robert is a good man and I know him well and I believe he trusts me, but he is close friends with Richard—has been for years. They are even related, cousins of some kind. I simply dared not take that kind of risk with this. It is too dangerous … Not that I thought he might betray me to Richard. He would never do that, I know, but he might betray himself inadvertently, and bring about his own destructio
n by showing his disapproval in some way. His honor, too, is great, and strictly guarded, and that would make it difficult for him to conceal his distaste over Richard’s treatment of the Queen. I could not forgive myself were he to be killed because of something I told him when there was no need to do so.”
“Hmm. You are probably right. It is too dangerous. We may never know with certainty whether you were right or wrong, but we do have other options and I think you were correct in choosing as you have … What’s wrong?”
St. Clair had been frowning. “Nothing, save that you do not appear to be surprised by anything I have told you.”
“Should I be? Do you mean I should be shocked and scandalized at venality and carnality, the lusts of these men and women? What would make you think that? I joined our brotherhood when I was eighteen, Brother André, as you did, and since then I have studied without rest to advance myself inside our Order and find the true Way to be with God. And most of what I have learned has been based upon the gulf created between God and men when our ancient Way was lost in the destruction of Jerusalem in Roman times, after the deaths of Jesus and his brother James. After that, as our ancient lore teaches us, humanity was left to wander in the wilderness, vainly attempting to find their way to God by following the errant footsteps of mere men, who were as mortal and as weak and foolish as those who followed them, no matter what great names and titles they bestowed upon themselves. Stripped of godliness, there remains in man’s nature nothing but feeble, fragile, and self-seeking humanity. So no, I am not surprised. My task is to find some way to make use of what you have told me in order to benefit the aims of our brotherhood. Thus I am glad you came to me first, for the aid we must now seek lies within the Temple Order itself, and de Sablé is not yet one of them.
“We need to keep you here, from this time on, beyond Richard’s reach, and that could be but a temporary respite at best, since he may yet come looking for you as your liege lord. We can hope all his attention may be absorbed in the coming days by this Isaac Comnenus nonsense, but the only truly effective way to keep you beyond his reach is to induct you formally into the Temple as a knight. To that end, I will call upon some of the brethren to assemble as soon as may be.”
“You mean to induct me alone, without the other novices? How can that be done?”
“By speed and stealth, born of necessity. And not only can it be done, it can be done quickly. We have reason and motive. All we need now is a sufficiency of knights to conduct the ceremony.”
St. Clair grimaced. “Reason and motive. Is merely saving me from the King’s clutches, in the matter of an escapade of which we cannot speak, sufficient to provide both of those? How will you justify this to others?”
“Easily. First of all, the King has nothing to do with this. Be clear on that from the outset and bear it in mind from now on. I told you that your cousin appears to be alive and well, but that several of his fellow Templars might dispute that. Sir Alexander, not for the first time, is causing grief among his fellow Templars, challenging their standards at times and scorning them at others. He was ever a prickly man, your cousin, prickly and unyielding in his righteousness, but he was seldom wrong, a fact that, while it reflected well upon his name, did little to endear him to his less uncompromising peers. But now he has come back from captivity among the Saracens pouring out allegations of incompetence and corruption within the Templar hierarchy, along with other ideas that do little to endear him to his fellows, and when they challenged him on what he was saying—challenged him very bluntly, I understand—he vanished again, into the desert. The other Templars over there now say he has been suborned and seduced by Saladin and his ungodly beliefs, and they want him stripped of his rank and membership in the Order, and then banished, excommunicate.”
“Sweet Jesus! Can they do that?”
“Aye, if they see a need for it. They are Christian monks—men of God and thus entitled to punish wrongdoing or dereliction of duty mercilessly. They can do it, never delude yourself on that.”
“How long has he been free? Was he ransomed?”
“No. According to what I read, he was set free in an exchange of prisoners. But be all of that as it may, he has information that we of the brotherhood gravely need, information that he was sent out there to gather years ago, and it has been many years since any of the Council of the brotherhood have had direct dealings with him. Alexander Sinclair trusts no one at face value and never has. Now we have someone to send to him, from within the Temple, whom he will be inclined to trust instinctively. You and he were friends once, so he will trust you more easily than someone he has never met. Therefore you will be the one promoted and dispatched to bring him back into the Order, where he may be examined by his peers of the Temple. That will, at least, be the ostensible purpose underlying your induction and rapid dispatch to Acre—the requirements of the Temple and your duty to meet and execute those requirements, involving a special dispensation and a rapid induction and promotion predicated upon your family connections and your former friendship with Alexander Sinclair.
“Whether you can convince him to return and be judged, of course, remains to be seen. Your real objectives, however, when all is said and done, will have nothing to do with the Temple, per se. Your true task will be to reestablish communications between him and the Governing Council of the brotherhood, and to effect the recovery and transfer of the information Alexander holds for us.”
“And that information consists of what?”
Justin grinned, a vulpine, leering twisting of his uncomely features. “If I could answer that, Master St. Clair, there would be no need to send you all the way to Acre in such a rush, would there?”
“Hmm. What about the vows—where will I take those?”
“Two of them you have taken already, with merely minor differences. You’ll simply repeat them. I’ll be the one to lead you through that part, so I will put the words in your mouth and you will merely respond. These are illiterates, for the most part. No one who is not of our brotherhood will notice that the wording of the first two vows is different.”
“I have no concerns over those two. It’s the third of them that concerns me.”
Brother Justin raised both eyebrows. “The vow of chastity? But you have already made your choice on that matter, with your decision to spurn the two Queens. Soon now, in a mere matter of weeks, you will be in Acre—or outside it—and believe me when I say you will find little there among the daughters of the Faithful of Allah to threaten your chastity. Added to which, of course, will be the incentives to chastity provided by the Rule of the Temple itself … No, you will take your vows in the course of the admission ceremony, and you may never even think of them again thereafter. De Troyes will officiate, as senior member of the Order here in Cyprus.”
“De Troyes? He is not a member of the brotherhood.”
“No, he is not, thank God. He is exactly what we require in this instance, in terms of probity and credibility. Not even Richard Plantagenet will dare challenge the acting Master of the Temple here in Cyprus. Le Sieur de Troyes is un sanglier du Temple, a Temple Boar, with no interest in life other than the Temple and its form and rituals. That is why he will officiate at your induction, because once I have explained the situation to him he will see, immediately, the need to ship you off in order that you may remove the very real danger to his beloved Temple that your cousin seems to represent.”
“How can you be sure he will believe everything you tell him, without question? We have little to go on, save hearsay.”
“Hearsay and imagination, Brother André, and you must never underestimate the power of imagination. Men like de Troyes have none of it. Their lives are barren and arid, tied to the daily trivia of humdrum existence. They live in a world without colors, so that when they meet someone like you or me, with the power to talk persuasively and to draw and describe sweeping pictures with our minds and voices, they are easily gulled. By the time I have finished talking with Etienne de Troyes, he will beli
eve your cousin is a bigger threat to the Temple than Saladin himself, and he will begrudge the time it takes to initiate you in the Temple Knighthood, so great will be his need to see you on your way to Acre. Then, while the enthusiasm is still upon him, I will send him to King Richard with the tidings of your promotion and departure.”
St. Clair inclined his head. “You obviously believe what you are saying, so it would be churlish of me to doubt you further. When will this all take place?”
“As soon as I can arrange it. Today is the fifteenth day of May. I will have to consult with some others of the brotherhood before I can commit to a specific time, but immediately thereafter, if I can gather sufficient bodies.”
“So how long will that be?”
“Tomorrow. Almost certainly we will be able to proceed by tomorrow night.”
André nodded. Inductions always took place at night. “Will I be able to visit my father before I leave?”
“No, because you cannot leave here now until you are a sworn Templar. But Sir Henry may visit you here, if he can find the time. If we induct you tomorrow night, you will be gone the following day, so you had best send word to him to visit you tomorrow. And mind you warn him to say nothing to the King.” He paused, and then added, “Forget that. I will see to it myself. Is there anything else troubling you? You look … worried.”
St. Clair shrugged. “The ceremony, I suppose. The Raising. I have no idea what to expect. Is it complex?” He looked decidedly relieved when he saw the veteran Master of Novices sit back on his stool and grin at him.
“It is a secret ceremony, Master St. Clair. You know that. But it is no Raising. Accept my word on that, if you will, and rest assured that there is nothing complex or meaningful about it.” Justin stood up from his stool and crossed to a cupboard against the wall, where he opened a door and removed a flat-bottomed flask and two horn cups. He poured two generous measures of the golden liquid the flask contained, then stoppered the flask and closed the door on it again. He carried both cups to the table. “Honey mead,” he said, handing one cup to André. “God created it for moments like these.” They both sipped appreciatively and Justin sat down again.