The blask rood cc-2

by Stephen Lawhead

  Padraig and I walked back to the boat. 'Our young lord Roupen might have warned us it was so far. He doesn't seem to remember anything about the journey at all.'

  'Do you regret taking him with us?' asked the priest.

  I thought about it for a moment. 'No-at least, not yet,' I replied. 'But we are still a long way from Marseilles.'

  It was as the merchant said-we reached Lyon without trouble four days later, and six days after that Avignon-which, I was disappointed to learn, was nowhere near the sea. Our destination was still many days off.

  Feeling that time was pressing, we journeyed on without even so much as a glance at the city or its splendid cathedral. It was late in the day when we reached the first shoal south of the city, and decided to camp for the night and begin our exertions afresh in the morning. We stopped at a place where the bull rushes grew tall, forming a high green palisade around us; we pulled the boat up onto the gravel shingle, and Padraig set about making supper with the little that remained of our once-plentiful supplies.

  No sooner had we sat down to eat, however, than we were attacked and overwhelmed by dense clouds of biting midges. Despite the smoke from the fire, which usually kept such pests at bay, these fierce flyers swarmed over us, biting each time they alighted. More demon than insect, their constant stinging soon drove us from our food. In order to get some relief, we rolled ourselves in our cloaks, head to foot, and finished our meal in sweltering misery.

  We then lay down to sleep, though the air was quite warm, and the sky was still light. All night long I lay with my face covered, scarcely able to breathe, the perpetual buzzing in my ears. We all woke early, ill-rested and itching from a thousand tiny sores which the midges had inflicted. Not wishing to linger even a moment, we did not pause to break fast, but straightaway seized the ropes and began pulling the boat over the gravel shoal, eager to get as far away from that place as quickly as possible.

  It was hot work. And stinking, too-owing to the numerous pools of stagnant water lying in the hollows of the sandbars. The ever-present reek of the warm, slime-green water filled our nostrils, driving all thoughts of food from our heads. So, aside from pausing now and then to swallow a few mouthfuls of water, we took no meals. There was little left of our provisions, and the smell and flies took away any desire to eat, so we pushed on and ever on, shouldering the ropes and towing the boat through the heat of the day.

  Unfortunately, when the sun began to descend in the west and loosen its grip on the land, then the midges came seeking our blood once more. We spent another endless, insufferable night wrapped in our cloaks. Anyone stumbling upon our camp in the night would have imagined we had all been slain and prepared for burial in our shrouds.

  After three days of fighting a losing battle against the vicious midges, we at last entered a deeper channel and, though there was only the slightest, most hesitant breath of a breeze, Sarn raised the sail so that we might leave the plague of pests far behind as swiftly as possible.

  Downstream, we stopped long enough to prepare one final, meagre supper with the last of our provisions-a gruel of flaked dried meat and meal which, like starving dogs we devoured instantly; we licked the bowls clean and journeyed on. The channel was good and the moon bright, so we sailed through the night and arrived at Aries late the next day-tired, sore, very hungry, and with no money to buy food.

  It was beneath my dignity to beg, although if it came to that, I would so humble myself. Roupen said he would rather starve than beg; and Sarn said that since we were already starving, he did not see that begging made any difference one way or the other. 'Beyond that,' I said, 'I reckon our best hope lies in reaching Marseilles as soon as possible, and beseeching the Templars to take pity on us.'

  Padraig, however, had other ideas. 'It may be the Templars will aid us,' he allowed indifferently when I suggested it, 'although I do not see why they should.'

  'If you have something better to offer, I am waiting to hear it.' I cupped a hand to my ear and leaned towards him. 'Well, I am still waiting.'

  'If you would cease your yammering, you might hear something worthwhile,' he replied testily. 'As it happens, your father stopped here on his way to the Holy Land-or have you forgotten?'

  I had forgotten. Then again, owing to Murdo's reluctance to speak of his part in the Great Pilgrimage, I knew little about the place to begin with. Most of what I had heard about Aries I owed to Emlyn, who had also told Padraig-apparently far more than he had told me.

  'They wintered here,' I said, remembering. 'There is a monastery. We could ask them for food-is that what you are thinking?'

  'Come, I will show you what I am thinking.' He started off along the quay and I hurried after, leaving Roupen and Sarn to refresh the water casks and make the boat fast.

  Padraig found his way to a market square near the harbour. As in most settlements of any size, there are always a fair number of elder citizens gathered around talking and taking their ease. Padraig greeted them respectfully and, seeing we were strangers, they wanted to know where we were coming from, and where we were going. He told them a little about our pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and they all nodded earnestly. They had heard of the Great Pilgrimage, of course, and several of them said they knew men who had participated, and had stories to tell. We listened and talked like this until they were well satisfied with our integrity, and then Padraig said, 'My uncle wintered here on his way to the Holy Land; he was a priest travelling with some Norsemen. Perhaps some of you remember them.'

  The old men shook their heads. No, they did not remember, but they were certain that such things did occur.

  'There was also an armourer who lived here. He became friends with this man's father.' Here the priest indicated me, which impressed the choir of idlers enormously. 'I wonder if he is still here.'

  Our informants grew very excited. Not only was the fellow still there, they said, he was still doing a brisk business in weapons of all kinds, and only for the noblemen of the region. 'The Templars have been here to see him,' one toothless fellow proclaimed proudly. 'They are fighting priests, you know. Only the best will do for them.'

  Upon learning that we were on our way to Marseilles to join the Templar fleet, we were enthusiastically informed that one of the Templar ships had come into the harbour to receive the weapons which had been purchased the previous year. 'They were returning to Marseilles and were to set sail for the Holy Land in three days' time.'

  'How many days ago was this?' I asked.

  'Four,' replied the old man. 'They will have sailed by now. If it is the Templars you were hoping to find, I fear you have missed them, my friend.'

  One of the other men spoke up. 'What are you thinking of, Arnal? It was only two days ago the Templars were here.'

  'It was four days,' maintained the one called Arnal. 'I suppose you think I no longer know one day from another, eh?'

  'When did you ever know one day from another?' said his friend. 'It was two days ago the Templars were here, I tell you. Charles remembers as well as I.' Turning to a third old fellow, he asked how many days since the Templar ship had sailed. The man leaned forwards on his stick, thought for a moment, opened his mouth, then closed it, thought some more, and then said, 'Three days.'

  'There! You see?' cried Arnal triumphantly. 'I told you, it was never two days.'

  'Where would we find this armourer?' I asked, breaking into their deliberations. 'Maybe he could tell us more.'

  They told us how to find Bezu's forge, and we thanked them for their inestimable help and hurried off in search of the smithy. We passed the priory of Saint Trophime, where, as Padraig remembered, Emlyn and his brother monks had passed many a dreary winter day in fiery debate with the priests of Aries. The day faded around us as we hurried through the narrow streets and pathways and into the old part of the city.

  'They said Bezu's forge was once a gatehouse used by the legion,' mused Padraig. Pointing to a high stone wall rising broad and tall above the low rooftops of the houses clustered
tight beneath it, he said, 'There it is-and there is the smithy.'

  It was a solid stone edifice built into the wall. We could see the place where the old doorway had been closed up with rubble stone. Black smoke issued from a squat chimney, and the clang of hammer on anvil rang out from within. The low, wide door was open, so the canny monk walked directly into the smithy and called to the proprietor, telling him he had visitors who wished to make his acquaintance.

  I stepped through the door to see a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard, his face red from the glowing iron in his hand. His shirt was a filthy rag full of tiny burned holes from the sparks and bits of molten metal that flew from his hammer. He regarded us without interest, and went back to his pounding.

  I felt a pang of disappointment. 'Are you Bezu?' I asked; but he made no reply.

  Instead, my question was answered by a man who suddenly stepped from the darkness of the room behind the forge. This fellow was short, white-haired, plump, and smiling. Clean-shaven, his round face glowing with the heat from the forge fire, he was dressed in a long mantle of fine cloth, with a wide leather belt to which a fine, slender sword was attached. He regarded us with a kindly expression, and said, 1 am Balthazar of Aries, at your service, my friends.'

  I begged his pardon, and told him we were looking for the armourer named Bezu.

  'My dear friends, of whom I have many, call me Bezu,' he informed me. 'You may do so, if you wish.'

  'It is an honour to meet you, Master Bezu,' I told him. 'I am Duncan Murdosson, and this is my friend and companion, Brother Padraig.'

  'A man who travels in the company of a priest must either be very devout,' Bezu observed cheerfully, 'or else he is so wicked as to require continual observation and correction.'

  'Then again,' I suggested, 'it may be such a man is merely on pilgrimage.'

  'Ah, yes, I expect that will be the likeliest explanation.' Bezu laughed, and said, 'You were looking for me? Well, here I am. How can I help you.'

  'I have come to meet you, and to thank you,' I replied.

  'Have you indeed?' he wondered. 'I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir. But how is it that you should be thanking me?'

  'Once, many years ago,' I explained, 'you gave winter refuge to a young man. Like myself, he was from the northern isles and on pilgrimage. His name was Murdo.'

  The old armourer's faded eyes grew hazy as his mind raced back over the years. 'You know,' he said, his expression growing thoughtful, 'I believe I did have a young helper by that name. I have not thought about this for many years, but now that you say it, I remember this fellow. Why, he was but a boy.' Bezu regarded me closely, as if trying to decide if he might know me. 'Even so, why should this concern you, my friend?'

  I smiled and said, 'That young man you befriended is my father.'

  Bezu's eyes grew round; he stared at me and shook his head in amazement. 'Your father, you say!'

  'None other.'

  I quickly explained that Padraig was the nephew of one of the monks who had been travelling with my father, and that, as we happened to be passing through the city, we could not ignore the chance to thank the armourer for his kindness all those years ago.

  'But it was nothing!' Bezu protested. 'He was cold and hungry. I gave him a little food and a place to sleep. He worked. Indeed, I would he had stayed on. He was a good worker, that one, and in those days -when the Great Pilgrimage was just beginning -1 had need of a young man or two to help me.'

  Bezu grinned, and shook his head again, as if he had been struck a blow which made him dizzy with delight. 'My friends!' he announced suddenly. 'Come, and dine with me tonight. We will have a feast in celebration of this glad meeting. And you will tell me what has become of my hireling since I last laid eyes on him. Come! My house is not far.'

  'Nothing would please me more than to break bread with you, Bezu,' I replied, 'but we are with two others who are waiting for us at the harbour.' I quickly explained how we were even now hastening away to Marseilles to meet the Templar fleet.

  'The Templars,' said Bezu. 'But some of them were here, you know. What have you to do with the Soldiers of Christ?'

  Not wishing to prolong the tale, I told him we were simply hoping to receive passage to the Holy Land aboard one of their ships. 'They are sailing from Marseilles in the next day or so. We must hurry if we are to join them before they leave.'

  The old armourer nodded thoughtfully, then rubbed his hands and declared, 'But this is most fortuitous… most fortuitous, indeed. You can help me with a problem which has vexed me greatly.'

  'We would be only too glad to aid you in any way we can -' I replied, adding, 'provided, of course, we can still make it to Marseilles before the fleet sails.'

  'But that is the very thing,' Bezu told me. 'You see, the Templars were here, as I said, only a day or two ago. They came to collect the weapons bespoken the previous year. I have two other smithies now – did you know? We are kept busy morning to night all the year round. The anvil is never silent.

  'Well,' he said, laying his hard hand on my arm confidentially, 'they asked me to make some daggers for them-special knives, these are, for the commanders. Come, I will show you.'

  He turned and led us into to a tiny room carved out of the stone of the old Roman wall. Pointing to a bright red rug which concealed an object in the middle of the floor, he directed Padraig to throw aside the covering. The monk bent down and drew off the rug to reveal a small wooden casket bound in iron. 'Open it,' he said. 'It is not locked.'

  Padraig opened the box to reveal red silk cloth on which rested six exquisite daggers with blades of inlaid silver, and handles of gold; each had the distinctive Templar cross on the end of the pommel, with a small ruby at the centre.

  'They are superb knives.’ I said. 'I have never seen any to match them.'

  The armourer reached into the box, took up one of the daggers. 'Yes, they are very good,' he said, feeling the heft and balance in his hand before passing it to me. 'I do not do the gold work. I have a friend of many years-a craftsman without equal-a goldsmith; he does the gold and silver, and also engraving. He, like myself, is run off his feet by the demand for his services. He has not been well this year and the knives were not ready when the Templars came.' He smiled quickly. 'I told them I would bring them if they arrived before the fleet sailed. But you are going to Marseilles. If you would consent to deliver the knives for me, it would save me a great deal of trouble. What do you say?'

  Padraig glanced at me and nodded, urging me to accept the commission. 'Very well,' I replied, 'we would be honoured to serve you in this way. Leave it to us, and worry no more about it.'

  'Ah,' sighed the armourer contentedly, 'I feel better already. I thank you. Now!' he declared, rubbing his hands together. 'To supper! Come with me, and do not worry about your friends. I will send one of my boys to the harbour to fetch them along so they can join us.'

  Needless to say, we accepted his invitation with unseemly eagerness, and we all enjoyed a sumptuous meal at Bezu's grand house on the hill overlooking the town and harbour beyond. Night was far gone when we finally pushed away from the table, made our farewells, and returned to the boat; we were therefore late rising the next morning. While we were getting ready to cast off, who should appear but our generous host himself, carrying a large cloth bag.

  'Ah! I hoped I would find you here. There was so much left over from last night's feast, I thought you might like to have some of it on your journey,' he said, passing the sack to Sarn, who promptly stowed it in the boat. 'I also brought you this.' He pulled a small purse from beneath his belt and tossed it to me. 'For delivering the knives. I would have had to hire someone anyway, so you might as well have it.'

  I was on the point of refusing to accept his money, when Padraig climbed out of the boat and embraced the old man. 'Bless you, my friend,' he said. 'May Heaven's rich light guide you always, and may the Lord of Hosts greet you when you enter his kingdom.' He then made a little bow of respect.

 
Bezu, discomfited by this unexpected ritual, blushed bright red and, not knowing what to say or do in response, simply pretended that it was a normal occurrence and smiled. We made our farewells then and cast off; the armourer stood on the quayside, watching us away. I waved to him and called a last farewell, and then turned my face towards Marseilles, and hoped we were not already too late.

  FIFTEEN

  Caitriona, dearest heart of my heart, we must take courage. The day of dread is near. The caliph has returned.

  I have been told that he will soon summon me. Wazim Kadi, my amiable Saracen jailer, informs me that I am to prepare myself. Tomorrow, or the day after, I will be called before Caliph al-Hafiz to answer for my crimes.

  As I have said before, and say again, the outcome is certain. Death, however, holds no fear for me. My only regret is that I will not see you again, my soul. I had hoped to have time enough to finish this, my final testament; yet it seems that, in his wisdom, our Merciful Redeemer has ordained otherwise.

  I search through the pages I have written, and my spirit grieves. There is so much more that I wanted to say to you. I despair to think what you will make of this fragmentary and insubstantial tale. Time was against me from the beginning, I fear, so perhaps I was fortunate to have written even the little you hold in your hands.

  Well, no doubt, all is as it was meant to be.

  I can but give you what I have left, and that is my everlasting love, and this crude, unfinished document which, if nothing else, will at least bear witness that in my last hours upon this earth, I was thinking of you, my beloved daughter.

  Wazim assures me that my letter will be treated with all respect. I have the promise of the caliph that it will find its way to you. I trust in this. The word of the caliph is absolute. Nevertheless, I have instructed faithful Wazim that if any difficulty should arise, the papyri should be given to the Templars who, one way or another, will see that you receive it. Thus, I can rest in peace, assured that you will hear from your loving father again-albeit, from beyond the grave, as it were. For, by the time you receive this, I will be long dead.