Padraig smiled. 'The cult of the Black Madonna is well known to the Cele De. It is heresy, of course, although mild compared to most. Still, it is heresy nonetheless. We came to know of it when it was once laid on the head of Beloved Pelagius, our great teacher and advocate. He defended himself mightily against the charge, answering his accusers in a bold treatise which is preserved and studied by the keepers of the Holy Light.'
Padraig led us briefly in our prayers, and we finished a short while later. Roupen went on ahead, leaving Padraig and me to our talk. 'You knew the Black Madonna was there,' I said. 'Was that why you brought me?'
He shook his head. 'I had no idea it was there until I saw it today when I came In to pray.' He dismissed the carving, saying, 'It is of no account-a curiosity, nothing more.'
'Then why?'
'I wanted to remind you that things are not always as they seem,' he replied. 'And that even the most forthright appearances often hide a deeper meaning for those who know how to look.'
Even in the dim and flickering candlelight, I could see his gaze grow keen, and knew there would be no evading him any longer.
'I brought you here so that you could tell me the true purpose of your pilgrimage.'
I should not have been surprised, but-as I have said, and will say again-the priests of the Cele De are ever full of surprises. I suppose he had worked it out following our brief exchange earlier in the day. Although I would have preferred telling him when we were somewhat closer to our destination, I knew there would be no putting him off now, so I said, 'Very well. It seems this is the night for sharing hidden purposes.'
Padraig smiled knowingly. 'It is that.'
'It is easily told,' I began as we left the chapel, 'and not half so mysterious as the Black Madonna. First, I must ask you whether you have ever heard of the Iron Lance?'
'Of course.' He did not laugh outright, but my question amused him. 'It is the spear of Christ's crucifixion.'
'It is that,' I affirmed. 'And since it seems the priests of the Cele De know everything, you probably also know that the sacred object resides in my father's treasure room.'
'Now that you bring it up, I seem to recall hearing about that, yes.'
'Have you always known?' I asked, feeling like a fool for ever thinking I might hide anything from him. I stopped walking to look at his reaction.
'No,' he replied. 'Indeed, I learned of it only a day or so before we left.'
'Abbot Emlyn told you, I suppose.'
'He did,' confirmed Padraig. 'But my uncle asked me never to speak of it to anyone-unless, like now, someone else should speak of it first.'
'Have you seen the Sacred Lance?'
'Alas, no. One day, perhaps-who knows?'
'Well,' I told him, resuming our ramble, 'I have seen it and held it in my hands. It was the night my father told me how he had rescued it from the heathen, and from the hands of the iniquitous crusaders who would have made of it a sacrilege. That same night, I vowed within myself that even as my father had rescued the lance, I would rescue the cross.'
'The True Cross,' mused Padraig. I could not tell whether he approved of my plan, or not.
"Torf-Einar told me all about the shameful desecration of that holy treasure before he died,' I said. 'You were there, you heard how they cut the cross of our redemption into pieces-with as little thought as I might chop a kindling stick.'
'I was there, yes. I heard.' He took a slow, deliberate step away, and then turned to face me. 'And this is why you could not swear the oath of the Templars?'
'I did not think it would be right, since I cannot say where or how I shall obtain the pieces of the holy relic. I must remain unencumbered in my search.'
'I can see that.'
'And you approve?'
He did not answer; instead, he asked, 'What will you do with the cross-if by some miracle you should obtain it?'
'I will bring it back to Caithness and place it in my father's treasure room alongside the Sacred Lance.'
'I see.'
He was quiet for a time, gazing up into the night-dark sky- as if in search of an answer written in the stars.
'Your plan,' he said at last, 'lacks nothing in audacity. And what it wants in feasibility, it more than makes up in ambition.'
'But do you approve?'
'In truth, I do not,' he declared firmly. 'If this is why you have undertaken pilgrimage to the Holy Land, leaving all you love and hold dearest-then I must tell you as a priest and friend, that I do not approve in the least.'
Deep down in my bones, I suppose I had feared he would say something like this-which is why I had kept it from him. I knew he would not like my plan, but I needed his help.
The wily priest grinned suddenly and spread his hands. 'The Lord moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform,' he said. 'And, contrary to what you apparently believe, he does not often seek my blessing before he acts.'
'Is this your way of saying you think it is a good idea anyway?'
'No, it is a terrible idea,' Padraig assured me. 'Even so, it may also be inspired.'
'Please, your assurance is breathtaking,' I replied.
'Have you not heard?' wondered Padraig. 'The Good Lord often uses foolishness to humble the wise. If this idea of yours is of God, then the combined might of all the nations on earth cannot stand against it.'
I accepted his judgement, and we walked silently along the darkened street for a time. As we came onto the quayside, I asked, 'You did not tell me, Padraig, why is the Magdalene painted black?'
'That I cannot say. It has been suggested that it was the colour of her cloak when she came to these shores, and that is how she was known to the people: the Black Mary. Others say it is to distinguish her from the mother of Jesu, since they are so often confused one for the other.' He paused thoughtfully, then said, 'Wise Pelagius said that it was to hide a secret which those who revere the Black Mary hold sacred and guard to the death.'
'What is this secret?' I wondered aloud.
'No one outside the cult knows,' said the monk. 'And those inside will never tell.'
EIGHTEEN
The Templars were ready to sail by the time Padraig, Roupen, and I joined the ship the next morning. I wanted to see Sarn safely away before leaving, and although his passengers, the Tookes, were ready, we had to wait for the provisions to be delivered. The merchants appeared just after daybreak, and we quickly loaded the boat, and bade the three returning travellers farewell.
'Take care, Sarn,' I called, pushing the boat from the wharf. 'Give all at home a full and fair account. Ask them to pray for our safe return.' We watched until they were under sail, and then the three of us hurried to board the Templar ship. We were greeted courteously on our arrival, and shortly after climbing onto the deck the order was given to cast off.
We stood at the rail and watched the city of Marseilles pass slowly from view as the ship moved out into the bay. Once in deeper water, the helmsman turned the ship and headed south-west along the coast, and we settled ourselves aboard our new vessel.
I will now describe a Templar ship, for they are very unlike the sort of craft seen in northern waters. Broad of beam and high-sided, they possess several decks, one above another, and a single mast of gigantic proportions. These vessels ride tall in the water and tend to bob awkwardly in the least swell; they are unsteady and woefully difficult to manoeuvre – much, I imagine, like steering a hogshead barrel in a flood. Indeed, for this reason sailors even call them 'round ships'.
For all they are ungainly and largely unsuitable for any purpose save the one for which they were made: the transportation of men and animals across the mild sea of Middle Earth. God forbid that they should ever be caught in one of the storms which scourge the northern isles throughout the winter. I have no doubt the precarious craft would sink like an anvil at first squall. Be that as it may, the Venetians own many of these ships, and the Genoans, and others, too. Our vessel was owned by a merchant from Otranto whose son -a plump, sweet-natured man
named Dominic-served as captain.
We were introduced to him shortly after Marseilles disappeared from view. He invited us to break bread with him in his apartment.
You see, Gait, how very large these ships can be; there are rooms beneath the uppermost deck, some of them large as chambers in a lordly hall. And this is what the captain had-a chamber with a box bed and a long table with room enough for six men on benches either side.
Thus, Renaud, Padraig and I, and Roupen, as well as other high-ranking Templars were invited to dine with the captain that first night. Roupen excused himself, saying his stomach was unsettled; for all I know, that may have been the truth, and not an excuse to avoid joining the rest of us. However, I think it more likely that he had no stomach for the Templars, never mind the food. Padraig and I eagerly accepted the invitation, and if that meal was in any way typical, I quickly discovered how our captain maintained his rotund form despite his long sea journeys. Of meat and sweet breads, and other fancies, there was no stint: roast fowl and smoked pork, beef, and fish of several kinds, and flat bread made with the oil of olives-which Sicilians especially esteem-and small barley loaves made with honey. Wine was drunk throughout the meal-for the noblemen of Taranto dearly love their wine, and think nothing of serving it and drinking it by the tun.
Hoping to keep our wits about us, Padraig and I attempted to dine with some circumspection, as did Commander Renaud. Everyone else, however, behaved as if our supper was a festal meal following a long privation. I was appalled at the amount of food and drink which my fellow diners consumed, shoving bread and meat down their gullets in uncouth chunks and gobbets. Oblivious to any restraint, they guzzled wine until it ran down their beards in crimson streams and pooled about their elbows, which they planted on the table and never removed. My embarrassment for them went unheeded, however, as they blithely ate and drank their way through enough provisions to sustain a dozen farm labourers for a month.
Dominic of Otranto beamed at his guests and bade his serving-boys to keep the wine flagons charged and the cups overflowing. As a consequence, the talk was lively and free, and I learned many things of life in Outremer which were to prove useful in the days to come. For, when they learned that Padraig and I had never been to Jerusalem, or Antioch, or even Constantinople, they eagerly took it upon themselves to educate us in the manner of life we should encounter-not that they were in any way agreed upon the particulars.
Still, I learned that the weather was hot and dry, and that the land was infested with all manner of biting flies and stinging plants which made life a constant misery. Rivers mostly dried up during the summer, and no rain fell from spring until winter, when the fierce wind came to scour the land from top to bottom, and fill every dwelling place with gritty dust.
The people, they said, were poor for the most part, barely scratching a living out of the rocky, unproductive soil-except in the rare river valleys where the streams were sustained by springs hi the mountains; then the resulting cultivation was a very paradise, bringing forth fruits and vegetables of every kind in almost unimaginable bounty.
For the most part, however, the language was incomprehensible, the food unpalatable, and the water undrinkable. A more barren land there never was, to be sure. If not for the fact that the Lord High God himself had chosen the place for his own peculiar reasons, surely no one would give it so much as a moment's heed.
As for the people, the women were dried up hags and crones, whose unlovely hides were wrinkled as grapes left too long in the sun. The men were sulky, sly and vengeful, skilled in imagining slights and capable of maintaining heated feuds into the sixth generation. What is more, young or old, they were cunning in all the ways of malice, iniquity, and greed.
'The Arabs are very devils, sir,' one man declared. 'Lies and blasphemies are all they know. Beware.'
'They are born thieves,' agreed another. 'They will steal anything that is not chained down, and stab you the moment your back is turned.'
'Turk or Saracen, they are all alike,' added the first. 'The Greeks, too, are to be trusted only so far as you can spit.'
'But the Greeks are Christians," Padraig pointed out innocently, 'and therefore allies and fellow soldiers.'
This brought peals of laughter from those gathered around the board. 'If you believe that,' roared the foremost black-bearded Templar, 'then you will wake one night with your throat slit and your balls in your mouth!'
I considered such talk beneath reproach, and made no reply. But my fellow trenchermen followed one vulgarity with another, until I felt justified in remarking on their lack of common decency. 'Life in the Holy Land must be greatly altered indeed,' I observed, 'if such low profanity is cause for mirth rather than shame.'
I fully expected to be reviled for my words. I braced myself as blackbeard's lips drew back in an ugly sneer. But even as he drew breath to decry me, Renaud glanced up sharply. 'Our friends are right to remind us of our manners, brothers,' he said, glaring down along the board as if defying anyone to disagree with him. 'We will each ask forgiveness in our prayers tonight, and examine our hearts in all penitence.'
This quieted the raucous table, and the meal ended in a much more subdued, if not respectful, manner. Afterward, Renaud sought me out on deck where Padraig and I were taking the soft evening air. The commander presented himself with a respectful bow and said, 'Allow me to offer you both apologies for my brother monks' impious behaviour.'
'We are not the ones to receive your apologies,' I replied. 'It was not our table. You owe us nothing.'
'Nevertheless,' the Templar said, 'you were the ones who called us back to our better selves-and were right to do so. My men have been absent from the stringency of the monastery too long and have allowed themselves to grow irreverent.'
'I know what fighting men are like,' I told him. 'Do not think you must explain anything to me.'
He smiled stiffly. 'Even so, please accept my sincere apology for our regrettable lapse. God willing, it will not happen again.'
We began to walk along the rail then, he and I. Padraig padded along unobtrusively behind us, listening, but keeping his thoughts to himself. We came to the stern where some of the sailors were talking and joking among themselves. When we had passed them and could not be overheard, Renaud said, 'I am interested to know how you came to be in the company of Prince Leo's son.'
'We met him in Rouen,' I explained, 'where he was searching for passage home.' I told about how the young lord had survived the illness that had carried off all his travelling party and left him stranded in a strange land with no one to help him.
'Do you know anything of his family?'
'I know his father is a prince in his own country, but nothing more than that,' I answered. Something in the Templar's tone made me wish to defend the young man. 'Whether his people were nobles of the highest rank, or the lowliest of slaves, made not the slightest difference to me. Roupen needed passage home, and we needed someone to guide us to Marseilles. We struck a bargain which was beneficial to both our interests, and he has proven himself a faithful friend.'
Renaud raised his eyebrows at this. 'Are you always so trusting?'
'Until a man shows me otherwise,' I said, bristling slightly at the implication of his question, 'I give him my best regard. It is never a mistake to treat someone as you would wish to be treated if you were in his boots.'
'No,' he allowed quickly, 'of course not. Again, forgive me; I meant no offence. I merely wished to determine what you knew of the circumstances surrounding your young friend's family.'
'As I have said, I know very little of Roupen's family or their circumstances. Is there something I should know?'
The Templar pursed his lips thoughtfully. 'Only this,' he said at last. 'Your friend's father, Prince Leo, is an unhappy man in a dangerous position. I fear he is not to be trusted.'
'I am sorry to hear it,' I replied, uncertainly. I could not discern what he intended by telling me this.
As if in reply to my hesitance, R
enaud continued, 'Believe me, it gives me no pleasure to say it. I have every sympathy for your friend, Roupen; his situation is grave indeed.'
Looking out over the water to the darkening shoreline-as if gazing at an open and oozing wound-he added, mostly to himself, 'Bohemond's reach does often exceed his grasp.'
Mention of the audacious prince brought to mind my father's dealings, and I said, 'What you say interests me greatly. My father knew Prince Bohemond. They met in Jaffa during the Great Pilgrimage, and my father helped Lord Bohemond secure the aid of the emperor.'
'Truly?' replied the Templar commander, his curiosity instantly piqued.
'Oh, yes,' I assured him, 'and the prince returned the favour. If not for Bohemond's help, my father might never have returned home.'
'Many did not,' agreed the Templar commander. His interest visibly quickened, there was sharp appraisal in his glance as he said, 'But you misunderstand me: I was speaking of young Bohemond, the son of the illustrious prince. Not that it matters overmuch, for the son is that much like his father. Unfortunately, he shares his father's insatiable appetites as well.'
He went on to explain that Bohemond II, son of Prince Bohemond of Taranto, had at last come of age and returned to the Holy Land to claim his inheritance. Not content to receive the County of Antioch in its present condition, he had determined to restore its boundaries to their furthest extent.
'Since coming to the Holy Land four years ago,' Renaud said, 'the young count has waged several successful campaigns and recovered a goodly portion of the land lost since his father had ruled there. He is a restless youth, and a formidable fighter.' De Bracineaux regarded me meaningfully. 'He will not rest until he has won back everything.'
'And this is where the trouble arises,' I surmised.
'Precisely,' the Templar agreed. 'The northern part of the county now belongs to the Armenian principality. At the time young Bohemond's father took it, there was no one to oppose him. The land had been under Seljuq domination for many years, and the Armenian princes had their hands full defending the little that remained to them.'
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