The blask rood cc-2

by Stephen Lawhead

  'When?' I demanded. 'How long has he been gone?'

  'He departed the same day you left for the monastery. I suppose you are right to be angry. But he is only trying to help.'

  'It will be no help to any of us if the Templars find us here.'

  'He promised not to do anything without your consent,' she said half-heartedly.

  'Then he should not have gone at all!' I snapped.

  'He only went to see to his affairs-nothing more.' She was growing defensive. 'Never fear, my father will not betray your precious secret.'

  'It was a foolish thing to do!'

  'Peace!' said Padraig, entering the courtyard just then. 'The entire island will know of our business if you do not desist.' He cautioned us to leave off squabbling, and went to see that the rood was still safe in its box beneath his bed.

  As much as I might have wished otherwise, Yordanus was gone and there was nothing to be done about that now. Still, I fussed and fumed, and finally Padraig sent me down the road to walk away my frustration. I stumped along in the hot sun, and felt the heat on my skin; soon I was sweating and tired, and though angry still, I had neither the will nor the strength to maintain it any longer. I stopped and looked around, and found myself at one of the many ancient ruins that occupy the hilltops in that part of the island.

  Little more than an overgrown mound now, with wild olive trees and bramble thickets, there were still a few sun-bleached sections of toppled columns to be seen, an arch and part of a wall-rising from the surrounding wrack like the enormous bones of a monstrous creature. My anger finally subdued, I sat down on the carved capital of a ruined column in the shade of a half-dead palm tree to rest and collect myself. I could see the bay from where I sat, and watched a few boats returning from the day's fishing, but there was no sign of the ship.

  Padraig and I had arrived back in Paphos at midday and, upon coming in view of the shallow bay, I had suddenly become agitated. By the time we descended the hill overlooking the harbour, I knew what it was that disturbed me: Persephone was missing; the ship was not in the harbour, and nowhere to be seen.

  We had hurried on to the house to be met by Sydoni, who took one look at my distraught expression and guessed what had caused my distress. She explained that she had told him not to go, but her father insisted he knew what he was doing, and anyway, he would be back before we returned.

  In fact, he did not return until two days later.

  I spent the intervening time stalking the hills and muttering about the ruins, waiting for Yordanus to return. I was sitting in my accustomed place in the shade when I saw a ship round the far headland and enter the bay just before sunset. I watched with growing expectation until I was certain it was the Persephone, and then I hurried back to the house to alert Sydoni and the others that Yordanus had returned.

  While Sydoni and Anna fluttered around preparing food and drink for her father's return, the old trader stood in the courtyard and professed his trip to have been eminently successful, and that any worries I might have had were completely unfounded. Wazim stood with him, and the two of them assured me that nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. Padraig and I listened to their feeble justification for their disobedience.

  'I know you instructed otherwise,' Yordanus allowed, 'and I did not lightly go against your wishes, believe me. Even so,' he raised his hands in appeasement, 'the day is soon coming when we must send word to Commander de Bracineaux at Antioch. I have instructed Gregior to begin making the necessary preparations for that journey. Also,' he added with a touch of self-righteous vindication, 'I needed to replenish my purse. Silver does not multiply of its own accord, you know, and travel is a costly business.'

  There was no point in berating the man. 'Well, it is over and done now,' I said as graciously as possible. 'We will speak no more about it.'

  'Very wise,' agreed Yordanus. Just then Anna came into the courtyard carrying a tray laden with bowls of food and baskets of bread; Sydoni emerged behind her with a tray of cups and a jug of wine. They placed the trays on one of the benches beneath the fig tree, and the four of us sat down to eat.

  'I am anxious to learn about your trip to the monastery,' Yordanus said. 'Were the monks able to help you?'

  'They were indeed,' replied Padraig. He told about the monastery and the agreement we had made to allow the papyri to be copied. 'They were only too happy to do it once they learned they could make a copy for themselves.'

  'And a new roof for the scriptorium besides,' I said. The words came out sounding far more caustic than I intended. Both Padraig and Yordanus looked at me curiously.

  'You seemed to find the agreement satisfactory at the time, brother.' Padraig scowls only rarely; thus, it speaks all the more eloquently of his displeasure. 'You have made a fine deception of hiding your disapproval until now.'

  'I beg your pardon,' I muttered. 'I have misspoken. Forget I said anything.'

  Sydoni joined us after awhile, and she and Padraig began discussing the hill country to the north and the many monastic settlements to be found in that part of the island. Yordanus meanwhile undertook a lengthy and pointless story for Wazim's amusement-all to do with some poor farmers in the hills near Paleapaphos who recently unearthed a treasure trove buried in a field they were ploughing; the find apparently consisted of several gold bands and an onyx chalice which they assumed was Roman, but which, upon examination by the-Bishop of Paphos, turned out to be Greek. It was thought the items had once belonged to a potentate who had owned one of the ruined palaces in the area.

  'I suppose they will be made to give up their find,' I remarked innocently. 'As always everyone else has a better claim on the treasure than those who discovered it.' Once again, my tone belied my true intent. The others regarded me with rank displeasure. 'What? Am I not allowed an opinion?'

  After one or two more abortive attempts at joining in the conversation, I finally gave up, lapsing into a disgruntled and fidgety silence. As the evening dragged on, I found it increasingly difficult to sit still and listen to the idle prattling of the others. I sipped my wine and munched salty olives, all the while sinking deeper and deeper into a peculiarly fretful melancholy. When at last I could no longer endure the prattling, I stood so quickly I spilled my cup. I grumbled an apology and excused myself, saying my head hurt from too much sun and I was going to bed.

  And that is where Padraig found me some while later; he had sat up talking with Sydoni and Yordanus and came in to find me still thrashing around, unable to sleep. He stood over me for a moment, and even though I could not see his expression in the darkness I could tell by his prickly manner that he was disgusted with me. I did my best to ignore him.

  'I know you are not asleep,' he said at last, his voice sharp with disapproval.

  'Is it any wonder? If you mean to stand over me all night neither one of us shall get any rest.'

  'It is not myself keeping you awake. For a certainty, it is your own guilty conscience.'

  His unjust accusation brought me upright. 'Guilty! What have I to feel guilty about?'

  'You know what you did,' he said. 'Your own heart condemns you.'

  'I have done nothing-unless treating everyone with the utmost courtesy is now become cause for reproach.'

  'If I reproach you,' said Padraig with unmerited disdain, 'it is because you well deserve it. Every time Yordanus opened his mouth, you jumped down his throat. What were you thinking? The man is our host and benefactor. He has helped us in a thousand ways, and asks only for our friendship in return. Yet, you treat him like the lowest filth beneath your feet.'

  'What cause has Yordanus to complain?' I replied petulantly. 'I was not the one who went behind his back and disobeyed his orders. Anyway, did I not forgive him? Why are you throwing this back in my face?'

  'Listen to you now… disobeyed my orders-who are you to issue commands to everyone else? Duncan the High and Mighty lifts his leg to fart and the whole world must dance to the tune-is that it?'

  'You twist my word
s, disagreeable priest!' I growled angrily.

  'Do I?' he sneered. 'Do I, indeed?'

  'You do.'

  'Perhaps they were twisted to begin with.'

  'And what do you mean by that?'

  'Think about it. Look you long and hard into your soul and repent of your vile and sinful conceit. It does you no credit, my lord.'

  He turned away, leaving me to stew in my own bitter bile. His rebuke stung-all the more because I knew he was right. Though I was loath to admit it, the shrewd priest had read my soul aright. Proud as I was, I begrudged Yordanus his efforts on my behalf- not the least because I feared his meddling would result in my having to surrender the Black Rood to the Templars. Nor was that all. I resented having to depend on anyone-especially one I deemed less reliable than myself. In truth, in my long captivity I had grown used to trusting no one and relying only on myself to the extent that I now resented the intrusions of others into my affairs however well-intentioned, and viewed their small failings as wilful defiance of my authority.

  These unhappy reflections kept me from my rest. I lay awake long into the night, staring into the darkness, restless and rankled, unable to sleep. Dawn was but a whisper away when I finally abandoned the effort. I rose from my troubled bed and went out, thinking to find some solace in the cool darkness of the quiet courtyard.

  Lest I disturb the sleeping household, I crept as quietly as I could through the house, lifted the latch and slipped out through the half-open door, closing it silently behind me. I paused for a moment and looked up at the sky. The moon was down, and the stars were beginning to fade with the approach of daylight. The air was still and fine, and from some unseen corner, I heard the chirrup of a cricket… and something else: a sliding plop, followed by a rapid dry scrabble across the bare earth.

  The sound put me in mind of a rat scurrying back to its nest, but if so, it was a rat the size of a donkey. I stood motionless, listening, and when I heard the slow scrape of iron against wood, I moved slowly to the corner of the house and looked towards the gate.

  A figure dressed all in black-little more than a shadow in the deeper shadow of the wall-stood at the gate, lifting the iron bar away. I started for the gate, moving as swiftly and silently as I could, and wishing I had some of Murdo's legendary stealth. I crossed to the fig tree, and as I stooped to crouch beneath it, I caught the faint whiff of the scent I had last smelled in the tunnels beneath the hareem in Cairo: the unmistakable tang of hashish.

  My mind froze.

  Fida'in!

  There was no mistake. Pungent and sweet, with a musty, metallic odour, once smelled, the scent is not forgotten. I picked up one of the benches from beneath the tree and darted forwards.

  The intruder heard me as I closed on him. He stepped back from the gate, swinging the iron bar as he turned.

  I threw the bench before me, catching the iron bar as it came around, and forcing it back against his chest. I drove in behind the blow, slamming the bench hard against his chin. The Fida'i's jaw closed with a teeth-shattering clack as his head snapped back against the timber door just as his comrade on the other side started to push through. The door banged shut and the Arab intruder tried to squirm away. I heaved the bench into his chest, driving the air from his lungs; he slumped to the ground, his back to the door.

  I dropped the bench and snatched up the iron bar. 'Padraig!' I shouted. 'Padraig, help!'

  The Fida'i on the other side of the gate pressed hard against the door and succeeded in getting a hand and arm through the gap. The hand gripped a knife that sliced at me as I tried to force the iron bar back into the carrier. Seeing that I could not bar the gate with the intruder's arm in the way, I stepped back, and then hurled myself against the door. The attacker's arm snapped with a chunky pop like wet kindling.

  'Padraig!' I shouted.

  The howling Fida'i pulled his broken arm out of the way and I pressed the door closed with all my might. I shouted for Padraig again. At the same instant, there came a tremendous thump on the door as someone on the other side drove into it, trying to force it open once more.

  There came a rush behind me. I spun around and caught the dull glint of metal streaking towards my neck. I threw my hands before my face and dodged away. The blow was ill-judged and hurried, catching me on the meaty part of the shoulder as I turned. The blade went in – it felt as if a red hot poker had been applied to my flesh.

  Flailing with my fists, I stumbled backwards, falling over the body of the unconscious intruder on the ground beside the gate, and pulling the weapon from the grasp of my attacker as I went down. He leapt on me, straining to retrieve the blade still buried in my flesh. As he bent forwards, I kicked up hard into his groin-once, and again. He gave out a groan, staggered unsteadily, and collapsed onto his knees, holding himself.

  Swift footsteps sounded on the earth beside me. My hand closed on the handle of the knife. I yanked it from my shoulder and made a wide, awkward swipe to keep my new assailant off balance. The man cried out, 'Duncan! It is me!'

  The next thing I knew Padraig's hands were on me, pulling me to my feet. The Fida'i I had kicked was struggling to rise. Gasping, puffing, his eyes streaming with tears, he raised himself up on wobbly legs.

  'May God forgive me,' Padraig said, and aimed a solid kick into the softness of the half-paralysed attacker's private parts. The man shrieked and pitched forwards, rolling in agony. He gagged and then vomited over himself, subsiding with a whimpering groan.

  'Is that all?' Padraig whirled around, scouring the darkness for more Fida'in. 'Are there any more?'

  'There were three of them,' I told him. Clutching my wounded arm, I looked at the two on the ground, both unconscious now. 'The other is outside still. I broke his arm.'

  'Are you hurt badly? Here, let me see -'

  As the priest reached a hand towards my wounded shoulder, there came a scream from inside the house.

  Sydoni.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  I flew to the house with Padraig two steps ahead of me. He darted through the door and across the darkened room towards the sound of Sydoni's muffled screams. I started after him and collided with a black robed figure bent over something on the floor. The invader went sprawling and my feet slid out from under me. I fell, landing on my wounded shoulder in a glutinous pool.

  Pain seared through me; my arm throbbed with a burning ache. I rolled onto my back and found myself lying next to Yordanus on a floor slick with his blood.

  The Fida'in attacker lurched towards me. I saw his hands, pale in the darkness, fumbling frantically over the old man's unresisting body, and realized he was searching for his knife, which was hilt deep in Yordanus' neck. We both saw the weapon at the same time and grabbed for it. I was the quicker. My fingers closed on the hilt and I jerked the blade free.

  The black-robed Arab lunged again, diving across Yordanus. I tried to roll away, but his hands found my throat and squeezed hard. I swung the knife backhanded with all my strength against the side of his head. The blade entered his temple with but little resistance. His limbs stiffened and his spine arched rigidly. He gave out a startled cry and began convulsing, his teeth chattering and gnashing as he writhed beside his victim on the floor. The spasms grew less violent, and after a moment he lay still.

  I dragged myself onto my knees beside Yordanus. The old man's eyes gazed upward; his mouth was open slightly, as if preparing to speak, but no movement stirred his chest. He was gone.

  From somewhere further back in the house I could hear voices. I rose and moved quickly towards the sound, and discovered it was coming from the room where Sydoni and Anna slept. The door was closed, but I could hear Padraig calming, reasonable; and Sydoni, frantic, pleading. I put my hand to the latch and, quietly as I could, lifted the wooden handle and pushed the door open.

  In the light of a single candle, I saw Sydoni on the far side of the room, bending low over Anna's slumped body. Padraig was standing over her, his arms outstretched in an attitude of protection.


  The Fida'i was standing with his back to the door. He glanced over his shoulder as the door opened, saw me, and said something in Arabic. Then he saw the knife in my hand and turned to confront me.

  I saw the curved blade glint in the candlelight as he swung towards me and did not wait for him to see that I was wounded.

  'Now, Padraig!' I shouted, charging headlong into the Arab intruder. He threw his arms wide to free his blade, and I pulled up at the last instant as Padraig, stepping in swiftly behind, seized the intruder's knife hand in both of his. The attacker swung on Padraig and I dived in, sliding the blade up under his ribs. Blood and hot damp air spewed from the wound.

  The Fida'i struck me with his elbow, catching me on the jaw and knocking me off balance. I staggered back. Breaking free of Padraig's grasp, he leapt on me, knocking me to the floor, his knife blade slicing across the side of my face as I fell.

  The curved blade rose in my assailant's hand and, helpless to prevent its descent, I shoved my knife up into his throat. The blade entered under the point of his chin, passing up into his mouth. He gave a strangled cry and tried to stab down at me, but Padraig now held his arm.

  Gagging on the blade, he tried to pull it free, but I held tight to the hilt. Blood cascaded over his teeth, spilling down his chin and over my hands. The wretch toppled backward, choking on his tongue. His fingers raked at my hands, but I held firm.

  'It is enough!' shouted Padraig. 'Duncan, it is enough.'

  Still I held the blade, and gradually the struggling ceased. Only when he lay completely still did I withdraw the knife. 'Now it is enough,' I said, slumping onto the floor.

  Sydoni, terrified and shaking with fright, rushed to me. 'You are wounded,' she cried, her trembling fingers touching my cheek. 'Your face… your arm…'

  'It is not so bad,' I told her. I raised a hand for Padraig to help me up.