‘That hurt, old man,’ William replied curtly. ‘You are my friend. I am only concerned.’
‘You needn’t be,’ Engrin dismissed, and patted the bench next to him. ‘Now sit and speak to me.’
William did as he was asked, and for a few moments there was silence between them.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about Mhorrer’s Hoard?’ William said finally, trying to disguise the reproachful tone in his voice.
Engrin turned with a cunning expression. ‘News such as that should not be given second-hand. I wanted you to know everything before you made your own decision.’
‘My decision on what?’ William said, puzzled.
‘On the mission, of course,’ Engrin replied. ‘What do you think of Cardinal Devirus’s glorious vision of ending this war prematurely?’
William looked long and hard at Engrin. ‘By your tone, I see you are sceptical.’
Engrin now shrugged. ‘I have my reasons.’
‘If you must know, I think it is dangerous. Perhaps the most dangerous mission the Secretariat has undertaken. If you’re asking whether or not I can succeed . . .’
Engrin raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you think you will?’
William nodded. ‘It can be done.’
‘But not without great cost?’
‘Of course. I expect I will lose most of the company,’ William confessed.
‘And what of Devirus’s orders to return the Scarimadaen to the Vatican?’
William shifted on the bench uncomfortably. ‘I can’t say I was delighted about the prospect of bringing them back to Rome.’
‘I see,’ said Engrin, now content.
‘You always were one for riddles. What are you trying to say to me, old man?’
‘Cardinal Devirus visited me before the brothers were sent to Rashid,’ Engrin replied. ‘He wanted to discuss the particulars of the mission. While I was overjoyed at the prospect of finding the Hoard of Mhorrer, still we argued.’
‘Argued?’ William said, surprised.
‘Strongly,’ Engrin added sadly. ‘Quite the shouting match as it happens. I disagreed with his plans to bring the Hoard back to Rome. I thought it was rash. Too much risk.’
‘Rome is the safest place to destroy the Scarimadaen,’ William remarked.
‘There are other ways of ensuring the Hoard can no longer be used, William,’ Engrin told him. ‘From what we know, The Rassis Cult will be formidable.’
William agreed. ‘They have kept the Hoard intact for all these years, so they must have strengths. I don’t expect them to be easy opponents.’
Engrin coughed and then cleared his throat, breathing heavily. ‘No, no. They won’t be. It is unfortunate the Book of Man ends before the New Testament. Of their strength we know only that there is one Rassis for each Scarimadaen.’
‘Two hundred and fifty men,’ William surmised. ‘They would have been easier to fight with Marresca at my side.’
‘Ah yes. Marresca . . . Keep him out of mind, William,’ Engrin advised.
‘That is easy for you to say, old man,’ William replied. ‘Our enemies are very strong. Stronger than the Secretariat believe. If the Dar’uka believe the Rassis are cunning and powerful, then their reputation is justified.’
‘The Dar’uka think this?’
‘I saw Kieran last night,’ William admitted. ‘I tried to convince him to leave Marresca alone. He didn’t, obviously. but he warned me about the Rassis. He also told me to find allies whenever I could.’
‘That’s good advice,’ Engrin remarked.
‘It is also contrary to the code of the Secretariat.’
‘Whose advice would you rather listen to, William? Kieran’s or the Secretariat’s?’
‘Neither,’ William said churlishly, and then screwed up his face. ‘Both, I suppose. but one defies the other.’
‘You know, as well as I, this war cannot be kept a secret any longer,’ Engrin told him. ‘People must take sides to avert calamity.’
‘That will involve them in the fight,’ William reminded him.
Engrin stamped the ground with his foot. ‘William, everyone is involved in the fight now . Everyone. Because everyone stands to lose if we lose. The time for secrecy is over. Both of us know it. Our enemies are no longer concealed, but are numerous; it is an open war now. Count Ordrane is losing, so he will take greater risks. He cannot afford not to.’
William nodded. ‘He is certain to find out about the Hoard.’
‘If he hasn’t already,’ Engrin said.
William looked at him earnestly. ‘Surely not?’
‘Our agents in the north, Mallinder and Staley, believe they have. A coven left Castle Draak not long after the Secretariat received Charles Greynell’s letter. Nothing is a secret, William. Remember that,’ Engrin said. ‘But not to worry, I have sent something with the brothers in Rashid, to ensure that you do succeed.’
William went to ask what that was, but Engrin held up his hand. ‘Wait until you get there . . .’ he whispered, a devilish glint in his eyes. ‘. . . It goes against Devirus’s orders and there may be recreant tongues even here.’
‘I understand,’ William said, though he was decidedly curious about Engrin’s contingency.
‘I wish I could do more,’ Engrin replied, and looked tired again. ‘There will be other perils than just vampyres and the Rassis to contend with. Egypt is in turmoil, William. They distrust foreigners, especially pale-skinned foreigners. The viceroy of the country is fighting wars against anyone he wishes, and I’ve heard stories of massacres. Beware of the ambitions of others. Beware of the chaos you wade through. Simple misunderstandings could mean calamity.’
‘I will keep my eyes open,’ William said.
‘I’m sure you will.’ Engrin slipped his hand inside his greatcoat. He pulled out a long velvet bag drawn together by gold-tasselled strings. These he pulled apart with shaking fingers, revealing the metallic handle of something within.
William knew at once what it was. ‘Engrin, I can’t . . .’
‘But you must, William,’ Engrin said as he pulled out the sword, the blade shining like new in the morning light. ‘It is mine to give to whom I wish.’
William took hold of the sword’s handle and lifted it. It felt light as always, as light as the first time he had wielded the sword years ago on the Iberian. The blade was as sharp as ever, and the few nicks that had marred it over the years had been rubbed down to nothing. It was the finest sword William had ever known, owned by the finest swordsman.
‘I am too old to use it,’ Engrin confessed. ‘My last duty for the Secretariat was to bring you to Rome. I achieved that, but since then I have not been used on any other mission. I will never fight again.’
‘If you feel you’re being neglected, I can speak to Cardinal Devirus,’ William began.
‘You misunderstand me, William. I don’t want another mission. I am not as strong, nor as quick.’ Engrin began coughing again. The illness that had taken hold of him that winter had clearly not let go.
As the coughing abated, he caught his breath and slumped a little. ‘The battle on the Iberian was my last,’ he admitted slowly. ‘I was bested that night by a vampyre I should have easily defeated, yet I weakened. If it hadn’t been for your intervention, I would have certainly been killed.’
‘He would have bested anyone,’ William objected.
Engrin lifted his hand. ‘No, no,’ he replied, ‘not me. Once I would have taken that contest in my stride. Once. Not now Fighting this war is a game for the young, not for someone whose joints are inflamed and whose lungs are choked with this wretched illness.’
William tried not to express any pity or sadness. Instead he rested his eyes on the sword.
‘As long as you wield that weapon, then part of me fights on with you,’ Engrin said hopefully, nodding once towards the sword in William’s hands.
William smiled. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I promise I’ll return it.’
‘I’m certai
n you will,’ Engrin said warmly He pushed himself up from the pew and reached out to shake William’s hand. William looked down at it, grinned and put his arms around the old man, embracing him firmly.
‘You are my good friend,’ William said.
They were the last words between them before he and the monks left the monastery and the journey to Egypt began.
II
Adriana was one of the first to line the road out of Villeda. She stood outside the tavern in the town square, a heavy shawl wrapped about her shoulders against a cold breeze. On occasion it blustered into something stronger, tugging at her curled dark hair. She was not alone, and many of the townsfolk waited to watch their heroes set out again. Nearby was Mary from the tavern, Isabel from the apothecary’s, and finally Tustio’s wife, Katrina Maldini.
‘It’s a cold day,’ Isabel remarked.
‘The coldest for some time,’ Adriana replied bleakly.
‘They say they won’t be back for a while,’ Mary remarked.
Adriana stiffened. Mary meant no offence, but she could be quite indiscreet. ‘They will return,’ Adriana assured them. The words were more for her personally, and she muttered a prayer as cheers broke out from the road ahead. Children began to dash along the road, some ahead of the horses that trotted down the path towards the square.
Adriana heard the horses grow closer and she gathered herself, murmuring quietly: ‘Don’t cry. Don’t let him see you cry.’
Katrina must have heard her and she put an arm around Adriana’s shoulders, lifting her head. ‘Here they come, Adriana.’
She straightened up, her brown eyes stinging with effort as the three men rounded the side of the tavern and came into view. At the head was William, trotting proudly on his horse. Behind sat Lieutenant Peruzo and another monk, young, proud and excited. William appeared to share their enthusiasm, appearing as heroic as ever. He looked so brave as he waved to them all, the confidence in his smile, in his eyes and posture.
At once the cheering locals grew tumultuous and from one corner tree blossom was scattered from a window of a cottage, the pink and white petals cascading like rain.
She stared up at William and smiled lovingly as he rode past. William looked down just briefly and his smile faltered. For a moment the expression was full of doubt. Of regret. It was too much for Adriana, who simply wept. She prayed he hadn’t seen her, prayed he had left with just an image of her gaily waving to him, smiling hopefully.
But what of William? He looked lost for a moment. He looked so . . .
‘He’ll return,’ Adriana sobbed. ‘He has to.’
‘He will, I’m sure,’ Katrina said and hugged her close. It was no good. Adriana had never felt so alone. Something was telling her this was the moment, their final time together. Despite any assurances to the contrary despite Katrina’s reassurance, deep down Adriana knew that William wasn’t coming back.
William fixed his thoughts on the horizon and the road leading down across the hills, yet despite his efforts he could only think about Adriana. He had seen her weep, and it had been his fault. His intention had been to play the hero, invincible, completely free of doubt. But on seeing Adriana, it seemed futile. William had to face the stark truth that this mission could end in grief for all involved. This was not about adulation, nor about excitement, there was too much at stake. All thought of reunions had to be locked away. All that mattered was the mission, its success, and if possible, surviving it.
We have a long journey ahead of us,’ he said to his men as they left the suburbs of Villeda. ‘Are you both ready for a little exercise?’
Peruzo nodded, looking to Jericho, who lifted his reins in readiness. William drew in a deep breath of Villeda air and then kicked in his heels to gallop away down the road that carved the rape-seed field ahead in two. Peruzo and Jericho followed close behind.
III
Adriana was led away by Katrina, who wiped her eyes with a delicate handkerchief.
‘I’m sorry,’ Adriana sniffed, trying to seem brighter.
‘Nonsense, you’re upset!’ Katrina replied. ‘I don’t know how you do it. Watching them leave like that.
Adriana sniffed again, another tear running down her blushing cheeks. ‘I know. And this isn’t over for me. Not until I see him again.’
‘You’re a braver woman than I. I couldn’t let Tustio do such a thing. I know exactly where he is, every day and every morning.’
‘I envy you,’ Adriana admitted, but in a way she didn’t. She hated seeing William leave, but he was the bravest and most honoured man in the town. He had the respect of all, and that wasn’t because he toiled in the fields or brewed ale, but because he risked his life to serve others.
Adriana brightened up and thought of him riding down the mountain road to Naples, the wind in his hair, His face upturned to the sun. He always looked free and happy in that vision, and Adriana did her best to keep it in mind.
But as the crowd dispersed and Katrina led her to the tavern for something to calm her, something struck Adriana as unusual and she lowered the handkerchief, craning her neck around to view the town square. She scanned the small crowd in the road, looking at the children, Young and older, who were returning to their games.
‘Katrina?’ she said, distracted. ‘Have you seen Marco? Have you?’
Katrina looked surprised and then realized she hadn’t.
‘Marco has never been absent when William’s left for a mission,’ Adriana said, her frown deepening. ‘Did Tustio make him work early?’
‘No,’ Katrina replied. ‘He gave him leave.’
Adriana looked worried. ‘Then he should be here.’
‘Maybe he was and we missed him,’ Katrina suggested.
That’s right, Adriana thought, maybe they had. But that felt wrong too. Marco was not here, and never had been.
‘They had an argument,’ Adriana conceded. ‘William was angry with him.’
‘He’s been angry with him before,’ Katrina reminded her, ‘and that has never stopped him adoring him.’
Adriana looked bewildered.
Katrina put her arm around her again. ‘I’ll send my husband to look for Marco,’ She calmed her. ‘He’ll find him. I’m sure he hasn’t gone too far.’
Adriana nodded silently and allowed Katrina to lead her away.
IV
The days were short, and the three men of the Order spent little time resting on the way to Naples. The first night they slept for two hours and then rose early to ride on through the darkness. They dozed in their saddles where they could and forged on against fatigue, knowing there would be time enough to sleep during the voyage to Rashid.
On the ride from Villeda, Peruzo asked about the decision to send Marresca elsewhere. William put off the discussion until the early morning while Jericho was still asleep in his saddle.
‘He is the finest soldier in the Order, Captain,’ Peruzo said. ‘He should be here. I find it difficult to understand why the Secretariat sent him elsewhere. Is there a mission more important . . .?’
‘The Secretariat did not send him anywhere, my friend,’ William said quietly.
Peruzo pulled a face.
‘He has joined the Dar’uka,’ William explained.
At the mention of their name, Peruzo’s eyes grew wide. ‘The angels?’
William nodded, glancing at Jericho ahead of them, slumped in the saddle, swaying as the horse walked along the mountain track.
When?’ Peruzo asked, but there were clearly more questions behind that.
‘Last night,’ William said. ‘He is no longer part of the Order.’
‘Did you see them?’ Peruzo asked him.
What if he hadn’t? William thought. Would that matter? Perhaps he should have lied, but he couldn’t. Peruzo had known him far too long, and William was not a convincing liar to his friends.
‘I did. Briefly,’ William added, hoping to stop more questions. It didn’t work.
‘How many were there?’ Peruzo
asked. ‘Are they going to help us?’
William held up a hand. ‘I met them briefly, Peruzo. They hardly said a word to me. I was just there to talk to Marresca before . . . Before he left with them. I mentioned the Hoard of Mhorrer . . .’
‘What did they say?’
‘There were no promises,’ William replied.
‘But they said they would come?’
William shrugged. ‘If they can.’
Peruzo grinned and he looked to the sky. ‘Then we have nothing to worry about.’
‘I didn’t expect my best lieutenant to be that foolish,’ William chided.
Peruzo looked apologetic. ‘I am sorry, Captain. It is difficult not to be carried away by the idea that angels are watching over us.’
‘They are not, Lieutenant,’ William said, and there came a snort from ahead as Jericho stirred in his saddle. ‘You can’t tell the brothers about this.’
Peruzo frowned.
‘It will give them false hope and distract them,’ William explained. ‘They already think I’m in league with angels, this would confirm it.’
‘But you are, Captain,’ Peruzo said plaintively.
William shook his head. ‘No, Lieutenant,’ he said gravely. ‘Be assured that I am not.’
When they reached Naples, William guided them to the docklands and the row of tall ships anchored along the quay. About them, the port was chaotic: each corner, each refuge along the quays and about the roads, was alive with merchants, travellers, seamen, stevedores. William, Peruzo and Jericho rode through the crowds until they halted and dismounted alongside the sixth-rated frigate Iberian to see Captain Gerard peering over the handrail of the quarterdeck down to the quayside.
‘You weren’t expected until this afternoon, Captain Saxon,’ he boomed down to them.
William smiled slightly. ‘I thought we’d surprise you, Captain. Permission to come aboard?’
Gerard broke into laughter. ‘Granted, sir. Granted indeed!’ he said. ‘It is good to see you again. You look well.’
‘Thank you, Captain.’ William climbed the steps to the quarterdeck. ‘As do you.’
The Hoard of Mhorrer Page 11