“If you wish it, my lady.”
She looked pleased. “Good. My servants will show you to your quarters, and give you food and wine. Then, when you have rested, we shall dine together.”
Hugo was shown to a room sumptuous with eastern luxury. Plump cushions were scattered over the floor, the walls were hung with jewel-bright silks and damask, and on a low table a flacon of wine and platters laden with nuts, fruit and goat’s cheese awaited him. When he had eaten a little and prayed, Hugo donned the nightrobe he found draped over the narrow daybed and slept, waking just as night was falling. Aromatic scents drifted in through the window—coriander, ginger, the tang of lemons—reminding him that he was to dine with his host. There was a light scratching at the door, and a servant entered with a lamp.
Hugo sat up and stretched. “Where are my clothes?”
The man bowed. “Sir, the mistress ordered that we clean them. Your mantle and under-tunic are being washed in scented waters, the sheepskin breeches are to be brushed and aired, and the mail shirt polished and greased—”
“Very well, very well, I do not need an inventory. When do we dine?”
“Within the hour, sir. Will you bathe now, master?”
Hugo followed the servant across the courtyard to the bathhouse, a cool chamber decorated with blue, red and gold tiles. Musky scents rose from the water in the tiled bath built in the centre of the room. Hugo stepped into the warm water and gave himself over to the luxury of having servants wash his body.
Later, wearing the cool white robes supplied by his thoughtful host, Hugo made his way to the dining chamber. At the doorway he paused, his broad shoulders brushing each side of the opening. Lady de Chercourt was alone in the room, reclining on a bank of cushions. She beckoned him to approach her.
“Madam—your husband?”
“My lord never dines now. He is too weak, but he sends you his compliments and begs you will allow me to express his gratitude.” She had braided her hair and covered it with a soft veil. The scratches and cuts on her face had been treated, and only the blue-black bruise on her temple remained as witness to her ordeal.
When the servants had finished laying out an assortment of dishes, the lady dismissed them, and she herself poured wine for Hugo. She served him with delicately spiced chicken and tender kid, rice flavoured with saffron and an assortment of succulent fruits.
Hugo tasted each dish, but ate and drank sparingly. Although the Knights of the Temple lived well, with wine at their meals and meat three times a week, such a wealth of dishes hinted at sinful gluttony. He noticed that my lady also consumed very little. At length she pushed away her dish and refilled their wine goblets. As she leaned towards him on the cushions, he was startled to see that she was wearing only a thin silk chemise that accentuated every curve and contour of her body. His eyes shifted quickly to her face.
“You wonder, perhaps, at the difference in age between my lord and myself? I was his ward before he married me.” She smiled. “He has not always been old, you know.”
“Nay, madam, I did not think—”
“We have been very happy over the years, and now when he is so ill, he leaves me to manage his household. My visit to Tyre was to attend his business. But I shall not leave him again. I do love my husband, Sir Hugo.”
“I do not doubt it. But I saw for myself today how weak he is. What will you do, when…”
“When he dies? I shall take him back to France. My lord had wished to see his birthplace again, but he is too ill now to undertake such a journey, so I have vowed to take his body back, that he may rest with his family.”
“Would that I could do the same.”
“Can you not?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I have taken a vow. I cannot return.”
Her eyes widened. She said softly, “Is your sin so great, then?”
“It is with me constantly.”
“Even here, now?”
“Even here.” They were sitting very close. He could smell the tantalising scent of jasmine on her skin. Drawing a breath, he turned away from her, disturbed. “Madam, perhaps I should leave you now.”
“Is that what you wish?”
He turned back, his eyes running over her face, the delicate flush on her cheeks, the lips parted to show a glimpse of her small white teeth. “No.”
“Then will you not allow yourself a little pleasure?” Her hand touched his cheek. “Let me help you forget. Just for a short time.”
He pressed his lips to her wrist, breathing in the sweet perfume of her skin. His mouth moved along her arm, to her neck, her lips. As they kissed, her body moved against his, their limbs separated by nothing more than the thin layers of cloth. Desires he had suppressed for years swelled within him, coursing through his blood, firing his brain and his loins. His arms tightened about her, sliding effortlessly over the silk, aware of a tension in her body that matched his own. Then, unbidden, an image rose up in his mind, a heart-shaped face framed with dark braids, sombre hazel eyes that looked into his very soul.
“No!” Summoning every ounce of his resolve, he turned from Agnes. “Forgive me, my lady. This cannot be.”
She lay back on the cushions, breathing heavily. She pressed her hands over her heart. “Sir, if I have offended you—”
“Madam, your husband—”
“My lord knows of it. He is aware that you can offer me what he can no longer give.” She watched him slide to the floor. He knelt there, his hands covering his face and, with a small cry she threw herself on her knees before him, her fingers pulling his hands away from his face. “Hugo, Hugo, if it were not for you, this body would not be mine to give. Will you not take what is due to you, that which I have granted no man save my husband, and which will be all the sweeter because we both desire it?”
“Madam, do not tempt me!”
“Is it so wrong?”
He gripped her fingers, looking steadily into her eyes. “Madam, I have taken a vow of chastity.”
“But I have not!” The green eyes were swimming with tears. “Does God not allow you to give me that solace no longer granted to me in the marriage bed?”
Hugo rose and walked away from her. “To do so would condemn us both, lady.”
She ran to him, throwing herself on to his chest. “I don’t care!”
“But you will, madam, in time. Believe me.” He felt the sobs racking her body and he put his arms around her, holding her until she grew quiet. Then, gently he put her away from him, using his sleeve to wipe the tears from her face. He said quietly, “Madam, you have offered me a gift beyond price. A temptation such as I have not known since I came to this land, but to succumb to it would be to break my vows. To my Order, to God, to…another.”
The silence between them stretched into an eternity. He met her questioning gaze with his own unwavering look until at last she sighed and nodded.
“Sir. Forgive my weakness. I—I had no right to behave thus.” She drew herself up and forced herself to look at him, saying with a gentle dignity, “I will bid you good night, my lord, and I will take our leave of you in the morning.”
“Of course, madam. Thank you. Lady Agnes?”
She stopped at the door and turned.
“When the time comes to make your journey to France, contact the Templar Commander here in Acre. He will ensure you have a reliable escort from the Holy Land.”
“Thank you. Good night, and God go with you.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “I will buy a candle for you, and offer up a prayer. Mayhap God will be merciful and allow you to return to England to end your days.”
Chapter Eighteen
Deborah was handing out the last coffees of the evening when she heard the door open. Looking round she saw Josh entering, the collar of his leather coat turned up against the rain.
“…and could I have the bill, please.”
“Of course.” She turned away from the table, smiling at Josh as she passed him. He followed her to the little desk at the back of
the restaurant.
“I just came to see if everything is okay. You weren’t at the rehearsal tonight.” His wet hair glistened darkly in the subdued glow of the restaurant lamps.
“No. Dad had a party booking and Susie rang in sick, so I thought I should stay and give him a hand. Anyway, all the costumes are done now, except for a little finishing off, which Anne and I can do anytime.” She went over her figures on the notepad before writing in the total. “Excuse me, I’d better give them their bill.” She cast a quick shy glance at Josh. “If you want to help yourself to a coffee, I’ll join you as soon as I’ve dealt with this.”
When she returned, he was sitting at a small table, two cups of coffee in front of him. He pushed one towards her as she sat down.
“Thanks, Josh. It’s been a busy night.”
“Is that usual for a Wednesday? The Towers is fairly quiet midweek, which was a blessing tonight. Michel the chef has been sick and I’ve been covering for him. Luckily we only had a couple of diners in tonight, and they finished early so I could get to the rehearsal. If we’d been busy I’d have had to miss it too.”
“We’re quite busy every night. But it’s a different clientele to the Towers. Most of the locals only go there for special occasions. Except perhaps Alan Thorpe. He can afford to eat there every night, but then he owns it.”
Josh was studying the menu printed on a folded, laminated card. She sipped her coffee, content to watch him, noting the long, lean fingers that held the menu, the dark lashes fringing those chocolate-coloured eyes, and the wide, mobile mouth that hovered continuously on the verge of a smile.
She gave herself a mental shake and forced herself to speak. “We offer pretty basic stuff, but everything’s fresh, and freshly cooked.”
“I remember you telling me.”
Her heart turned over as she remembered that first conversation and the kiss that followed it.
“But does it pay? I mean, can you live on it or is it just a secondary income? Sorry. I didn’t mean to fire questions at you.”
“No, that’s okay. We get by. There’s Susie and another student to pay—they work alternate evenings, but Dad and Mum used to do everything else. That’s why I came back, to help out when Mum couldn’t cope.”
No need to say it coincided with her need to get out of London, to find a refuge.
The diners were preparing to leave. They settled their bill and after they left Deborah bolted the door behind them and turned off the lights in the window. She glanced at the clock. “Ten-thirty. That’s not too bad.”
“Shall I pour you another coffee?”
“Thanks, but I should go and see if Dad wants a hand clearing up—”
Even as she spoke, Stan Kemerton appeared from the kitchen. “No need, love. All done. Hello, son. Is there some coffee left? I could murder a cup!” With a sigh he took a seat beside his daughter at the small table. “So, Josh. How was the rehearsal? Not that I can see you’ve much to rehearse, really.”
“Well, perhaps not me personally, but with so many different sections, everyone needs to know where they are and what order we have to perform our little pieces when we get to the green. It’s going okay, I suppose. Kids are a bit rowdy.”
“Still, they’ll be fine on the day. They always are. And how’s the job at the Towers, settled in now?”
“It’s great, thanks. French chef, though. Bit temperamental and lots of foreign dishes on the menu. I was telling Deborah he’s been sick this week so I’ve had to cover for him.”
“Like good British cooking, do you?” Stan grinned and winked at Deborah. “Man after my own heart.”
“Yeah, well.” Josh gave a wry smile. “If it was my place I’d do more local dishes, experiment a bit. There’s such a lot of good, fresh stuff around here, what with the market gardens and the fishing, it could be a great marketing tool—” He broke off, flushing. “But you know all that anyway. Sorry, once I get on my hobbyhorse I get carried away. I’d better be going. Thanks for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome, lad. See him out, Debs, would you, love? Then you can lock up for the night.”
Josh paused at the door. “Look, I’m still having a bit of trouble with my lines. I don’t suppose you’d meet me, would you? Tomorrow? Just to run through it again.”
“I’d like to, but I won’t be finished here until two-thirty…”
“That would be fine. Can you come to the garret? It really would help me.”
With his liquid brown eyes fixed on her, Deborah found herself nodding.
“Well, okay. I’ll be there as soon after three as I can.”
The anxious look was dispelled by a grin. “Fantastic! Thanks. I’ll see you there.”
Pausing only to pull up his collar, Josh lounged out into the rainy night, jumping aside just in time to miss the spray sent up by Alan Thorpe’s big four-wheel drive as it sped past.
The Land Cruiser drew up at Anne’s front gate and she unfastened her seat belt.
“Thanks for the meal, Alan. That was very kind of you.”
“Least I could do, since you’re putting in all this research about the church for us.”
She laughed. “I hope I didn’t bore you too much, going on about the Middle Ages and Crusades and everything. But you did say that was the reason for going out to dinner.”
“Yes, it was, although I like to think I don’t need a reason to ask you out. We’ve been friends for a long time now, haven’t we?”
“Yes, we have, Alan, so I know you won’t take offence if I don’t ask you in for coffee. It’s been a very long day.”
“No problem.” He patted her hand. “Good night, Anne.”
She smiled to herself as she watched him drive away. Poor Alan, his eyes had glazed over almost as soon as she started to tell him of her researches. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t share her interest in history—talk to him about property prices or estimates for the church’s new heating system and he became quite animated.
The telephone was ringing as Anne opened her front door. “Hello?”
“Anne? Toby Duggan. Sorry it’s so late to ring you—I tried earlier…”
She looked at her watch. Eleven-thirty. Was the man mad? “It is certainly late!”
“Well, I won’t keep you long.” His tone was cheerful and not at all apologetic. “I wondered, that is, I thought that perhaps you might like to come and look through the papers here at the university library.”
She sank down on a chair.
“You ring me at nearly midnight to ask me that?”
“I remembered you said you were working on Friday, that’s why I wanted to speak to you tonight. I can arrange it for you, if you would like to come tomorrow.”
“University library—me? But…why? Why should you want to do this?”
“Because we have here the most extensive records for the area, and who knows, you might turn up something germane to our investigations.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
His exasperation travelled through the telephone.
“My good wo—Anne, I am an historian. I want to know the truth, whatever it may be. If you were to prove your theories about St. John’s being at one time a Templar church I should be as delighted as you. Now, what do you say?”
“Well, thank you. Yes. Yes, I would like to come.”
“Good. The sooner the better of course, so can you come tomorrow?”
“Y-yes, I suppose so…”
“Tomorrow it is then. Come about nine-thirty. You’ll want the best part of the day here of course.”
“Of course.” Anne was too dazed to argue.
The university library was just as Toby Duggan had described it, a large redbrick Edwardian edifice with a very ugly stone portico over the main doors. He was standing at the entrance ready to meet her as she came up the steps.
“I saw you across the car park.” He held out his hand. “It’s good to see you again. Come along in. I’ve already pulled out several books that
might be of interest. Don’t worry if your Latin’s a bit rusty, we have translations…”
The morning sped by in a pleasant daze for Anne. Ancient manuscripts and documents passed before her eyes while the professor willingly elaborated on the more obscure texts. There was a copy of the passage from the Domesday Book, showing that the land then belonged to a Simon de Moreton, but although there were details of several farms and houses, there was no mention of a church.
“That would seem to corroborate what we thought, that the church came later,” Anne murmured.
“Yes, but there is evidence that the recorders of the Domesday Book didn’t always include churches in their records. There’s a fascinating little snippet here.” Professor Duggan pulled forward an old book and opened it to a page he’d previously marked. “There is an early record of the Knights Templar in England. Very rare, because as you know, most of the records were destroyed when the Templars were disbanded. But this document gives a list of knights who left England in 1173 to go to the Holy Land. It does actually mention a Hugh de Moreton.”
He held up his hand as Anne was about to speak. “Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t help your case—the earliest evidence for St. John’s church is early fourteenth century, is it not? This Hugh was an adult more than a century before that. If we read on in this document, it is in fact a memorial to these knights, because they all perished in the Holy Land in 1187, at a place called the Horns of Hattin. The King of Jerusalem was marching to relieve one of the Christian cities when his army was annihilated by Saladin, caught in a desert trap. Saladin took the king a prisoner, but the text is quite specific. All the Knights Templar were executed on the spot. This is corroborated by the reports of the Archbishop of Tyre, Joscius—in this section, here, you see.”
“Oh, how dreadful.”
The Professor shrugged. “They were formidable warriors. The Muslims feared them more than any other Crusaders.”
“But it is possible that this Hugh de Moreton is the connection with our village, possibly an ancestor of the Hugh whose statue is in the church…”
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