Knights of the Black and White tt-1

by Jack Whyte

  He resisted the urge to challenge her with his own knowledge of her former conduct, but he turned away from her instead and looked about the silent, sunlit room, nodding as though considering what she had said, and then he sighed and sat down again, looking directly at her.

  “Tell me then, my lady, if I may ask so boldly. How did all this—what did you call it? this nefarious activity come to your notice?”

  He knew from the way she blinked at him that she had not expected the question, but she rallied quickly. “At first?”

  “Yes, from the earliest moment.”

  “I know not. Not precisely. I have been told it all grew out of perfectly innocent observations from some of the local merchants who supplied the temple garrison … and supplied fodder and equipment to your stables. They were the first to notice that there was one area into which they were never permitted to wander.”

  “We are a closed community, my lady. No one who is not of our order is permitted to pass beyond our outer precincts.”

  “I know nothing of that, never having been there, but that is what I was told, on sound authority. It was observed that there is a locked and guarded doorway that no one other than the knight monks themselves is ever permitted to pass through.”

  “That is true. Such a door exists. It is the entrance to our living quarters and our chapel. None may enter there save our brethren.”

  “Ah. Well, it was noticed, and the matter was brought to my attention soon afterwards. I was reluctant to believe anything of what I heard at first, and so, mindful of my duty to my father, I sent people of my own to observe what they could and report back to me.”

  “I see. And what did they report to you?”

  “That they had seen … things that were inexplicable.

  And thus I decided to approach my father the King and advise him that something … something untoward was happening.”

  “So this discovery was recent?”

  “Recent enough. That is why you are here.”

  “And why am I here, my lady? Why would you summon me? If, as you suspect, there is something clandestine going on in the stables, then I must be one of the perpetrators. Why would you bring me here instead of denouncing me immediately to the King and to the Patriarch?” St. Clair was watching her closely, attempting to read her eyes, and he was amused, despite all his apprehension, to realize that he was, beyond belief, enjoying himself. Somehow, in realizing that he was clearly not to be seduced on this occasion, he had been able to rally resources he had not known he possessed, and had begun to feel that the situation might not be as bleak as he had feared. Seeing a flicker of uncertainty in her expression, he pressed on.

  “Tell me what it is you want to know. What kind of treasure are you so convinced we seek? I promise you, I have heard nothing of hidden hoards of gold, but I will answer your questions openly and truthfully, as well as I may.”

  She hesitated, and he held his breath, knowing that this would be the moment of no return. Her first question would be as instructive as it was probing. Finally, he saw a stiffening of her lips and braced himself.

  “You are digging—there, in the stables. The noises have been heard, and you are using the chips of stone you unearth to build walls inside the cavern. What treasure are you searching for?”

  His heart leapt exultantly and he wanted to spring to his feet and shout with relief. What treasure are you searching for? The question liberated him as suddenly as if she had cut a taut rope. What treasure are you searching for? No mention of the Order of Rebirth, no nuanced phrase leading deeper into where he could not go. The simplicity of the question spoke of greed—greed and curiosity—nothing more, nothing less. It also meant, and far more significantly, that no brother had betrayed his trust, and that the princess had nothing more than suspicions on which to base her claims. He felt a surge of liberation so enormous that he had to brace himself to permit no slightest hint of it to show on his face or in his eyes. Instead, he pretended to frown, as though befuddled, and then he allowed his face to clear, and surrendered to the urge to laugh aloud, venting his pleasure and incredulity.

  “Treasure, my lady,” he said through his laughter, making no attempt to disguise his feelings now. “We seek the treasure that all men of God are sworn to seek—the treasure of His enlightenment, through service and through prayer.”

  “Do you dare to mock me, sir, here in my own house? Explain yourself and this unseemly mirth.”

  St. Clair threw up his hands. “Lady, forgive my laughter, I beg of you. It is born of relief, not mockery, for now I see what you have been fretting over. My brothers and I have been laboring underground, as you suspect, and have been doing so for years, but what we do has nothing of the illicit or seditious in its nature. We have had the blessing of your father the King on our labors since the outset. But—but you spoke of the foundations of the stables. The stables have no foundations, my lady. They sit upon the solid rock of the Temple Mount, and that is what we have been digging. And you will quickly see, if you but stop to think of it, that there can be no treasure hidden within solid rock. May I explain?”

  “I think it would be wise.” The chill in her voice reminded him of icy alpine winters in his native land. He cleared his throat and made a show of collecting his thoughts.

  “We are a new order, as you know, my lady, and bound by vows to poverty in our way of life, and new as we are, and zealous, we have imposed new disciplines and penances upon ourselves in all we do.”

  “Continue.”

  “The stables—our quarters—are adequate to our needs, for the time being, but some of our brethren initially thought they were too comfortable, with their natural profusion of straw and the warmth generated by our horses. Comfort and luxury are both conducive to sloth and indolence, and injurious to discipline and asceticism. Would you not agree?”

  The princess glanced around her luxurious chamber, and if not quite mollified, her voice was less frigid when she spoke next. “I might, were I that way inclined. Go on.”

  “Well, several of our brotherhood decided among themselves, long before I came here, that it would be right and fitting were they to dedicate themselves to creating a truly monastic dwelling in the living rock beneath their feet, each man carving out his own cell in time, and offering the hard work and discipline of doing so to God, in recognition of His greatness and bounty. And that is the digging that has been brought to your attention. Brother Hugh sought and received permission from your father before the work began, and King Baldwin was gracious enough to accord his blessing on the work.”

  The princess was now wide eyed. “But—Then why all the secrecy?”

  “There is no secrecy, my lady. At least, there was never meant to be. But my brothers live in close-mouthed discipline, praying often but seldom speaking among themselves, let alone communing socially with people outside their own small circle. And so I suppose the silence simply grew, over the years, and became ingrained. But there is neither mystery nor nefarious behavior involved. I confess, you had me profoundly disturbed there for a time, wondering if I myself had been blind to something. I shall give thanks tonight, before I sleep, that I was mistaken—and, if I may dare to say so, that you were, too.”

  The princess slumped suddenly and settled back against the rear of her couch, staring at him through slitted eyes, and her new posture reminded him again, for the first time since this strange conversation began, of the ripeness of her body beneath her garments. He gritted his teeth slightly and stared off into the distance beyond her shoulder, grimly refusing to allow his eyes to rest on her form.

  For her part, Alice was mulling over all that St. Clair had said, and in spite of herself and all her wishes to the contrary, she found herself believing him. His mention of her father’s blessing on their digging—a detail that would be too easy to verify—had convinced her more than any other thing the knight had said. That, plus the self-evident truth of his statement about the stables being built upon solid rock. She had kno
wn that from the outset, having seen the outcrops of it among the rubble of the temple ruins, but she had chosen to disregard it in her eagerness to set her hands upon a treasure of her own. Now, looking at the knight monk, she decided that if she were asked to wager on which was more feasible—the monks digging out living quarters for themselves from the solid rock or, alternatively, the monks hewing through solid rock in search of some unknown treasure, she would know enough to place her money on the former. That fool Odo really was a fool, she mused, and she would find some way to make him painfully aware that she knew he was.

  In the meantime, however, she saw the way the strange monk knight opposite her was trying not to look at her, and she sighed and rose to her feet, admitting to herself that she had caused him enough grief for one day. And besides, she thought, she herself had to be about her affairs, selecting the fabrics for her wedding gown.

  She smiled pleasantly at St. Clair, thanked him courteously for his explanations, and clapped her hands to summon Ishtar, who escorted Brother Stephen to the palace gates and saw him safely on his way back to the stables below, one arm clutching a bundle that contained the clothes he had worn when he arrived at the palace.

  FIVE

  A profoundly scandalized silence descended upon the entire community of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Jesus Christ from the moment Brother Stephen was first spotted approaching the stable precincts, dressed as he was in silks and muslin, with his face scrubbed pinkly clean and sweet odors wafting in his wake as he passed. Such was the euphoria that still gripped him, however, that he found himself grinning widely to everyone he met, calling each of them loudly by name and greeting them effusively as he swept past, into the interior of the stables, and leaving all of them, without exception, staring after him open mouthed and speechless.

  He found Brother Hugh, as he expected, in colloquy with Brother Godfrey in the records room and stepped directly inside, closing the doors at his back and smiling at the expressions on their faces as they took in his appearance from head to foot. It was de Payens who first recovered his voice and his aplomb. He sat back in his chair, his eyebrows settling back into their normal position, and crossed his hands upon his flat belly. “We shall assume, in the hope of salvation, that you will be able, thanks to God’s ample blessings, to explain why you come to us dressed like an effeminate from some sultan’s seraglio, my son.”

  “I will, indeed, Brother Hugh, and I thank you for the opportunity to do so, and for the forbearance that you show in not upbraiding me first and questioning me after. I have much to tell you, and when you have heard it, you will understand my appearance here today.”

  Quickly then, wasting no words but omitting no single detail, he explained to them everything that had occurred that day, from the moment of being summoned to meet with the Patriarch, who was, he had since learned, in a spiritual retreat from which he would not emerge for several days. Brother Hugh nodded gravely at that, confirming that it was so, but that was the only gesture of any kind that either of the two senior brethren made until St. Clair had told them everything.

  When he was finished, both elders sat silent, their heads bowed as if in prayer while they digested what he had told them.

  “Did you lie to the princess?” This was Brother Godfrey.

  “No, Brother, I did not. I said only that I had heard nothing of hidden hoards of gold. I made no mention of other kinds of wealth, for by then it was plain to me that the princess had no interest in anything but specie—portable treasure.”

  “And she believed you.”

  St. Clair turned to Brother Hugh. “Aye, she did. She believed the explanation that I offered, that there could be no treasure in solid rock.”

  “Unless it had been there since the Creation.”

  “Yes, Brother, that was what I implied.”

  “What have you in the bundle beneath your arm?”

  “Oh! This is the clothing I was wearing when I left here this morning.”

  “Excellent tidings, for which we are grateful. Be so good then as to put it on again, as quickly as you may, and bring those”—Brother Hugh waved a hand in the younger monk’s direction—“garments back here to me. I will see that they are returned to the palace with your gratitude.”

  St. Clair bowed his head and turned to go, but de Payens stopped him before he could begin to move away. “You have done well, Brother Stephen, and the brethren will know of it. I shall inform them tonight, after evening prayers, how bravely you have … suffered on their behalf. Now go you and change, then return here, for I doubt you will have heard the latest tidings, and you should. Quickly now. But, if it please you, make some attempt to lave away the perfumed stuff in which I fear you have been bathing.”

  St. Clair returned in less than half an hour, dressed in his oldest tunic and hose, both impregnated with years of sweat, his own and his horse’s, and wearing his mail hauberk, which smelled redolently of old sweat, oily leather, and rust, and de Payens sniffed appreciatively and grinned. “There, that is a much more becoming odor for a Poor Fellow Soldier of Christ. Sit down now, and listen. We found a new tunnel this morning, almost as soon as work began. St. Agnan came across a wall of masonry closing off the tunnel he was in. He sent back word to ask what he should do, and Brother Godfrey instructed him to go ahead and breach the wall.”

  “And? What did he find?”

  “Another passageway, crossing the one he was in and walling it off from the other three arms of a crossroads. But it was clear of debris and had a current of clear air blowing through it, and when Brother Archibald and his companions, Brothers Bissot and Montbard, followed each of the three arms, they found another tunnel, then another and another. In fact, they found a labyrinth. When is your next patrol?”

  “My first patrol, you mean, Master Hugh. The first in months.” St. Clair thought for a moment. “Tomorrow? What day is this? Yes, it must be tomorrow. Gondemare and Montdidier are out now, between here and Jericho. They should be back tonight, and I am due to leave for Jaffa with Rossal and a full patrol as soon as they are back.”

  “Would you postpone it?”

  “If you see a need, yes, of course. But why? We never have postponed a patrol before, and the frequency of our sweeps is part of what keeps them successful.”

  “Because we will need every man to explore these new tunnels. I have a feeling we can match them to our map this time. And if any of them are blocked, by caveins or anything else, and have to be cleared, your muscles are younger and stronger than any others among us.”

  St. Clair nodded. “You spoke of a labyrinth, Master Hugh. How many of these new tunnels are there?”

  De Payens thrust out his lower lip and shook his head. “I cannot say at this time. But I would hazard, from what I have been told, that there are more than a score of junctions down there, each of those leading into others. Labyrinth is the proper word, I believe. Why did you ask me that?”

  “In hopes it would confirm what I suspected, and it does. Let me ride out tomorrow as planned, Master Hugh. The Jaffa patrol is a ten-day sweep, and I think it might be unwise to neglect it now. I have a feeling that band of brigands de Montbard could not find is still out there, somewhere along the Jaffa road. It is only a feeling, but it’s a strong one, and I’ve learned to trust such things within myself. They were a large party, according to what de Montbard was told, and we have heard nothing about them since he came home, but that is not to say they are not out there, and it’s been a month since he was last there. I would prefer to go and make the sweep, simply for my own peace of mind, and while I am away, the rest of the brethren can explore the tunnels and make note of any that are blocked. When I return, I will gladly tackle any digging that needs to be done.”

  De Payens pursed his lips, then nodded. “So be it. Make your patrol, and if you find these creatures, sweep them from the earth. By the time you return, we’ll be ready for you.”

  SIX

  St. Clair had learned the art of dozing in the saddle long
before he ever went to Outremer, and on long desert patrols the ability served him well, permitting him to shorten the lengthy days considerably while yet covering long distances. But because he was asleep when the alarum was sounded on the afternoon of their third day out from Jerusalem, he did not know who had been the first to see the threatening figure by the cliff above the road.

  He snapped awake when someone called his name, and by then he had already registered the first warning shouts that rang out, and his sergeants were beginning to deploy their men in their fighting formations while the two light commissary wagons were wheeling into their positions in what would be the center of their defensive perimeter. Of his co-commander he saw nothing in those first few moments, learning only later that Rossal had ridden off with a small party a short time earlier to examine a large swathe of tracks found by their scouts. Frowning at his own ignorance of what was happening, he kicked his horse forward, reining it in where Bernard de la Pierre, their senior sergeant, sat with two of his subordinates, scrutinizing the cliffs to the north of the road.

  “What is it, Sergeant Bernard?”

  The sergeant pointed almost casually towards the cliffs. “Over there, sir, among the rocks at the bottom, on the right. Only one man, so far, but he’s making no effort to conceal himself, so it’s almost certainly a trap. He must think we are really stupid if he expects us to go charging after him without an exploration first.”

  St. Clair could not see the man at first, but eventually the fellow moved, and as he focused on the movement, St. Clair suddenly sat up straighter in his saddle and shaded his eyes against the sun’s glare, peering forward to where the distant stranger stood on the blurred edge between two blocks of brightness and shade. The fellow, whoever he was, was afoot, but too far away for anyone in their group to see him clearly. St. Clair felt a tiny tugging at his gut.