'It served a purpose.'
'You could have done better, I suppose.'
Not wishing to argue with her sister, she merely said, 'Papa wished Padraig to conduct his funeral,1
'Oh,' said Alethea. She had not thought of that. 'Of course.'
A Cele De funeral was a very sacred and special occasion, combining not only prayers and hymns, but stories, songs, and special readings. It culminated in a feast at which family and friends gathered at the banquet table to celebrate the life of the departed and share their fondest recollections. The feast generally began at dusk and continued through the night, finishing at dawn when everyone went out to witness the breaking of the new day and sing their brother and fellow pilgrim on his journey home.
Cait felt sorry that her father had not been able to receive such a funeral; it was his due. Still, she meant to do what she could.
'What is in the box?' asked Alethea. 'Strange they should give us a gift.'
'It is not a gift,' said Cait quietly.
'What is it then?' The younger woman snatched away the box which Cait held reverently in her hands. She turned it this way and that, looking for a way to open it.
'Thea, please.' Cait put her hand on her sister's arm and turned her around. She held out her hand for the box. 'Give it to me now.'
'No/ the young woman sulked, jerking the box away. 'Not until you tell me what's inside.'
Cait frowned, regarding her sister with sour disapproval. 'It is Papa's heart,' she said softly.
'What!' shrieked Alethea. Cait held out her hand, and Thea shoved the box into it with disgust. 'You had them cut out his heart?' she cried, tears welling at once. 'You cruel and thoughtless creature! How could you do vsuch a thing!'
'It was his dying wish,' Caitriona explained simply. 'He wanted his heart to be buried in the church at home.'
Alethea put her face in her hands and wept. Despite her aggravation, Cait felt sorry for her sister-always getting things twisted round and making herself look foolish. She passed the box to Haemur who was standing awkwardly to one side, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in embarrassment.
'Take this back to the ship, put it in a safe place, and wait for us there,* Cait told the grizzled old pilot. 'Remember what I told you. It will likely be very late when we return, so keep a light burning at the prow.'
Haemur accepted the lead box with a little bow, and said, 'As you will, my lady. Return when you like, you will find the ship in order and awaiting your command.'
Cait smiled; the old seaman seemed to be going out of his way to demonstrate his acceptance of her as the new master of the vessel. For that, she was grateful. She thanked him and sent him on his way, and then she had begun her work of revenge.
The previous day, the consul had told her that de Bracineaux was a friend of King Baldwin and a guest of the emperor. To find the Templar commander all she had to do was discover which of the many imperial residences was being used by the friends, relations, and entourage of the newly wedded couple. With Thea in tow, she had then begun the tedious and tiring inquiry – a delicate investigation which necessitated shrewdness, tact, and a finely honed sense of diplomacy – particular skills which Cait possessed in fair measure, when she cared to use them.
It was late when they left the Magnaura Palace precinct where Cait had at last been able to tease out the information she required. They had stopped to buy a little fruit and bread and cheese at a market they happened by, and then continued on their way to the Blachernae Palace where the members of the royal wedding entourage were staying as guests of Emperor Manuel Comnenus.
Now, as evening descended around them, Cait settled back in the chair, and allowed herself to think about what lay ahead. She closed her eyes and rehearsed the decisive moment in her mind, trying to imagine it down to the smallest detail so that she should not be taken by surprise.
They were closer to the palace than they knew, and soon Philippianous halted the chair and pointed to an enormous square structure in brick and stone rising from behind a stout wall. 'The palace, my lady,' he said, as if he were the proud owner.
Caitriona observed the flat, undistinguished facade, with its alternating colours of brickwork, and its high-peaked roof shingled with red tile, and decided that it looked more like the Earl's great house in Orkney than the favourite residence of the Holy Roman Empire's exalted ruler.
'This is the palace?' wondered Alethea aloud. Like Cait, she had imagined something far more grand and imposing.
'Indeed, yes,' Philippianous assured them. 'The Palace of Blachernae is renowned. People come from all over the world to see it.'
There were four soldiers standing in the street before a gate wide enough and high enough to allow the royal carriages of kings and princes to pass through with ease. 'Be so kind as to announce us/ Cait instructed.
It would be a pleasure, my lady/ replied their expansive guide.
'Say that Ladies Deborah and Constance de Payens have arrived for their audience with Commander de Bracineaux.'
At this, Alethea, who had been daydreaming about the rich pearl-studded gowns the empress reputedly wore, sat up sharply. Her Greek was not as good as her sister's, but she understood this last without any difficulty. 'What are you saying?' she demanded. Those are not our names.'
'Quiet, Thea,' snapped Cait. 'Do as you are told.'
Philippianous' smiling features arranged themselves into a knowing smirk. He opened his mouth, but Cait cut him off before he could comment. 'Announce us/ she commanded.
Cait turned on her sister. 'Now listen, Thea,' she warned. 'Keep your mouth shut, and do what I tell you, or I will leave you here by yourself. Understand?'
'I still cannot see why we have to -'
'1 mean it!' Cait raised a threatening finger.
Alethea nodded sourly.
'Good. I will explain everything later.'
Philippianous had made their names known to the porter, a hulking drone who waved the chair and its occupants through the gate-eyeing the nubile younger woman lustfully as the two passed. Inside the palace grounds, they proceeded at once to the courtyard and the palace entrance where they were halted by guards, and where, once again, the doors were opened without further question when the commander's name was given.
'Be so kind as to wait here,' Cait told the bearers. 'God willing, we may not be long. If you are ready to depart the moment we return I will double your fee,'
'Most gracious lady,' replied Philippianous grandly, 'we will await your appearance with confident expectation.' He led them to the massive copper-gilded iron doors, where they were escorted into the palace without delay.
Once inside, they were met by an ageing courtier who demanded to know their business. 'We are invited to an audience with Commander de Bracineaux,' Caitriona replied crisply.
The courtier cocked his head to one side and gave the two young women a long, dubious glance. 'Even so?'
'The invitation was issued by the Master himself.' Cait leaned forward and placed her hand on the man's arm, putting her mouth close to his ear. 'He said to tell anyone who asked that we are -she paused precisely long enough to leave no doubt in the courtier's mind that it was a lie, and then added, 'his nieces.'
The elderly courtier pulled away as if burned by her touch. He drew himself up to speak, and Cait thought he might refuse them then and there. Instead, he merely turned on his heel and led them across the entrance hall to a long flight of wooden stairs. Without a word, he indicated that they were to ascend. Cait thanked the servant and, taking the dumbstruck Alethea's hand, proceeded up the stairs without looking back.
They emerged on the next floor and stepped into a large, wood-panelled vestibule connecting three long corridors lined with doors. Two yawning servants leaning against a gilded column regarded the newcomers lazily, but made no move to help them. Cait presented herself and asked in which of the apartments the Templar de Bracineaux might be found. The chamberlain raised a hand, indicated the central corri
dor, and said, 'Sixth door.'
Thea close behind, Cait proceeded down the corridor, drawing a deep breath to calm herself. It was going better than she had hoped, but an instant's carelessness would ruin everything. They passed several doors, and heard coarse singing emanating from behind one of them; from behind another came a loud crash followed by raucous laughter and stamping feet.
So, the local gossip is true, she thought. The Franks sleep when they should work, eat when they should sleep, and roister when they should pray. They rarely wash, talk too loud, blow their noses on their clothing, and rut like pigs.
As they approached the sixth door, Alethea squeezed Cait's hand. 'Someone is coming!' she whispered.
Caitriona looked quickly down to the far end of the corridor where a figure had just appeared in the passageway. As the figure approached she saw the tray of cups in her hand. 'It is just a serving girl/
She waited until the girl drew near and paused at the sixth door, whereupon Cait approached her quickly and asked whether the cups and jar were bound for the commander's chamber. 'Indeed, my lady,' replied the girl.
'Leave it with me,' said Cait, taking the tray from her. 'We were just about to join him. You may go.'
The girl looked at the two women, and then surrendered to their unarguably superior rank. She delivered the tray with a tight bow, and retreated quickly the way she had come. As soon as the girl was gone, Cait laid the tray on the floor; she quickly shrugged off her costly mantle and handed it to her sister; next, she removed the dagger from its sheath at her side and tucked it into her girdle at the back so that it would be out of sight, yet ready to hand.
'What are you doing?' asked Alethea, eyeing the dagger,
'I told you. I have to talk to someone.' Cait picked up the tray. 'Stay here and keep watch. Knock on the door if anyone should come.'
Alethea made to protest, but Cait's raised eyebrow persuaded her to hold her tongue. Glancing nervously both ways along the corridor, she said, 'Hurry, then.'
Balancing the tray with one hand, Cait reached for the latch and, taking a deep steadying breath to calm her pounding heart, pushed the door open and stepped quickly inside.
CHAPTER FOUR
The room was large and dark, and opened on to a smaller inner chamber which in turned opened on to a balcony overlooking a garden court. The double doors separating the rooms were thrown wide, and two men were sitting at a small round table on the balcony, enjoying the soft evening air. Even by fitful torchlight, she recognized the broad shoulders and untidy mane of white hair belonging to Renaud de Bracineaux. With a glance at Alethea, who made a last anxious plea to hurry, Cait closed the door behind her and stepped inside.
At the sound of the door closing, Commander de Bracineaux called, 'Here, girl.'
Steadying the tray, she moved through the darkened room towards the balcony. De Bracineaux's back was to her, and the other man-a younger fellow with a large, beak-like nose, fair, straight hair and a fine, silky wisp of a beard-was leaning on the table with his arms crossed. Neither man was armed, and both were deep in conversation. A quick strike from behind, and she would be gone again before the Templar knew what had happened.
'Think what it is worth,' de Bracineaux was saying.
'More than I can imagine,' the fair-haired one replied. 'I should think the pope will give you anything you want. The reward will be yours to name.'
'Ha!' de Bracineaux sneered. 'If you think that conniving old lecher is going to get his poxy hands on it, then you, my friend, are an even bigger ass than his high holiness.'
One step, and another, and she would be in position. Before she could reach the table, however, the second man looked up. 'I have not seen you before,' he said, rising abruptly.
Cait halted.
'Let me help you with that heavy thing/ He grinned and stepped towards her, but the Templar grabbed his arm and pulled him back to his chair. 'Sit down, d'Anjou,' he growled. 'Plenty of time for that later.'
The younger man lowered himself to his seat again, and Cait proceeded to the table, remaining behind de Bracineaux and out of his sight. She placed the tray on the table, and made to step away, her right hand reaching for the hilt of the slender dagger at her back.
As her fingers tightened on the braided grip, the Templar cast a hasty glance over his shoulder. She saw his lowered brow and the set of his jaw, and feared the worst.
Silently, she slipped the dagger from its sheath, ready to strike. But the light of recognition failed to illumine his eyes. 'Well?' he demanded. 'Get to your work, now. Light the lamps and leave us.'
Cait hesitated, waiting for him to settle back in his chair. When she did not move, the Templar turned on her. 'Do as I say, girl, and be quick about it!'
Startled, Cait stepped back a pace, almost losing her grip on the weapon.
'Peace, Renaud,' said his companion. Reaching out, he took the Templar's sleeve and tugged him around. 'Come, I have poured the wine.' He raised his cup and took a long, deep draught.
De Bracineaux swung back to the table, picked up his cup and, tilting his head back, let the wine run down his gullet. Now! thought Cait, rising on to the balls of her feet. Do it now!
Her hand freed the knife and she moved forward. At that instant, without warning, the door burst open and a thick-set, bull-necked Templar strode into the room behind her. Cait whipped the dagger out of sight, and backed away.
'Ah, here is Gislebert now!' said d'Anjou loudly.
The Templar paused as he passed, regarding Cait with dull suspicion. She ducked her head humbly, and quickly retreated into the darkened room.
'Come, sergeant,' called the fair-haired man, 'raise a cup and give us the good news. Are we away to Jerusalem at last?'
'My lord, baron,' said Gislebert, turning his attention to the others. 'Good to see you, sir. You had a pleasant journey, I trust.’
As the men began talking once more, Cait was forgotten-her chance ruined. She might cut one or even two men before they could react, but never three. And the sergeant was armed.
Still, she was close. The opportunity might never come again.
Reluctant to give up, she busied herself in the adjoining room, steeling herself for another attempt. Fetching some straw from the corner of the hearth, she stooped and lit it from the pile of embers. There was a lamp on the table, two candles in a double sconce on the wall by the bed, and a candletree in the corner. She lit the candles first, taking her time, hoping that Gislebert would leave.
She moved to the table and, as she touched the last of the straw to the lamp wick, became aware that someone was watching her from the doorway. Fearing she had been discovered at last, she took a deep breath, steadied herself and cast a furtive glance over her shoulder.
She did not see him at first. Her eyes went to the men who were still at the table on the balcony, cups in hand, their voices a murmur of intimate conversation. They were no longer heeding her. But, as she bent once more to the task at hand, she caught a movement in a darkened corner of the room and turned just as a man stepped from the shadows.
She stifled a gasp.
Dressed in the long white robe of a priest, he held up his hand, palm outward in an attitude of blessing-or to hold her in her place. Perhaps both, she thought. A man of youthful appearance, his hair and beard were black without a trace of grey and the curls clipped like the shorn pelt of a sheep. His eyes, though set deep beneath a dark and heavy brow, were bright and his glance was keen. He stepped forward into the doorway, placing himself between Cait and the men.
When he moved she felt a shudder in the air, as if a gust of wind had swept in through the open door; but the candles did not so much as quiver. At the same time, she smelled the fresh, clean scent of the heathered hills after a storm has passed.
'Do not be afraid,' said the man, his voice calm and low. 'I merely wish to speak to you.'
Cait glanced nervously beyond him to where the Templar and his companions sat at their wine.
'Blind gu
ides,' he said, indicating the men. 'They have neither eyes to see, nor ears to hear.'
'Who are you?' As she asked the question, she glanced again at de Bracineaux and his companions; now laughing heartily, they appeared oblivious to both her and the stranger.
'Call me Brother Andrew,' he said.
At the name, Cait felt her throat tighten. She gulped down a breath of air. 1 know about you,' she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. 'My father told me.'
'Your family has been in my service for a long time. That is why I have come-to ask if you will renew the vow of your father and grandfather.'
'What vow is that?'
'I asked young Murdo to build me a kingdom where my sheep could safely graze…'
'Build it far, far away from the ambitions of small-souled men and their ceaseless striving' Cait said, repeating the words she had learned as a child on her grandfather's knee. 'Make it a kingdom where the True Path can be followed in peace and the Holy Light can shine as a beacon flame in the night.'
He smiled. 'There, you see? You do know it.'
'He did that. He built you a kingdom,' she said bluntly, 'and died an old man – waiting for you to come as you promised.'
'Truly, his faith has been rewarded a thousandfold.' the White Priest told her. 'But now it is your turn. In each generation the vow must be renewed. I ask you, sister, will you serve me?'
At the question, Cait felt a hardness rise up in her, like a rock in her chest. She hesitated and looked away, not daring to meet the White Priest's commanding gaze,
'Caitriona/ chided Brother Andrew gently, 'I know what is in your heart.'
When she did not answer, the monk shook his head sadly and moved a step closer. 'Thus says the Lord of Hosts: "As surely as I live for ever, when 1 sharpen my fiery sword and my hand grasps it in judgement, I will take vengeance on my enemies and repay those who hate me."'
The mystic rose cc-3 Page 4