The commander regarded his fair-haired companion for a long moment. There was definitely something unnatural about him. In all the time Renaud had known him, he had never seen Felix d'Anjou sweat. The sun might scorch like an oven, but the pallid baron seemed always at his ease. By the same token, nothing ever rankled him; nothing ever perturbed, bothered, aggravated, or upset him. He seemed to have no feelings at all, but met each and every trial with the same unassailable equanimity. Some might consider such supreme and disciplined poise to be courage or confidence, but de Bracineaux knew it was neither.
'Unless, of course, you merely wish to gratify your deep desire to punish the slut for trespassing on your good nature,' d'Anjou continued, 'then I could quite understand such a pointless preoccupation.' The baron took a bite of the fig, then flipped it over his shoulder and sent it spinning into the garden to join the pear. 'But with things as they are, I daresay you would be better employed pursuing this Mysterious Rose Blossom, or whatever you call it.'
'God's wounds, d'Anjou,' replied de Bracineaux slowly, 'but I begin to see a sort of sense in what you say.'
He splashed some more of the chilled lemon water into the tall silver beaker in front of him, lifted it and rubbed the cool metal over his forehead before gulping down the sweet-sour liquid.
'We could leave as soon as troops arrive from Jerusalem,' said the baron. His blade hovered above the fruit bowl ready to strike. 'The weather will stay good. We can reach Asturia-or wherever this cleric may be – well before autumn.'
'As to that,' the Templar commander rejoined, 'I have twenty men garrisoned in the city. That is a force of sufficient strength. I cannot imagine we would need more. We can depart as soon as provisions are put aboard. We can leave tomorrow morning.'
'Better still.' D'Anjou's dagger flashed down, splitting the smooth skin of a plum. He raised the fruit; red juice trickled down the blade like blood. 'What of the emperor?'
'We will simply tell our host that we have been called away on urgent Church business, and beg his leave to depart at once. I am certain his niece and her new husband will find ways to amuse themselves until we return. Anyway, the Poor Soldiers of Christ have better things to do than provide escort for over-pampered newlywed royals.' He sipped from his cup, adding, 'It is beneath us.'
De Bracineaux set down the beaker and rose as if he would set off for the harbour that very moment. He looked at the white sunlight beating down on the rooftops of the surrounding wings of the palace. The heat shimmered in waves before his eyes. He promptly sat down again. 'Gislebert!'
He had to shout twice more before rousing the sergeant from his nap in the next room. 'There you are. Fetch me a runner, sergeant. I have a message for the emperor.'
Emperor Manuel Comnenus reclined on a couch beneath a sunshade of blue silk stretched between gilded poles. The thin fabric rippled in the light breeze of the garden as he lay with his hands folded over his compact, well-muscled chest, listening with half-closed eyes as a robed official read to him from a large scroll entitled Ecloga Justinian. The aged courtier's thin, nasal voice droned in the quiet of the sun-soaked garden, keeping the emperor from his midday sleep. Two small, half-naked children splashed in a fountain under the watchful eye of a white-robed servant in a broad-brimmed red hat.
At the approach of the papias he roused himself, rolling up on to his elbow. The official bowed low, his chain of office almost touching the ground. 'Well?' demanded Manuel irritably.
'Grand Commander de Bracineaux has arrived, Basileus.'
'Good. Let him wait on the terrace.'
'Basileus,' said the courtier, 'the sun…'
'Yes? What of the sun?'
'It is very hot on the terrace, your majesty.'
'Let him wear a hat.'
'Of course, Basileus.'
The old man had stopped reading while this exchange took place, and as the papias departed, the emperor turned to the reader and said, 'Pray do not stop, Murzuphlus, even for a moment, else we shall never get through this.'
He returned to his reclining position and listened for a while longer, and then, when he was ready to hold audience, he rose and thanked the old man, saying, 'We will return to this tomorrow.' Calling an order to the white-robed servant to take the children inside out of the sun, he then proceeded to the terrace. As he entered the gallery, he was met by two courtiers-the protovestiarius and the silentarius. The first held out a long sleeveless robe of purple with pomegranates embroidered in thread of crimson and gold; Manuel drew on the robe and stood patiently while the laces were tied. Meanwhile, the second offered him a blue peaked hat with a brim like the prow of a ship in front, which the emperor allowed to be placed on his head.
The silentarius bowed and then, walking backwards while holding aloft his ebony rod of office, he led the emperor to the terrace where an extremely hot and uncomfortable de Bracineaux was waiting.
'Ah, there you are, commander,' said the emperor; he made it sound as if he had been searching for the Templar for most of the day.
De Bracineaux swallowed down his annoyance. 'It is a pleasure, Basileus, as always.' He smiled, sweat streaming from his red face.
'It is very pleasant out here,' Manuel said, walking to the terrace rail. Below the city walls he could see the Golden Horn gleaming like beaten metal in the hot sunlight. He watched the boats which ceaselessly worked the wide stretch of water. 'We never grow tired of the view.'
'It is a fine view, Basileus.'
'It is, yes.' The emperor stood at the rail, hands clasped behind his back, gazing out across the water to the hazy blue hills beyond, lost, so it seemed, in a reverie.
De Bracineaux waited a few moments, but when the emperor appeared to have forgotten him, he cleared his throat and said, 'You wished to see me, Basileus, I believe.'
'Did we?' wondered the emperor. He turned to the commander and regarded him mildly. 'You should put off that heavy surcoat, commander,' he observed. 'You look like an ox on the spit.'
'It is warm, yes, Basileus,' agreed the sweating Templar. The sun beat down on his red, uncovered head.
Manuel smiled. 'We received a message that you wished to leave Constantinople.'
'With your kind permission, Basileus. A matter of some importance has arisen which requires my presence elsewhere.'
The emperor accepted this. 'Are we to know the nature of this important matter?' His glance became keen as he watched the Templar commander try to avoid answering the question.
'It is a procedural matter, Basileus,' replied de Bracineaux with slight hesitation. 'I would not presume to inflict the minutiae of our Order on you, your highness.'
'Procedure can be fatiguing, we find.' The emperor drew breath and turned once more to the folded hills rising above the wide sweep of the Golden Horn. 'Nevertheless, you may consider that we have matters of importance which require your presence here, Grand Commander de Bracineaux.'
'But your highness -' de Bracineaux started to object.
The emperor cut off his protest with a wave of his hand. Without looking at his visitor he said, 'My niece and her new husband will be returning to Tripoli in a few days. You agreed to escort them, and we are inclined to hold you to your agreement.'
'With all respect, Basileus,' countered the Templar, 'I must beg to be excused.'
'But you will not be excused, commander,' replied Emperor Manuel placidly. 'Your procedures,' he gave the word caustic emphasis, 'will no doubt wait until you have fulfilled the duty for which you have been retained.'
'No doubt, Basileus,' replied the Templar stiffly. 'You are right to remind me of my duty. I will abide.'
'We are pleased to hear it,' Manuel said, turning once more to his visitor. 'We are having a banquet tomorrow evening, for which we have arranged a display of arms. We understand you Franks are fond of martial entertainments. What is the word you use?'
'Tournament,' replied de Bracineaux.
'Ah, yes, we must remember that,' replied the emperor, his face lighting with
pleasure. 'We are having a tournament. We are certain you and Baron d'Anjou will enjoy it, commander.'
'I wait upon your pleasure, Basileus,' said the Templar. 'If there is nothing else, I will trouble you no further.' He made a small bow and started away.
'It does a soul good, we find,' said the emperor, 'to bend to a higher authority from time to time. You must try it more often, commander.'
CHAPTER TEN
'We are being followed.'
The voice stirred Cait from her brooding contemplation of the white, heat-bleached sky and the powder-dry road ahead. Cait lifted her hood and turned in the saddle to see that it was Rognvald who had addressed her.
'Forgive me. I would not intrude, my lady, but there is someone following us.' He addressed her in Norse, and his accent sounded, to Cait's ear, like the old fishermen who used to take refuge at Banvard when foul weather drove them into the bay. They were also from Norway, and the sound of the knight's voice reassured her; it made her feel as if she were speaking to some ancient relative.
'How many?' She cast a hasty glance over her shoulder-but saw nothing save the owner of the horses they had hired, and his two sons, bringing up the rear on their donkeys. Behind them the dust-dry track stretched back and back across the undulating hills to Damascus-now a small shimmering gleam in the heat-haze far behind them.
Rognvald said, 'Just one.' He regarded her curiously. 'Did you think there would be more?'
'Never mind what I thought,' she told him firmly.
'I believe,' he replied, 'you will have to tell me your secret sooner or later. Perhaps if you told me now, I could help you with it.'
'I have no secrets.' She looked back at the trail behind her and saw a small dark figure disappear swiftly over a faraway hilltop. 'At least none I care to discuss with you.'
'As you will.'
They rode on for a time, and Cait turned her thoughts next to the necessary steps ahead. Acquiring her bodyguard of knights was just the beginning. They would have to be properly clothed and armed, and they would need horses-all of which would be expensive; she would have to sell more, if not most, of the remaining valuables from her father's chest. She had offered to buy new clothes for them before leaving the city, but the knights preferred their rags to Saracen garb, which was all that Damascus had to offer. Nor could they buy any weapons-the Arabs were forbidden to sell to Christians under pain of death by a decree of Prince Mujir ed-Din. Cait had her dagger, but that thin blade was the only protection the party possessed. Once they reached Tyre, however, they could buy anything. The horses, at least, could wait.
'Why did you ransom us?' asked Rognvald.
'Hmm?' wondered Cait, half aware he had spoken to her. 'I already told you.'
'This pilgrimage of yours, yes. But as you will not tell me where we are going, I can only assume some deeper purpose.'
Cait thought for a moment. 'As a young man, my father visited the Holy Land,' she explained simply. 'He never reached Jerusalem, and always wanted to return and finish the pilgrimage. Last year he decided to do it, and to take Alethea and me with him; he wanted to show us the places he had visited.'
'Including prison?'
She frowned. 'My father was once a prisoner there.'
'So you said. Where is your father now?'
Cait's frown deepened. When she did not reply, Rognvald looked at her and saw her face clenched with concentration. She seemed to labour so long over the question that he drew breath to withdraw it; before he could speak, she said, 'We stopped in Constantinople to see the city and refresh our provisions. While we were there, one of Emperor Manuel's many nieces was married, and we went to the ceremony. It was held in the Cathedral of Saint Sophia, and thousands attended.'
She did not look at him when she spoke, but kept her eyes on the road ahead – although her sight had turned inward. And there was a softness to her voice that was not present before, a sadness.
'The service was over, and I followed the crowds out into the street to see the bride and groom away. My father remained inside, however, and when I returned, I saw him talking to a man. By the time I rejoined him, the man was gone and my father had been stabbed.'
'The man stabbed your father?' wondered Rognvald, incredulity creasing his brow. 'In a church?'
'He died in my arms,' affirmed Cait, nodding sadly. 'We buried him the next day in the graveyard of a monastery, and then sailed on to Damascus.'
'I see.' The knight nodded thoughtfully. 'So, in honour of your father's wishes, you are continuing the pilgrimage to Jerusalem.'
Cait frowned. 'No,' she said, then hesitated, unwilling to say more.
'Ah,' Rognvald guessed, 'here is where the secret arises.'
'There is no secret,' Cait insisted.
'Then tell me. Where are we going?' He regarded her with benign interest. 'Come, my reluctant lady, you have entrusted your life and that of your sister to us; you might as well entrust your secret.'
'I will tell you,' Cait decided at last, 'but not now. Once we are aboard ship-then I will tell you.'
Lord Rognvald accepted her decision. 'Agreed.' He smiled. 'I will look forward to hearing it.'
Cait turned to look behind again. 'What are we going to do about our follower?'
'There is a stream just ahead,' he said, pointing to a line of small, scrubby trees grey with dust. 'It is growing hot. We can rest there and see what comes.'
Cait agreed and the travelling party proceeded slowly to the line of trees. The stream turned out to be dry, the bed full of dusty rock and withered grass. But the patchy shade provided some relief from the heat and the savage onslaught of the sun. They dismounted and, while the owner of the horses and donkeys gave each of his beasts a handful of grain from a bag, the knights and seamen found places to rest under the trees. Rognvald rode a little apart and took up a position where he could watch the road.
Retrieving the waterskin from behind her saddle, Cait pulled the stopper and took a long draught; the water was warm, but it wet her lips and tongue, and washed the dust from her throat.
Owing to their long captivity, the knights were unaccustomed to the heat and sun, and unused to the saddle. They limped manfully to the little grove and flopped down, to lie exhausted in the mottled shade. After only half a day outside, their prison pallor was replaced by the radiant pink of sunburn. Cait watched them doubtfully; it would be weeks, she reckoned, rather than days, before they were back to fighting fitness. Thus, despite her impatience to hurry back to the ship, she resolved to adopt a slower pace for their sake.
Handing the waterskin to Otti, she told him to take a drink and pass it on, then sat down with her back to a treetrunk and closed her eyes. In a little while, she heard someone beside her and looked around to see Dag settling his lanky frame beneath the same tree.
'Why Stone-Breaker?' she asked after a time.
He smiled, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. 'Well, now,' he said, 'I was born in Jutland, where there are a great many mounds and stones and such belonging to the Old Ones. It is a very fine place-sometimes a little cold, but the hunting is good. Once when I was out hunting with my brothers, we caught sight of an elk and gave chase. Even though I was the youngest, I was in the lead, ya?' He smiled at the memory, and Cait smiled, too, for he also sounded like the Norse fishermen whose voices rose and fell over the dips and crests of their words like a ship ploughing the ocean swell.
'Well, now,' he continued, 'as I raced along I passed one of these standing stones and as luck would have it my horse stumbled in a badger hole at that very moment, and I was thrown from my saddle. Well, I hit this stone, see.' He slammed his fist into his hand with a loud smack to demonstrate. 'I smashed into it head first and knocked it down. The stone fell and I fell. They thought I was dead, but when they came to look, they saw that I was still alive. And when they raised me up, they saw the stone was broken under me.' He grinned, his fine straight teeth a winning flash of white. 'I have been Dag Stone-Breaker from that day.'
; Hearing their talk, Yngvar edged nearer to join them, and Svein, too. Cait noticed that Alethea, whose understanding of Norse was nowhere near as good as her own, was nevertheless listening with rapt attention to the handsome nobleman. 'Tell how you got your name, Svein,' said Dag with a nudge of his elbow.
'Nay,' he replied, 'it is never so exalted as Dag's tale.' But at the encouragement of the others, he sighed and said, 'My father kept hounds-every year he had to train up three good dogs to give King Sigurd in tribute. He had several fine bitches, but his favourite was a sweet-natured brown called Fala. A few months after I was born, Fala lost her litter. She was very disturbed over it, and would not eat or drink at all. My father gave her good meat on the bone, but still she would not eat.
'This went on until my father thought he would have to put her away. He held off as long as he could, but it had to be done. So, he went to get his sword and a strap to take her out behind the barn. But when he came back, he could not find Fala. They looked everywhere and finally found her in my bed with me; she had brought me her bone.
'We were both in there together chewing on that bone-Fala on one end and me on the other, chewing away. I have been Svein Gristle-Bone ever since.'
He made the face of a boy gnawing a bone, and Alethea laughed out loud; the others, who had heard the story before, laughed too. 'What about Rognvald?' asked Cait. 'Does he have another name?'
The knights looked from one to the other and shrugged. 'If he does,' replied Yngvar, 'I never heard it.'
'How did you come to be taken captive?' she asked. When no one made bold to answer, she said, 'If it makes an unpleasant tale, you do not have to tell me. Still, do not think to spare me on account of it. My father was captured by the Seljuqs as a young man-that is how he came to be in the Damascus prison-so I know how abhorrent it can be.'
'Your father was captured, too?' wondered Yngvar. 'That is a tale I would like to hear.' Nodding, the others added their agreement.
At that moment, however, there came a shout from the road, and they all rushed to the edge of the wood to see Rognvald riding towards them with a stranger in tow. Cait saw the pale yellow tunic and trousers, the bristly dark hair, and started out to meet them.
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