The mystic rose cc-3

by Stephen Lawhead

  'Naturally,' echoed Cait, staunch in her conviction that childbirth ought to take precedence over trivialities like hunting.

  'Yet even so, the hunt was to take place during the Yuletide celebrations, and fortunate indeed were those allowed to observe the Christ Mass with the king-a rare and singular honour, and one not to be spurned, for otherwise it would certainly never come again. So, my father did what anyone in his position would do.'

  'Heaven forbid it!' said Cait.

  'He took their bed from the house and lashed it to the deck of his ship and covered it with a tent. Then he wrapped my mother warm in his huge bearskin cloak, tucked her safely in bed, and sailed off to Kaupangr to visit the king.'

  Cait laughed out loud, her voice falling rich and warm on the leaf-covered trail. Rognvald thrilled to hear it, and several of the others riding along behind raised their heads and smiled. 'So, you were born at the king's hunting lodge,' she guessed.

  Again, the knight shook his head. 'My mother would not endure the noise-all the shouting and singing, you know. When men hunt they get thirsty, and King Magnus was never one to stint on anything. His 61 was sweet and dark and good, and served in foaming vats that never were allowed to run dry. The noblemen and warriors feasted and revelled every night with the same zeal as they pursued the harts and hinds by day. This made the lodge a very clamorous place.'

  'King Magnus, you say.'

  'King Magnus was a cousin of my father,' he said. 'In the same way, King Eystein is now my cousin.'

  'Is now?' wondered Cait. 'Was he not always your cousin?'

  'No,' explained Rognvald, 'he was not always the king.'

  Cait laughed again, and they rode on, happy in one another's company. The knight related how his mother, having refused the king's boisterous hospitality, was lodged instead at the nearby convent. 'And that was where I was born,' he told her, 'two days after the Christ Mass. I am told the queen herself attended my birth and presented me to my mother. So, perhaps my birth was not so unlucky after all'

  'Indeed, not,' murmured Cait. She grew silent, thinking about the strangeness of life and its many unexpected turns.

  After a time, Rognvald turned in the saddle and asked, 'Something I have said has made you thoughtful, I see.'

  'I was just thinking that if not for King Magnus, you and I would not be riding together at this very moment.'

  'Then he is a far greater king than I imagined. I must remember to lay a gift at his shrine and thank him for his fortuitous assistance.' He looked sideways at her and asked, 'But how do you reckon we owe our meeting to Magnus?'

  'It was Magnus who befriended my grandfather,' she told him, and went on to recount how it was that Murdo had come to follow his father and brothers on the Great Pilgrimage, travelling on a ship in the hire of the king. 'We lost our lands in Orkney,' she told him, 'but the king was just. He gave us Caithness instead.'

  'That was very good of him,' replied Rognvald approvingly. 'He must have liked your grandfather very much.'

  'Well,' Cait allowed, 'it was mostly the king's fault we lost the land in the first place. It was the least he could do.'

  'No,' laughed Rognvald suddenly, 'it was never that. You must not know many kings.' He regarded her, trim and comely in the saddle; her cloak falling low on her shoulders-for all it was a warm day-and her dark hair neat beneath her silver combs. 'Do you like Caithness? Or would you rather have Orkney?'

  'My grandfather might feel differently, I cannot say. But Caithness is home to me; I have never known any other.'

  'My family owns an estate on one of the Orkneyjar islands,' the knight confided. 'They tell me I visited there once with my family, but I cannot even remember which island it was.'

  They talked amiably, passing the time as they rode along, each enjoying the easy companionship of the other-until Alethea grew bored riding by herself and decided to join them, whereupon the pleasant mutual feeling gradually shrivelled under Alethea's irritating whining about the heat, the dullness of the countryside, the sun in her eyes, how thirsty she was, how rough the saddle, and how disagreeable her mount.

  'I cannot see why we have to ride anyway,' she complained. 'You should have bought a carriage instead, and then we could travel like queens.'

  'If only everything was that easy.'

  Three days after entering the Valle de Mena, they came to the walled trading town of Burgos, paused briefly to replenish their provisions, and then set off again before anyone made bold to stop them. Four days after that, they arrived at Palencia.

  The town had faded somewhat from its glory under the Roman legion of Lucus Augusti. The crumbling garrison still stood; having served several generations of Muhammedan rulers as a stable and armoury, it was now a monastery in sore need of a new roof. The old Roman walls remained in good repair, however, and protected the town and its inhabitants from the Moorish raiders infesting the hills, preying on the foolish and unwary.

  Owing to the king's ban on travel, the local farmers and merchants were effectively cut off from their trading partners to the west. Consequently, they seized on the newcomers' arrival with an interest that far exceeded the significance of their visit. As Cait and her entourage dismounted in the town square, one of the onlookers ran to inform the magistrate that important visitors had arrived. The magistrate and his young assistant came on the run to offer an official welcome.

  The town's governor was a smooth-shaven man with a frizzled fringe of dark hair which he tried to keep under a red cap shaped like a deeply notched bowl. Pushing the eager townsfolk aside, he cleared a place for himself in the crowd and then addressed the visitors. 'Most noble lady,' he began, bestowing on Cait the sort of bow usually reserved for royalty, 'friends, travellers, allow me to introduce myself. I am Carlo de la Coruna, magistrate and governor of this fine and prosperous town.' His deputy smiled and bowed, too, in anticipation of being introduced to the handsome noblewomen and their broad-shouldered, fearsome entourage, but his superior ploughed ahead without so much as a wink in his direction.

  'On behalf of the worthy citizens of Palencia,' the magistrate announced, 'I welcome you and your excellent company. Furthermore, I invite you all to be our special guests at a feast to be held in your honour tonight. Please, rest and take your ease while you are here. Be assured we will do all we can to assist you in every possible way for as long as you care to remain with us.'

  Cait thanked him kindly, and said that she and her travelling companions would be delighted to attend the feast, and asked whether there might be a convenient moment for herself and the magistrate to discuss matters privately. 'As it happens, a few small concerns have arisen. I would be grateful for your counsel, Magistrate Coruna. I am certain they will pose no difficulty for a man of your obvious wisdom and authority.'

  The magistrate's cheeks took on a rosy glow under Cait's well-aimed flattery. He ducked his head in hasty assent, and said, 'With pleasure, my lady. If you would deign to join me in the courtyard of my house during sixta, we might discuss your concerns over a cooling drink.'

  Cait smiled, but hesitated. Spending the rest of the day with the obliging bumpkin of a magistrate might have its uses, but foremost among her concerns was locating the priest called Brother Matthias. Lord Rognvald saw her hesitation, however, and, leaning close, confided, 'Go and see if you can charm him into getting us a wagon and some tents.'

  'The priest -'

  'I will find him.'

  Cait smiled at the eager official. 'My sister and I would be honoured, magistrate.'

  'Your men, however, may wish to observe the-ah… usual formalities at our most excellent inn,' suggested the magistrate delicately.

  1 am certain they would like nothing better.' Turning to Rognvald, she instructed him to take his men to the inn and see that the formalities were, in fact, observed. 'Take Abu with you, and make certain everyone is washed and prepared for this evening's festivities.' As the knight inclined his head in assent, Cait added in a whisper: 'Find Matthias. Tell him we
wish to speak to him tomorrow. I will see what I can do about the wagon and tents.'

  Turning to the magistrate, Cait smoothly linked his arm in hers and allowed him to escort her across the square-much to the satisfaction of the townspeople, pleased to see their governor esteemed by such distinguished and obviously important visitors. Upon reaching the archway which marked the entrance to the square, Carlo turned to his assistant. 'Grieco! What are you doing?'

  The young man looked blankly at his superior. 'We are having drinks, Uncle Carlo, are we not?'

  'No, no, no! Not you! You must run to Master Pedrino at the bakery and tell him we will need twenty chickens roasted for tonight's feast.'

  'Yes, uncle,' replied the youth, visibly disheartened. 'Twenty chickens – is that all?'

  'For heaven's sake! Must I do everything myself? It is to be a feast, Grieco. Tell him we want three sheep as well.' He paused, considering the quantity of meat to be provided. 'Yes, and a pig-a big one, not a skinny runt like last time. Oh yes, and five dozen loaves. No, six dozen, tell him.'

  'Yes, uncle.'

  'Why are you waiting? Go! Hurry! There is everything to get ready.' The young man made to dash away. 'Wait!' cried his uncle. 'Go to Tomas at the inn and tell him we want wine for sixty guests. He is to bring it to the banqueting hall. And olives, too. Everything!' He fluttered his hands at the havering youth. 'Be off with you now! Hurry!'

  The gangly Grieco flapped away down a side street, leaving Cait and Alethea and Carlo to proceed at a more leisurely pace to the magistrate's house where they were received with all cordiality by Carlo's sister, Manuela, who acted as housekeeper, cook, and companion to the busy official. The ladies were conducted directly to places on a low bench under the leafy boughs of a lime tree in the corner of a terracotta tiled courtyard. While Manuela saw to the refreshments, Carlo, drawing up a greenwood chair, settled himself in the pleasant company of his captivating guests.

  'Now then,' he said expansively, 'about these tiresome concerns please, tell me everything that troubles you.' Cait smiled and opened her mouth to reply, but her host held up his hand, and said, 'Remember, it is the Magistrate of Palencia you are speaking to by authority of the Castilian Crown. Therefore, tell me everything, and we will see what can be done.'

  He waved his hand imperiously, settled back in his chair, and closed his eyes. 'Please to begin.'

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  'My dear archbishop,' said Commander de Bracineaux smoothly, 'I am very pleased to meet you at last.'

  'And I am astonished to meet you at all,' answered Bertrano, eyeing the Templar narrowly. 'You are supposed to be dead.'

  De Bracineaux laughed. 'Then I think you will find me a most corporeal ghost.' As if to demonstrate his material presence, he reached out and took the churchman by the arm and squeezed it. 'I assure you, my lord cleric, I have a good deal of life left in me yet.'

  Archbishop Bertrano, seated in his throne-like chair outside his hut, regarded the hand on his arm; his flesh seemed to squirm under de Bracineaux's hand-as if he had been touched by something from beyond the grave. 'Indeed, sir,' replied the archbishop, pulling his arm away. 'But how am I to know you are who you claim to be?'

  'Ah, yes, of course,' sighed de Bracineaux as if the question had plagued him down the years. 'What proof will you accept?'

  'It is not up to me,' grumbled the archbishop.

  'Perhaps you would not mind telling me how you came by word of my demise,' suggested the Templar commander.

  'But I do mind, sir,' snapped Bertrano. 'I do not see that I owe you any explanations. It is for you to prove yourself, or get you hence.'

  'A moment longer, if you please,' said de Bracineaux. 'I do not know how this confusion has come about, but I can guess: there was a woman-not pretty, but young still, with dark hair. She had a letter-your letter-the one you wrote to the pope asking for help to save a treasure called the Mystic Rose. This woman told you I was dead.' Regarding the churchman closely, he said, 'I believe I am close to the mark.'

  Archbishop Bertrano fingered the wooden cross at his belt, but said nothing.

  Turning to d'Anjou, the commander said, 'You see, baron? It is as we feared – the thief has already been here before us. We are too late. The damage is done.'

  'Be of good cheer, my lord,' answered d'Anjou with practised, if slightly oily, sympathy. 'All is not lost.' He turned sad, imploring eyes to the archbishop. 'With God's help we may yet be able to recover the holy relic.'

  'You are right to remind me,' replied de Bracineaux glumly. 'We wait upon God's good pleasure-and upon this prince of the church.' Turning once again to the archbishop, he said, 'It rests with you, noble cleric. We are in your hands.'

  Bertrano frowned and pulled on his beard. He gazed long at the two men before him and made up his mind. 'Then I will not keep you waiting, my lords. I tell you now I want nothing more to do with you.'

  'I protest -' began Baron d'Anjou.

  The archbishop cut him off. 'Hear me out. You come galloping into my city with your horses and men, covered with dust and stinking of the trail. You come making demands and shouting orders at everyone, raising an unholy turmoil in the streets. You command audience and bully my monks until I abandon my work to see you.' He glared at his two unwelcome visitors.

  'Well, I have seen you,' concluded the archbishop brusquely. 'And I do not mind telling you that I do not like what I have seen.' He rose from his chair and stepped from the table. 'Now, sirs, I will thank you to excuse me. I have a church to build.'

  D'Anjou made to object once more, but de Bracineaux waved him off. 'I see we have provoked you, my lord archbishop,' he said. 'Pray forgive us. If we have acted in haste and without sufficient forethought, it was because we have been long on the trail with but a single thought burning in our hearts-to recover the holy relic for the good of the church.'

  The archbishop's scowl turned to anger. 'So say you,' he answered. 'But I do not know you. The Renaud de Bracineaux I knew perished in a Saracen prison!' He stepped toward the door of his hut. 'I bid you good day, gentlemen, and Godspeed.' With that he stepped through the door, slammed it behind him, and was gone.

  'How extraordinary,' remarked d'Anjou quietly. 'I do believe the man is insane.'

  'Perhaps,' agreed de Bracineaux. 'But there is more to this matter than we know. We must consider carefully what has happened before we decide how to act.' He rose stiffly from his chair and rubbed his hand over his face. 'I am tired, d'Anjou, and in dire need of a drink.'

  'Come, de Bracineaux,' replied the baron rising at once. 'I sent Gislebert to secure rooms for us at the inn across the square. Follow me, and we shall have wine and meat before you know it.'

  The inn was as much stable as hostel, with rancid straw on the floor and a grubby, ill-kept fire on the hearth. It was crowded with rough-handed labourers from the nearby cathedral who sat in dull exhaustion with pots of warm ale between their thick paws, drinking quietly to ease the throbbing in their joints. Several knights from the town had heard about the Templars' arrival and had come to see for themselves what manner of men they were. They were talking loudly and drinking wine as they took the measure of the much-vaunted Grand Commander of Jerusalem.

  'This is a noisy place,' grumbled de Bracineaux into his cup, swallowing down the wine in gulps. 'And it stinks. Trust Gislebert to find the worst.'

  'I have seen better, certainly.' D'Anjou gazed around the room with mild disgust. 'We could try somewhere else,' he suggested. 'Or would you rather stay at the monastery with the men?'

  'Good Lord, no. I have had a bellyful of simpering, damp-eyed monkery.' He drank again and set the cup down heavily. 'We will stay here the night and if all goes well tomorrow we will not be forced to endure another night in this pesthole of a town.'

  Baron d'Anjou refilled the cups. 'Have some more, de Bracineaux, and tell me how you plan to persuade this disagreeable priest of your sincerity.'

  The commander pushed aside the cup. 'No more of this vile stuf
f. See if the innkeeper has anything better.'

  D'Anjou rose and made his way to the board behind which the innkeeper and his haggard wife dispensed food and drink to their guests. He returned to the table with a small brown jar and two small wooden cups. He pulled the stopper and poured out a pale golden liquid, then passed one of the cups to the commander, who sampled it, then tipped his head back and swallowed the sweet, fiery liquor down in a gulp.

  'That is more to my liking,' de Bracineaux said. 'What is it?'

  'He called it dragon's milk-if I understood him correctly. The rude fellow's Latin is atrocious.' D'Anjou took a delicate sip. 'Not bad, whatever it is.' He refilled his companion's cup. 'It seems our friend the archbishop believes you to be someone else.'

  'What else should he believe? The man thinks me dead.'

  'You think it was the woman?'

  'Of course, who else? She spun a tale for him and he believed her, the old fool. And you are a fool, too, baron; I should never have listened to you.' The commander tossed down another bolt of the liquor. 'Now we must find a way to convince him of his folly.'

  'I wonder what else she told him-and, perhaps more to the point, what he has told her?'

  De Bracineaux shrugged. 'Once we gain the archbishop's confidence, all our questions will be answered.' Placing his hands flat on the table, the commander shoved back his stool and rose. 'I am going to bed.'

  He turned to make his way towards the door at the back of the room leading to the three sleeping rooms-one a common room with six grubby pallets of wood shavings and straw, and two small private chambers with slightly better furnishings. As he moved through the room, one of the Spanish knights called to him.

  'They say the Templars are God's own soldiers,' the young knight said loudly. 'Have you come to enrol the brave Spanish in your holy army?'

  De Bracineaux glanced around and saw four large young men sitting at a table, watching him with scowling faces. He saw the ruddy blush of wine on their smooth cheeks and knew they were half in their cups, so decided to ignore them and moved on.