Knights of the Black and White

by Jack Whyte

  FIVE

  “Really, Odo, you are being thoroughly tiresome today. I sent for you in the hope that you would entertain me and divert me this afternoon, but you have done nothing but mope like an old dotard.”

  “Nonsense, my dear princess, let us tell the truth and put the devil to shame. You sent for me in the hope that you could pump me for information, on whatever topic holds most interest for you at this time. When was it ever otherwise? But I have not been able to tell you anything this time, much as I love you and wish to please you, because I do not know what you want. If you insist on playing games and not asking me directly about whatever it is you wish to know, then you can hardly hold me responsible for being incapable at times of deciphering your true intent.”

  Alice le Bourcq remained silent for a count of ten, staring at him through narrowed eyes. “I am very glad you were smiling when you said that, my lord Bishop,” she said then, precisely when he knew she would. “Otherwise I might have thought you were being insolent. As it is, you have succeeded in amusing me for the first time since you arrived, so come over here and sit close to me. I wish to whisper secrets in your ear.”

  Marveling for perhaps the thousandth time how anyone so young could sound so worldly, Bishop Odo rose slowly to his feet and crossed silently and obediently to where she reclined on a couch, watching him, her feet tucked modestly up beneath her long skirts. For all her surprising sophistication, he thought, her lack of years and experience could not be completely concealed all the time. Although she may have been schooled to astonishing depths in the ways of men and women, in some respects her youthfulness was yet as transparent as fine glass, and this wheedling, teasing eagerness to have her own way was one of those.

  He had played his own part to perfection this afternoon, he thought as he approached her, achieving an air so faultlessly poised between distraction and preoccupation that it had piqued the princess’s interest while annoying her intensely at the same time. And once her interest had been attracted, it had been merely a matter of time until, notwithstanding her annoyance, she had been compelled to act upon her curiosity. Now she was visibly intrigued, knowing that he was thinking about something for which he was prepared to risk her anger, and Odo knew she would stop at nothing now until she was satisfied that she had drained him of every drop of information he possessed, despite the possibility that it might hold no interest at all for her.

  He stood directly in front of her, towering over her so that she had to tilt back her head to look up at him, exposing the snowy perfection of her long neck and a swooping expanse of smooth skin that ended in the first swelling of her breasts, and he felt his loins stir in response to her nearness. She raised a hand languidly, wiggling her fingers until he took them in his own, at which point she closed her hand and pulled him down towards her.

  “Come, sit with me.”

  She tightened her grip and pulled him closer, arching her back and pushing her buttocks against the rear of her couch to make enough room for him to sit close against her, in the curled crescent of her body. As he lowered himself to sit, he felt her body pressing against his lower back, and she laid her right hand flat against his belly, just above his pubic bone, pressing him closer until he relaxed and leaned back against her, his right arm resting on the curve of her hip where it swept down to her waist, his left elbow on her thigh, the back of his fingers aware of the warmth of the soft skin behind her knee, beneath the diaphanous robe.

  “There! Are you comfortable?”

  He dipped his head, allowing his hand to settle on the curve of her waist, flexing his fingers gently in a caress. She made a contented little sound, and he pressed harder, kneading the pliant flesh more firmly as the fingers of his other hand spread and grasped the back of her leg above the knee.

  “Aah, you beast,” she murmured, smiling at him as she slowly raised her leg high, bracing her heel against the couch’s back and permitting his questing fingers to slide down along the length of her thigh to the join of her body while her own hand moved with the ease of long practice to penetrate his episcopal robes.

  Odo permitted himself only a short time to luxuriate in the sensation that followed, before he thrust his right hand forward to grasp her wrist tightly, for he knew how quickly those milking fingers could bring the seed spuming, and once it was spilt, he would probably lack the time required to regenerate his stock.

  “Hold, my dear. Be patient for a while.”

  Alice cocked one eyebrow as if she were wondering what could possibly be wrong with him, but her grip had slackened to a less intense, but still pleasurable, level, and Odo allowed his own hand to relax in the same way as he continued, his voice calm and deliberate.

  “We have much to talk about here if I am to tell you what is on my mind today, because I am still thinking through the possibilities of what has come to me, and I am sure you would prefer, as would I, to keep me alert in the telling, rather than risk having me lose focus by being too soon tired—if you take my meaning. Would you agree with that?”

  Alice continued to gaze at him for several moments, her eyes speculative, and then she nodded, her fingers like butterfly wings fluttering against him, fingertips suddenly transformed to lightest gossamer. “I agree,” she said. “Far better to keep a storyteller awake and alert to his surroundings while he performs than to risk having him fall asleep in a distant corner through lack of interest in his … tale.” She raised an eyebrow then, and her hand pulled his robes apart, folding them back and away from him. “So, what is this story to be about? You have my entire attention.”

  “As you have mine, my lady.”

  A long silence ensued, broken only by an occasional gasp and some lingering, deep-drawn breaths until the princess pushed herself up to her feet from behind him, then straddled him on her knees. Moments later, she held him firmly lodged and she leaned back on her haunches, pinning him with her full weight. “There, now,” she whispered. “If you stay there, without moving for a while, you should be able to concentrate upon what you have to tell me. Keep me interested, my lord Bishop, keep me listening, for only thus will you be able to avoid a sudden ending to this bliss. Tell me what has been distracting you so noticeably today.”

  Odo closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts, and then he began to talk, pausing only very occasionally to shift slightly, and each time he did, Alice moved with him, her hands gripping his shoulders lightly, her eyes intent upon his, watching his every flicker of expression while accommodating him, acknowledging his lust without inflaming him beyond where he already was.

  “It’s those damnable monks,” he began. “The upstarts created by Warmund.”

  “Why would you call them damnable?” Alice took great care to keep her face expressionless and made her voice sound bored. “My understanding is that they have proved themselves useful on many occasions, and they are very modest in their desires. What have they got to do with you?”

  “Nothing, on the surface, but underneath, they are becoming a nuisance, taking up too much of my time—time I can ill afford to waste on them.”

  “How so?” Alice shifted her position minutely, sideways and back, merely enough to focus his attention where she wanted it.

  He grunted and closed his eyes for a moment, then returned to his topic. “Well, they are not so modest now, not so self-effacing. It has been years since they were last called the Patriarch’s Patrol. They call themselves nowadays the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Jesus Christ.” He made no attempt to hide his disdain for the knight monks or for their new name, but he was acutely aware of the need to name no names and to avoid, in particular, any mention of the youngest one, St. Clair, for were Alice to discover that he suspected her interest in the fellow, her reactions would be unpredictable, and Odo had no wish to incur her anger.

  Alice laughed aloud. “The what? What a ridiculous and ludicrous name! The Poor Fellow Soldiers of Jesus Christ … The poor fellows are obviously delusional. But why should that concern you?”

&nb
sp; “It does not … not at all. I have no interest in what they call themselves. They can call themselves Daughters of the Blessed Virgin, for all I care, so be they keep their stupidities and their apostasies from stinking up the public awareness. No, it’s what they are doing that concerns me.”

  Alice sat motionless now, staring into his eyes. “And what are they doing that concerns you so?”

  “I—” Odo sucked in a sudden deep, agonized breath and froze, rigid in bare-toothed concentration, his fingers digging into Alice’s thighs until the surging threat of explosion had passed, and then he slumped back, exhaling raggedly. “Sweet Jesus, that was close …”

  “Aye, it was, but it passed by. Tell me, what are these monks doing that concerns you so?”

  “Digging.” Odo’s voice was still unsteady.

  Alice released his shoulders and sat back, resting her haunches on his thighs, one outstretched hand touching his chest as she looked into his eyes to see if he meant what he had said. “Digging? In the ground?” Her voice was heavy with disbelief. “Those men are knights, Odo. Monks today, perhaps, but knights by training and breeding. They are no more likely to dig in the ground than you are.”

  “But that is what they are doing. Digging … tunneling. I believe the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Jesus Christ are digging a tunnel in their stables.”

  The princess was staring at him in stupefaction, but then she began to laugh. “In their stables? Why would they do that?”

  “Because they are obviously searching for something. That is why anyone digs a tunnel. Either to find something at the end of it or to escape to some other place. In this case, had they wished merely to escape to some other place, all they need do was walk away. Ergo, they are searching for something.”

  “But what on earth could they be searching for? And how did you discover they were doing this?”

  So intense had been this last exchange that both of them had temporarily forgotten the other activity that had been engrossing them mere moments earlier. Now Odo shook his head abruptly. “Two questions there. Which do you want answered first?”

  “The first one. What are they searching for?”

  “I don’t know, and that’s why I’m so annoyed over this. First, there is no place for them to dig, except downward into the living rock.”

  “So? What are you saying?”

  “I am saying, my lady, that they might well be tunneling straight down into solid stone, but that makes no sense if they are looking for a treasure or what have you, simply because there cannot be a treasure, or anything for that matter, hidden in solid stone.”

  “No, unless the rock beneath them is less solid than we think, and knowing that, they are digging in search of that less solid matter …”

  “But how would they—?”

  “Hush. Let me think. How did you find out they were doing this, this tunneling?”

  “One of my people told me.”

  “What people are those? Are you telling me you have spies among the knight monks?” The bishop shrugged, and Alice disregarded that piece of information for the moment. “Very well, then, what did this spy discover?”

  Odo pushed his body against her, but his tumescence had vanished and he felt only warmth and moist softness. He sighed and resigned himself to the inevitable. “That there was something suspicious taking place within the stables, something confined only to the knight monks themselves. The sergeants—the lay brothers—from what he had seen and learned knew nothing of what was happening, or if they did know something, they were being highly protective of their knowledge. My man came to believe eventually that they truly knew nothing, and that in itself is remarkable, within such a small and tight-knit community as theirs.”

  “And what did he know, this man of yours? What did he see?”

  “He saw nothing … nothing absolute. But he observed what was going on for months and took careful note of everything that happened.”

  “And what about the digging, did he see that? Did he see anything that involved digging or tunneling?”

  “Well, no, not exactly. But he heard it.”

  “Heard what?”

  “Hammering. Digging into rock. He heard the noises coming from the stables, muffled hammerings, at night, when everything else was quiet.”

  “Your man might be a lying fool, Odo, and I would be a fool to believe you without more evidence than you evidently have.”

  “Aye, you are right, Princess. I have no proof, but I have suspicions, and I have ample grounds for believing those suspicions to be valid. And so I would be a fool myself were I not to take my suspicions to your father the King. The stables are his property, and no matter what those monks are doing there, if they are digging, tunneling, or disturbing the status quo in any way, without permission, they must hold themselves liable to the King, as would I were I to fail to report to him what I believe. I believe those knight monks are hiding something, and so an investigation will be launched into their activities. And when that is complete, whatever it is that they are hiding will have come to light.”

  Alice had grown pensive as she listened, and now she sat nodding her head slowly. Odo cleared his throat, but before he could speak again she made a shushing sound, soothing him to silence, and placed one hand flat against his sternum as her other sought down at the join of them, her probing fingers bringing him back to life as if by magic until he filled her again. Then, for a while, he lay with his head thrown back while she reared above him, taking him slowly to the point at which he began to tremble and thrust blindly, then stopping him before he could achieve completion. Odo was close to ecstasy, shuddering with deferred pleasure, whereas Alice, watching him, was deep in thought, and as she saw him begin to regain awareness of who and where he was, she began to move again, knowing that he would be determined to finish this time. She allowed him to work towards that, seeing the half smile on his face develop into a rictus. And then, judging the moment to within half a heartbeat, she straightened her legs and stood up, dislodging him and holding him away with a straight arm until he finally subsided, gasping, and asked her what in God’s name she was doing.

  She smiled sweetly at him. “I am withholding pleasure, my lord, prolonging the excitement. You do enjoy me, do you not? You love the pleasure and the sinful-ness of what I do to you and what I permit you to do to me. Your lust for me makes you wild and keeps you young, and the danger of it keeps you coming back to me for more. You wallow in the enjoyment of fornicating with the King’s daughter, of debauching her and being debauched by her in all her wicked youthfulness, despite the fact—or perhaps because of the fact—that being caught doing so would be the death of you. Is that not so? I know it is, dear Odo, because you have often told me so. And thus I want you to consider very carefully what I have to say next, and to believe that I am being completely truthful. Then, once I am convinced that you really understand and believe what I will tell you, we can continue, and I will explain to you what is in my mind for a change. Are we agreed?”

  Odo nodded, but his eyes fastened on the matted tangle of hair so lewdly exposed by the way she held her skirts clutched up around her waist.

  “Are we agreed, Odo? Look in my eyes and answer me.”

  Reluctantly he raised his eyes to hers. “Agreed.”

  “Good. Now listen carefully.” She bent her knees and lowered her center towards him again, stopping just beyond his reach but holding herself brazenly open to his inspection. “Look at me, Odo. See what I have here and think of this. You will never see, or feel, kiss or caress or enjoy this body in any way, ever again, if you breathe one single word of what we have talked about here to anyone, be it my father the King or his Most Holy Patriarch Archbishop.” Odo had reared back as far as he could, his eyebrows rising in disbelief, and she pounced, lowering herself onto him until she felt him penetrate her. “Feel me, Odo, feel that, then ask yourself if you believe I mean what I say.” She withdrew her heat again as quickly as she had delivered it, and stood, dropping her s
kirts to conceal her legs.

  “Do you believe?”

  Odo of Fontainebleau nodded, slowly, and his eyes were filled with conviction. “I believe you. Absolutely and completely. I have no idea why you should make such a demand on me, or what would make you utter such a threat, but it is a potent one, and I have no wish to see it come to pass. I will say nothing, tell no one. But I may go to my grave wondering why.”

  Alice’s wide grin was a sudden explosion of joy, one of those breathtakingly beautiful and all too rare demonstrations that she was, in fact, little more than a child, with a child’s enthusiasm and delight still flickering within her. Odo’s heart turned over, as it always did when he saw the fleeting magic of it.

  “No, you will not,” she exclaimed, spinning on one foot, the other in the air. “No need for that, my lord. I’m going to tell you now exactly why it must be so.” She paused, hesitating on tiptoe, her eyes still flaring in little-girlish enjoyment. “At least I shall, in a moment, when we have finished our delights.” She gathered up her skirts again, holding them bunched around her waist, and moved slowly back towards him, licking her lips, slack mouthed and lascivious, and watching his response as she drew near him.

  This time there was no restraint and no withholding, and their melding was brief and incandescent, finished almost before it began. For a while they lay intertwined, too spent to move, and when Odo spoke again the shadows in the room had shifted visibly.

  “Why would you punish me so severely for speaking of this to your father?”

  They were respectable again, seated at a table by the window, drinking chilled wine and eating sweetmeats, their clothing showing no signs of their earlier activities.

  “First, you must tell me something. Do you really believe the knight monks are digging in the Temple Mount?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Very well. What lies beneath it, do you know?”

  “Nothing, I suspect, unless a mountain has roots.”