Blades of Valor (10 page)

The brown hills at the edge of the horizon seemed to ripple like a mirage in the heat of the day.

“I don’t ever remember Geoffrey talking about a wife,” Baldwin said.

“Do you remember him talking about not having a wife?” Rowan countered. “Did he even talk to you? My mother said there were some among the Templar that my father didn’t like.”

“Are you suggesting that your father and I didn’t get along?” Baldwin’s face began to turn red, and it wasn’t just the heat. “We faced the Mamelukes together in the last days of Acre.”

It struck Isabelle that Baldwin’s irritation with Rowan was the irritation of a man facing a rival. In a sense, this was ridiculous, as Rowan was just a boy. But Rowan’s honesty and earnestness must have seemed like a constant challenge to Baldwin.

In that moment, Isabelle had an insight into the hatred that Baldwin expressed for Sir William. Baldwin never spoke about any particular incident or fight between the two of them, only that they were enemies.

Isabelle’s sudden realization was that Baldwin would instinctively fear and dislike any honest and honorable person, because Baldwin was not. If Rowan’s sense of honor came from his father, perhaps Rowan’s accusation had merit.

Then, with a stab of clarity, Isabelle thought of herself and the hatred she had for Katherine. Was this the same instinctive fear and dislike? Would Katherine, for example, hire assassins to kill Isabelle as Isabelle had once done?

It occurred to Isabelle too, in that moment, that she had daily deceived Rowan to take advantage of his full trust. If the boy ever discovered that, it would shatter him.

But why should it matter to her? She served the Druids, and that justified any and every action against Thomas and Katherine and Sir William.

Still, she wondered why these thoughts were disturbing her, and she wanted to push them away.

“Rowan,” Isabelle said, “you’ve spoke of proof of your heritage. Perhaps if you showed Lord Baldwin, you could put this matter to rest.”

“When the time is right,” Rowan said. “But this is not the time to serve myself. When I have helped you complete your quest to regain from Thomas what is rightfully yours, I will consider my own needs.”

He spoke so stoutly that Isabelle wanted to reach over and hug the boy. Which only reminded her of how she was using lies to keep the boy on her side and against Thomas.

“Lord Baldwin,” Isabelle said, almost brusquely, “we are not alone in Jericho. Another one of us has arrived from England. He is one of the masters, and my father serves him, as I serve my father. We are to meet him tonight to discuss further how to regain from Thomas what has been taken.”

“His name?” Lord Baldwin asked.

“That is to remain secret until we meet with him,” Isabelle answered.

She spoke softly to Rowan. “I’m afraid we will need our privacy for the evening.”

His downcast face spoke loudly to her. Suddenly anger welled within her. Who was this boy to be her silent conscience? And why, of all things, did it feel as if she suddenly had a conscience to worry about?

Twenty

A
fter five days, the small group of travelers reached the town walls of Jericho. The gatekeeper gave them only a passing glance. Katherine had veiled her face, not just because it was custom for all women in public, but even more to hide her striking and unusual blond hair.

Once through the town walls, she noted that the streets were extremely narrow and ran crookedly in all directions. She passed the observation on to Sir William.

“Defense,” he said. “Should invaders ever break through the town gates, they face the confusion of the twisting streets. Not only that, but streets these narrow force armies to advance in a column only four or five men wide. Thus, four or five defenders can halt the entire army, for those behind the leading ranks of the army are unable to fight. And”—Sir William gestured upward at the sun-bleached square buildings—“while the army is slowed on the ground, defenders up top cast down rocks or boiling oil.”

Katherine nodded understanding and then, as custom dictated for women, followed meekly behind Sir William and the other two men as they searched for an inn.

At dusk, with a lighted candle in his hand, Sir William moved to the opening cut in the blocks of stone that served as a window.

The fading afternoon sun cast a small shaft of light into the cramped room, light almost completely blocked as the knight stood in front of the window.

The walls were gray with years of accumulated filth. The room was completely bare except for a pile of straw in one corner. Beside the straw, a pitcher with water and a bowl with figs and bread.

Earlier, Katherine had dropped her blanket on the straw, then jumped slightly as two rats scurried out beneath her feet, darted to the wall, and scrabbled their way up to the window before disappearing. That surprise had not deterred her in the slightest, so eager was she to sleep on something softer than cold, hard ground.

“This inn is known to many of the forsaken knights as a safe haven,” Sir William explained from the window. “Even so, I prefer not to have you sleep alone. The four of us shall share this room.”

“That, too, sets my mind at ease,” she answered. “And for one night, it is no discomfort to be guarded in such a manner.”

Sir William stepped back. Three lighted candles were now standing in the window.

“It may be more than one night,” he said. “For now, we wait until this signal is answered.”

The knock on the door came during the second night.

It was a soft knock, yet enough to pull Katherine from deep sleep. She sat quickly, and when Sir William opened the door, her eyes were clear and she was alert.

The three candles that burned on the windowsill cast unsteady light across the room.

The man who slipped inside the door wore the long, flowing clothing of a desert traveler. As the door shut, he pulled the wraps from his headband and rubbed his hair lightly, as if relieved to be free of its restrictions.

Katherine watched him with mild curiosity. In the flickering light, his features were blurred, but not so much that she could not distinguish a flash of white teeth as he smiled greeting to Sir William.

The two men were of same height and build. The man’s hair was dark, unlike the complexion of his skin, and his first words confirmed Katherine’s immediate guess. The man was not a native to this land, but rather of Europe, for he spoke in slow and measured English.

“I had despaired that you would ever arrive,” the man said. “It was with great relief that I saw your signal in the window.”

The man glanced around the room and nodded at the two other men, Umar and Hadad. His eyes stopped on Katherine.

“Do my eyes mock me?” he said. “Or is this truly a vision of beauty?”

“They do not,” Sir William said. He stepped between the man and Katherine to make introductions.

Katherine took the cue and rose.

As the man stepped closer, she saw that his hair was tinged with silver at the temples. A handsome man with a noble bearing. Another part of her mind noted sadly that, handsome as he was, her mind could not release a vision of Thomas.

“This, sir, is Katherine. She is one of us.”

So the man is an Immortal.

The man took Katherine’s hand, bowed and lightly touched his lips against the back of her hand.

“I am honored,” he said.

Katherine raised her eyebrows in question, and Sir William answered immediately.

“This, m’lady, is a man with vast knowledge of the Holy Land. As one of England’s greatest knights, he has proven to be a great thorn in the side of the Mameluke soldiers who have attempted his capture for years.”

“I am equally honored,” Katherine said. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir … Sir …”

Sir William quickly spoke again. “Lord Baldwin, Katherine. None other than Lord Hubert Baldwin.”

“May we speak freely?” Lord Baldwin asked.

Sir William glanced at Umar and Hadad and spoke rapid words in their native language. They nodded in reply.

Then Sir William spoke to Lord Baldwin. “They will not resent it if you speak in English, a tongue they do not understand.”

“And the lady?”

“She has proven herself repeatedly, Lord Baldwin. Now, with so few of us in these desperate times, she must be counted among our leaders.”

High praise indeed.
Katherine hoped her flush would not be visible in the candlelight.

Lord Baldwin smiled broadly at Katherine. His teeth gleamed like a wolf’s. Katherine tried to dismiss the thought, but failed.
What secrets must such a man carry?

His words interrupted her thoughts.

“I have heard the news, of course,” Lord Baldwin said. “The one known as Thomas must be killed. And it should not be difficult to find him. Not when he is a stranger among the people of this land.”

Katherine flinched, but forced her face to remain as stone.

“But I know little else,” Lord Baldwin said. “Why must he be killed? Did he not reconquer Magnus? Was not his father the—”

“Yes, yes,” Sir William said quickly, as if he wanted to spare Katherine the pain of more thoughts of Thomas’s betrayal. “Katherine, perhaps you might describe all that has happened since I departed from Magnus.”

Katherine took a deep breath. “The situation in England is thus …”

She repeated what she had told Sir William earlier.

Lord Baldwin’s frown deepened at each new piece of information.

“What can we do first?” he asked when Katherine finished.

Sir William grinned. “Listen to the man!” he said. “He says the word ‘first.’ He believes much can be done!”

Then Sir William sobered. “I, too, have news from England.” He faced Katherine. “I withheld it from you because I believed it unfair to give you false hope. I did not know if Lord Baldwin would reach us. But now that the one knight we need is here …”

“Spare the flattery,” Lord Baldwin growled. “Tell us what you have.”

“A letter,” Sir William said. He hesitated. “From Hawkwood himself. Given to a trusted messenger who delivered it to me in St. Jean d’Acre after months of journey from France.”

Sir William looked to Lord Baldwin. “It arrived barely a week before Katherine did. I had no time to send you word and inform you of its contents.”

Lord Baldwin dismissed the apology with a wave. “I am here now,” he said. “That is what matters.”

Katherine barely heard as she again forced her face to be stone.
The letter, then, was sent before Hawkwood’s death.
She remembered well her entire winter in France, how she had spent hour after hour in the library of the abbey, wondering where the old man might be during his six-month absence.

Sir William answered her thoughts. “In the letter, Hawkwood explains that he spent months traveling from monastery to monastery.”

Searching for what?

Again, Sir William answered her thoughts. He reached for his travel pouch and withdrew a strange pale material, folded flat into a small square.

Puzzlement at the material was as clear on Lord Baldwin’s face as on Katherine’s.

“It is called paper,” Sir William explained. “Much lighter and more pliable than parchment. The messenger informed me that all of Europe is now learning of its use from the Spaniards.”

He handed it to Katherine. Gently, hesitantly, she unfolded it.
So much lighter than parchment,
she marveled.
And it does not crack to be folded.

Almost immediately, however, her thoughts turned to the old man. For there, even in the low light, she saw his clear, strong handwriting.

“Read it aloud,” Sir William urged.

Twenty-One

S
he did so, in low, almost hushed tones.

From Paris this third day of March, in the Year of Our Lord 1313—Word has reached me that matters in Magnus are worsening. Our enemies have openly begun their final campaign. In less than two years, I fear, they will have gained enough power among the people to succeed.

We are yet unable to trust Thomas. Our friend Gervaise is still in Magnus and watches carefully, but from him I have received no word that Thomas is one of us. And without trust in Thomas, we cannot be sure we will regain Magnus. Without Magnus, our efforts in England will be doomed.