Blades of Valor (12 page)

Lord Baldwin nodded agreement and began to lift his travel bag.

“Our donkeys await us at the stable,” he told Thomas. “And our journey is long.”

They had barely traveled five miles before reaching the portion of the road that climbed the hills toward Jerusalem. Dust already caked Thomas, for fellow travelers were frequent and there had been little rain to make the soil of the road heavy.

Without warning, the donkey beneath Thomas stumbled. Thomas pitched sideways, but twisted with a quickness that brought his feet below him quickly enough to land standing.

Lord Baldwin chuckled approval.

“Well done … my son.”

Thomas stopped dusting himself and met the soft gaze of his companion. Surely it was meant as an endearment. Surely he could not mean …

“Yes,” Lord Baldwin answered the stare of amazement. “You are my son.”

Thomas straightened.

“You … my father?”

“Just as you are an Immortal.” Lord Baldwin dug beneath the layers of clothes that protected him from the heat. “This is the pendant that I have waited years to bestow upon you.”

His words were so unexpected that Thomas ignored the donkey as it sagged back to sit upon its hind legs. He reached for the offered pendant.

He studied it carefully, aware that Lord Baldwin’s eyes were intent upon him. The delicate carvings in the pendant showed a sword stuck in a stone, with the silhouette of the castle of Magnus in the background.

“You … you are my father?” Though the words were repeated, his tone was not startled disbelief, but questioning hope.

“It was not chance that I was able to rescue you from those bandits outside of Nazareth,” Lord Baldwin said. “Nor chance that I was part of the caravan which accompanied you away from St. Jean d’Acre.”

Lord Baldwin shook his head. “It was a cause worth my while, to be with you, yet I pray I need never be a slave again.”

“You followed me?” Thomas said.

Lord Baldwin nodded. “I dared not reveal myself. Not in Acre. Not in Nazareth. Not with that treacherous Sir William nearby. It would have been a fight to the death, and too much is at stake for me to risk such an end. Not when I couldn’t tru—”

Thomas tilted his head in quizzical amusement. “Not when you couldn’t trust me.” Thomas paused. “Why now? Why choose this time to tell me?”

“Because—” Lord Baldwin had no choice but to stop as Thomas’s donkey groaned in pain.

Thomas scanned the road behind him, measuring the distance back to Jericho.

“Is this usual for such a beast?” Thomas asked. “At least we are within sight of the town. It is not too late to turn back and find another donkey, should this one prove to be seriously ill.”

“I confess this matter
is
puzzling.” Lord Baldwin frowned as the donkey groaned again. “Never in this land have I seen a beast behave as such.”

“Shall we wait?” Thomas suggested. “Perhaps it has indigestion. If we rest in the shade, it may recover.”

Lord Baldwin nodded, so Thomas hobbled both donkeys, reached for a pouch that hung from the donkey’s saddle, and grabbed it before climbing rocks that led away from the road. After the climb, he stopped in the shade of a large boulder and waited for Lord Baldwin to sit beside him.

It gave them a view of the entire valley, and far away, Thomas saw, or perhaps imagined he saw, the green ribbon of trees that lined the River Jordan.

“Father,”
Thomas said, trying out the unfamiliar word. “It is strange on my tongue and in my mind. I do not know how to feel.”

An ironic smile from Lord Baldwin. “Immortals are taught to know so much, but this is something even the best teacher could not anticipate.”

Thomas stared at him. “You know of Merlin. You call Sir William and Katherine by name, although I had only told you that two friends betrayed me. I cannot doubt you are my father.”

“We will have much to share, my son.” Lord Baldwin slapped Thomas on the back and smiled. “Much to share.”

Thomas opened his travel pouch and unwrapped a comb of honey, which he offered to Lord Baldwin. The older man bit into the sweetness eagerly and fell silent for several more minutes.

Finally, his mouth was empty of the honey.

“At first, I did not know if you were, like Sir William and Katherine, a Druid,” Lord Baldwin began after clearing his throat. “After all, how easy to pretend anger at the two friends of whom you made mention, cleverly concealing their names as if you did not know I was an Immortal. Anything to gain my confidence. But we have passed Jericho, and now I know you deserve my trust.”

“Jericho?”

“My logic is thus: Sir William is a Druid. Were you an Immortal, it would not be to his advantage to tell you of the Crusader safe house there known to the knights of this land, nor to your advantage to tell you that
I
am an Immortal. Were you a Druid, he would have told you of the existence of the safe house—and instructed you to meet him there to discuss deception you and he would have plotted against me. When you first told me that you might seek Jerusalem after a journey to St. Jean d’Acre, I wondered if you really meant to meet Sir William in Jericho, the one town where all travelers to Jerusalem rest.”

Lord Baldwin licked the sticky honey from his lips. “In Jericho, you did not seek the safe house, so I can happily conclude you are not an ally of Sir William. You truly are one of us. I can welcome you as my son. I shall earn your trust by sharing with you the great wealth of a long-lost secret. Then we can return to England and, with what you know, defeat the Druids there.”

Silence as they both pondered those words. Not even the groaning of the donkey reached them at their secluded resting place.

“The honey was sweet, was it not?” Thomas finally said softly.

“Very sweet indeed!”

“Yes, very sweet. But not nearly as sweet as the lies you have told,” Thomas continued in the same soft tones. He held up his hand to forestall Lord Baldwin. “I am not the fool you think me to be.”

Lord Baldwin winced. But not from Thomas’s words. He clutched his stomach, and his wince became a moan.

“If the honey does not settle well,” Thomas said, “it is merely because of the time I spent at the market this morning in search of the poison it contains, the same poison that pains my donkey below.”

Twenty-Four

L
ess than an hour later, Thomas walked through the streets of Jericho. The anger on his face was not visible, nor the tense jutting of his jaw, for his face was well hidden beneath the cloth that protected his head from the sun. Yet his determination was obvious, and many were those on the crowded streets who gave way before his marching strides.

Thomas did not hesitate as he approached his destination, a small inn tucked among the poorer dwellings of the city.

He brushed aside the protests of an old man at the door, and as he climbed the stone stairs that led to the second floor of the square building, he placed his hand on the hilt of the sword.

When he reached the entrance he sought, he did not knock. Instead, he pushed hard with his shoulder and popped the door inward.

As he entered, he pulled the sword loose and slashed air.

There was no one to challenge him. All four occupants of the room were lying on mats, bound, gagged, and powerless to react to his sudden appearance.

Thomas stepped ahead, then turned so that he could face the half-open door. He kept his sword ready in his right hand and, with his left hand, pulled the bands of cloth from his head to reveal his face.

Only then did one of the occupants react with wide eyes.

“Yes, Katherine,” Thomas said. There was no warmth in his voice. “You are no doubt surprised to see me?”

Her eyes remained unblinking.

Thomas glanced at the others. “Sir William,” he said, with the same lack of warmth. “You still prefer assassins as companions? Or do you miss my company?”

The knight only blinked.

“You have my sympathy,” Thomas said. “For you two shall remain here.”

With that, Thomas stepped forward and, with a small knife, cut free the gag from Sir William’s mouth.

“One may return,” Sir William warned him. “The one who guards us.”

“Then he shall taste steel,” Thomas said. “A fight will serve as a useful outlet for my anger. You and she and all the others have mocked me with deception for too long. Except now I intend to find the truth.”

Sir William merely repeated his warning. “Watch your back,” he said.

Thomas ignored Umar and Hadad as he moved to cut Katherine’s gag.

“Thomas …” she began, only to stop at the cold rage in his eyes.

“I will free you both,” Thomas said. “Under one condition.”

He loosed a leather water bag from his belt. “The condition that you drink from this.”

“Water?” Katherine asked.

“Perhaps,” Thomas said. “Why ask with such suspicion? If I meant you harm, I would slit your throats where you lie instead of burdening myself with your presence as we travel.”

Sir William spat remnant threads of the gag from his mouth. “Drink it, Katherine. If he insists upon such childish games, we must play. And quickly. For if our jailer returns …”

“I will drink,” Katherine said calmly.

Thomas squatted to offer her the mouth of the bag. He held Katherine’s head to steady it as he poured.

This soft hair. Those deep blue eyes. And the lips that drink.

He frowned at his weakness for those thoughts. Katherine took his frown for renewed anger.

“It is not what you think,” she said.

“That remains to be discovered,” Thomas said. He moved to Sir William to let him drink as well.

Then Thomas stood. He drank heavily from the water bag, then tied the mouth shut and hung it again from his belt.

“At the very least,” observed Sir William, “let the other two men drink.”

Thomas wiped his lips and shook his head.

“They have done you no harm, nor do they intend to,” Sir William insisted.

Thomas shook his head again, then leaned over with the knife to begin sawing at the rope binding Katherine’s ankles together.

“It will not be a favor to let them drink,” Thomas said. He grunted in effort as the hemp of the rope snapped apart. “For the water we shared contains a slow-acting poison.”

Twenty-Five

P
ast Jericho, somewhere high in the mountainous hills, they stopped at dusk. Because the hills were so steep, there were few villages and no towns. Had Thomas even wanted to risk another night in an inn, it would not have been possible. The choices were to travel during the night or set camp. To travel at night through these dark hills would be suicide. Thomas did not know how far they were from Jerusalem.

Thomas began to build a fire as the other travelers unburdened the donkeys and unrolled blankets. When they finished, they stood near the fire, and all watched Thomas in sullen silence.

“You see, perhaps, that I brought much food,” Thomas said cheerfully. “And that our donkeys carry bundles of kindling. You may expect many more nights like this.”

No reply. Nor did he expect one. For all three travelers had moved during the day in complete silence.

Thomas stood, placed his hands on his hips, and regarded them where they stood.

They stared back. Lord Baldwin on one side, still pale with illness. Katherine and Sir William on the other, pressed together in mutual distrust of their other traveling companions.

“Come, let us eat,” Thomas said in the same cheerful tones. “Then we shall talk of many things.”

“Eat?” Lord Baldwin grunted. “Not your food. For what potion will you surprise me with next?”

“Come, come,” Thomas said. “No trust?”

Thomas grinned at Katherine and Sir William.

“You’ll not trust my food either?”

They merely stared at him.

Thomas rubbed his hands together briskly. “Well, then,” Thomas said. “Let me propose this. You three cook. And I’ll eat my share of the food. That way you can be assured I’ll not poison you again.”

Silence.

So Thomas continued, “Besides, as I’ll gladly explain after our meal, the poison already within you is sufficient for your deaths.”

The flames had died to the red glow of embers—low enough that Thomas could see beyond the fire to the shadows cast among the boulders by the moonlight and the piercing white of the stars in the sky.

“Hear ye, hear ye, all those gathered here today,” Thomas said in a low, mocking voice.

“Spare us the games,” Lord Baldwin said.

Thomas raised his eyebrows, not caring that the effect would be lost in the darkness. “Such a foul disposition. Does your stomach ail you already?”

“We shared the same food,” Lord Baldwin said. “Ask questions of your own stomach.”

“Tsk, tsk,”
Thomas countered. “Must I remind you that it is not tonight’s meal that should concern you, but rather the honey you ate earlier?”

The man had been as helpless as a lamb during his convulsions after the poisoned honey and had been easy to bind and leave in the shade of the rocks. Thomas grinned to remember the shock on Lord Baldwin’s face as he had returned to unbind him in the presence of Sir William and Katherine.