Knights of the Black and White (65 page)

For her part, Alice was mulling over all that St. Clair had said, and in spite of herself and all her wishes to the contrary, she found herself believing him. His mention of her father’s blessing on their digging—a detail that would be too easy to verify—had convinced her more than any other thing the knight had said. That, plus the self-evident truth of his statement about the stables being built upon solid rock. She had known that from the outset, having seen the outcrops of it among the rubble of the temple ruins, but she had chosen to disregard it in her eagerness to set her hands upon a treasure of her own. Now, looking at the knight monk, she decided that if she were asked to wager on which was more feasible—the monks digging out living quarters for themselves from the solid rock or, alternatively, the monks hewing through solid rock in search of some unknown treasure, she would know enough to place her money on the former. That fool Odo really was a fool, she mused, and she Complicities

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would find some way to make him painfully aware that she knew he was.

In the meantime, however, she saw the way the strange knight monk opposite her was trying not to look at her, and she sighed and rose to her feet, admitting to herself that she had caused him enough grief for one day. And besides, she thought, she herself had to be about her affairs, selecting the fabrics for her wedding gown.

She smiled pleasantly at St. Clair, thanked him courte-ously for his explanations, and clapped her hands to summon Ishtar, who escorted Brother Stephen to the palace gates and saw him safely on his way back to the stables below, one arm clutching a bundle that contained the clothes he had worn when he arrived at the palace.

FIVE

A profoundly scandalized silence descended upon the entire community of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Jesus Christ from the moment Brother Stephen was first spotted approaching the stable precincts, dressed as he was in silks and muslin, with his face scrubbed pinkly clean and sweet odors wafting in his wake as he passed. Such was the euphoria that still gripped him, however, that he found himself grinning widely to everyone he met, calling each of them loudly by name and greeting them effusively as he swept past, into the interior of the stables, and leaving all of them, without exception, staring after him open mouthed and speechless.

He found Brother Hugh, as he expected, in colloquy with Brother Godfrey in the records room and stepped directly inside, closing the doors at his back and smiling at the expressions on their faces as they took in his ap-630

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pearance from head to foot. It was de Payens who first recovered his voice and his aplomb. He sat back in his chair, his eyebrows settling back into their normal position, and crossed his hands upon his flat belly. “We shall assume, in the hope of salvation, that you will be able, thanks to God’s ample blessings, to explain why you come to us dressed like an effeminate from some sultan’s seraglio, my son.”

“I will, indeed, Brother Hugh, and I thank you for the opportunity to do so, and for the forbearance that you show in not upbraiding me first and questioning me after. I have much to tell you, and when you have heard it, you will understand my appearance here today.”

Quickly then, wasting no words but omitting no single detail, he explained to them everything that had occurred that day, from the moment of being summoned to meet with the Patriarch, who was, he had since learned, in a spiritual retreat from which he would not emerge for several days. Brother Hugh nodded gravely at that, confirming that it was so, but that was the only gesture of any kind that either of the two senior brethren made until St. Clair had told them everything.

When he was finished, both elders sat silent, their heads bowed as if in prayer while they digested what he had told them.

“Did you lie to the princess?” This was Brother Godfrey.

“No, Brother, I did not. I said only that I had heard nothing of hidden hoards of gold. I made no mention of other kinds of wealth, for by then it was plain to me that 632

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the princess had no interest in anything but specie—portable treasure.”

“And she believed you.”

St. Clair turned to Brother Hugh. “Aye, she did. She believed the explanation that I offered, that there could be no treasure in solid rock.”

“Unless it had been there since the Creation.”

“Yes, Brother, that was what I implied.”

“What have you in the bundle beneath your arm?”

“Oh! This is the clothing I was wearing when I left here this morning.”

“Excellent tidings, for which we are grateful. Be so good then as to put it on again, as quickly as you may, and bring those”—Brother Hugh waved a hand in the younger monk’s direction—“
garments
back here to me. I will see that they are returned to the palace with your gratitude.”

St. Clair bowed his head and turned to go, but de Payens stopped him before he could begin to move away.

“You have done well, Brother Stephen, and the brethren will know of it. I shall inform them tonight, after evening prayers, how bravely you have … suffered on their behalf.

Now go you and change, then return here, for I doubt you will have heard the latest tidings, and you should.

Quickly now. But, if it please you, make some attempt to lave away the perfumed stuff in which I fear you have been bathing.”

St. Clair returned in less than half an hour, dressed in his oldest tunic and hose, both impregnated with years of sweat, his own and his horse’s, and wearing his mail hauberk, which smelled redolently of old sweat, oily Complicities

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leather, and rust, and de Payens sniffed appreciatively and grinned. “There, that is a much more becoming odor for a Poor Fellow Soldier of Christ. Sit down now, and listen.

We found a new tunnel this morning, almost as soon as work began. St. Agnan came across a wall of masonry closing off the tunnel he was in. He sent back word to ask what he should do, and Brother Godfrey instructed him to go ahead and breach the wall.”

“And? What did he find?”

“Another passageway, crossing the one he was in and walling it off from the other three arms of a crossroads.

But it was clear of debris and had a current of clear air blowing through it, and when Brother Archibald and his companions, Brothers Bissot and Montbard, followed each of the three arms, they found another tunnel, then another and another. In fact, they found a labyrinth.

When is your next patrol?”

“My first patrol, you mean, Master Hugh. The first in months.” St. Clair thought for a moment. “Tomorrow?

What day is this? Yes, it must be tomorrow. Gondemare and Montdidier are out now, between here and Jericho.

They should be back tonight, and I am due to leave for Jaffa with Rossal and a full patrol as soon as they are back.”

“Would you postpone it?”

“If you see a need, yes, of course. But why? We never have postponed a patrol before, and the frequency of our sweeps is part of what keeps them successful.”

“Because we will need every man to explore these new tunnels. I have a feeling we can match them to our map this time. And if any of them are blocked, by cave-ins or 634

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anything else, and have to be cleared, your muscles are younger and stronger than any others among us.”

St. Clair nodded. “You spoke of a labyrinth, Master Hugh. How many of these new tunnels are there?”

De Payens thrust out his lower lip and shook his head.

“I cannot say at this time. But I would hazard, from what I have been told, that there are more than a score of junctions down there, each of those leading into others. Labyrinth is the proper word, I believe. Why did you ask me that?”

“In hopes it would confirm what I suspected, and it does. Let me ride out tomorrow as planned, Master Hugh. The Jaffa patrol is a ten-day sweep, and I think it might be unwise to neglect it now. I have a feeling that band of brigands de Montbard could not find is still out there, somewhere along the Jaffa road. It is only a feeling, but it’s a strong one, and I’ve learned to trust such things within myself. They were a large party, according to what de Montbard was told, and we have heard nothing about them since he came home, but that is not to say they are not out there, and it’s been a month since he was last there. I would prefer to go and make the sweep, simply for my own peace of mind, and while I am away, the rest of the brethren can explore the tunnels and make note of any that are blocked. When I return, I will gladly tackle any digging that needs to be done.”

De Payens pursed his lips, then nodded. “So be it.

Make your patrol, and if you find these creatures, sweep them from the earth. By the time you return, we’ll be ready for you.”

SIX

St. Clair had learned the art of dozing in the saddle long before he ever went to Outremer, and on long desert patrols the ability served him well, permitting him to shorten the lengthy days considerably while yet covering long distances. But because he was asleep when the alarum was sounded on the afternoon of their third day out from Jerusalem, he did not know who had been the first to see the threatening figure by the cliff above the road.

He snapped awake when someone called his name, and by then he had already registered the first warning shouts that rang out, and his sergeants were beginning to deploy their men in their fighting formations while the two light commissary wagons were wheeling into their positions in what would be the center of their defensive perimeter. Of his co-commander he saw nothing in those 635

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first few moments, learning only later that Rossal had ridden off with a small party a short time earlier to examine a large swathe of tracks found by their scouts. Frowning at his own ignorance of what was happening, he kicked his horse forward, reining it in where Bernard de la Pierre, their senior sergeant, sat with two of his subordinates, scrutinizing the cliffs to the north of the road.

“What is it, Sergeant Bernard?”

The sergeant pointed almost casually towards the cliffs. “Over there, sir, among the rocks at the bottom, on the right. Only one man, so far, but he’s making no effort to conceal himself, so it’s almost certainly a trap.

He must think we are really stupid if he expects us to go charging after him without an exploration first.”

St. Clair could not see the man at first, but eventually the fellow moved, and as he focused on the movement, St. Clair suddenly sat up straighter in his saddle and shaded his eyes against the sun’s glare, peering forward to where the distant stranger stood on the blurred edge between two blocks of brightness and shade. The fellow, whoever he was, was afoot, but too far away for anyone in their group to see him clearly. St. Clair felt a tiny tugging at his gut.

“He may think we are stupid, Sergeant, but then again, he may not. Follow me, two ranks, line abreast.”

He kicked his horse to a walk and moved off the road, directly towards the distant man, and as he did so, sunlight flashed off metal as the fellow moved again.
Now he will
run away,
St. Clair thought,
and expect us to follow him to
where his friends can kill us all
. But when he looked again, Complicities

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the distant man was in the same place, still partially obscured in shadow but growing easier to see as St. Clair and his double line of mounted sergeants approached.

And then, when he judged the time to be right, he stepped out into the full glare of the sun.

Shocked by his first clear sight of the fellow, St. Clair threw up his hand immediately, stopping the troopers advancing behind him. There could be no mistaking the identity of the stranger facing them. It was Hassan the Shi’a warrior, dressed exactly as he had been the last time St. Clair had seen him, from the tip of his high, slender helmet to the bottom of his high black boots.

“Sergeant Bernard, hold your line here, if you will. I will go forward alone. I know this man. He is a friend.

He saved my life when I was lost and dying of thirst in the desert, then led me home. He obviously wants to speak with me. Wait here.”

“But Sir Stephen, if harm should come to you—”

“I told you, Sergeant, he is a friend. No harm will come to me.”

He left his patrol behind and rode forward steadily until he was within a few paces of Hassan.

“Well met, Hassan, if unexpectedly. What brings you here?” He swung his leg over the saddle’s high cantle and slid to the ground, then embraced the other man, inhaling the familiar, strangely masculine scent of cinnamon that always clung to him. Hassan returned the embrace with a smile.

“Sala’am Aleikhem, Sanglahr, and accept the gratitude of this humble wayfarer that you have chosen to smell 638

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more like a man than a camel since last we met. Allah be praised. As for what brings me here, the answer is that you bring me here. What else would? This region is not exactly the Garden of the Houris. I have information for you, and a favor to request. I also have a camp nearby with sweet water, among these rocks. Will you come there?”

St. Clair shook his head. “No, my friend, I cannot do that and leave my men sitting out in the midday sun, but you will be welcome to ride with us to where we are going.”

Hassan’s teeth flashed in a sardonic smile. “To Jaffa, amid an armed throng of
ferenghi
, and dressed like this?

I think not, my friend. But I am grateful for the offer of companionship, none the less. So come, sit with me here in the shade, upon Allah’s firm ground, and let us talk, you and I.”

To sit thus and talk was more easily said than done in St. Clair’s case, for he was wearing his mailed hauberk, a hooded, ankle-length overcoat of heavy leather entirely covered by chain-mail links. It was bulky, uncomfortable, and unyielding, and he had to unlace the front of it and spread its armored skirts about him as a woman does before he could lower himself to sit with his legs comfortably crossed in the manner of the desert nomads. When he was eventually seated, he laid his sword belt down by his side, removed his metal helmet, and undid the thong beneath his chin before pushing the mailed hood back off his head and scrubbing at his scalp with clawed fingers.