The Seal (8 page)

‘Roger de Flor,’
Marcus corrected him, ‘is not a brother since he has forsaken our Lord’s
Sepulchre. That is not likely to meet easy punishment, not here and not in
heaven!’

‘We have all
forsaken it,’ Etienne reminded him.

‘It was not my
choice, it was not your choice, Etienne!’

‘Perhaps it is
our task to lose the Holy Land and to regain it again,’ Jourdain put in. ‘Since
Aristotle tells that courage is born of pain.’

Andrew sniggered
at the boy. ‘What oddities are visiting us this night! Poems and songs and
philosophies! How long do you think you’ll live then, lad?’ He spat a wad at
his feet. ‘The Holy Land is forsaken and the Order that has guarded it until
now is disordered . . . our world is disordered and soon to be dismantled.
There is no courage to be purchased from living a common life that knows no
lofty task!’

‘Keep silent!’
Marcus was irritated. ‘Such words speak disquiet to our very hearts!’ ‘Our
hearts, Commander, are disquieted more by the lack of words,’ Andrew gave back.

There was a
sound then. The men made tense their muscles.

The black lapped
against the beach and the breeze played at the edge of it.

‘Look there,
something comes,’ Andrew pointed, ‘oars in the water.’

Marcus stood.
‘He does not signal.’

‘No,’ Etienne
followed him.

‘Well, what
then?’ Andrew pulled up his old bones to see.

‘What then?’
Etienne let the question escape from his lips. ‘We wait, ready for anything.’

At the same
moment there was another sound, this came from the landed edges of the beach.

Without a word
they unsheathed their blades. It came towards them, faster now. Two feet . . .

‘Hist!’ the
voice said in a whisper some way off. ‘Seneschal!’

‘Iterius! How
come you here?’ Marcus’s harsh voice made a sting in the night.

The steps halted,
hesitant in the narrow light.

‘I am sent to
the seneschal,’ Iterius said, breathless, ‘as escort.’

Etienne stared
hard and firm at the space where the man stood but the thin moon showed up
nothing of that face. ‘Who sends you?’

‘The captain of the guard and before him the marshal.
He had orders from the Grand Master.’

‘The Grand
Master, you say?’ Marcus moved towards the shape.

There was a moment
of hesitation. ‘Yes, lord.’

‘I have not
heard of such orders,’ Etienne said to him.

‘It was thought
that you might be light on men for your return.’

‘Go to the track
from which you came and keep watch. Turn no eye in our direction – we
shall not need you on the beach.’ Etienne turned from him and further argument,
but the man was insistent.

‘I can help when
the boat arrives . . .’

But Marcus was
upon the man then. ‘The seneschal has said nothing about a boat, Egyptian! Now
. . . go!’

The dark shadow
of the sergeant nodded, and turned towards the hill and the road.

Marcus took
Etienne aside, before giving a rough whisper into his ear: ‘Listen Etienne,
such a man as Ayme together with that Egyptian . . . there is something in that
sergeant’s eye . . . I sense some form of devilry afoot. I would watch my back
on your return to Famagusta!’

Etienne was in
agreement. ‘I am glad Jacques de Molay is moved to safety since the same had
struck me.’

The other man
let out a breath of air rendered inaudible by the cry of a gull. He sucked
another in and said all in a rush, ‘Then again, perhaps Ayme is right to make
friends upon the island, Etienne . . . what do you think of it? Perhaps Ayme
believes the Grand Master is losing a wit? Since his appointment and even
before that at Acre the old man has been staring into distant places, places
that I do not see with these eyes!’ He made a spasm of movements. ‘More and
more he makes himself mysterious, and it is no wonder the men begin to think
him unravelling. I confess I do not know where he is taking us! Deceiving the
world and ourselves and at the same time reveal¬ing our plans to Ayme
d’Oselier, a man he suspects to be a traitor!’ Marcus persuaded Etienne
forward. ‘And now this business with Roger de Flor, whom I do not trust. After
all, this is the Order’s entire treasure I am taking with me, Etienne. You know
as well as I, it is all that is left in the east since Ruad. At the loss of it,
what would be left of the glory of the Temple? What would be left to us?’

‘I do not know,’
Etienne said, plain and short.

Marcus nodded
his head, vindicated, and pressed on. ‘You see? Not you. Not you, nor I, and
that
is
why such a duty is likely to send me to the
edge of madness! Therefore I do not trust even myself!’ He was circling
Etienne. ‘I do not trust my own thoughts! That is what it has come to!’

Etienne stared
into the dark disc of that face and a concern rose to his throat.

This man will
put the entire business of the voyage and the task of hiding the gold at risk.

In the end,
however, he was the Grand Master’s choice, and a man such as Jacques de Molay
could readily see into a man’s soul and so Etienne made his voice sound serene
and confident. ‘I would have no argument with you, if you were wretched and
feeble, Marcus, madness is their luxury, but it is not ours, not yours and not
mine.’

There was a long
pause. Gulls made more cries out in the water. Marcus gave a short stiff laugh.
‘Yes, there is no provision in the rule for madness and none for luxury!’

‘Things go to
pieces.’ Etienne was looking at the dark around them. ‘I wish it were
different.’

‘You wish it
were different? Well, so do I, so do I.’ There was a sigh and his voice sounded
lighter. ‘No, perhaps I shall not go mad . . . You see?
There
. . . how the Bear shines this night in that black sky! Perhaps it is a good
omen?’

There was a
sharp whisper. ‘They are here!’ It was Andrew.

There was the
movement and shadows of a barge loaded with men and slaves. It pulled into
shore and let down a ramp into the soft sand.

A figure came
off the barge and began to walk towards the Templars. Etienne guessed it to be
Roger de Flor. When he heard a voice giving instructions to the slave master he
recognised it.

‘Grand
Commander,’ his voice sounded fulsome and active.

‘It is I.’

‘I will need
your men to help the slaves with the shipment. The sun will come over that rise
in a short time and it befits our going before we are seen. Well!’ A boot hit
the side of a barrel. ‘You seem to have enough here to buy a kingdom!’

Marcus answered
with stiffness, in no dilemma, his voice indicated, as to which of them stood
in the more favourable position before God. ‘Cyprus was at one time bought and
sold by the Temple.’

‘And now,
Commander, the Temple flees from the island once more like ducks seeking
shelter for the winter.’

‘I am glad to
leave this place since it suits me ill to live among spies and thieves!’ Then
he was gone, headed for the beach and the barge.

Roger de Flor
made a laugh, hearty and loud, and searched the night. ‘What passion!’ he said.
‘Where is Etienne? Is that you in this darkness?’

‘They said you
died at Adrianople.’

‘I?’ Roger gave
another laugh. ‘I am immortal! Andronicus should have known as much. Now he
will have to keep not only Turks
but
his own son from
cutting out his tongue and gouging out his eyes. That is his payment for
contriving to have me killed. In any case, I was sick to death of those
treacherous Greeks – they would kill their own bed-ridden grandmother if
it were to their advantage. For my part I paid highly to keep them in their
fine illusion that I am in God’s heaven, and I must say, Etienne, being dead to
the world brings a new sweetness to life! Tell me, truly!’ He pulled the
Templar away from the goings-on at the shore towards the scraggly trees bent by
years of wind. ‘Your friend seems not changed since last I saved his life,’ he
said. ‘He continues reserved and gloomy and I suspect he leans his heart
against the pinions of his pride – not a health-some activity these
days.’

It seemed to
Etienne an unhappy event when a mercenary could so easily discern the complex
state of mind of a Grand Commander of the Order of the Temple. Such a thing
left it open and defenceless and it left him without a word to say in return.

Roger changed
the subject. ‘On a different tack, tell me, did you meet with trouble?’

‘No trouble.’

‘Good. Then
perhaps this fool’s game of hide and seek shall yet succeed. The Grand Master
awaits you. The other galley is to the north at Salamis and I will give you
three men to take with you in case of mischief. You see how I lay my thoughts
upon your cares? These men are smart and their word is sure. Best of all they
are disinterested in loyalties since they are paid to render good service
– while the money lasts.’ There was a white smile in the darkness.

‘Who are they?’

‘
Gideon is one
,
the other is Aubert
.
They are Normans – strange, dangerous men, their blood is tainted with
Viking.’

‘What! More than
your own Teuton blood, Duke of Romania?’

There was a
laugh. ‘Yes, by God! Even more than mine! They are Christian by a
hair’s-breadth and this means they hold fast to their old customs, but apart
from that they are as solid as a wall and as steady – and the best part
is, they do not feel pain like the rest of us.’

Etienne thought
of Jourdain’s previous words concerning pain and courage and realised that once
again the boy was filling his head with thoughts he did not need.

‘There is also a
Catalan,’ Roger de Flor continued, ‘my best man. He was with me at Adrianople
and fought valiantly in the

fortress
of Gallipoli to avenge me,
his dead master! His name is Delgado – he is a cunning creature who
laughs while he cuts your throat from ear to ear – a more agreeable assassin
you shall not encounter!’

‘Mercenaries . .
.’ Etienne said it as if the word was poison in his mouth.

‘I prefer to use
a different language, to me they are warriors without faith.’

Etienne thought
this through. ‘And the Grand Master has agreed?’

‘He agrees that
you are short on loyal men and I have an abundance. Take it as a gift. You may
return them to me at Tomar.’

This concern
increased the burden upon Etienne’s shoulders. Andrew was right: all things
were disordered and out of temper when Knights of the Temple had no other
recourse than to rely on the charity of a renegade and the protection of
mercenaries.

‘What are you
going to do?’ Roger asked him.

‘Do?’

‘Upon this
passage?’

Such a question
seemed strange to Etienne, he felt as if he would smile at it; instead he took
a breath and the smell of rosemary and lavender mingled with the salt air in
his lungs. ‘I will see to the safety of the Grand Master,’ he told him.

‘And you aim to
march into France with him?’

Etienne
hesitated, not wishing to disclose the delicate nature of the dangers facing
the Grand Master. ‘To attend to the business of the Order.’

Roger’s voice
was full of scorn. ‘They lure you with some enticement – a pretext, my
friend, for other machinations, I assure you. I was there last year. I saw
Philip roast Jews like chestnuts on his island. That man lives to smell burning
flesh when it brings him profit.’

Etienne fell
sceptical. ‘You seem to know much.’

‘A merchant must
know everything, or else he is not a merchant!’ There came understanding. ‘By
my beard! You believe old man Clement will keep you safe! Well, well, there
exists an abyss between us, Etienne, quite naturally, for you still have your
faith, while I do not!’ Then, having observed the silent disapproval, he added,
‘The Pope is a Frenchman and to Philip he owes the keys of Peter – this
is a singular convenience for a French king who has run out of money and bodies
to burn. There are rumours . . . of treachery.’

Etienne changed
the subject. ‘This is fine talk coming from a deserter and a traitor.’

‘A deserter,
certainly, but I am no traitor. I gave back all the gold I made at Acre to the
Order. That is the truth of it. I admit that I wanted the Falcon, a finer ship
you will not find anywhere and, besides, my father was a falconer! She is on
her way to Syria to bring back silver and silk. But on that other matter,
Etienne . . . I know that you must do your duty to a Grand Master whose mind is
bent on his schemes and I’ll say no more on it except that you may rest easy, I
am paid well to make the gold of the Order my business.’

The slaves moved
backward and forward along the beach. The sound of their grunting and the
jingle of their chains made a mark in the silence. A faint light smudged the
horizon. Etienne could now see that Roger de Flor was dressed in a dark cloak
in the eastern style, a shirt and doublets. As it became lighter his face came
into view, horribly cut and disordered as if divided and reassembled in haste.
Etienne did not look away, but stared through the mangled flesh to the eyes. He
was anxious to be off and away from this man.