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  'My lord Khalifa, I am of the Cele De,' I replied. 'We are an obscure sect-once plentiful, but now vastly diminished in numbers. Where once we ruled the whole of Britain, we are now confined to a small realm in the far north.'

  For some reason, this appeared to please him immensely. 'I have heard of this Pritania,' he replied. 'It is very far away from Rome and Byzantium, you say?'

  'Yes, my lord. As far as east from west with three seas between.'

  The caliph squirmed on his cushion impatiently. 'Since you are a Christian of particular devotion,' he said, 'I will grant you a day to make peace with your God before I send you to meet him in judgement.'

  'I thank you, my lord,' I replied, bowing in acknowledgement of his generosity.

  He gestured to the guards once more, and I was taken from the hall and returned to my rooms, where I now sit and write in contemplation of what has happened. Although I am grateful for even this small reprieve, I cannot think what it might betoken. Still, I have this day. Dare I hope for more?

  I pray the hand of the executioner may spare me yet a little longer for your sake, Cait. While I wait, I can think of nothing better than to proceed with my tale. This I will do even now.

  Marseilles is a rowdy river town, heaving with rough industry. There are no fewer than five ship yards-all of them clattering to wake the dead from the crack of dawn to after sunset. Half the town and countryside is kept busy serving the shipbuilders, and the other half earns its crust supplying the wharf and harbour with goods and commodities of one kind or another. The harbour is well-protected, wide, and deep; and there we found the last of the Templar ships making ready to set sail.

  The larger part of the fleet had already departed – there were forty-two ships in all-but eighteen remained in port, taking on supplies which had not been ready in time. I instructed Sarn to put in close to the Templar ships, and then Padraig and I hurried to find the soldier we had spoken to in Rouen.

  'Pax vobiscum,' I said, approaching the first warrior monk we saw. 'God be good to you, my friend. We are looking for one of your brothers.' I explained that we had been instructed to meet a member of his order in this very place. He asked who we were looking for, and I told him.

  'It was de Bracineaux?' the man asked, looking us up and down. 'Renaud de Bracineaux, are you certain? If it was Renaud, then you are fortunate indeed. He was to have departed with the first ships, but has been detained. He is still here.'

  He told us that Renaud was a commander of the order, and that all the commanders were holding council with the Grand Master over concerns which had arisen while sojourning in the country. 'His return is expected as soon as the council is finished – tomorrow perhaps, or the next day. And then we will sail for Outremer.'

  I thanked the brother for his help, and we made our way back to the boat to wait. Roupen had determined to see if he could beg passage from any ship sailing east. Now that he was destitute, he could not afford to pay his way as he had originally planned, and the thought of humbling himself that way cast him into a sour and miserable mood-nor was that all. Although he said nothing against them, anyone could easily discern that he held no fondness for the Templars. I mentioned it to Padraig, who had also noticed how the young lord either grimaced or fidgeted every time the warrior monks were mentioned.

  Sarn, too, was unhappy; now that we had reached our destination, he knew he would be sent home and he wanted to continue with us to Jerusalem. This I could not allow. Nor, considering the rigours of the journey, could I in good conscience send him home by himself.

  The solution to this quandary remained beyond our grasp the rest of the day-although not for lack of discussion. Sarn could not understand why, having come this far, he should not be permitted to continue the rest of the way. 'You will need strong servants in the Holy Land,' he kept saying.

  To which I would reply, 'My father needs strong servants back in Scotland. What is more, he needs his boat.'

  'You would send me back alone?' he countered with sullen reproach.

  'Believe me, I wish I had a better choice, but it cannot be helped. You must go home as we agreed.'

  Next morning, a young Templar came to our mooring and informed us that Renaud de Bracineaux had been apprised of our request and was waiting to see us. Taking up the box containing Bezu's knives, Padraig and I followed the youth to the long double rank of Templar vessels, where we were conducted up the boarding plank and onto the deck of the largest ship I had ever set foot upon in all my life. Renaud was standing by the mast, directing the loading of supplies which were heaped in a small mountain upon the thick deck of the sturdy vessel.

  He turned as the young man came before him announcing our presence, and said, 'Here, now! You have found me at last. It is good to see you, my friends.' He put his hands on our shoulders, and said, 'Are you ready to swear the oath and join our order?'

  'Nothing would please me more,' I told him. 'As I have said, however, I am foresworn, and cannot undertake another oath.'

  He accepted this with good grace. 'I am sorry to hear it. Yet, even knowing this, you have come. Why?'

  'We are on pilgrimage to the Holy Land,' I said, indicating Padraig, 'and we had hoped to beg passage aboard one of your ships.'

  'I see,' he nodded, his enthusiasm fading, 'I might have guessed. Unfortunately, I fear I must disappoint you. We have room aboard our ships only for fellow Templars, and those who have official business with the order.' He offered us a sad smile. 'Alas, it appears you have travelled a very long way for nothing. I am sorry.'

  He turned away from us, saying, 'Now, you must excuse me. As you can see, we are getting ready to sail. I am needed elsewhere.'

  Disheartened, I stood for a moment thinking what to do. Padraig held out the box to me. 'You have been most kind,' I told the Templar commander. 'We will not detain you any longer-only, I am reminded that we have something which belongs to you.'

  'That, I heartily doubt,' he replied, already moving away.

  'Balthazar of Aries sent it,' I said, raising my voice slightly.

  He turned and looked back at me. 'The armourer?' He considered for a moment.

  'The same,' I continued. 'You should remember him – you purchased a cargo of weapons from him.'

  'We did,' he allowed warily, 'but I cannot see how this could possibly concern you.'

  I explained quickly how upon completion of our visit with the armourer, he had given us a box containing six gold-handled daggers. I opened the box to display the knives. 'They were not ready when you came to collect your purchase, and he asked us to deliver them to you.' I passed the box to him. 'We have done what we agreed to do, and now we will leave you in peace.'

  The frown reappeared on the Templar's face. Turning, he called to one of his brother knights across the ship; the man joined him and the two held close conversation for a moment, then de Bracineaux said, 'It is true that the knives were missing from the cargo. I owe you my thanks for delivering them, and will pay you for your trouble -for I, also, am an honest man.'

  'Bezu has already done that,' I told him. 'You owe us nothing.'

  The Templar nodded, regarding Padraig and me with, as I thought, an expression of regret. 'Are you certain we cannot tempt you to join our ranks?'

  'I would feel disposed to consider it,' I said, 'if you could provide passage for three pilgrims bound for the Holy Land.'

  'Three?' asked de Bracineaux. 'You multiply like weasels, sir. A moment ago there were but two.'

  'We have another with us,' I said, and told him about the young Lord Roupen, a nobleman of Armenia.

  At the name, his interest reawakened with wonderful swiftness. 'I know only one noble family in Armenia,' he said, 'that of Prince Leo. Could it be the same family?'

  'One and the same,' I replied. 'I have undertaken to aid his return to the Holy Land.'

  'By all means you must come with us,' de Bracineaux said, making up his mind at once. 'We have room aboard this ship for such as yourselves, and you will be m
ade welcome and enjoy every comfort we can provide. Make whatever preparations you require, we sail tomorrow at dawn.'

  I thanked the Templar, whereupon Padraig and I hurried back along the quay to where Sarn and Roupen were waiting. As we walked along, I caught Padraig watching me with a sour expression on his face-as if he had swallowed a bolt of vinegar.

  'What?' I demanded, stopping in my tracks. 'Whatever in the world is wrong now?'

  'You told the Templar you were foresworn,' he said, 'and could not undertake the Templar vow.'

  'Yes,' I agreed. 'So?'

  'I know of no such vow.'

  'You think I lied to him, is that it?'

  'Did you?'

  'No. The vow was my own.'

  He folded his long arms across his chest and regarded me suspiciously. 'As I am your companion through all things, I think I should know this vow you have taken.'

  I started walking again. 'It does not concern you.'

  'Duncan!' he said sharply. The gentle priest so rarely raises his voice, I forget he can be quite stubborn when he chooses. 'Everything about this pilgrimage concerns me. I will hear this vow you have made.'

  'And I will tell you-but in my own time,' I replied over my shoulder and kept walking so I would not have to speak to him further.

  We quickly rejoined Sarn and Roupen, who were waiting to hear how we had fared with the Templars. Roupen was less than overjoyed; he grumbled his thanks and went off to see if he could discover any word of his home from the sailors and merchantmen on the wharf. Sarn, too, grew petulant and quiet. He stared at me balefully, but said nothing; meanwhile, Padraig and I busied ourselves searching for suitable companions to accompany Sarn back to Britain.

  Our search was concluded when Padraig discovered a fellow pilgrim named Robert Tookes who, having been sorely wounded in the Holy Land by a Seljuq bandit's arrow, was returning home to Britain with his aged father. The two of them had arrived in Marseilles three days earlier with a Venetian merchant ship from Jaffa, and were now seeking passage to England.

  Padraig found them at the small chapel which served the wharf and harbour. He had stopped by to pray at midday, and had passed them as he was leaving. He heard them speaking to one another and, recognizing their speech, had paused to inquire where they were bound. Upon learning their destination, he brought them to the boat.

  Although Sarn did his best to discourage them by glaring and frowning as if he were being asked to sail off the edge of the world with the Devil and his brother for passengers, the men were courteous and well-disposed, and we quickly struck a bargain: they would pay for all necessary supplies, and Sarn would take them to Inbhir Ness, where they would easily find a boat going south.

  Upon concluding this arrangement, Robert Tookes seized me by the hand in friendship. 'We are both very grateful to you, my father and I,' he told me. 'Have no worry for your man, or your boat; as God is my witness, we will see him safely home.'

  We arranged for them to return at first light with their belongings, and they hurried away to secure provisions and prepare for the voyage ahead. All was falling into place at last, and I foresaw only clear and pleasant sailing ahead. Feeling pleased with myself, I settled back and enjoyed a well-deserved nap, despite Sam's disgruntled huffing and clumping around.

  SEVENTEEN

  Roupen returned a little after sunset, and we ate our evening meal. 'No one in this fly-blown swamp has even heard of Anazarbus,' he complained, disappointed at not discovering any news of his home. Sitting beside the doleful Sarn, the two of them presented a uniformly dismal appearance which Padraig and I did our best to ignore. We talked idly of this and that as night slowly deepened around us. The harbour grew quiet, and we watched the swallows skim the water as the new moon rose in the eastern sky.

  I was lying back, and thinking what a fine night it was for star-gazing, when Padraig turned to me, and said, 'I think a prayer before we sleep would see us in good stead for the journey tomorrow.' He stood. 'Come, the chapel is not far.'

  'We can say our prayers here just as well,' I pointed out, reluctant to leave the peaceful harbour.

  'The chapel would be better,' replied the stubborn monk, climbing quickly from the boat. 'You come, too, Roupen.'

  I rose slowly and followed. Roupen declined, saying he would stay with Sarn and help watch the boat. I caught up with the long-legged priest as he started across the all-but-deserted square which fronted the wharf. 'You will like the chapel, Duncan,' he said as I fell into step beside him. 'It has a very unusual carving.'

  He led me to a small square building made of stone. A dull glimmer of light shone in the two tiny windows either side of an arched wooden door. An iron latch secured the door, but it lifted easily and Padraig pushed open the door. Two large candles burned either side of a simple wooden altar above which hung the carving Padraig had mentioned.

  The candles were poorly made and gave off black smoke which stank of burning hair. The foul light did little to dispel the gloom, but, as the room was empty, we stepped up to the altar for a closer look at the carving: a mother with an infant child cradled in her arms. A halo of gold surrounded the heads of both mother and the holy child whose figures had been carved from a large piece of very dark wood. Aside from that, it was something one might have seen in any Latin church.

  'What do you notice?' asked Padraig.

  'The wood carver employed some considerable skill. Beyond that, I find nothing unusual about it.'

  'They are black,' said Padraig.

  'Well, the wood is black,' I allowed.

  'No,' he said. 'Look more closely.'

  I did as he directed and put my face near the carving. As I had said, the figures were finely rendered. The child was reaching a tiny hand up towards the mother's solemn face as she gazed with maternal gravity upon the world that would one day revile and crucify her son. Aside from the sombre, almost doleful, expression on the mother's face, I saw nothing at all to remark upon. 'Is there some mystery here that I am supposed to see?' I asked.

  'They are black,’ Padraig repeated.

  'Yes, we have established that. They are black -'

  'Not because the wood is black; it is not. They were painted black.'

  I looked again, more closely, and realized he was right. There were places near the base where scratches in the paint work revealed the lighter colour of the wood beneath. 'How strange,' I remarked, touching the coloured wood lightly with my finger. 'Why would anyone want to paint them black? Is it that they think the mother of Jesu was an Ethiope?'

  'She is called the Black Madonna,' announced a voice from the doorway. Roupen had thought better of his decision and joined us after all. He came to the altar and, indicating the mother figure, said, 'Mary she is, but not the mother of Jesu.'

  'Then who is she?' I wondered.

  'Mary the Magdalene.'

  'But that is ridiculous. Why should the Magdalene be cradling the infant Christ? It makes no sense.'

  'Indeed.' The monk smiled shrewdly. 'Unless, it is not the infant Christ she is holding.'

  I waited for one of them to tell me who the infant figure represented. 'Well, am I the only one in all of Frankland who does not know who the infant is supposed to represent?'

  'It is Jesu's son,' said Roupen.

  His answer so amazed me that it took me a moment to work out all the implications of this extraordinary revelation. 'Christ's son!' I exclaimed aloud, staring at the tiny carved figure. 'But that is horrendous!'

  Placing a finger to his lips to quiet me, Padraig merely nodded. 'There are those who believe that Jesu and Mary were husband and wife. After all, the scripture speaks often of the disciple Jesu loved. Most scholars assume the appellation betokens John the apostle, but there is no reason why it might not designate another.'

  'Besides,' added Roupen, 'it is well known that many women followed Jesu and supported his earthly ministry in various ways-this, too, is well attested in holy scripture.'

  'But see here now,' I protested.
'Christ's son – think what you are saying.'

  'As to that,' the monk replied in the same calm, equivocal tone, 'it was commonplace for a Jewish rabbi to be married. In fact, it would have been remarkable, if not improbable, if it had been otherwise. If, as the church that bears his name believes, Our Lord and Redeemer was subject to the same humanity we all possess, then why should marriage remain beyond Christ's experience? The union of husband and wife is an essential part of God's design for the human family, after all. Should not the author of our faith adhere to the same rigours that are imposed upon his followers?'

  'The Magdalene was a prostitute and a demoniac,' I protested. 'Would you have me believe that our Beloved Lord was one flesh with a demon-ridden whore?'

  'Again, you speak only hearsay and slanderous supposition. Nowhere in the scripture is it written she was a whore – only that demons were driven from her and she was healed. In all likelihood the designation of prostitute came very much later when it became, let us say, inconvenient for the pope to recognize the rank and position of a powerful and influential woman.' Lifting a hand to the carving, he said, 'However it was, those who hold to this cult believe the union of Jesu and Mary produced a child. After Christ was crucified, and the persecution of the new faith began in Jerusalem, the holy family fled-first to Damascus, and then to Rome. Eventually, however, they settled here.'

  'In Marseilles?' I wondered. 'This grows more fantastic with every word.'

  'Indeed,' agreed Roupen. 'I have never heard that part of the tale.'

  'It was called Marsalla then,' Padraig explained, 'a well-known Roman port. Grain and cattle were shipped from here to the East, and the trade in those days was very good. It was a fine and prosperous city – and far away from the religious intrigues and oppressions of the East. The holy family and their train of followers brought the new faith with them, and they have been revered in this region ever since – as you can see.'

  He answered with such assurance, I could not help asking, 'How can you possibly know all this?'