The Black Rood (47 page)

“Is this all you have with you?” asked Gislebert, indicating my crude bundle of soggy parchments.

“Yes,” I told him. “I kept a record of my imprisonment, and I hoped to bring it out with me. Alas, they are ruined.”

“Allow me to have a look,” said Padraig, lifting the sodden sling from me.

“And who was that with you on the wharf?” Gislebert said, looking back toward the crowded quayside. For someone who was only glad for my freedom, the Templar sergeant seemed unduly concerned with the particulars of my release.

“That is Wazim,” I replied, truthfully enough, “a guide who helped me find the ship.”

“How did you know we were waiting with the ship?” He could not keep the suspicion out of his tone.

Yordanus and Padraig both heard it and regarded the Templar with disapproval. Sydoni, however, appeared interested to hear my reply; leaning against the rail in a crisp blue mantle, her arms folded over her breast, she lifted an eyebrow—a skeptical judge inviting me to make my best explanation.

“How else would we come for him?” Yordanus chided; stepping forward quickly, he embraced me again. “Come, let us celebrate the return of our friend! Padraig, let us fill the cups and drink to his safe return.”

“Forgive me,” Gislebert said haughtily. “I merely wished to know if you had seen Commander de Bracineaux?”

“How should I have seen him?” I asked, smiling. “Was he looking for me?”

“When the riots began, he went to the palace to see if he might rescue you,” the sergeant answered. “I imagined that was how you were freed.”

“I pray something has not gone wrong,” suggested Padraig quickly. The canny priest had seen his chance and taken it. “Perhaps you should see what has happened to him.”

Gislebert frowned with indecision. He disliked the turn things had taken, but was not quick enough to see how to forestall the thing. “I think the priest is right,” added Yordanus innocently. “Yes, go at once, Gislebert. He may need you.”

“My orders were to wait here with you,” the sergeant replied dully.

“And you have done that,” said Sydoni suddenly; she stepped forward, took his arm and turned him toward the rail. “All is well, thanks to you and the good commander's vigilance. We can fend for ourselves here—at least long enough for you to see if your help is required elsewhere.”

Sergeant Gislebert's frown deepened. At Sydoni's gentle leading, he found himself at the rail. Unable to disagree, he said, “Very well, if you think—”

“Do not worry about us,” Sydoni told him. “You must consider your duty to your commander now.”

“No doubt he will welcome word of Duncan's return,” suggested Padraig. “It would be well to tell him as soon as possible, lest he trouble himself unnecessarily.”

The Templar climbed reluctantly over the rail. “I will inform the commander that Duncan has returned,” he said and, with a last dubious look at me, he dropped to the wharf. He called the two Templars on the dock to accompany him, and the three of them hurried away together. We watched until they were out of sight.

“Yordanus,” I said, “how soon can the ship be made ready to sail?”

Taken aback by the question, he hesitated. “You want to leave? But the commander will be exp—”

“How soon?” I insisted.

“Well, as soon as we can lay in some provisions,” he replied thoughtfully. “I know you must be anxious to—”

“We can get provisions along the way,” said Sydoni. To me she said, “We can cast off at once, if that is what you wish.”

“We cannot leave Commander de Bracineaux here without at least—” began Yordanus.

“Father, I think Duncan is attempting to avoid the Templars,” Sydoni said, looking to me for confirmation.

“It is true,” I confessed. “I know you have labored mightily on my behalf, but I fear I must ask you to aid me a little longer. There is some deceit at work here, and I fear de Bracineaux is not to be trusted. We must leave at once.”

“The pilot is sleeping below,” Sydoni said. “I will wake him. You and Padraig make ready to cast off.”

I was puzzled by the sudden change in her disposition, but there was no time to wonder about it just then. “I will fetch Wazim,” I told Padraig, already sliding over the rail. “Begin casting off.”

I hastened back to where I had left Wazim, and found him sitting cross-legged on the dock, his eyes closed, the sacred relic nowhere to be seen. “Where is the rood?” I demanded sharply. “What have you done with it?”

“Calm yourself, my friend.” He smiled and stood, and I saw that he had been sitting on it. “May God forgive me,” he chuckled, bending to retrieve the sacred object, “but what thieves do not see, they do not steal.”

Stripping off my mantle, I quickly wrapped it around the holy cross and then we hurried back to the ship. The pilot and his two crewmen had been roused, and were lazily going about the task of getting the ship ready to sail. Yordanus and the others already knew Wazim, of course, and they welcomed him, and asked what had caused our delay. “We expected you last night,” said Yordanus.

Leaving Wazim to explain, I went to secure the rood below deck. Curious, Padraig started to follow, but I asked him to stay behind and keep anyone from intruding on me. “I will tell you everything,” I promised, “just as soon as we have put this city behind us.”

I descended the short wooden steps, aware that Sydoni was watching me all the while. I hid the rood among the baskets of stores and supplies in the hold of the ship, and then rejoined the others on deck. I stood at the rail and nervously
watched the quay for any sign of the Templars. But de Bracineaux did not appear. A few moments later,
Persephone
pushed away from the dock, and we left Cairo behind for good and forever.

T
HE GREEN-BORDERED
Nile spread its slow, gentle curves before us, bearing swift
Persephone
north to Alexandria and the sea. I stood at the bow as the tiny riverbank settlements receded, and watched the twin columns of smoke rising in the distance—all that could be seen of Cairo now, and soon that was gone, too, blended and vanished in the heavy blue summer haze.

Leaving the rail, I descended to the hold, retrieved the prize and rejoined the others gathered around the mast where Wazim Kadi had been telling them about our escape from the palace. Yordanus and Sydoni were seated on cushions, and Padraig reclined on his elbow on a rug, listening to the little jailer as he spun the dull dross of our ordinary trials into the gleaming gold of great adventure.

“And this!” Wazim said proudly, waving his hand with a grand flourish as I lay the bundle on the rug before the seated listeners. “
This
is the Holy Rood of Christ, rescued from the treasure house of Khalifa al-Hafiz.”

Padraig rolled up onto his knees, and Yordanus and Sydoni leaned forward eagerly as I slowly unwrapped the sacred relic. I pulled away the cloth to reveal the dark, deeply grooved length of ancient timber. Padraig gasped, and reached out a hand, hesitated, and stopped short.

“Go on,” I said. The priest lowered his hand and with trembling fingers, stroked the age-polished wood. The sun
light revealed a feature in the wood I had never seen before—a narrow cleft, sharp and very deep, in the center of the piece, much, I imagine, like that which would be made by driving a spike into the wood.

Padraig's fingers found the cleft, and he gasped again. “On this rough beam our Blessed Savior King, the Holy One of God, shed his lifeblood for our redemption,” he said, his voice losing solidity as the tears began to stream down his cheeks. “See here,” he said, “this rough beam bears witness that our hope is not in vain.”

Pressing his finger to the hole in the wood, the weeping priest said, “Here the cruel spike was driven which split the vein, divided bone and sinew, and slew the Blessed Jesu. But the wisdom of the All Wise Father encompasses things undreamed in human hearts. In Him, all divisions are united, all torn and broken lives made whole.

“Through the nail-riven body, the rent between time and eternity is joined. In the dying of the Only Begotten, life everlasting is born. For the Swift Sure Hand did not leave him in the grave, but raised him up. And all who cling to this black and Holy Rood shall likewise be raised up on the final day.”

We were silent then for a time, gazing on the holy object, filling our eyes with the homely crudeness of the relic, even as we filled our hearts with the certain knowledge of God's power to bend all things to his redeeming purpose.

“We heard in Antioch that the rood was lost,” Yordanus said, after a long silence. “I never expected to see it with my own eyes.” He, too, lowered his hand and reverently stroked the rood—much, I expect, as people have done since that morning when the women ran from the empty tomb to tell the twelve that the Master's corpse was missing. For the faithful, it is a natural response, like that of lovers linking hands, to reverence the beloved with a touch.

“Thank you, Duncan,” he said, his eyes growing misty. “I know I shall not abide this world much longer.”

“Papa, no,” chided Sydoni gently.

“Look at me,” he said. “It is the simple truth; I am an old
man. But I will go to my reward with a better courage now, thanks to Duncan.”

“All gratitude goes to you, Yordanus,” I replied. “If not for you, I would still be a prisoner, and the rood would be lost to the world.”

“Not at all,” he replied, waving off the compliment. “Our friend Renaud was working tirelessly on your behalf from the very first.”

His words did not square with what I had seen of de Bracineaux in the caliph's treasure house. But I held my tongue and let him finish.

“I see now why you wished to leave Cairo without delay,” Yordanus said, “but maybe now you will not mind telling me why you were so anxious to leave the Templars behind.” When I hesitated, he said, “Was it because you feared they would take it from you?”

“If they knew I had it, nothing would stop them trying to get it back.”

“But it rightly belongs to them,” Yordanus pointed out. “At least, it belongs in Antioch.”

I heartily disagreed, but did not have it in me to dispute Yordanus. So, instead, I said, “Tell me how you knew to look for me in Cairo.”

“Ah, now that is a tale in itself,” said Padraig, making himself comfortable.

“But if we are going to tell it,” Sydoni said, “then I will fetch the cups.” Wazim liked the sound of that and scurried off to help her, returning a few moments later with his arms full of round, wheel-like loaves and two jugs of wine. Sydoni followed with a wooden tray on which were stacked a number of bowls. One of them was filled with olive oil and crushed garlic, and another had salt mixed with black pepper. She set the tray on the deck and handed around the cups.

“At first we did not know you had been taken,” Yordanus confessed, pouring wine into his bowl; he passed the jar to me. I poured and handed it to Padraig. “We thought you were right behind as we raced to escape the Seljuqs, and it
was not until Padraig looked back that we discovered you were no longer with us.”

“Would that I had looked back sooner,” said Padraig, passing the jar to Wazim.

Sydoni, meanwhile, had begun breaking bread into another of the bowls, which she then ranged before us. “By the time we rode back to find you,” she said, “the Seljuqs had taken you.”

“We found your horse,” added Yordanus, “but that was all. There was nothing for it but to ride back to Anazarbus for help.” He shook his head sadly. “What a terrible, terrible business.”

“Why?” I asked. It was exactly what I would have done if our places had been reversed.

“The Seljuqs did not content themselves with destroying Bohemond's army,” Yordanus replied solemnly. “They decided to punish the Armenians for withholding the tribute. They attacked the city. It must have happened just after we departed. There were Seljuqs inside the city already, and as the royal family and nobles were attending to Prince Leo's funeral, it was a simple matter to bar the church doors and take over the garrison.”

“Those who resisted were killed,” Sydoni added sadly.

Yordanus took a piece of bread and dipped it in the olive oil and then the salt, chewed thoughtfully, and said, “Although there was very little resistance.”

“What about Roupen and his family?” I asked, a weight of sorrow beginning to descend upon me.

“A great many people fled the city,” Padraig said. “We met them on the road and they told us the royal family had been killed at their prayers—although this was far from certain.”

“No one knew anything for certain, save that the Seljuqs were in command.” Sydoni offered me the bowl of bread. “They had closed the gates and no one was allowed in or out of the city.”

“We had no choice but to turn around and ride for Mamistra,” said Padraig. “It is an eight-day journey, as you know—well, we made it in six, and regretted every day that it kept us from finding you. I wish there had been another way, but
what else could we do? Our best hope lay in getting to Antioch as swiftly as possible. As soon as we reached Mamistra, we sailed for Saint Symeon, and then hastened to Antioch to alert the garrison there what had happened.”

“Bohemond's defeat left Antioch's defenses decimated,” Yordanus observed. “The idiot prince had taken his entire force, leaving only the Templars behind. It was a foolish, foolish thing. Mark my words, he will answer for it before the Judgment Throne on the last day.”

I nodded, dipping my bread, and began to chew glumly. “Amir Ghazi realized his great good fortune,” I told them. “He did not waste a moment, but marched directly to Damascus to rally support for an attack on Antioch.”

“Aye,” agreed Yordanus readily, “we were there when it came!”

“Commander de Bracineaux sent to Jerusalem for troops to help defend the city. We spent a fair few anxious days wondering which army would reach Antioch first—the Templars or Seljuqs,” said Padraig. “In the end, it was the Templars who arrived first, but Amir Ghazi was close behind. The city had but two days to prepare, and then the Seljuqs appeared and promptly mounted a siege. At first it was not so bad, but as the siege wore on, a plague of dysentery broke out and good water became difficult to find.”

“If relief had not come from Jerusalem,” added Sydoni, pouring more wine for me, “I do not know what we would have done.”

We ate our bread and sipped our wine, and though it felt strange to me after spending so much time imprisoned on my own, I found myself gradually adjusting to the pleasures of human companionship once more. Peculiar too, I thought, to hear someone speak of events that intimately concerned me, but which I knew only in part.

I looked at those gathered around me, glancing from one face to the next, silently thanking them for their fealty and perseverance on my behalf. Yordanus, keen as a youth, slender still, wearing his age but lightly…and beside him, Sydoni, she of the dark hair and soulful eyes, distant, watchful, a secret waiting to be known…Wazim, smiling, his
brown head bobbing, traversing an uncertain world with quiet courage and bountiful goodwill…and Padraig, true friend of my soul, wise guide and boon companion for a pilgrimage or a lifetime…I was blessed beyond measure and, as the sun warmed my back, and the wine warmed my stomach, I knew myself to be held in the strong arms of a love greater than any I could have thought or imagined.

“What happened?” I asked, suddenly wishing the day would never end, that I could sit with these friends forever, just like this, and time would cease.

“After the Templars left Jerusalem,” Yordanus replied, “King Baldwin sent to Jaffa and Acre for troops to help protect the Holy City in their absence. They were a long time coming, because soldiers are needed everywhere these days and few can be spared.” He shook his head ruefully. “Bohemond's profligate stupidity will cost the Holy Land dearly, and for years to come.”

“Eventually, Baldwin succeeded in raising enough of an army to relieve Antioch,” said Padraig, taking up the tale. “The siege lasted longer than Ghazi anticipated, and by the time Baldwin arrived, most of the Seljuq support had dwindled away. The rest fled at the sight of Baldwin's troops, even though there were fewer than seven hundred knights in all.”

“The Seljuqs have no heart for a pitched battle,” Wazim put in. “Stand up to them and they turn tail and run. They are cowardly dogs all of them.”

“God knows it is true,” agreed Yordanus. “No one was happier than we were to see Baldwin riding through the gates of the city leading the crusaders in triumph—all the more since he brought word that a few of Bohemond's knights had survived the massacre, and these were taken to Damascus to be ransomed. The Seljuqs set a high price on the survivors—ten thousand dinars.

“I still have many old friends in Damascus, and we made arrangements to go there at once—which we did. Unfortunately, things did not go well for us in Damascus. We encountered great difficulty in getting reliable information
from the atabeg's courtiers. They told us you were there and they would release you if I paid the ransom. But when I brought the money, they could not find you.” He paused, shaking his head. “We feared you had been executed.”

“Prisoners without ransom are often killed for the pleasure of their captors,” offered Wazim.

“But then Renaud arrived,” said Padraig.

“He came to Damascus?” I could not keep the suspicion out of my voice. Sydoni marked my distrust with a knowing expression, although no one else seemed to notice. “Why?”

“Also to ransom prisoners,” Yordanus replied. “It was fortunate for us that he came when he did, because he was able to discover what had happened to you.”

Yes, I thought—no doubt the Fida'in told him. To Yordanus I said, “You learned I had been taken to Cairo.”

“And so we came on as soon as we could.”

“When did you arrive?”

“Seven days ago,” said Padraig.

I tried to work out in my mind what day that would have been, but I could no longer remember where one day left off and another began. “Then you were here before the trouble started?”

“Wazir Hasan slaughtered the amirs but two days ago,” Wazim said.

“Yes,” agreed Yordanus, “that was when the trouble began.”

“I see.” I knew in my bones I was right about Renaud, but I did not care to speak ill of him before Yordanus, who was his friend.

“You look troubled,” said Padraig. “Is something wrong?”

“I am tired,” I said. “I have not talked so much in a long time. I had forgotten how taxing it can be.”

“You should rest now,” suggested Sydoni. “There are quarters below deck where you will not be disturbed.” She rose. “Come with me, I will show you.”

“Yes, go with her. We can talk again this evening,” the old man said. “Sydoni, make him comfortable.”

I rose to my knees and, taking up the Black Rood, placed
it in Padraig's hands—along with the responsibility of looking after it. “Do you think you might find a safe place for this?”

“Gladly and with honor,” he said, accepting the precious relic with a bow of respect.

I retrieved my mantle and followed Sydoni forward to a hatch in the deck with wooden steps leading down to a small, bare room set apart from the larger holding area below deck where cargo and stocks of provisions were kept. Quiet and dark—the only light came from a small grated opening in the deck above—it was the room she and her father shared, and it contained two low straw pallets set in boxes between the great curving ribs of the ship's hull. The pallets were spread with linen cloths and cushions to make a soft, inviting bed.