The Devil's Crossing

by Hana Cole

  ‘But if you will be patient, I will make an inquiry as to this Etienne.’

  Gui’s legs feel as though they are going to buckle beneath him. All he can do is bow as the administrator turns heel and leaves him once more, a lone figure swamped by crested stone columns and an ocean of lush embroidery.

  ‘Quick! Quick! We have an inspection,’ Yossef rallies the boys.

  They leap to their feet, throwing off their mid-afternoon lethargy.

  ‘Come on. Up!’ He offers a hand to Etienne. He takes it and gives Yossef a smile because he is trying to be nice. It still hurts to stand up straight, but more than the discomfort, he just doesn’t feel like it. He has more duties than ever now and he is so, so tired. Everywhere he goes it seems that one of Abubakr’s men is lurking, pretending to be doing something else.

  Abubakr instructs them to form a line, then, one by one, he checks their dress is in order, their nails clean. Usually this inspection is done once a week, on Saturday. Etienne can’t work out why, it being only Tuesday, they are doing it all again.

  ‘You.’ Abubakr finges Etienne. ‘Come here.’

  What for? Etienne wants very badly to ask. He hasn’t done anything wrong, he is sure of it. Stepping forward, everyone’s eyes are upon him, exactly like when he was beaten. The only glimmer of salve for him is the knowledge that for all the trouble he has been in, he is sure that Abubakr has been in just as much. Even if it is a different sort of trouble and not the sort where you get whipped in front of all the people you know.

  ‘You.’ Abubakr beckons grimly at Christophe, who wears the same wild look of bewilderment as always. His pale hazel irises rove about his eyeballs as if he has just woken up from a dream and can’t work out where he is. The slave master dismisses the rest of them with an angry flick of his hand, as though he is having to tell them for a second time, even though he isn’t.

  ‘Follow me.’ Abubakr barks at the boys. Christophe begins to quiver as they file out of the servant’s courtyard towards the main palace.

  ‘Psst.’ Etienne tries to engage the taciturn boy from Saintes. Christophe doesn’t even turn round. He has been even less willing to talk to Etienne since the botched escape. All Etienne knows is that Christophe hasn’t been on crusade or followed any shepherd boys. Shepherd boys! How stupid that sounds now. As if a shepherd could get to the Holy Land. Etienne isn’t really sure how Christophe came to get sold. Whenever he broaches the subject, the boy mumbles something about errands at a port and a man who said he could become famous. Etienne figures it must be some really embarrassing mistake, maybe even more stupid than following a shepherd on crusade.

  ‘We are both French.’ Etienne shares his observation anyway.

  ‘So what?’ Christophe whispers, his cheeks reddening. It must be hard not to be able to hide it when you feel flustered, muses Etienne as Christophe swivels his eyes in just about every direction that isn’t looking at him.

  ‘Silence,’ Abubakr hisses out from the front. Etienne gives a quiet sigh. No doubt that means more latrine duties for him. Latrine duties are bad anyway, but now the weather is warming it is nearly more than he can stomach. Plunging his hands into the black, fetid holes to free a blockage he has nearly thrown up his lunch more than once.

  ‘Stop.’ Abubakr raises a white-sleeved arm and his gown ripples down to reveal his bony, brown elbow.

  They are told to face the doors that open out onto the gardens. From the other side of the terrace, Etienne can make out three figures silhouetted behind the shutter. Maybe someone is looking to buy French boys because they are better workers than the others Etienne thinks, even though he knows it is as untrue as it is unlikely. Maybe they need boys who can speak French for some reason. A French merchant in Cairo? It has to be better than this place. Please God let it be something good like that.

  The shutters swing open and three figures step out. One is a bureaucrat from the governor’s personal staff, the other the burly, tall Egyptian called Nasir - the Mamluk in charge of all the guards. The third is a man dressed in a long, black robe who sways slightly as he steps out into the bald glare of the Egyptian sky. Etienne narrows his eyes. The man is white skinned. The robe looks like a priest’s, or a lawyer of some sort – has someone come to take them back on the orders of the pope? No. That doesn’t explain why they haven’t selected the other Christian boys.

  The black-robed man squints directly at Etienne. What on earth have I done now? he thinks.

  Like a rider emerging from a heat haze on the horizon, at first it is just a ripple in the air. The impression sharpens as it draws nearer until, finally, it takes form. He knows that face. He knows it nearly as well as he knows his own. If he hadn’t been standing in this foreign place, he would have recognised him instantly.

  The governor’s secretary gives a sweep of his arm. Gui steps from the cool serenity of the palace onto the terrace, caught momentarily by the fierce heat that pricks his skin. The boys are standing before a stone wall overlooking the governor’s private gardens. A swarm of men below bathe the verdant lawns and bright flowerbeds with the water of life. He knows, even before he has the chance to survey them properly, that Etienne is the one on the right, twiddling his fingers and gazing about as the other boy stands rigid.

  Gui gives Ibn Al Tayyib a nod that he hopes gives nothing away of the magma surging within him, scorching his lungs and deafening him to all else but the rush of blood in his ears. A bead of sweat trickles down from his hairline. Quickening his pace as if the scene before him is a mirage that will dissolve before his touch, Gui skates over the terrace. All the long-rehearsed words evaporate as he reaches Etienne and his son flings his arms around him.

  Laughing in wonder, Etienne says, ‘Father Gui, it’s really you!’

  Disoriented by the flood of relief, Gui draws his son in tighter. ‘I’ve come to take you home,’ is all he manages to whisper.

  Etienne pulls free. Open-mouthed, he inspects Gui as though he can’t quite believe the man before him is flesh and blood.

  ‘You feel boiling hot!’ Water runs, silent, down his son’s nose. Gui palms the tears away.

  ‘How in heaven did you get here?’

  Gui beams at his son, swallowing on the emotion of everything he cannot yet say. ‘I have come on behalf of your mother.’

  ‘My mother? I knew it!’ An excited grin flares on the boy’s face. ‘Is she with you?’

  Gui rocks back on his heels. ‘It is not safe for a woman to travel to these places.’

  Etienne’s face crumples into query. ‘So she sent you alone?’

  Gui gives a string of rapid nods. ‘I came because she wants you back more than anything.’

  Gui’s chest feels so tight it feels as though his ribs might crack. He pauses to breathe. Somewhere in the garden a peacock shrieks. He can feel the governor’s men watching with inscrutable stares. The currency of restraint his highly valued amongst men of rank in Al Kamil’s court. Much like the nobility of his own land, displays of emotion are considered a sign of weakness. His son is not yet free. Keenly aware that Etienne’s fate is balanced on the whim of the artful secretary with whom he must barter, Gui squares his shoulders and turns to Ibn Al Tayyib. He bows his head politely. Someone barks for Etienne to return to the ranks.

  Etienne’s stares at his father in utter bewilderment, and Gui has to fight with all he has to prevent himself from reaching out a consoling hand.

  ‘I must speak with the governor first,’ he whispers. ‘He has paid for you and…’

  ‘Can’t I come with you?’ The look of injury on his son’s face is almost more than he can bear.

  ‘I won’t be long. I swear it,’ he says, trying to conceal the pressure of the negotiation to come.

  His son raises a trusting smile. Gui closes his eyes as he walks away, praying with all his heart that if he is to fail, God take him right there on the very spot he stands.

  *

  The governor’s secretary pulls at his coiffed beard. Gui smiles
patiently. He has spent so long waiting it would be pointless now to lose his composure.

  ‘The governor is a merciful man.’ The man sets to strolling back and forth in front of his huge walnut desk.

  ‘I am certain of it.’ Gui folds his hands together - the priest preparing to address the congregation.

  ‘But he has status. Great status in this city,’ the secretary continues.

  ‘His name is known throughout the world.’

  Al Tayyib turns to face Gui and places the tips of his fingers together precisely. The skin on the back of his hands is as smooth as a child’s. ‘So you will understand that he has rivals. Friends and rivals that observe his every deed. To free a slave in such a manner would be perceived as weakness.’

  ‘If you permit me, can it not be seen as an act of charity in keeping with the texts of your faith?’ Gui keeps the smile, but in his voice there rises a note of agitation. He has not come this far to be turned back by the false courtesy so favoured by those of high privilege. How ironic, he thinks, that these men fight against the counts and kings of Christendom who practise the very same codes of honour and leave the very same rank trails of death in their wake.

  ‘A foreign, low-born slave? It would be considered beyond charity.’ The secretary’s face is impassive. Gui’s blood heats. Don’t give in to it. He looks at his feet. The room fills with the clicking of an elaborate water clock, marooned in the middle of the vast space.

  ‘Very well,’ he says to break the uncomfortable pause. ‘So do you have a proposal, or does the governor exercise his right to refuse further discourse on the matter?’ Gui knows the latter isn’t true. The governor would not have permitted him to view the boys at all if it were not to propose some barter.

  ‘As you have nothing of value to offer his excellency for the boy, I propose an exchange of a different sort.’ The secretary spins a sheet of papyrus on his desk, aligning the edges exactly with the top of the desk. ‘You are a clerk?’

  ‘A scribe, yes.’

  ‘So you are educated, literate in several of the Christian tongues?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Then Al Kamil, the grand governor, in the name of Charity, permits the boy to return to his mother.’

  Gui hears himself utter a soft groan of relief. The secretary offers the governor’s generosity palms open, in the attitude of Mohammedan prayer. The corner of his eye tails slyly, allowing Gui to guess at the ‘but’ before it comes.

  ‘But you will remain as tutor to his sons. That is the exchange. The life you so desire to set free in exchange for your freedom.’

  The blow has physical force and he feels his shoulders slump. ‘Remain indefinitely?’

  ‘As the governor sees fit. Not indefinitely. His sons will grow into men.’

  Gui’s mind races. How can he ensure Etienne’s safe passage to France? Impossible. Can he keep Etienne safe in Cairo until he is able to escape himself? Is it even possible to escape?

  ‘The governor offers your Etienne safety of passage to Gibraltar. He will work on one of his ships, of course. From there he can find passage to Marseille.’

  ‘The governor is generous and merciful and I thank him for his offer but Etienne is too young to travel safely alone.’

  ‘I would say his resources are perfectly adequate. Cairo is a long way from his home.’ The same sly look. Gui holds his tongue. Etienne is safe for now and it gives Gui time to form a plan.

  ‘Quite so. Then, I gratefully accept.’

  ‘Splendid.’ The secretary claps his hands, summoning the butler who had first greeted him.

  ‘Khalid will show you your room.’

  Gui bows to his new employer. In substance, Gui reflects, not so very different from the Bishop of Chartres. Richer, certainly, and the guardian of a far more elegant prison. One that he must now inhabit alone.

  ‘If you permit me, when does this boat leave for Gibraltar?’

  The secretary plucks a sheet from his desk.

  ‘In one week.’

  Panic crowds Gui’s mind. It is a bitter enough draught that he must give up his son in order to free him, but the idea that Etienne will once again be taken from him without knowing the truth is intolerable. ‘Am I able to see the boy before we bid farewell?’

  Ibn Al Tayyib looks up form his paperwork and leaves Gui’s heart stalled for a long, considered breath.

  ‘Very well.’

  *

  ‘So we can go now?’ Etienne asks.

  ‘Not quite.’ Gui presses his lips together in apology.

  The boy looks crestfallen. ‘Why not? You said you had come to get me.’

  Gui feels his shoulders tighten.

  ‘Are you too poor to buy me back?’ Etienne asks the question casually.

  ‘Almost certainly.’

  Etienne shrugs. ‘What are you doing here then?’

  Gui tugs at the neck fastening of his robe. He feels like a man called to mount to gallows. The pressure building inside him is making him nauseous. Set it loose it will defend itself. He recalls his promise to Abbot Roger, made a lifetime ago. He looks into his child’s eyes, so full of hope. It can no longer be held back.

  ‘Etienne?’ He pulls his hand over his jaw. His son is too smart for roundabout jabbering and half explanations. ‘There is something else…’

  Etienne looks alarmed.

  ‘I came to find you for Agnes that is true. But there is another reason. I came because I had to make sure you were safe for myself.’ Gui’s heart is in freefall as he looks right into the bright blue eyes. ‘Because I am your father.’

  Etienne cocks his head to one side as though he hasn’t quite heard right. The laden silence makes Gui’s skin itch like no anxiety he has ever known.

  ‘I am so ashamed I kept it hidden,’ he says. ‘Please forgive me.’ He rubs his fingers over his forehead. Etienne is looking at him as though he is searching for clues he should have seen long ago.

  ‘But you are a priest,’ his son says eventually.

  ‘Yes. But I love your mother just the same.’

  Etienne squints up at Gui, hands searching for non-existent pockets in his tunic. He gives a half nod. ‘How is she?’

  ‘That last I knew she fares well,’ Gui says buoyantly. Etienne eyes flicker down as he replies, ‘I am pleased of it,’ and Gui knows that the boy has seen through him.

  ‘She was not well when I left Marseille. I had to leave her with an aunt to come and find you.’

  ‘I see,’ says Etienne. The same deep-set eyes as his own stare intently from beneath the ridge of his son’s brow. A moment of silence passes, then Etienne says, ‘You know, Father Gui, I think maybe I always knew.’

  Chapter Thirty

  ‘So, this priest from your village, he just came here by chance?’ Alberto sounds incredulous.

  ‘Yes. I told you, he was following the old preacher from Italy. The one who came here to convert the Sultan,’ says Etienne even though he knows Alberto won’t be so easily fooled.

  ‘Hmm.’

  Etienne knows Alberto is angling for him to say more. He desperately wants to share the truth with his companions but he knows he cannot. The lesson has been far too painfully learned for him to forget it now. He doesn’t know what Father Gui has planned, but the solemn wink he gave him as he went back inside the governor’s palace said that it isn’t going to be as simple as just walking out. Although he knows Abubakr would be glad to see the back of him, they are not going to let him go for free.

  There is no way he is going to risk getting found out, so he smiles back at Alberto. A little smirk that says, I know you know I’m not telling the truth but I’m still not going to say anymore.

  ‘Ba ben’ have it your way.’ Alberto slopes off with a shrug like he doesn’t care.

  Etienne slumps down on the shady side of their hut. He knows he should get about his duties so as not to draw attention to himself, but he needs a few moments away from the eager faces of the others to get his head around wh
at has just happened.

  Although he has seen it with his own eyes, there is a part of him that still can’t quite believe it. Father Gui boarded a boat and travelled all the way over those weeks and weeks of water to find him. His own father! Right there, all along. He shakes his head at the enormity of it. He never even guessed at it. All that time, all the terrible things that happened, if only he had known. His head hurts. He wishes he could reach up and put the sun out. Getting a bit of cool air into his brain might help him think more clearly.

  He isn’t upset. At least he doesn’t think he is upset. But what he can’t make sense of was how come he hadn’t put it together before. He suspects that in some corner of his heart he did know. When he told Gui that maybe he had always known it felt like he was telling the truth. How it is possible for some part of you to keep something so thoroughly hidden from the rest of you?

  The other boys back home always teased him about Agnes and her priest. Maybe that was it. He understands how dangerous it would have been for them to say anything. Everyone knows priests aren’t allowed to get married. Still, they could have told him as a secret. He wouldn’t have said anything. Didn’t they trust him? Perhaps not when he was small but more recently, he could have known and sworn not to tell.

  He knew how much his mother loved Gui. He knew! What a prize idiot. It is as plain as the nose on his face. He reaches up and feels along the ridge of his nose, the narrow, angular bridge that is forming now he is no longer a boy. He pushes his hair off his face, the same crazy ringlets as Gui. Father Gui. His father. The man who came all this way to rescue him.

  He laughs out loud. Part of him feels so happy, he can’t stop grinning. But there is some other part, hidden beneath the joy bursting in his chest, that is making him anxious and he wishes he knew what it was. Etienne beats the earth beside him with a half-hearted fist. He feels tired. It is as if just knowing the truth is tiring. His eyes want to close so he can sleep. Then he won’t have to think about it anymore.