The Last Emir

by The Last Emir (retail) (epub)

  The man nodded. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am a pilgrim, travelling with my novice here. We are following an ancient trail, laid down centuries ago. I seek the remains of Saint Stephen, protomartyr. Would you know of anyone who could tell us what happened to the church in Mahón and the relic that lay therein? I would be most grateful.’

  The man leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table. ‘That is a legend. An ancient tale. Stories for the fireside.’

  ‘And yet I understand that your entire community grew out of the conversions associated with the relic?’

  The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are well informed, pilgrim. I can tell you as much as any man in the city about what you seek, though it is not much, and it is, again, from tales told by old men for dozens of generations. How much truth there is in them I cannot say.’

  ‘I would be grateful even for far-fetched tales,’ Balthesar smiled.

  ‘The bones were but an arm. I understand that the rest of the body went to Rome.’

  Balthesar nodded. ‘I had also heard this. An arm is all I seek.’

  The man huffed and folded his arms. ‘It is said that when the Moors came, the Jews of Manûrqa rejoiced, for they had been oppressed by their Roman overlords, but the Moors offered them relative freedom. They were taxed, like us, but they began to worship again. It is said that the Moors when they came were also accepting of the Church. They would allow us to worship as we had, but certain embittered Jews roused their new lords against the Christians, remembering the days of their oppression, and the relic was almost destroyed.’

  ‘Almost?’

  The man nodded. ‘The church was pulled down and our community persecuted for a time. But first the priest of the church, a man we remember as Lucas, took the relic and carried it to safety. It was not in the church when it was destroyed.’

  Arnau felt that thrill of excitement again. Perhaps the trail was not as dead as he’d feared.

  ‘Do these old tales reveal where this Father Lucas went?’ Balthesar prompted.

  ‘His intended destination is recorded, if not his fate,’ the man replied. ‘It is told that he took ship to Mayūrqa, perhaps fifty miles west of here. His avowed intent was to seek the place on the islands safest from the Moor. That place would be the ancient fortress of Alaró, which was a Christian bastion and controlled by a rigidly pious man.’

  ‘That makes a great deal of sense,’ the old knight replied. ‘Strange that this is not recorded in texts I have read, since I know something of Alaró’s past.’

  The man shook his head. ‘The trail ends there, I’m afraid, old man. Father Lucas never reached the fortress. Like Bishop Orosius on his voyage to Braga, the relic never arrived. Perhaps it was cursed in some fashion?’

  ‘It then disappeared somewhere between here and Alaró,’ Balthesar said.

  ‘Yes,’ the man confirmed. ‘Sadly, I believe your search must end there. No one here will know anything further. Centuries have passed under the yoke of the Moor. If the remains of Saint Stephen were not destroyed or hopelessly lost, word would have spread before now.’

  The old knight smiled. ‘You share a weakness with my young novice here, friend: a lack of faith.’ He chuckled as the man’s face became hard. ‘I do not mean faith in the Lord, but faith in all of his works. I cannot believe I have come this far only to reach a dead end. We shall forge on.’

  ‘But you heard him,’ Arnau said. ‘The trail ends. We cannot search the whole of two islands and the sea in between in the hope of finding a few bones.’

  Balthesar shook his head. ‘Faith will take us far, Arnau, but logic will take us further right now. The bone left this island. We can, I think, be certain of that, for if it had not, then its fate would have come down as part of the stories told in this community.’

  A point, most certainly, Arnau had to acknowledge. That did not narrow it down a lot, though.

  ‘I think we can rule out a loss at sea also,’ the old knight said confidently.

  ‘Really? How?’

  ‘He was a priest, therefore would not have his own boat and almost certainly would not steal one. This means that he would have to have persuaded or paid an islander from Manûrqa to take him across the water. That man must have returned, or his disappearance would similarly be part of the local tales. No, Father Lucas reached Mayūrqa, I am convinced. And if he did so, then we can rule out this island and a watery grave. Our story will pick up across the channel.’

  ‘But where?’ demanded Arnau. ‘If the maps I’ve seen are accurate then Mayūrqa is much larger even than this island. We search for a needle in a haystack.’

  ‘Faith, Arnau. And logic.’

  The young sergeant sighed. ‘Tell me, then.’

  ‘From here, there is only one place the boat might have landed. There is a town there called Al-Bulānsa, and near it an ancient ruin that was a city in the days of the Romans and the Vandals. He would have landed there, and I know the coastline thereabouts. I know also the location of Alaró, which sits atop a peak in the mountains of the north-west. From Al-Bulānsa, Lucas would have been careful and circumspect in his movements. Bear in mind that at that time, the island was still in the early throes of the Moorish invasion. Christian outposts would still be holding out, and I know of several tales of those days, including some concerning Alaró. But Father Lucas would not have risked a direct journey along the island’s main road towards the fortress. He would, without a doubt, have run into Moorish soldiers had he done so. A man careful enough to rescue the relic before the Moor came for his church is not the sort of man who would then walk it into the arms of his enemy on an open road.’

  ‘There is a lot of “if” involved in this, to my mind,’ Arnau said, his earlier exhilaration at the unfolding tale now beginning to flag.

  ‘Faith, remember,’ smiled the older knight. ‘Father Lucas, I am certain, landed within a short stretch of coastline on Mayūrqa, and from there took the most circuitous possible route to Alaró to avoid contact with those who would do him harm. The next step in our search lies somewhere along that route. And to discover what path he might have taken from Al-Bulānsa, we must make enquiries there.’

  Balthesar stood and stretched. ‘I must thank you, my friend, for all your help. I am confident that the arm of Saint Stephen remains somewhere on these islands, waiting to be found by men of faith, and we shall be the ones to do so. We must beg your leave now and seek passage to the next island.’

  They made their farewells to the fishmonger and stepped out onto the street again. Once alone, they crossed to the rail and looked down. Arnau’s sharp eyes scoured the port off to their right but there was no hope of making out the small group of Almohad soldiers, if they remained there at all.

  ‘We can’t go to the port for a ship,’ Arnau said quietly. ‘That Lion of Alarcos might still be there.’

  ‘Quite,’ Balthesar agreed, ‘but we are on a trail now and the scent remains strong in my nostrils. We follow in the footsteps of our forebears, and Father Lucas carried the bones from here to Mayūrqa. He would not have done so from the port of Mahón if he were so endangered here. He will have departed from some lesser, hidden location. We must prepare ourselves for a walk, young Vallbona.’

  ‘And a swim?’

  ‘Do not be needlessly facetious. There are villages on the other side of the island, between five and ten miles from here, that face Mayūrqa across the water. It is almost certain that Father Lucas sailed from one of those villages, and so shall we.’

  Arnau sighed. ‘I am once more of the growing opinion that this is a fool’s errand, Brother.’

  The old knight scratched an ear reflectively. ‘Do not make me regret bringing you along, Arnau. You must have faith.’

  ‘What is the point of faith in a vague legend?’

  Balthesar shot him a dangerous look. ‘The whole point of faith, Arnau, is to have it in that which cannot be proven. That which can does not require faith. How can you be so unaware of a basic
fact of our calling and our duty? Come. We seek a boat to take us to Mayūrqa, and we will not find that in the city. We must away to the far coast, and if we set off now, we might reach it by nightfall.’

  The old man stretched once more and shouldered his bag, then began to walk back away from the water and into Mahón, heading west.

  Heaving the latest in a long line of sighs, Arnau followed.

  Chapter Three

  Friday, 4 June 1199

  The boat rocked too much to be considered truly comfortable, as far as Arnau was concerned. It was a whole different proposition to the trader’s cog that had carried them from Perpignan to the islands. That had been a ship, constructed to hold cargo, weather storms and withstand anything the sea might throw at it. This one, which had a name that Arnau could not pronounce let alone remember, was a small native fishing boat. Twelve feet in length and fat-bellied, it bucked and bobbed even on the low calm waves of the channel, relying on its small, frayed sail.

  They had arrived at the west coast of Manûrqa in time to rest for the night, and had secured lodgings and an evening meal of some sort of roasted goat dish in a local inn. It had been one of the dullest nights of Arnau’s life, for he had taken on once more the role of the mute, given that every last person they had met once they left Mahón had been Moorish. Consequently, they passed the entire evening in silence. After months of becoming used to the liturgy of the hours in the monastery, with its rigid times of praise and song, an entire evening of complete silence was still peculiar. And the strange tea he had been served had been an inadequate alternative to wine, too.

  They had risen early and headed down to the waterfront of the small village. A number of vessels of different styles and sizes were tied up there, from small one-man coracles to this twelve-foot mastodon. As Arnau stood on the shore silently, contemplating the hopelessness of their quest and growing slowly more sullen, Balthesar had found the fishermen, the hour early enough to catch them before they sailed. He had managed to persuade one to take them across the water to Mayūrqa, in return for appropriate compensation for the loss of two days’ fishing.

  The journey would take fourteen hours, the fisherman had informed Balthesar, who had indicated as much to Arnau with fingers. Assured of another half day of tedious silence, Arnau had sunk onto the wooden bench in the front of the boat and played the game of ‘spot anything to relieve the boredom’.

  They had left the island at the unnamed village and struck out a little south of west, making the best of the winds, which seemed to be surprisingly strong in the channel. He had watched the coast retreat gradually, then begun to pay attention to the gulls that wheeled and cried, but soon they were far enough from land that the gulls became fewer and fewer. Once, he saw something huge and grey rushing alongside them, part of its rubbery hide breaking the surface of the water, and he leaped up to shout enthusiastically about it to his fellow knight, remembering at the last moment and clamping his lips shut, pointing frantically instead. By the time Balthesar reached the bench the creature had disappeared, and Arnau settled back down to his tedium.

  After perhaps three hours they spotted another vessel. A sleek Moorish trader with a white lateen sail whooshed past them as though being dragged along by some submarine Titan. Had they not been unable to return to the port for fear of meeting the Almohad lord there, they might even now have been on that fast vessel that overtook them in heartbeats and plunged on towards the west. Arnau realised that they were now on the main route from Mahón to the next island, having veered across to join the path.

  Still, they had set off much earlier than any trader from the city, and the bulk of the route’s users would be far behind. They saw another vessel an hour later, which similarly swept past them, making it feel as though they were standing still. Another, half an hour after that. Arnau kept shooting irritable, accusatory looks at Balthesar whenever a ship passed. They could have been on a fast vessel, he was sure. There had to have been ways to seek passage with merchants, even if they had to go to another city. The old knight’s gaze in reply silently but eloquently suggested that Balthesar was more than happy to move at a sedate pace and follow the same path laid down by Father Lucas centuries earlier.

  They ate on board at noon, with a merciless sun beating down on the vessel. Needless to say their repast consisted largely of bread and fish purchased in the village before departure, and Arnau concentrated on the bread. The entire boat smelled like a dead fish anyway, and the sight of the fish on Balthesar’s platter was far from enticing. Perhaps ten hours after they had left the coast, they caught their first proper sight of Mayūrqa. In truth, Arnau had seen it coming for some time, a dark ribbon that gradually grew as they closed upon it. The young sergeant had felt at last a moment of elation then, thinking that they had crossed much faster than he expected, until they began to turn and he realised that this was only the nearest point of the larger island, not their actual destination. Their voyage was not over yet.

  Two more ships passed them within that next hour, both heading off in the other direction, following the southern side of Mayūrqa, while they were now heading north-west. They ran in that direction for several hours more, the rocky slopes of mountainous terrain sliding by. They passed small coves with tiny settlements, and Arnau silently, privately wondered how Balthesar could be so sure that the fleeing priest had not put to shore there. Still, they sailed on. The mountainous coastline gradually gave way to low, flat shores with forest beyond, and then to farmland.

  Balthesar chose then to come forward and stand close by. Arnau kept silent still, irritated, wanting to ask so many questions. By his reckoning, that fourteen hours must have already passed, and certainly the light was beginning to dim as the sun settled behind the island now. Up ahead, he could see a high, rocky headland jutting out, the near shores before it occupied by open farmland and a small village by the water. His hope that they would be putting ashore there faded as they turned once more and made to head round the rocky promontory.

  He tried to remember what the older brother had told him about the place in the privacy of their room the previous night. The rocky headland jutted out with the ruined ancient city of Pollentia on this side, and the new town for which they were bound on the far one. Yes, they would have to round the headland to follow this nebulous trail upon which Balthesar was fixated.

  He watched strange cliffs slide by as they moved out, the lines of strata along the rocks dipping and rising like waves. He studied them with interest as they passed, and was almost disappointed when they reached the seaward end of the cape. It seemed to be shaped a little like a fork, with deep, narrow inlets between the high rocks, and they were heading across them all, making now directly north, when suddenly Balthesar barked out a word that Arnau could not understand but which sounded very much like a curse.

  Arnau turned to look at the older brother, and saw Balthesar gesturing to the fisherman to turn urgently, to take the boat into one of those narrow coves in the cape. The boat slewed sharply, and the young sergeant slid from his seat, then rose, more irritated than ever. He would dearly love to say a few things.

  As the boat slid into the shelter of the shadowed cove, the sun on the far side of the island, Arnau turned and scanned the sea, trying to identify what it was that Balthesar had seen that had made him change course so unexpectedly. It did not take him long to spot it: another ship was hurtling along in their wake, bouncing lightly from wave to wave with the speed of a sleek courier. It looked not a great deal different to the other ships they had seen on the journey, and Arnau could not understand what it was that had so surprised the old knight, other than perhaps the fact that most other traffic had continued on along the southern coast.

  Then it happened.

  They disappeared into the shade of the cove and slowed. The vessel that had been on a similar course emerged past the promontory’s end and Arnau caught sight of the sail this time. The angle they had been at before had shown him only a very odd oblique view o
f the sail. Now he saw in all its glory the red square and the black-and-white check pattern at the centre, marking it as an Almohad ship.

  The breath caught in his throat and all boredom and irritation dissipated, leaving instead dreadful nervous tension. His eyes swept around the cove. A white sandy beach lay at the far end, beneath a horseshoe of high, grey, rocky slopes scattered with dry-looking bushes. He was fairly sure they were trapped. If the Almohad vessel was intent upon pursuit, then they would be in trouble. The best they could do was land on the beach, but it would be at best a difficult and hair-raising task to climb those slopes beyond.

  He turned and glared urgently at Balthesar, desperate to open his mouth. After all, at this point what harm could it do? Answers to that flooded in, unwanted. Perhaps the fisherman was a devout Musulman, who would be horrified to discover he had Christians on his boat? And with the proximity of the Almohad ship…

  He bit down on his words, keeping them caged in. Instead, he watched that ship, willing it not to turn. Would they be suspicious of the small fisherman who had veered sharply out of their path, or would that perhaps be the norm for small boats suddenly beset by large, fast ships? The words of the twenty-third Psalm, an ancient beseeching for protection, rose unbidden into his throat and he fought to keep them in. At a moment like this, prayer seemed appropriate, but he could not imagine it being received well by the Moorish fisherman.

  Instead he kept his mouth shut, but hummed the words inside his mouth, as silent as he could, a faint murmuration that would not be heard by the others.

  The Lord governeth me, and nothing shall fail to me; in the place of pasture there he hath set me. He nourished me on the water of refreshing.

  He converted my soul. He led me forth on the paths of rightfulness, for his name.

  For why though I shall go in the midst of a shadow of death, I shall not dread evils, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, those have comforted me.