William thanked Theo. Once the horses had been tethered and tended, he and his men sat down around the table. The women brought out a basket of bread and bowls of thick vegetable stew, a layer of green olive oil floating on top. They worked quickly, without looking at the men and with eyes downcast, then returned to the house.
Their host, Theo, joined them, and although he did not eat, he drank a cup of the rough red wine. His toothy smile flashed again. “You have traveled far to make this pilgrimage, and you are indeed brave to come here.”
“It is part of our pilgrimage.” William was on edge. Their host was amenable, but the atmosphere held a strange tension.
“And your eventual destination is Jerusalem?” Theo lifted his cup and drank but kept his eyes on them, assessing.
“That is so. To pray at the sepulchre and atone for our sins.”
Their host stroked wine from his mustache. “You must have faced many difficulties along the way, but I can see that you are men of quality.”
“All men are the same on pilgrimage,” William said. “We are here to ask Christ’s forgiveness for our sins and make atonement. We support no faction.”
Theo nodded. “You came down the old Roman road from Durazzo? I went there when I was a young man.”
“Yes, that was our route.”
“So you crossed from one of the Sicilian ports?”
“Brindisi,” William replied, unsure if these questions were just the general currency demanded of strangers or whether a greater agenda was at work.
Theo was nodding as if calculating to himself. “And before that Rome, may I guess?”
“That was our route,” William said a little brusquely.
“You do not like to travel by sea?”
William shook his head. “Only when we must. The road is part of our greater penance, and I am not a good seafarer.”
“That is the unfortunate lot of some men.” Theo rose and excused himself. William glanced at the sun, which was low in the sky, and his sense of unease increased. A few minutes later, Theo returned, rubbing his hands and looking chagrined. “I am sorry; the man I had hoped to be your guide is not at home. It will soon be dark, and you should not venture through Constantinople at night even with an escort. Like any city, it is dangerous after dark, and considering the troubles of last year, it would be doubly unwise. You are welcome to stay here in the courtyard tonight. My gates are strong, and no one will harm you. In the morning, my son-in-law will take you where you need to go.”
William was reluctant, but they had no choice because everything Theo said was true. The women came with more bread and wine, and they were left to pitch their shelters against the wall, using hay from his store for insulation and bedding.
“We should never have come here,” Ancel muttered as Eustace lit the wicks in the dimples of the cresset lamp on the table. “I do not trust him. I do not trust any of them.”
“We cannot go wandering through the streets of Constantinople in the dark,” William said. “It is far bigger than London; even in daylight, we would struggle to find our way without help, and I doubt that will be forthcoming. Better to leave at first light.”
Ancel curled his lip. “And if we are all murdered in our sleep?”
“We take it in turns to keep watch, the same as we have done all along the route, and we show that we are on our mettle. Onri and Augustine shall take the first watch. Then me and you and Eustace, then Rob, Guillaume, Guyon, and Geoffrey.”
Ancel received the decision with a tight mouth but went to lie down.
William stayed awake awhile longer, going to check the horses and equipment before retiring. He glanced toward the house, but the door remained barred and whatever was happening within, all was quiet. Heaving a pensive sigh, he sat down on his mattress of stuffed straw. Ancel lay with his cloak drawn up to his shoulders and Pilgrim curled up nose to tail above his head like a rust-colored hat. A tent mallet lay close to his hand, ready to seize in a moment, and as William passed, Ancel half opened his eyes, revealing that even at rest he was alert.
Lying down, William placed his sword near his own right hand and acknowledged that they had begun the most dangerous phase of their journey. They could have traveled by sea, but that held its own dangers and discomforts, including the vagaries of the weather at this time of year and the threat from pirates, and taking the sea route would have meant leaving out many holy places from their itinerary and would have weakened the impact of their atonement and acquisition of indulgences. Harry had always wanted to see the great church of Hagia Sophia, of which his mother had often spoken. But it was very different hearing people at home tell tales of Constantinople than it was being here and seeing the looks in men’s eyes, even when they smiled. Perhaps Ancel was right and he was wrong. He could only pray to God and the Holy Virgin to spare their lives and deliver them safely.
* * *
As the roosters of Constantinople crowed to herald the dawn and the sunrise kindled the sky, they were all still alive, and nothing beyond their own tension had troubled the night. The woman and the maid brought them bowls of fresh warm milk and bread but went swiftly about their business and were gone. The great gate remained locked while the men ate and drank, but as they were seeing to the horses, the son-in-law emerged with a bunch of keys in his hand and opened it. He did not greet them beyond a brusque nod, and when William tried to ask him a question, he, like the women, hurried back into the house. The boy from the stall who had guided them here came out and scampered out of the gate at a run.
“If no one is going to talk to us, then it seems we shall have to find our own way,” William said. “If we head eastward, we can find the wall and follow it down.”
He was putting a small handful of coins on the table to pay their hosts when the door opened again and Theo emerged. “If I may speak with you, sire, for a moment,” he said to William, and indicated the house. “I have a matter with which you can help me in return for the hospitality you have received. Cimon will show you the way now it is light. Do you have your map with you?”
William nodded.
“Good, bring it. There is something I wish to show you.”
William signaled his men to wait and, map in hand, entered the house.
Theo closed the door and gestured for William to sit down at a trestle table. The room was comfortably furnished with colorful hangings on the walls and rugs on the floor, both sheepskin and woven. An icon of a saint stood in a wall niche, surrounded by candles.
“May I see your map?”
William passed it to Theo, expecting him to explain the directions to him. His daughter entered the room, cloth in hand, and began to clean the ironwork on the door.
Theo unfolded the map and studied it from top to bottom, his lower lip pursed, and then nodded to himself before looking at William with hard eyes. “I know you are not simple pilgrims,” he said coldly. “I know you are here spying for our enemies in Rome and the lands belonging to Sicily.”
William stared at him in astonishment. The accusation took him so much by surprise that he was speechless.
“You came through those places on your road here; do not tell me you are common pilgrims.” Theo tossed the map on the table.
William shook his head in disbelief. “Indeed, we are on a pilgrimage exactly as we have told you. If we were spying, we would not be calling attention to ourselves; we would travel by stealthier means and you would not know we were here. We came by way of Rome and Apulia for spiritual and diplomatic reasons that have nothing to do with our route through Constantinople.”
“Do not lie to me,” Theo returned. “I can see straight through your ploy. You think you will receive more respect if you come dressed as men of means, but I know you for the papal spies you are. You will tell me who your contacts are in the city or it will not go well for you.”
William’s stomach lur
ched as he realized this man suspected them of espionage and was clearly more than an ordinary merchant. But how could he give him what he did not have? “You are mistaken.” He pushed to his feet. “We have nothing but letters of safe conduct and lists of places to lodge.”
“If you say so,” Theo said, “but until you tell me what I need to know, you cannot leave.”
“I have told you, we have no information.” His heart slamming in his chest, William started for the door and found it barred. As he gripped the handle, the son-in-law appeared from another room accompanied by two burly servants wielding clubs, knives stuck through their belts. William placed his back to the door and prepared to sell his life dearly.
The woman had left the room but now returned, swirling something around her head, and by the time he had realized it was a fishing net, she had cast it over him and the men were upon him, striking and beating. “Run!” he bellowed desperately through the door to his men. “It’s a trap!” He hoped to God they would hear him, but it was his last coherent thought for some time as he was kicked and beaten half-insensible, bound and gagged, and pushed down some steps into a dusty cellar. Above him, a trapdoor slammed and he was left in utter darkness.
* * *
William lay at the foot of the stairs, concussed, winded, and furious with himself. He should have trusted his instinct and left yesterday, even if it meant wandering the streets. Now it might all end here with his vow unfulfilled, his men scattered, murdered or sold into slavery, and the sacred charge of the Young King’s cloak lost forever, his mission yet another failure to add to his tally and drag him down to hell. He should have listened to Ancel.
The room was pitch-black, but his vision was full of dull-colored flashes. Pain fisted through his body from the blows rained on him. For a while he lay still, his cheek pressed against the gritty floor as a fine trickle of blood ran down his cheek. Dear God, it could not end like this. He would not allow it to happen. He forced himself to sit up and, placing his back against the wall, pushed himself to his feet. His hands were tightly bound with no leeway for movement, and struggling only served to swell his flesh and make the bonds dig more deeply.
Groping around with his feet in the darkness, he found the steps leading to the trapdoor and stumbled up them to the top. His head bumped wood, but there was no means of lifting the trap from the inside, and although he strained his ears, he could hear nothing.
Cautiously, he groped his way back down the stairs and walked around the cellar, keeping his back to the wall, finding out that the underground room was ten paces long and six paces wide. Venturing out into what he judged to be the middle of the room, he discovered it empty—no furniture, no bed, no slop bucket. Just the dirt floor. Sick, dizzy, his head pounding, he found the stairs again and sank down at their foot.
Hours passed, he did not know how many, as he drifted in and out of awareness, and over and again he called himself a fool. When eventually his mind returned to a semblance of clarity, his nausea had turned to hunger, his mouth was dry, and his bladder, full.
Suddenly, the trapdoor was flung open and because he had been shut in total darkness, the light dazzled his eyes and he had to look away, squinting. The burly men who had thrown him in here came down the stairs, treading heavily, followed by Theo, licking his lips as though his tongue was a strop, sharpening his teeth. A sheathed dagger hung from his belt. William’s heart kicked in his chest and began to pound because he was trussed up like a sacrificial animal and unable to defend himself.
One of the men hung a lamp from a fixture on the roof, casting light around the cellar, which was indeed a bare room, and then stood at the side with his companion, arms folded. An ominous reddish-brown stain splattered the wall behind him.
“Now then,” Theo said, removing the gag from William’s mouth, “let us see if time for reflection has sharpened your memory. Just tell me what I want to know, and I will let you go free. If not…well, things might not turn out so well.” He unsheathed the knife. “Tell me who you were going to contact in the city. What messages were you passing?”
William coughed, and Theo ordered a guard to give him a drink from a jug he had brought down with him. William took several gulps, but then Theo snatched the jug and splashed the rest of it in William’s face.
“What have you done with my men?” William demanded, spluttering.
“I have done nothing with them—yet. They are waiting for you, but if you do not give me the right answers, then I shall send them into slavery. Do not say I cannot do that, because I can. You have no jurisdiction here and you are at my mercy, should I choose to have any. Now tell me what information you were passing and to whom.”
William said a little desperately, “I have told you. All we have are directions to hostels where we will be given food and lodging and letters of safe conduct. I cannot tell you what I do not know. Our only business is pilgrimage.”
“Indeed?” Theo set the knife against William’s throat and applied pressure with the blade until William felt the steel bite and the blood start to trickle. “Tell me, or you shall die.”
“Then I shall die because I do not know,” William reiterated, his heart pounding with fear. “I am telling you the truth. I read neither Latin nor Greek. All maps and safe conducts were given to me in good faith and are nothing more than directions to meals and lodging. We have no interest in anything else.”
Theo licked his teeth again. “Yet you say you come from Rome and then Apulia, and you dress as men of noble rank, so I know that you are lying.” He made a second, slightly deeper cut. “Your contact was Andreas, wasn’t it?”
“I do not know anyone called Andreas. I do not know anyone in Constantinople, nor do I wish to!”
Theo made another cut. “I say to you again, was it Andreas?”
William closed his eyes and swallowed. “We stopped at a castle. I couldn’t tell you its name, but the lord gave us directions to someone who would give us shelter here of his Christian charity. We are not spies.”
Theo bared his teeth. “I know you are concealing things; I know your kind. You are here for a purpose, and I will find out what it is.”
“Only to worship on our way to Jerusalem,” William replied wearily.
Theo glared at him but removed the knife and stepped back. “We shall see, but know that I do not believe you and that your life hangs in the balance. You will tell me the truth before I am done.”
He went back up the steps and his henchmen followed, the last one giving William a vigorous kick in the ribs as he departed.
Once more, William was left alone in the dark and silence. He could feel blood trickling down his neck and a thin stinging pain from the cuts inflicted. His need to piss was so great that he had to let his bladder go and flood his braies and hose in a hot deluge of shame and humiliation. Tears oozed from beneath his lids and, like his released urine, came because he could no longer control them.
He remembered the golden times he had spent on the tourney circuits of France and Flanders, living a charmed life, showered with adulation, the darling of crowd and court alike. A supreme royal champion at the height of his prowess with the world at his feet. Now Fortune’s wheel had tipped him off the pinnacle and into the filthy mill race at the bottom. He was detritus, tied up in a cellar in Constantinople, beaten, abused, lying in his own piss while God alone knew what was happening to his companions.
Several more hours passed in darkness and William’s thirst increased, for he had taken no more than a few swallows from the jug before Theo had emptied it in his face. At last, the door opened again and the guards returned, this time escorting Theo’s daughter, who held a jug in one hand and a bowl and spoon in the other. The men stopped at the foot of the stairs to guard the exit, and she knelt in front of William. The piss had dried on him, but he was aware of the smell, like the corner of a hall the morning after the men had been drinking.
; The woman kept her head lowered but flicked him a glance from dark eyes filled with fear. “You should give my father what he wants,” she whispered. “He will kill you if you do not.” She held the jug to his lips so he could drink. William strove not to gulp, making a conscious effort to mind his manners because women were the peacemakers, the ones who brokered the deals behind closed doors and brought softness into the world—she was his only glimmer of hope. Her hands were clean but smelled faintly of onion and garlic, and the neckline of her gown gaped as she leaned forward, affording him a glimpse of her cleavage and the milky scent of a breastfeeding woman.
“I cannot give him what I do not have,” he replied, and drank again.
She looked over her shoulder at the guards. “But you must give him something. We know you have come from Rome, and it is obvious you are not ordinary pilgrims.”
“Then why treat us as your enemies?” William answered. “It might benefit you greatly to let us go on our way. Perhaps you should ask what our business is with Jerusalem, not Rome.”
Her gaze sharpened, and he detected a glint of calculation in her eyes. She set the jug to one side and began to feed him some kind of pottage from the bowl. Perhaps she had been sent to see if a female approach would encourage him to talk. Well then, why not?
“Then what is your business in Jerusalem?” she inquired in a gentle voice.
“To pray at the Holy Sepulchre for the soul of the man who was my lord,” he answered. “He was a king’s son, and on his deathbed, he entreated me to do so and to pray for him at the great church of Saint Sophia in Constantinople. I vowed to him that I would do so or die in the attempt. And if this is to be my own death, then so be it. I prayed for his soul in Rome and we took ship in Brindisi. That is what we were doing in those places—my duty to my lord and to a family I have long served.” He gave a broken laugh. “Many told me I was foolish to come this way. I should have listened to them.”
Templar Silks Page 9
