“What is at the end of this evil plan?” Thomas asked.
Hesitation. Then Katherine said, “I do not know. He always promised to tell me. But he never had that chance.”
Does she lie? Or are her faltering words because of grief for the old man?
Thomas paced back and forth several times, then asked, “The Immortals also hide openly?”
“Yes.”
“And seek positions of power to counteract the influence of Druids?”
“Yes.” Katherine smiled. “Sometimes we reach fame through these efforts. And we reach far. Generations ago, Charles the Great, king of the Franks, sent for educated people from all over Christendom. He wanted his people to learn again, from books.”
Katherine paused, trying to recall the story. “The Druids had arranged to send one of their own there. What better way to spread evil in other countries? We intercepted the orders and replaced that Druid with a man named Alcuin. He rose quickly within the royal court of the Franks and did untold good, spreading knowledge and even introducing a new style of writing.”
She waved her hand. “There are others, of course, through the ages. We have all been taught the stories of our history.”
Thomas frowned. “How many of us are there?”
Katherine sighed. “Before Magnus fell twenty years ago, hundreds. More than enough to keep the Druids from reaching their goal.”
“And now?”
“I … I … do not know. I have only the stories that taught me.”
She became quiet, as if the memory of the old man was too hard to bear.
Thomas sensed her sadness and tried to occupy her with other thoughts. “Hundreds? How could hundreds be taught in secrecy? That would take hundreds of teachers!”
“Not so,” Katherine replied, her voice not entirely free of sorrow. “Merlin devised a new method. He appointed his successor before he died. And each successor appointed another, so that Merlin’s command was passed directly from generation to generation of the Immortals. Each leader was the finest among us and selected teachers who, in each generation, shared knowledge with entire groups who sat together. One teacher had as many as thirty listeners.”
Thomas whistled appreciation. “ ’Tis wondrous strange. Yet seems so simple. Now it strikes me odd that this method is not followed elsewhere.”
Katherine nodded. “Merlin called it ‘school.’ ”
Thomas stumbled over the strange word. “School.”
Much now made sense.
Magnus. Isolated in the moors north of England, far from the intrigues and attention of reigning monarchs.
Magnus. With only moderate wealth, not a prize worth seeking.
Magnus. Insignificant, nearly invisible.
Magnus. The largest fortress in the north, a construction that must have cost a king’s ransom, far more than the land itself could earn even with the profit of centuries of income.
Magnus. Seemingly with nothing to protect.
Magnus. Riddled with secret passageways.
Thomas understood.
He stopped pacing abruptly and voiced his certainty to Katherine.
“Merlin established Magnus. Obscure and well protected, it has been the training ground for every generation that followed.”
“Yes,” she said. “Merlin chose Magnus and had the fortress built. He retired to the island in that remote land. From there, he taught the Immortals and sent them throughout the country to combat the Druids in hidden warfare. And Magnus served us well for hundreds of years. Even after the Druids finally discovered its location and purpose, it took generations for them to conquer it. I was not there when that happened, of course, but Hawkwood told me that their surprise attack and ruthless slaughter twenty years ago all but destroyed the Immortals. Only a few survived.”
She stopped, and in the dim light, Thomas could see she was trying to search his face.
“And Thomas,” she finally whispered, “shortly after his birth, a boy was chosen as Merlin’s successor of this generation to reconquer Magnus for us. That child … was you.”
Thomas stood and squarely faced her, with feet braced and arms crossed. It was the only way he could stop the trembling that threatened to overwhelm him.
I want so badly to believe her.
“You weave a fanciful tale,” he said scornfully. “Yet if it were true, why was I not told of this?”
“But you were, in a way,” Katherine said softly. “Was it an accident you were hidden in that obscure abbey? Was it an accident that your mother, Sarah, gladly exiled herself there to raise and train you as thoroughly as if you had been raised in Magnus as son of the reigning earl?”
That startled Thomas into dropping his bluff of indifference.
“Sarah had been commanded to keep the truth from you. Your father, the ruler of Magnus, was the appointed leader of his generation of Immortals. It was too important that no one ever discover your real identity, and it was feared that as a child, you might blurt it aloud before the wrong ears.”
Thomas shook his head. “Sarah would have told me everything about Druids and Immortals, if it were so.”
Katherine disagreed, sadly. “No. As I once explained to you, many of the Immortals fell with Magnus. Hawkwood often told me you were our only hope, that should the Druids discover the only son of the last leader of the Immortals was still alive, they would leave no stone in England unturned in their search to have you murdered.”
Thomas raised his hands helplessly. “I should have been trusted. I stumbled in the darkness.” His voice became accusing. “Alone.”
Katherine put a finger to her own lips to silence his protests. “When Sarah died, you were too young to be trusted yet with that precious knowledge. And there was no one who could replace her at the abbey to instruct you more. Hawkwood often told me we could only trust that her training had been a magnificent seed, that you would learn more from the books left with you, and that you would always remember Magnus.”
Thomas shook his head again, more firmly. “Yet I ruled Magnus for three seasons. Neither you, nor Hawkwood, nor Gervaise revealed this to me then.”
Katherine moved to the edge of the ship and stared away. Thomas was forced to follow to be able to listen to her words before they were swallowed by the breeze.
“We could not,” she said, still staring at the moon. “For you had been alone at the abbey far too long. We could not know if the Druids had found you and claimed you as one of their own.”
“I conquered Magnus! I took it from them!”
Katherine sighed. “Yes. I argued that often with Hawkwood. He told me that we played a terrible game of chess against unseen masters. He told me they might have artfully arranged a simple deception, that the more it seemed you were against them, the more likely we might be to tell you the final truth, and in so doing lose this centuries-old battle in the quickest of heartbeats.”
Thomas pondered her words and spoke slowly. “What is the final truth?”
The constant splash of water against the side of the galley was his only reply.
“The final truth,” he demanded.
“Not even I was told.”
She lies. I can sense that, even with her face turned away from me. Yet I must pretend to believe.
So Thomas said, “There is an undeniable logic in that. How could you ever believe that I was not a Druid, posing as one of you? So I was watched. By Gervaise, who posed as a simple old caretaker. And by you, in your disguise beneath the bandages.”
“I am relieved you understand.”
There is a simple flaw with this entire story. And it breaks my heart. Yet I cannot leave it lie.
So Thomas spun her to face him and squeezed both her wrists without mercy.
“But explain,” he said fiercely, “why you finally tell me this now. And explain it well, for otherwise I believe nothing. Otherwise I shall cast you overboard.”
“No, Thomas,” she begged. “You must let go!”
His response
was to pull her closer to the edge of the ship. She must believe this terrible bluff. “Speak now—,” Thomas began, but he had no chance to continue.
Her eyes widened and she called out, “No!”
But her cry was not directed at Thomas.
He heard a scuffling of feet and began to turn his head. Late, much too late. A familiar blackness crashed down upon him.
Thomas dreamed that gigantic court jesters juggled him as if he were a tiny ball, laughing and yelling as they tossed him back and forth.
He woke with a muffled shout just as the most hideous jester dropped him, and discovered indeed he had been tossed back and forth, but in the confines of the brig in the belly of the ship.
Thomas propped out a hand to keep from pitching back to the other side and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. The extent of his new prison—walls of rough wood and iron bars for a door—made the cell in Lisbon seem like a castle.
His head felt as if it might split.
Uncanny, he thought with a twisted grin, they managed to hit me in the exact spot of my previous lump. Do bumps grow atop bumps?
He was able to contemplate this imprisonment for several hours before he had a visitor.
“No,” he groaned at the scent of perfume, “curse me with your presence no longer.”
“Hush,” Katherine said. “I risk too much even now. A real noblewoman saved from the attack of a rebellious servant would never grace him with a visit.”
Thomas shook his head slightly, but at the reverberations of pain, held it very still. “You had us watched as we spoke,” he accused. “And they believed I would harm you.”
“Would you?” Katherine asked.
“Then, no.” He touched the back of his head. “Now, yes.”
She smiled. “I have little time. Yet I want to answer your question.”
Thomas studied her face through the iron bars.
“In Kingston upon Hull,” Katherine began, “you made an error. You sought advice from an old hag who sold fish, advice on how to reach the Holy Land.”
Thomas shrugged, then winced. “Unfamiliar with the ways of the sea, I needed that advice. And I dared not ask any ship captain. I did not want him to know my destination. So I asked her, thinking she would never remember a passing stranger.”
“A passing stranger with a tail sticking out of his cloak as he walked away.”
“Beast.” He lurched upward. “Where is—”
“Now safely hidden in my quarters,” Katherine assured him. “From the old woman, I discovered your destination. There was only one ship in the harbor leaving for Lisbon. It was not difficult to sign on as a cook’s assistant.”
“Why—”
“Hush. Time flees.” She took a breath. “I had intended merely to follow you. Until you lured me into the trap and had the misfortune to be arrested.” She stopped, puzzled. “How was it you guessed you had been followed aboard the ship?”
“The manner in which three hardened sailors fell at the wave of my sword. It was the same mysterious manner in which my soldiers fell at Magnus.”
Katherine giggled. “The surprise on your face as they fell!” Then she sobered. “A Druid trick. Which we are happy to use when it benefits us. Short, thick hollow straws. A puff of breath directs a tiny pellet coated with a sleeping potion. I was in the shadows nearby, watching because I had heard the crewmen speak and knew you were in danger.”
A Druid trick. Either she tells the truth and is an Immortal who knows much about the enemy. Or she is the enemy. How do I decide?
Thomas nodded to conceal his doubt. There was yet the major flaw in her words. So he spoke the question aloud. “Why reveal what you did last night? Why now if not ever before?”
“I will tell you now. And there is no need to threaten to throw me overboard,” Katherine replied. “When you were arrested, desperate measures were needed. I had to help you and could only do so by playing the role I did. As a noblewoman. And by then, I had also decided you were not a Druid. Not if you were truly going to the Holy Land by yourself.”
She hesitates. What does she hide?
Katherine must have caught the doubt in his eyes. “Hawkwood is gone. If you are an Immortal, I need your help as badly as you need mine. It was a risk worth taking. If you are a Druid … I knew I was safe, protected by your gold as a noblewoman there in Lisbon and here on the ship.”
Perhaps. But there must be more. It is obvious in her manner.
Thomas thrust his hands through the gap between the iron bars.
She took his hands in hers. Although he had meant the gesture as an appearance of trust, the touch of her hands in his filled him with warmth.
Do not trust her, nor your heart. Yet remember the first time you met her, and how there had been an instinctive reaching of your heart for hers, as if it were remembering a love deeply buried.
Yet he could not ignore the happiness that swelled his throat.
“I pray in the Holy Land that much more will be revealed to both of us,” she said.
A noise from behind startled her into dropping both his hands.
“Thomas,” she said quickly, “if it is possible to return safely, I will. Otherwise …”
She picked up the ends of her long cape and disappeared in the opposite direction of an approaching crewman.
Thomas did not see her until the galley reached the harbor of St. Jean d’Acre, the last city of the Crusaders in the Holy Land to fall to the Muslim infidels.
Two crewmen brought Thomas to the deck of the ship as summoned by Katherine. He needed the help given by their rough hands grasping his upper arms to keep him upright. Not only was he weak from the lack of proper food, but the brig had been so cramped his legs were no longer accustomed to bearing his weight. And his ankles were now shackled by chains of iron.
The crewman left him beside Katherine and waited watchfully nearby. Beast whined and wriggled in delight at seeing Thomas.
Katherine, on the other hand, showed no such happiness and remained silent. It would serve neither of them if she appeared anything but the vengeful noblewoman.
Thomas stared past her at the half-ruined towers—still magnificent—rising from the land at the edge of waters of the Mediterranean Sea.
St. Jean d’Acre was a town on a peninsula surrounded entirely by sea. Once—when still in Christian hands—it had been protected by a massive wall that ran across the peninsula, so that the only approach for attack was by water.
The air around him was steamy hot—a heat he had never felt before. The sun seemed much larger than he remembered of the sun in England, and its glare was an attack of fury. The buildings that shimmered before his eyes as the galley grew closer were formed in unfamiliar, sharply rounded curves.
At that moment, despite the heat, Thomas felt a chill replace his anticipation.
This land is so foreign that I am doomed before I begin. Muslims have fought Christians here for centuries, and I step onto their land, not even able to …
Thomas took a deep breath as that new thought almost staggered him.
I have been so intent on reaching the Holy Land I have overlooked the single most obvious barrier to my success here. I do not speak the language!
He wanted badly to discuss this with Katherine, but as he shuffled sideways to whisper his concern, the ship’s captain approached.
He was a great bear of a man with swarthy skin and a hooked nose. Curiously, he wore a purple turban.
“M’lady,” he said respectfully, “we all wish you Godspeed in the search for your relatives. Many were lost to fine families during the Crusades, and perhaps you will find one or two still alive among the infidels.”
He paused, searching for a delicate way to impart advice. “This is a strange land with strange customs. Men … men take insult if a woman shows her face. To be sure, you will have no difficulty finding a buyer for your wool. Yet you must wear this during all times in public, including the times you negotiate with merchants.”
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br /> The ship’s captain held out a black veil.
Katherine slipped it over her head. It stopped short of the clasp at her neck that held her cloak together.
“You have my gratitude,” Katherine told the ship’s captain. “Would that all I meet might have the grace and kindness that you have extended me.”
He bowed slightly, then frowned at Thomas. “Shall we whip him once to ensure meekness ashore?”
Katherine removed the veil, held it in her left hand, and touched her chin with the tip of her right forefinger as she studied Thomas. A mischievous glint escaped her eyes.
“No,” she said finally. “I think the shackles should suffice.”
Thomas, unshackled now that they were clear of the galley, could hardly believe his ears.
He stood with Katherine in the crowded fonduk, a large open-square warehouse on the eastern waterfront. It had belonged to the Venetians before Acre fell to the Muslims. Now, as the best trading area in a town where major trading routes met the sea, it was occupied by hundreds of sharp-eyed Arab merchants.
He stood amazed for one simple reason. The clamoring babble that surrounded him made sense.
“Don’t trust his olive oil!” one shout reached him clearly. “That merchant is a crooked as a snake’s path!”
“Here for the finest salt!” another voice called out.
“Silk from the overland journeys!”
“Camels for hire!”
Each fragment of excited conversation filtered through his mind.
He understood each word!
And Katherine stood in front of him, her face hidden modestly by her veil, bartering over the price of wool with an eager merchant.
In their language! Impossible …
He stood and watched the chaos around him with an open mouth. The harbor area of Lisbon now seemed like a sleepy town. Beast, too, must have been overwhelmed. He stayed almost beneath his feet, every step, occasionally causing Thomas to stumble.
In all directions were camels, donkeys, and gesturing men in turbans and what looked like long white sheets. There were strange animals with long slender tails—could these be the monkeys of which he had read?—and finely woven carpets, baskets as tall as a man, beggars …
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