Sir William stepped back. Three lighted candles were now standing in the window.
“It may be more than one night,” he said. “For now, we wait until this signal is answered.”
The knock on the door came during the second night.
It was a soft knock, yet enough to pull Katherine from deep sleep. She sat quickly, and when Sir William opened the door, her eyes were clear and she was alert.
The three candles that burned on the windowsill cast unsteady light across the room.
The man who slipped inside the door wore the long, flowing clothing of a desert traveler. As the door shut, he pulled the wraps from his headband and rubbed his hair lightly, as if relieved to be free of its restrictions.
Katherine watched him with mild curiosity. In the flickering light, his features were blurred, but not so much that she could not distinguish a flash of white teeth as he smiled greeting to Sir William.
The two men were of same height and build. The man’s hair was dark, unlike the complexion of his skin, and his first words confirmed Katherine’s immediate guess. The man was not a native to this land, but rather of Europe, for he spoke in slow and measured English.
“I had despaired that you would ever arrive,” the man said. “It was with great relief that I saw your signal in the window.”
The man glanced around the room and nodded at the two other men, Umar and Hadad. His eyes stopped on Katherine.
“Do my eyes mock me?” he said. “Or is this truly a vision of beauty?”
“They do not,” Sir William said. He stepped between the man and Katherine to make introductions.
Katherine took the cue and rose.
As the man stepped closer, she saw that his hair was tinged with silver at the temples. A handsome man with a noble bearing. Another part of her mind noted sadly that, handsome as he was, her mind could not release a vision of Thomas.
“This, sir, is Katherine. She is one of us.”
So the man is an Immortal.
The man took Katherine’s hand, bowed and lightly touched his lips against the back of her hand.
“I am honored,” he said.
Katherine raised her eyebrows in question, and Sir William answered immediately.
“This, m’lady, is a man with vast knowledge of the Holy Land. As one of England’s greatest knights, he has proven to be a great thorn in the side of the Mameluke soldiers who have attempted his capture for years.”
“I am equally honored,” Katherine said. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir … Sir …”
Sir William quickly spoke again. “Lord Baldwin, Katherine. None other than Lord Hubert Baldwin.”
“May we speak freely?” Lord Baldwin asked.
Sir William glanced at Umar and Hadad and spoke rapid words in their native language. They nodded in reply.
Then Sir William spoke to Lord Baldwin. “They will not resent it if you speak in English, a tongue they do not understand.”
“And the lady?”
“She has proven herself repeatedly, Lord Baldwin. Now, with so few of us in these desperate times, she must be counted among our leaders.”
High praise indeed. Katherine hoped her flush would not be visible in the candlelight.
Lord Baldwin smiled broadly at Katherine. His teeth gleamed like a wolf’s. Katherine tried to dismiss the thought, but failed. What secrets must such a man carry?
His words interrupted her thoughts.
“I have heard the news, of course,” Lord Baldwin said. “The one known as Thomas must be killed. And it should not be difficult to find him. Not when he is a stranger among the people of this land.”
Katherine flinched, but forced her face to remain as stone.
“But I know little else,” Lord Baldwin said. “Why must he be killed? Did he not reconquer Magnus? Was not his father the—”
“Yes, yes,” Sir William said quickly, as if he wanted to spare Katherine the pain of more thoughts of Thomas’s betrayal. “Katherine, perhaps you might describe all that has happened since I departed from Magnus.”
Katherine took a deep breath. “The situation in England is thus …”
She repeated what she had told Sir William earlier.
Lord Baldwin’s frown deepened at each new piece of information.
“What can we do first?” he asked when Katherine finished.
Sir William grinned. “Listen to the man!” he said. “He says the word ‘first.’ He believes much can be done!”
Then Sir William sobered. “I, too, have news from England.” He faced Katherine. “I withheld it from you because I believed it unfair to give you false hope. I did not know if Lord Baldwin would reach us. But now that the one knight we need is here …”
“Spare the flattery,” Lord Baldwin growled. “Tell us what you have.”
“A letter,” Sir William said. He hesitated. “From Hawkwood himself. Given to a trusted messenger who delivered it to me in St. Jean d’Acre after months of journey from France.”
Sir William looked to Lord Baldwin. “It arrived barely a week before Katherine did. I had no time to send you word and inform you of its contents.”
Lord Baldwin dismissed the apology with a wave. “I am here now,” he said. “That is what matters.”
Katherine barely heard as she again forced her face to be stone. The letter, then, was sent before Hawkwood’s death. She remembered well her entire winter in France, how she had spent hour after hour in the library of the abbey, wondering where the old man might be during his six-month absence.
Sir William answered her thoughts. “In the letter, Hawkwood explains that he spent months traveling from monastery to monastery.”
Searching for what?
Again, Sir William answered her thoughts. He reached for his travel pouch and withdrew a strange pale material, folded flat into a small square.
Puzzlement at the material was as clear on Lord Baldwin’s face as on Katherine’s.
“It is called paper,” Sir William explained. “Much lighter and more pliable than parchment. The messenger informed me that all of Europe is now learning of its use from the Spaniards.”
He handed it to Katherine. Gently, hesitantly, she unfolded it. So much lighter than parchment, she marveled. And it does not crack to be folded.
Almost immediately, however, her thoughts turned to the old man. For there, even in the low light, she saw his clear, strong handwriting.
“Read it aloud,” Sir William urged.
Twenty-One
She did so, in low, almost hushed tones.
From Paris this third day of March, in the Year of Our Lord 1313—Word has reached me that matters in Magnus are worsening. Our enemies have openly begun their final campaign. In less than two years, I fear, they will have gained enough power among the people to succeed.
We are yet unable to trust Thomas. Our friend Gervaise is still in Magnus and watches carefully, but from him I have received no word that Thomas is one of us. And without trust in Thomas, we cannot be sure we will regain Magnus. Without Magnus, our efforts in England will be doomed.
Katherine closed her eyes briefly. Bitter sadness took her breath away. Hawkwood had written this before leaving with her for England. He had been alive then. Gervaise too. Thomas had yet to betray them both. It had been a time of hope. Now …
“Katherine?” It was Sir William’s voice, gentle and worried.
She forced herself to smile and turned back to the letter. She read with a steadiness she did not feel.
Yet even if England is lost to us, my friend, do not despair. It was no coincidence that we chose to flee to St. Jean d’Acre when Magnus first fell. While it has been commonly believed among us that the reason for retreat to the Holy Land was because of the Crusading knights who might be of service, there is another, more compelling reason—one known only to the leaders of each generation of Immortals. A reason that forced me these last months to travel to the ancient libraries of Europe, and a reason I must p
ass on to you in this letter, because should I die, the secret must not die with me. If there comes a time that I trust Thomas, he, as you are now, will be directed to the Holy Land.
Again, Katherine stopped. This time, however, she blurted her thoughts. “Hawkwood did direct Thomas here after the letter was written! How could he have trusted—”
Sir William placed a finger to his lips. “Still, Hawkwood was not certain, for he did not give Thomas what remains for you to read.”
Katherine accepted the reproval and bowed her head to the letter.
Merlin knew only little of what lies hidden in the Holy Land, for the legend of it began more than three hundred years before his birth, a time when Roman generals ruled Britain.
Even then, the Druids had long been hidden among the people, suppressed by the Roman conquerors of ancient Britain. Yet—as we know too well—the Druids retained considerable power and influence.
A Roman general called Julius Severus, who ruled Britain some hundred years after the death of Christ, discovered the Druid circle but did not expose it. To let Rome know of the Druids would also let Rome know of their wealth and almost magical powers. Instead, Severus plundered the Druids in one fell swoop, taking a great fortune in gold and the book containing their most valued secrets.
Much of the details were lost through the centuries, but what Merlin knew was that Severus was summoned from Britain to quell a revolt—a Jewish revolt in the land of Christ. Severus could not trust his treasure to be left behind, so he arranged to take it with him.
That is all the Druids knew, for they were not seamen and had no way of following Severus and his troops across half the world. That too was all that Merlin knew, all that he could pass to the one he had chosen to lead the next generation of his Immortals.
Yet the Immortal leaders of each new generation were not idle. They anticipated the day that Magnus might fall, and each generation was given the task of adding to our scant knowledge of the stolen Druid wealth and secrets. When the Holy Land opened to the Crusaders, we sent Immortals here to search. I have copied as much as is known in a book that must be matched with this letter.
Katherine stared at Sir William. She remembered how the jailer in Lisbon had returned to Thomas his cloak, his sword, and …
“A book! Thomas carried a book. Remember how I told you Hawkwood spent time with Thomas away from me. Could he have given it to him then?”
Katherine began to read faster, anxious to know the contents of the letter.
My friend, I too have been given the task to add to that knowledge. There has been little to glean, even among the best libraries of our civilization, for history’s facts have too often been lost to legend in this age of darkness. What I know now, however, may be enough after all these hundreds of years of mystery.
In the land of the Franks, I stumbled across a parchment that copied the words of the Roman historian Cassius Dio, who wrote a brief notice of Julius Severus and his war against the Jews. The Romans destroyed nearly a thousand Jewish villages, and a half million were slain. The Jewish rebels were finally defeated in their last refuge—caves in the Judean desert, north of the Dead Sea.
Severus was recalled to Rome almost immediately after his victory in the Holy Land. It would seem unlikely he would take his treasure with him, for discovery of it by Roman officials would mean his death. Shortly after arriving in Rome, he died of sudden illness, taking his secret to the grave.
Yet there remains a peculiar fact noted by Cassius Dio. During one skirmish against the Jews near these caves, General Julius Severus lost twenty men in battle—against a handful of unarmed rebels. These twenty men, Severus reported, died as a portion of the cave collapsed upon them, and their bodies could not be recovered.
Is it not more likely that these twenty men transported the treasure? Wealth that great would take such assistance. Is it not likely that the surest way for Julius Severus to guard his secret would be to bury those twenty in the cave alongside his treasure? I believe so, and upon this now rests our hopes. Look to your friends in Jerusalem for guidance.
Should Magnus be lost to us, and should you be able to recover what was so precious to the Druids, the wealth and their ancient secrets may be used against them upon your return to England.
I pray this letter finds you in good health and that the Lord God shall be with us as we fight His enemies.
Katherine noticed her fingers were trembling as she finished the letter. She looked up to a thoughtful expression on Sir William’s face, and one of eagerness on Lord Baldwin’s.
“I have heard rumors of the Caves of Letters!” Lord Baldwin said quickly. “But I have always discounted them as myth, for stories were told of entire families living for months inside the earth. Yet this letter!”
Sir William pursed his lips. “You will assist us in the search?”
“To my death,” Lord Baldwin said. He fumbled with a wineskin that hung from his belt. “And let us drink to this new hope!”
Sir William found the crude goblets supplied with the room.
Lord Baldwin insisted that Umar and Hadad join them in the toast.
The wine tasted bittersweet to Katherine. But she had only a short time to give it thought, for immediately she became drowsy.
Odd, she thought, I was not tired, not with such important news.
Struggle as she might, her lips would not do her bidding, and she could not voice those thoughts to Sir William.
Instead, she sat heavily, then collapsed into a stupor of wild dreams—among them that she had opened her eyes to kiss Thomas. When she woke, she and her companions—save one—were bound and tied with rough hemp rope.
Twenty-Two
Fools!”
Katherine struggled to sit so that she could see the speaker. It took her several seconds. Even as her mind was on the words, she was conscious of the terrible taste in her mouth, the thickness of her tongue, and the pounding in her head that rivaled the pain of the rope biting her wrists and ankles.
“Ah, she wakes.” The same voice continued. Cruel and taunting.
Katherine, now in an upright position, swung sideways to prop her back against the wall.
The other men—Sir William, Umar, and Hadad—were as securely bound as she. And sitting on the stool before the door was a man she recognized immediately.
Waleran. The spy who had shared a dungeon with Thomas so long ago, when Katherine had been a visitor disguised in bandages and Thomas an orphan determined to win a kingdom.
“How did you sleep, princess?” Waleran asked.
He was as grotesque as ever. His beady black eyes leered beneath wild brows. Greasy hanks of hair surrounded his bald, scabby crown and fell around ears so large they almost flapped. Katherine felt as though filth and fleas prickled her skin, just looking at him.
She refused to satisfy him with a reaction to his biting words. She merely settled against the wall and waited.
“You can release her. She is not one of us,” Sir William said thickly. “Merely the daughter of a knight. One whom I have pledged safe passage across this land.”
Waleran laughed. A short, harsh, mocking sound.
“Do you play me for as big a fool as you? Did you not assure Lord Baldwin she was to be counted among the Immortals’ leaders? And was I not there in York when she entered the prison to speak to the earl? She has been involved since the beginning.”
In spite of her determination to remain silent, a greater realization brought words to Katherine’s mouth, for in the passing of a heartbeat, she had gained hope that Thomas was not a Druid, and she could not quench her love. “You arranged for Thomas to escape.”
“Are we so clumsy that he could march into a castle and steal from us in broad daylight? The entire matter was prearranged. I heard every word you spoke to the earl. I made certain that all knew Thomas would shortly arrive at the castle.
“Had I known, of course,” Waleran said, “that you were with the old man, I would have had you arrested right
there in the prison. It would have saved all the effort of finding a way to ensure Thomas would lead us to you.”
Katherine’s mind flew back to that afternoon in England, and much suddenly became clear. Thomas had been the bait to bring Hawkwood into the open. Waleran had only needed to let Thomas think he had triumphed, and then follow. Thomas had not led the Druid soldiers to the old man; the old man had followed Thomas. The result was the same. Capture the next morning, and the old man’s death.
She spoke her thoughts, now dreading the answer.
“Thomas is not a Druid.”
“Hardly. Were it so, I would not have taken such pains to trace his every step across the world.”
Her heart rose in joy. Then fell in defeat. For Sir William had passed a death sentence on Thomas. Now, unless they escaped, word could not be sent to rescind the order.
“Waleran has been kind enough to explain,” Sir William said to Katherine. “Although if your head pounds like mine, you hardly need to hear the name of the one who did betray us.”
The wine. Lord Baldwin.
“Betrayal!” Waleran threw his head back and laughed. “This is a touching tale of woe. Thomas was waiting for you in Nazareth. Disguised as a beggar. He saw you with your two friends and assumed you had betrayed him.”
“How do you know of this?” Katherine demanded sharply.
“Ahh,” Waleran said, his voice now like rancid oil. “Concern? A concern of love? This knowledge may prove to be of use.”
He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and stared at Katherine. “My dear, it is simple. Lord Baldwin was not away from St. Jean d’Acre as Sir William believed, but nearby. Word of your arrival was immediate, and once he had followed you to the house and witnessed your carefully acted assassination attempt, it was an easy matter for him to anticipate the use of the tunnel, for as an Immortal, he too knew of it. Lord Baldwin then followed you to the caravan. He needed only to bribe the caravan leader to let him travel as a slave. From this position, he stayed with Thomas and later, as he tells me, managed to find a way to earn Thomas’s trust.”
Blades of Valor Page 8
