She set her jaw and clung to her silence.
'I ask you, sister, do you believe that the Great King is able to perform justice for his servants?'
Her answer was quick and biting. 'If his justice is as ready as his protection, his servants had better sleep with a shield in one hand and a sword in the other.'
'His ways are not our ways. Whatever misfortune befalls one of his own, the Allwise Creator is able to bend it to his will. He will not suffer evil to prevail,' he replied.
She could feel his eyes on her, but she was determined not to be swayed by anything he said. 'And yet it does prevail.'
'Look at me, Caitriona,' the monk commanded. She raised her eyes slowly. He was watching her with an intensity which burned across the distance between them. 'I ask but once more: will you serve me?'
Both her father and her grandfather had stood before the White Priest, and both had answered his call. How could she do less?
'I will,' she replied at last.
'Then put aside your wrath, and believe. For it is written: "Vengeance is mine; I will repay, says the Lord. In due time their foot will slip; the day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them." Behold,' he said, pointing to the table behind her, 'this is the work I am giving you. When it is finished, you shall receive the desires of your heart.'
She turned to look where he was pointing and saw a parchment document-a formal-looking communication in Latin. The image on the broken seal looked regal, and the signature at the bottom of the document was in red ink-as were the words Rosa Mystica.
Cait picked up the letter and turned to ask what it was the White Priest wanted her to do. But he was gone, and she was alone once more. She looked at the letter in her hand, but before she could read any of it, de Bracineaux shouted from the other room. 'Here! You! Get away from there!1
'For the love of God, de Bracineaux, leave the wench be,' said d'Anjou.
'I will see her off,' said Gislebert. He rose from the table and lumbered in from the balcony.
Taking up the tray once more, Cait whipped the folded parchment out of sight beneath it. She turned and made a slight bow towards the men, then bolted from the room. Gislebert watched her go, and then moved to the door, closing it firmly after her.
She stepped out into the corridor once more. Alethea was hovering in the passageway, wringing her hands and looking as if she had swallowed a mouse. 'Are you all right?' she asked as Cait emerged from the chamber.
'No thanks to you,' snapped Cait. 'You were supposed to warn me.'
'He surprised me.'
'Yes, he surprised me too.'
'Now you are angry,' pouted Alethea. 'He came up behind me and caught me lingering by the door and told me to get about my business. What could I do?'
They moved quickly off along the corridor. Returning to the vestibule, Cait laid the tray aside and, while Thea kept watch, drew on her mantle once more and tucked the parchment away; then the two women descended the stairs and retraced their steps outside where, as arranged, the chair and bearers were still waiting. They climbed into the chair, and Cait instructed Philippianous to take them to the Bucoleon Harbour.
'Well?' demanded Alethea, as they passed through the gate and back into the street once more. 'What happened? Did you see him?'
'I saw him,' muttered Cait.
'Well, what did he say?'
'Nothing.'
'You were in there a long time. He must have said something,' insisted Alethea.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cait caught Philippianous leaning towards them so as to overhear their discussion. 'Not now,' Cait told her sister. 'Later,'
'I want to hear it now.'
'Shut up, you stupid girl,' Cait blurted, changing to Gaelic. 'They are listening to us.'
'All very well for you,' squeaked Alethea indignantly, 'Lady Caitriona gets to do whatever she likes, while I have to be her dutiful slave.'
Cait turned away from her sister and watched the activity in the streets instead. Fires bright in iron braziers and countless oil lamps illumined the night with a garish glow. In some of the broader avenues, musicians played-pipe and lute, tambour and lyre-and people danced, hands upraised, stepping lightly as they spun and turned. Occasionally, an enterprising merchant would approach the passing chair and offer his wares: bangles and necklaces of coloured glass beads, pots of perfumed unguent, satin ribbons, and tiny bunches of dried flowers for the ladies' hair.
The variety and charm of the baubles distracted Alethea from her sister's stinging rebuke, and she would have stopped and bought trinkets from them all, but Cait instructed Philippianous and his bearers to move on. As they neared the seafront, the streets became quieter and darker-the houses meaner, the people more furtive, sinister. Arriving at the harbour, however, the seamen and sailors drinking wine and playing dice on the wharf gave the quayside a less threatening atmosphere.
More than one lonely seafarer licked his lips hopefully as the two women stepped from the chair. One or two of the younger men called to them, offering wine and an evening's entertainment. 'As agreed,' said Cait, dropping a stack of small silver coins into Philippianous' outstretched hand. 'And, as promised, a little extra for your trouble.' She dropped a few more coins into his hand.
'This,' she said, taking out a single gold solidus, 'is for forgetting you ever saw us. Do you think you can do that?'
'Most certainly, gracious lady.' He reached for the coin eagerly.
She snatched it back. 'I beg your pardon?'
A sly smile appeared on his face. 'Is someone speaking? I see no one here.'
She let the coin slip through her fingers. 'Excuse me, I think you must have dropped something.'
'How clumsy of me,' replied Philippianous, bending to retrieve the coin. When he straightened, the two women were already hurrying away.
Cait and Alethea moved quickly towards the ship Persephone at the end of the wharf, ignoring the shouted pleas and propositions their presence provoked. Once aboard, they were met by Haemur. 'Thank God you are safe,' he said, hurrying from his place at the stern. 'It grew dark, and when you did not return, I feared something ill had befallen you.'
Cait thanked the pilot for his concern, and said, 'We are perfectly well, as you see. But now, I want you to wake Otti and Olvir, and move the ship away from the wharf and into the bay.'
'Now?' Haemur thrust out his hands. 'But, my lady, it is too dark. We cannot -'
'Enough, Haemur.' Cait stopped him with an upraised hand. 'I would not insist if it was not important.'
With that, she went to the brass lamp hanging from a hook on the mast, lit a candle from the basket on the deck, and proceeded to her quarters below, leaving an unhappy pilot staring after her.
'I am sorry, Haemur,' Alethea offered sympathetically. 'You had best do as she says, or there will be the devil to pay.'
'Very well,' replied the seaman. He hurried off to rouse his crew, and Alethea joined her sister in their quarters.
'You could try to be a little more -' she began, and then stopped as she saw Cait bring out the folded parchment from beneath her girdle. 'Where did you get that?' she asked, then guessed. 'You stole it!'
'Hush!' Cait snapped. Opening the letter, she sat down on the edge of the box bed to read it.
Alethea watched her sister for a moment; then, indignation overcome by curiosity, she joined her on the bed. 'What is it? What does it say?'
Cait ignored her and continued to read silently to herself. When she finished, she looked up from the page. Thea, do you know what this is?'
'How can I? You tell me nothing.'
Cait made no reply. She was reading the document again.
'Well?' demanded Thea after a moment. 'What does it say?'
'They have found a very great treasure -'
'Who?'
'The greatest treasure in the world-that is what he says.'
'Who says? Who wrote it?'
'A cleric called Bertrano. He calls it the Rosa Mystica.'
> 'The Mystic Rose?' mused Thea, none the wiser. 'What does that mean?'
Cait shook her head, scanning the document again. 'He says only that it is beyond price-see?' She pointed to the letters in the tight Latin uncials of the scriptorium, and read out the words: '… that which is beyond all price, the treasure of the ages, our very real and manifest hope for this present age and the kingdom to come, the Mystic Rose.'
Thea shrugged.
'Obviously, it is a name employed to conceal the true nature of the treasure.'
'And this letter tells where to find it?'
'It does – I think.' She pointed to the portion of the document written in a different language. 'I cannot read the rest, but I think it must tell where the treasure is to be found.'
The younger woman regarded her sister suspiciously. 'Why did we go to the palace tonight? And do not say it was to steal this letter, because you did not even know it was there.'
Cait stood and began folding the letter carefully.
'You are going to have to tell me sooner or later,' Thea pointed out. 'You might as well tell me now.'
'We must hide this where no one can find it.'
'Cait,' said Alethea, adopting a disagreeable whine, 'tell me-why did we go to the palace?'
Cait sat down again. Placing the parchment square on her knees, she held it in both hands as if she was afraid it might unfold itself and fly away. 'Listen carefully. I will say this but once. We went there to confront Father's murderer and hold him to justice.' She gazed steadily at Alethea and added, 'I was going to kill him.'
Alethea gaped in amazement at her sister's audacity. 'The knife… It is true-you were going to stab him…' Her voice trailed off as the full impact of her sister's ruthlessness broke upon her. 'Oh, Cait -'
'Renaud de Bracineaux murdered our father,' she continued. 'Papa named him before he died. The magistrate refused to accept the word of a woman; he refused to do anything-so I had to do it myself.'
'Oh, Cait,' Thea whispered, her voice made small by the magnitude of her sister's cold-blooded confession. 'God help us.'
Caitriona gazed down at the document she held in her lap. 'I think,' she said, 'he already has.'
CHAPTER FIVE
'Is that the one?' demanded Renaud de Bracineaux, squinting at the rank of hire chairs across the square.
'It is, my lord commander,' answered the porter of Blachernae Palace. 'He comes to the palace sometimes.'
'Bring him here.' The commander sat on his horse in the middle of the street, sweating in the bright sunlight. His head hurt from last night's wine, and he felt bilious from too much rich food. Baron Felix d'Anjou, he thought-and not for the first time-was a profligate toad and his usefulness was swiftly coming to an end.
Also, the sooner he had his hand on the thieving bitch who had stolen his letter, the better he would feel.
He had not discovered the theft until this morning when he rose and went to wash himself. Passing the table, he had noticed the square of parchment was missing. He had summoned Gislebert at once. 'The letter,' he said pointing to the table. 'What happened to it?'
'I thought you put it away.'
'If I had put it away, would I be asking you what happened to it? Think, man!'
'That serving girl last night -' Gislebert began.
'Oh, very good, sergeant,' roared the commander, pushing Gislebert towards the door. 'Instead of standing like a lump of ripe cheese, go and find her.'
Gislebert had scurried off and returned a short while later with word that although no one knew the servant in question, the porter had seen two women arrive in a hired chair. 'He says the chair came from Tzimisces Square-not far from here,' the sergeant reported. 'He has seen it before.'
'Have horses readied,' barked de Bracineaux. 'We are going to get that letter back.'
'What of the porter?' asked Gislebert. 'He is waiting outside.'
'Bring him with us."
Now he sat sweltering in the saddle, and watched the porcine gateman waddle across the square, leading a slender young Greek with the air of a jovial pirate. These people, these Greeks-a supremely deceitful race, thought De Bracineaux darkly, natural-born thieves and cut-throats each and every one. The easy, carefree grace of the young man-the insufferable indifference of his long, loping stride, and the subtle expression of superiority on his swarthy features filled the commander with a rank and bitter loathing. It seems, he decided, an example is in order here.
The thought made him feel better. Perhaps all was not lost. After all, the thief could not possibly know what it was she had taken, could not possibly imagine its unrivalled importance, its inestimable value. It had been the rash act of an ignorant and opportunistic slut, and she would pay for her impudence-he would see to that. First, however, he would teach the sly young Greek a lesson he would never forget.
'Do you recognize him?' grunted the sergeant as the porter trundled nearer.
'I have seen him before. He is the one.'
'Greetings, my lord, a splendid day for a ride in a chair. Where would you like to go?'
'Shut up, you,' said Gislebert sharply. 'You will speak when spoken to – understand?'
'That is not necessary, sergeant,' said de Bracineaux wearily. 'He is not to blame.' Regarding the slim dark youth before him, he said, 'What is your name, boy?'
The youth bristled at the derisory word but, considering the angry-looking men before him, swallowed his pride and said, 'I am Philippianous. How can I help, your majesty?'
The commander's eyes narrowed; he could not tell if the youth was making fun of him; more likely, he decided at last, the young fool really thought he was a king. 'You brought two women to Blachernae Palace last night. Where did you take them when they left?'
'I do not recall.'
'Liar!' snarled Gislebert, drawing back his hand.
Philippianous glared at the Templar sergeant. 'Is it my fault if a man cannot remember where he put his whores?'
Gislebert gave out a growl and swung at the young man, who jerked back his head, letting the blow sail harmlessly by. Before the sergeant could regroup for another swing, his commander called him off, saying, 'That will do, sergeant. He is used to being paid for his service, so we will pay.'
De Bracineaux put his hand into the leather purse at his belt, withdrew it and flipped a gold solidus to the young man. 'I trust that will help restore your memory,' he said,
Philippianous caught the coin in his fist and examined it before replying. 'They must be very important to you.'
'Where did you take them?'
'I brought them here,' he sighed, as if the conversation no longer interested him, 'because that was all the money they had.' He turned to go.
'A moment!' said de Bracineaux. 'I think you may be of further service to me. I will pay you for your trouble, never fear.' To the porter, he said, 'Take him back to the palace and wait with him there.'
When the two had gone, the Templars continued on. 'He was lying,' Gislebert said.
'No doubt,' replied the commander placidly.
'I could have made him tell us.'
'We will, but not here. The boy is well known hereabouts, and too many people have seen us already. If the women are close by, I do not want them warned off by a street fight.'
'What do you intend, commander?'
'Give him inducement enough to consult his memory, and we will soon have the letter in our possession once more.'
They rode on to the church of the Holy Apostles, which was no great distance from the square, attended a lengthy mass, and then broke fast at an inn which was frequented by many of the Templars who were now more or less permanently stationed in the city. They met several of their order and entertained them with a meal of fresh bread flavoured with caraway and honey, soft cheese, and wine diluted with lemon water.
After breaking their fast, they returned to the palace to find a very irritated Philippianous, who had been made to stand in the courtyard in the hot sun while he waited.
'I would have left long ago, but that pig of a porter would not let me go. What do you want from me? I have already told you all I know.'
'This for your trouble,' said de Bracineaux, holding up a gold coin. 'And two more if you can remember where those two young women went after they left here.'
'Keep your filthy money,' Philippianous spat. 'I am leaving.' He pushed past the sergeant and started towards the courtyard entrance.
'No,' replied the commander calmly, 'I do not think we are finished yet.' He made a gesture with his hands and three Templar soldiers appeared in the doorway behind him. 'Take hold of him.'
Philippianous made to dart away, but the Templars seized him and bore him up. 'I am a citizen!' he shouted, struggling ineffectually in their grasp. 'I have done nothing wrong!'
To his sergeant, the commander said, 'Bring me some coals.' As Gislebert hurried away, he added, 'If d'Anjou is still abed, rouse him. He would not thank us to miss this.'
Commander de Bracineaux went to his room and removed his spotless white tabard. Picking up his leather gauntlets, he tucked them into his belt, and then attached the hanger for his dagger.
He drew the knife from its scabbard and tried the edge, admiring the fine craftsmanship of the weapon as he ran his thumb along the honed and polished blade and thought back to the first time he had seen it, along with five others in a box delivered to the ship by a young lord he had tried to recruit in Rouen-the same self-righteous fool of a young nobleman whose meddling had caused him so much trouble all those years ago.
At long last, that old debt was settled.
A thin smile touched his lips, for until that very moment he had not considered the fact that it was none other than Duncan who had brought him the knife when it had been left behind; he had been so eager to please.
The commander replaced the dagger and, as he walked from the room, he wondered if Duncan, as he lay dying, had fully appreciated the grim irony of the situation. Had he, as his life ebbed away, savoured the delicious absurdity of being slain by the very weapon he had supplied?
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