The mystic rose cc-3

by Stephen Lawhead

  'I caught him hiding behind that hill,' said Rognvald, speaking Latin for the benefit of his captive. He pushed the intruder forward. 'He was spying on us.'

  'I was resting only!'

  'What are you doing here, Abu?' Cait demanded.

  My donkey ran away because of him.' The young Syrian crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.

  'Answer me, Abu. What are you doing here?'

  'Please, sharifah, do not send me away. You will need someone to speak for you. I can do this easily. Please, let me go with you.'

  'What about the sick and infirm who depend on you-the patients who keep you running morning to night?'

  He frowned. 'Do you have any idea how difficult it is to win favour as a physician in a place like Damascus? You need an amir or two at the very least if you hope to survive.'

  She regarded him sternly. 'Do you even have any patients?'

  'To tell you the truth,' he replied, 'no.'

  'And are you a physician?' she said, her tone defying him to lie to her.

  'I studied medicine in Baghdad. I did,' he insisted. Dropping his voice, he added, '- a little. It is a very difficult occupation. You have no idea.'

  'Studying was too hard, so you abandoned it.'

  'I did not!' he maintained. 'Was it my fault my teacher was executed?'

  Yngvar had heard enough. 'Allow us to send him on his way, my lady.'

  'Not just yet,' she said. 'I want to hear the end of this. Svein, Dag, go find his donkey and bring it. You,' she said to Abu, 'come with me.'

  They returned to the grove and sat down once more, Abu before Cait, and Rognvald and Yngvar on either side-a magistrate and her officers, dispensing justice. Alethea leaned on one elbow beneath a nearby tree, feigning disinterest in the proceedings. Under Cait's questioning, it soon emerged that while languishing in the Baghdad prison for stealing eggs-'How was I to know the chickens belonged to the qadi of Baghdad?'-Abu had chanced to meet the celebrated Muslah Abd Allah Ud-Din Ibn Arabi al-Tusi, court physician to the royal family.

  The famed physician had been sent to prison following a failed attempt to poison the caliph. 'It was a grave mistake, an injustice of unrivalled magnitude,' Abu declared with surprising vehemence. 'The khalifa was not well liked, it is true. And those who would have rejoiced at his funeral were as numerous as the desert sands. But dear old al-Tusi could no more have poisoned anyone than a faithful dog pee in his beloved master's cooking-pot. He was a sage and scholar of the highest distinction-a very saint.' Abu shook his head sadly. 'When the poisoners failed, they needed a scapegoat and supplied the royal physician. Indeed, he made a perfect sacrifice; he was too affronted at the suggestion to even defend himself.'

  'So you met the physician in prison,' Rognvald confirmed. 'Were you never his pupil?'

  Abu shook his head. 'Not in the way you mean.'

  Yngvar picked up a strong stick.

  'But he taught me just the same,' Abu added quickly. 'Muslah allowed me to help him as he tended the other prisoners. He also taught me Greek. I learned a very great deal from him.'

  'What about Cairo?' asked Cait suspiciously. 'Were you ever there?'

  'Oh, indeed, yes, sharifah. It is a very great city. I could be your guide if you want to go.'

  'But you never studied there.'

  'Alas, no.' Abu's face fell. 'I went there to study, it is true, but I fell in with some bad fellows who worked for a man who owned a brothel – the finest brothel in all Egypt!'

  'Now, my lady?' said Yngvar, slapping the stick against the side of his leg.

  'Still,' Abu Sharma offered, 'it was a good school in many ways. I learned a very great deal.'

  Cait was silent for a moment; she regarded the contrite youth before her. 'Why should I let you come with us?' she said at last.

  'These men you have redeemed from prison,' he said, indicating the knights. 'Yet before you stands a man no less needy than they were when you plucked them from Mujir's dungeon.'

  'You were well paid for your services. How can you say you are needy?'

  'In all the time I was in Damascus,' he said solemnly, 'I never met anyone like you. Sharifah, you say a thing, and you do it. You have a purpose, whereas I have none. I try, God knows, but I have failed at everything. If you let me come with you, then I, too, will have a purpose.' His deep, dark eyes pleaded. 'Let me go with you. On my father's head, I promise you will not regret it.'

  Caitriona frowned, regarding the young man with mild exasperation.

  'If you have any more dealings with Arabs,' Abu suggested pointedly, 'y°u will most certainly need someone to speak for you.'

  'Very well,' said Cait, deciding at once. 'You can join us.'

  'Thank you, sharifah. Oh, thank you very much,' Abu said. Darting forward, he snatched up her hand and pressed it to his lips. 'You have made the right decision, you will see. God wills it, amen!'

  'Go and help Svein and Dag find your donkey,' she ordered, extricating her hand.

  Rognvald stared at her for a moment, then rose without a word and stumped off. 'What is wrong with him?' wondered Cait.

  'He is a little upset, I think,' suggested Yngvar.

  Cait rose and went after him, and caught up with him at the horse picket. She stood and watched while he made a pretence of inspecting the animals. 'Well? Whatever it is, you might as well spit it out.'

  'There is nothing to say.' He did not look at her when he spoke.

  'You think I made a mistake.'

  'So, now you know what everyone is thinking.'

  'Am I wrong?' she demanded. 'Look at me and tell me I am wrong.'

  'Honest men do not consort with thieves.'

  'Neither do they consort with the refuse of the hostage pit,' she replied crisply. 'Yet, I did not hear you complain about that.'

  The nobleman's countenance darkened at the jab. Before he could reply, she said, 'Hear me, I am in command here and I will not have my authority questioned. Understood?'

  'Perfectly,' Rognvald replied, then added, 'my lady.' He bowed stiffly, turned, and walked away.

  Cait returned to her place beneath the tree and sat down. 'You made him angry,' Alethea pointed out.

  'He will learn who is in command.'

  'You should be nicer to people. You might want them to be nice to you one day.'

  'Spare me your homilies, Saint Alethea.'

  Thea sniffed and shut up. Cait leaned against the trunk, and closed her eyes, but she kept thinking of all the other things she wished she had said to put haughty Lord Rognvald in his place.

  After a time, the others returned with Abu's donkey. They rested through the heat of the day, and moved on again when the sun began its descent in the west. A few small ragged clouds had drifted in from the coast after midday, bringing with them a slight freshening of the air. Thus, the party resumed their journey in better comfort than before, and continued on until darkness made the road difficult to see.

  They camped then, a little distance from the track, in a grove of ancient olive trees which were fed by a tiny spring. While the others set about watering the horses, Haemur, Otti, and Yngvar prepared a meal. The moon had risen by the time the food was ready; they ate by moonlight, and stretched themselves beside the dying fire to sleep. Caitriona lay awake for a long time, watching the stars slowly turn in the heavens. The moon rose above the far-off hills, causing the night creatures to stir. Somewhere out in the unseen wilderness a bird called, filling the silence with its sad, forlorn song. Tears came to Cait's eyes, for she heard in the sound the cry of her own wounded soul, and she felt a cold hard ache inside-as if a sliver of ice had pierced her breast and lodged itself deep in the hollow of her heart.

  She would feel the ache, she told herself, until she-God's instrument of Holy Vengeance-had sent de Bracineaux's black soul to judgement.

  The night passed, but gave her no rest, and she rose to begin another day on the trail ill-at-ease and irritated. They broke camp and started off; it was not long before she found hersel
f riding beside Rognvald once more.

  'We will get you some weapons when we reach Tyre,' she said when the uncomfortable silence grew too great to bear. 'The markets are good there. We should be able to buy whatever you want.'

  Rognvald thanked her, but made no further reply.

  'I would have preferred to get weapons in Damascus,' she continued, 'but the merchants are forbidden to sell arms to Christians.' She paused, glancing sideways at the tall Norseman. His proud silence was beginning to irk her.

  'I suppose,' she said, trying to draw him out, 'Abu might have bought something for us somewhere.'

  Again, he waited before he answered. 'No,' he said at last. 'It is better this way.'

  'Better?' she challenged, her vexation flaring into anger. 'In what way better? Knights without weapons are not much use.' He looked at her calmly, and that irritated her the more. 'Well?' she demanded.

  'If any of Prince Mujir ed-Din's soldiers had caught us with so much as a pruning knife between us while we were still in the city, we would have been thrown into prison again-or worse,' he told her. 'I think it is better this way.'

  For some reason this reply annoyed her, too.

  'Well, then,' she said tartly, 'if we are attacked on the road, I will just leave it to you to explain to the cut-throats just how much better it is this way.'

  She snapped the reins and made to ride away, intending to leave him behind with the sting of her retort. But the knight reached out and took hold of her mount's bridle, jerked back on the reins and brought both horses to a halt.

  Surprised, and instantly furious, Cait glared dangerously at him and was about to lash out at his impertinence, when he looked her in the eye and said in a low, deliberate voice, 'So long as I have breath in my body, no harm will come to you.'

  He paused to make certain she understood, then added, 'That is my solemn vow, and I do not make it lightly.' He looked at her again, and she felt herself unsettled by the intensity of his gaze.

  'My lady,' he said, releasing his hold on her mount's bridle. He snapped the reins and rode on alone.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Dusty, saddle-sore, hungry, and with a throbbing thirst clawing at their throats, Cait and her small company arrived at the port of Tyre. It was late in the day and, after the stifling, airless heat of the dry plain, the wind off the sea was cool silk on her skin. As they rode through the wide main street of the city which led down to the harbour Cait saw the white glimmer of sun on water just ahead, and heard the cry of gulls, and was instantly transported to the coldwater bay below Banvaro" in Caithness.

  The elation she felt at this sudden memory faded with the realization that her father would never see his home again, never again sail into that generous bay, never again sweep his darling Sydoni off her feet and fold her in his strong arms. Poor Sydoni, Cait thought, she does not even know Duncan is dead. She is waiting for him to come home and he never will.

  She felt the sadness rising up in her like a spring, but like the girl in Abbot Emlyn's tale of the overflowing well, she dropped the heavy stone lid back into place and the upsurge of grief subsided. There would be time one day to lament her father's death and mourn him properly. But that day would have to wait. Grief was an extravagance she could not afford-there was too much to do, too many responsibilities, too much ground to cover. Later she would grieve, she told herself, when her work was finished. You will be avenged, Papa, she vowed once more.

  As they drew near the harbour, she sent Haemur and Otti to buy food and drink for their supper, while she and the others proceeded to the wharf. Upon dismounting, she dismissed the hostler, paying him a little over the agreed amount for the use of his horses, thanked him and sent him on his way. She also gave the last-chosen knight a handful of silver coins and sent him on his way, saying, 'Should you be tempted to desert your family again, remember your vow and know that God will hold you to account.' The knight bowed and, thanking her lavishly, hurried away along the wharf in search of a fast ship to take him home.

  She then climbed aboard the waiting Persephone to be welcomed by Olvir, who had been left behind to watch over the vessel in her absence.

  'Are you certain they are knights?' wondered the seaman, observing the Norsemen as they clambered on to the deck. 'They look more like pig thieves.'

  'They have been in prison,' Cait informed him. 'How do you think you would look if you had been left to rot in chains for three years?'

  'Who is that dark one? Is he also one of ours?'

  'That is Abu,' Cait replied. To prevent further discussion, she added: 'He is a physician and interpreter, and will prove very useful in dealing with the Arabs.'

  Olvir counted the extra mouths that would need feeding every day. 'Maybe I can teach him to cook, too.'

  Cait glanced at the sun, and then at the ships crowding the harbour; one of them caught her eye. Hanging from the top of its mast was a white flag bearing a crimson cross: a Templar ship. The sudden recognition brought her up short. She told herself that it was unlikely de Bracineaux was aboard that ship; even so, it served as an unwelcome reminder that the murderous commander had allies everywhere, and he would not be idle. Because of the knights' inability to travel at speed, it had taken far longer to reach the ship than she had anticipated and, seeing the Templar ship, she was loath to waste another moment.

  'Show the men where they can stay, get them some water to drink, and fetch some soap so they can wash,' she told Olvir, making up her mind at once. 'Then make ready to sail.'

  'This late? My lady, the day is soon over,' protested Olvir. 'We have few provisions and little fresh water on board. Let us leave tomorrow when all is in order.'

  'Will no one obey a simple command without crossing swords?' Cait scowled at the obstinate sailor. 'I want to depart as soon as Haemur and Otti return from the marketplace. Now go and do as I say.'

  A grumbling Olvir hurried off, and Cait went to her quarters to wash and change her clothes. It was cool and dark below deck, which she found soothing after days in the relentless sun. She undressed and laved the water over herself. There was a little soap left, and a clean cloth, and she luxuriated in scrubbing her face and washing her hair. Most of the water in the basin ended up on the floor before she was finished, and when Alethea came in she complained of the puddles. But if she had made ten times the mess and used up a week's supply of water, Cait would not have cared: it was well worth the delicious thrill of being clean again.

  She dressed in fresh linen and, feeling civilized once more, left Alethea to bathe, and returned to the upper deck. The Norsemen had assembled and were stamping their feet on the planking, pounding the rail and mast with their fists, and remarking on the admirable qualities of the ship.

  Presently, Haemur and Otti appeared with armfuls of provisions for the evening meal. They had bought bread and wine and olives in the market, and a sack full of sardines from a fisherman just returning with the day's catch. Cait commanded the knights to clean the fish, and the seamen to help Olvir cast off.

  Rognvald heard the order and came to her. 'I thought we were to buy clothes and weapons in Tyre.'

  'I have changed my mind.'

  'I think you should reconsider. This is a good place; the city is secure and the markets are renowned. We can get everything we need here.'

  'We can get what we need in Cyprus, too. We will stop there.'

  'And what if we should be overtaken by Arab pirates before we reach Cyprus?' he enquired.

  She had not thought of that, but was determined not to let Rognvald have the last word. 'As we are sailing by night, the pirates will never see us.'

  'It is a foolish risk,' he told her. 'If it was my ship, I would not put her, or her passengers, in such needless danger.'

  He turned and walked away, leaving Cait furious with him for the second time in as many days. While Svein and Dag gutted the sardines, the others helped Olvir, Otti and Haemur make the ship ready to sail. In a little while, sleek Persephone slipped her moorings and move
d out of the harbour. Despite what Rognvald said, Cait was glad to be aboard ship and under sail again.

  Once they had entered deep water, Olvir began preparing the charcoal brazier to cook their meal. Soon the deck was awash in the sweet scent of oily smoke and charcoal, and the sardines were sizzling on spits. One by one, the Norsemen were drawn away from the rail and their last lingering looks at the pale Syrian hills, now glowing red in ihe light of a crimson sunset. They gathered around the brazier, watching the fish hungrily. Olvir opened the wine jugs, and soon the wooden cups were making the rounds. While his men sampled the raw Syrian wine, Rognvald strolled around the ship, examining the fittings and ropes.

  After their unpleasant exchange, Cait hesitated to join him, but then considered it would make shipboard life too awkward to be avoiding one another every time they disagreed. So, she followed him to the prow where he had stopped and was gazing out to sea. 'My father loved this ship,' Cait remarked, joining him at the rail. 'So much, in fact, that he had two more built just like it. Still, he preferred the original.'

  'I can see why,' the Norwegian lord replied amiably. 'She is a handsome craft – suitable for most any water, I should think.'

  Otti appeared with his jug of wine and wooden cups. 'It is not so bad, this,' he said, pouring wine into the cups.

  'To your good health,' said Cait, raising her cup.

  'And freedom,' added Rognvald.

  'Health and freedom.' Cait took a mouthful of the wine and almost spat it back into her cup. She swallowed hard and gasped.

  Rognvald smiled placidly. 'It is somewhat rough, I think.'

  'It is ghastly!'

  'Perhaps it would be better mixed with a little honey and water,' he said. 'Permit me.' Taking her cup, the Norseman walked to where the others were dosing their drinks to taste. She observed him among his men: genial and unassuming, his authority genuine, and therefore unpretentious and unaffected.