The three sat quietly, and presently the monks brought bread and boiled eggs, sweetened wine, and a porridge made from dried peas, onions, carrots, and bits of salt cod. Oblivious to his visitors, the archbishop fell to, sopping up the pease porridge with chunks of bread, which he sucked dry and then gobbled down, pausing every now and then to peel an egg, break off a bit of bread, or take a gulp of wine, before plunging in again.
Cait and Rognvald ate sparingly, watching the archbishop for any sign that he deigned to notice them once more. When, after a third bowl of porridge and second cup of wine, he appeared to be slowing his onslaught, Cait ventured a compliment on the food; Archbishop Bertrano held up his hand for silence, raised the bowl to his lips and drained it in a long, greedy draught. He wiped his mouth on the tablecloth, sighed, sat back in the great chair, and beamed beatifically at his guests while flicking crumbs from his robe. 'Ah, now, you were saying?'
'The meal was delicious,' said Cait. 'The eggs were boiled to perfection.'
'We get a lot of eggs,' observed the archbishop. 'The people bring them to the monastery. God knows what they think we want with them. But there you are.' Turning to Rognvald, he said, 'Now then, you say you have come from the Holy Land, I think.'
'I have,' replied the knight, pushing aside his bowl, 'and I would the tidings were better. There is much fighting, as always, and the Crusaders win as often as they lose, it is true, but they lose all the wrong battles.'
'Any battle lost,' opined the archbishop, 'was a wrong battle, I should have thought.'
'True enough,' agreed Rognvald affably. 'Still, the winnings do not cover the losses, if you see what I mean. Everywhere, territory falls to the Muhammedans, and the Christians are once more subjugated and enslaved.'
Bertrano appeared disheartened by the news. 'Is Jerusalem still safe?'
'It is – for the time being. But soon it will be merely a solitary rock in an ocean of Islam. It cannot last.'
The Norseman spoke with a sincerity that surprised Cait. She watched with growing admiration for his intelligence and subtlety as he drew the archbishop into their trap.
'Perditio, perditio,' sighed the archbishop, wagging his head sadly. 'But, tell me, can nothing good be said?'
'The cities of the coast-Tripoli, Tyre, Acre, Jaffa, Ascalon-all remain safe. The Arabs are masters of horse and desert, but they are indifferent sailors. Thanks to the Genoan and Venetian fleets, the Saracens can make no advancement there. So, for as long as the ships can pass unhindered, the coastal cities will remain in Christian hands.'
'Ah, well, that is something at least,' answered the archbishop contentedly. He, like Cait, regarded Rognvald with a new admiration. 'You speak like a commander. Perhaps you should be leading the Armies of Christ against the infernal hosts of the infidel.'
The knight smiled, but shook his head. 'No, I have seen enough of battle; I want nothing more to do with it-with any of it. For my troubles, I spent nearly three years in a Saracen prison, and indeed, I would still be there now if not for the love of my good lady wife.' He reached across the table to take Cait's hand. 'She travelled all the way from our home in Caithness to Damascus and ransomed me from Prince Mujir's dungeon, and for that I shall be eternally grateful to her.'
He squeezed her hand, and Cait pretended a smile of wifely love, which surprised her with its naturalness and ease.
'No, I shall not go back there again,' Rognvald said. 'But others were not so fortunate. I saw many good men die in that stinking prison-too many. One of them-and it grieves me full well to say it-was none other than the Grand Commander of the Kingdom of Jerusalem.'
'Impossible!' cried Archbishop Bertrano. 'It cannot be.'
Rognvald regarded the cleric with unflinching conviction. 'Alas, it is all the more lamentable. In fact, it is because of his death that we have come.'
The archbishop raised his eyebrows in mystified amazement. 'Pray tell me how this has come to be.'
'The tale is sorry, but soon told,' replied the knight. 'The commander arrived sorely wounded-there was a storm and his ship had foundered on the rocks, somewhere between Tripoli and Tyre, I think. A great many men were drowned outright and, as ill luck would have it, the Saracens who found them killed a number as well. The few survivors were taken captive and brought to Damascus.' He frowned, as if remembering a tragedy. 'They had fought valiantly to prevent themselves being captured…'
'As only a man of his courage and stature would,' offered the archbishop.
'The battle was fierce, as I say. Several were gravely injured -Commander de Bracineaux foremost among them. His wounds were too great; he could not recover. He lingered only a few days, and then died.'
'I am grieved to the very soul to hear it,' sighed the archbishop. 'Jerusalem will not see a finer soldier, and more's the pity.'
So persuasive was the Norseman's forthright tale, that Cait found herself feeling sorry for the plight of the poor Templars and their mortally wounded Master. 'It is a very great loss,' she agreed, her voice soft with sorrow.
'I will say a special mass for them,' declared the archbishop, 'and order a day of perpetual intercession on their behalf before the Throne of Grace.' He nodded absently to himself. 'It is the least I can do.'
The three were silent for a time, and then the archbishop stirred himself and asked, 'Did he say anything before he died?'
'Oh, yes,' Rognvald assured him. 'As noblemen, we were held in the same cell. You can well imagine that the ransom price for such an important man is exceedingly large-as much as for a king. The Saracens were hopeful his release would earn them a fortune.'
'Greedy dogs!' snarled the archbishop. 'I would to heaven that God might rain unending calamity upon their unbelieving heads. I truly do.'
'You will also appreciate, knowing de Bracineaux as you undoubtedly do, that his last days were eaten up with anxiety lest the Templars should hear of his capture and pay the money. He thought the ransom excessive, and worried that it would impoverish the order unnecessarily. He said to me, "I pray I may die quickly and cheat the devils of their due." He said he would not rest in peace if he knew the money paid for his release would be used to carry on the persecution of brave Christian knights.'
Dumbstruck, the archbishop leaned back in his chair and thumped his head gently against the carved rail of his chair. 'Even as he lay dying,' he said after a moment, 'even then, he took no thought for himself.'
'You know better than I the kind of man he was,' said Rognvald with touching conviction.
'That, sir, is the kind of man he was!' cried the archbishop, his broad face suffused with a ruddy rapture. 'Noble through and through.'
'He told me something else,' Rognvald confided, leaning nearer. 'His last days were difficult, as you might expect; talking, however, gave him some peace. It comforted him to unburden his soul.' He leaned closer still, as if he feared he might be overheard. The archbishop bent his head nearer. 'This is why we have come.'
'Indeed?' wondered Bertrano. 'Then tell me, my son. If it is a confession, I will hear it.'
'The matter that most upset him concerned a letter.'
'A letter?'
'A special letter,' confirmed Rognvald. 'From you, Archbishop Bertrano.'
'From me!' The cleric sat back and gazed at the knight in amazement. 'In Heaven's name, what can it mean? Are you certain this letter was from me?'
Rognvald nodded in solemn earnest. 'He was very agitated about it,' said the knight. 'Towards the end he spoke of nothing else. I think it pained him to leave his task undone. And that is why he confided in me. There was no one else, you see. He wanted me to carry on the work that he had begun.'
Bertrano grew thoughtful; he gazed out towards the unfinished tower. 'Did he tell you what he had undertaken?'
'Alas, no,' answered the knight. 'He made me swear upon my life and the life hereafter that if ever I was to receive my freedom, I was to come to you, Archbishop Bertrano, and tell you what had happened. He said that you would explain all I
needed to know.' The knight spread his hands, as if humbly offering himself for the churchman's inspection. 'Here I am.'
'Great God in heaven!' cried the archbishop, leaping to his feet and almost overturning the table in his effort to extricate himself from his chair. 'No! No!'
Both Rognvald and Cait drew back in alarm. Rognvald stood, hands outstretched to calm the suddenly ferocious cleric. Cait, astonished at the abrupt change in the archbishop's demeanour, jumped up and started after him, furiously trying to think what the Norwegian lord had said to so completely antagonize the archbishop as to send him fleeing from the table.
'Please,' she called, 'wait!'
Archbishop Bertrano threw her a hasty glance over his shoulder. 'No! It is all going wrong!'
'We meant no offence. Can we not return to our discussion?'
'Not you,' the archbishop said, 'the tower!' He thrust an angry finger before him. Cait looked where he was pointing, and saw an ox-drawn sledge loaded with stone. The driver was tossing the rough blocks on to a heap of fresh-cut stone. 'Come to me after vespers. We will dine together and I will tell you everything. I must go!' He raced on, shouting, 'You there! Stop! Desist, I say, or I shall excommunicate you at once!'
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
'I confess I find it difficult to believe,' Archbishop Bertrano was saying. He looked from Cait to Rognvald, and shook his head. 'That a man like de Bracineaux should be cut down so cruelly… I am sorry; it is most untimely, and it saddens me greatly.'
'Nor are you alone in your grief,' offered Cait sympathetically. 'I have only recently lost my father.'
'Accept my deepest condolences, my child,' said the archbishop. 'More wine?'
He reached for the silver jar and filled all three cups, beginning with his own. He took a long draught and, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, said, 'Now then, I have been thinking about this letter you have mentioned. It can only be the letter I wrote and dispatched to the pope some time ago. Did the commander tell you what this letter contained?'
'Only that it was a matter of highest and utmost importance,' offered Rognvald. 'I think he feared revealing too much lest our captors somehow discover the secret.'
'In that, he showed the wisdom that made him such a formidable leader of men.' The archbishop took another drink, and laid the cup aside. He fixed his visitors with a stern and cautious stare. 'Are you certain he said nothing more about the contents of the letter?'
'By my faith, no, my lord archbishop,' answered Rognvald truthfully. 'He breathed not a word to me.'
The table around which the three were gathered was large, round and splendidly made of polished oak; it nearly filled the chamber. Before them was sweetened wine in a large silver flagon, and a platter of ripe figs. Although modest, the room bordered a walled garden, and for this reason the archbishop often used it to welcome his more intimate guests. Sparrows returning to the roost twitched and twittered in the branches of the orange trees outside, adding to the heightened anticipation for Cait.
'Well, you have said it. For it is indeed a matter of utmost and highest importance,' the churchman continued. 'And now that I know my message has gone astray, as it were, I shall send to the pope to inform him of the tragedy.'
Cait swallowed hard. Did he mean to tell them nothing after all? Before she could think how best to proceed, Rognvald, nodding sympathetically, said, 'No doubt that would be best.'
It was all Cait could do to stifle a scream of frustration. She took a drink from her cup to hide her aggravation.
'Then it is settled,' Bertrano concluded happily. 'I shall write to the pope at once and send it by swift courier.'
Rognvald smiled diffidently, and Cait narrowed her eyes at him over the rim of her cup, silently urging him to speak up before it was too late.
'The Templars will be choosing a new Master of Jerusalem soon enough, I expect,' the knight replied. 'We can but pray it will be someone who shares de Bracineaux's integrity and zeal.' He paused, then added, 'I tremble to think what would happen if the reward of your hard work was to be usurped by an emperor-loving Judas.'
'But what do you mean?' wondered the archbishop, a crease of worry appearing on his brow.
'Just that,' said Rognvald. 'Nothing more.'
'Do you think there might be a chance that could happen?'
Rognvald shrugged. 'I should not like to say.'
'Come now, sir,' stormed the archbishop, striking the tabletop with a fist. 'If you know something, you must tell me.'
'I fear I have said too much already.' Rognvald raised his hands in surrender. 'I beg you do not force me, for I would not like it to be thought that I slandered another man's name. In truth, it is none of my concern, and I will say no more.'
'No, sir!' blurted Bertrano, growing agitated. 'That will not do at all. I must know if my purpose is likely to go astray.'
'I assure you, my lord archbishop,' answered Rognvald a little stiffly, 'I have told you all that can be said.' He appeared about to say something further, but thought better of it, and closed his mouth instead.
The archbishop saw his hesitation and pounced on it. 'Ah, you do know something!' he crowed. 'Tell me, my son; keep nothing back. I am a priest, remember; with me, all confessions are sacred.'
'It was only a thought,' began Rognvald. He turned to Cait, as if seeking her approval.
'Go on, my darling,' she urged him sweetly. 'Let us hold nothing secret from this honest and upright churchman.'
The archbishop gazed at him benevolently; his features, warmed by the wine to a fine mellow glow, arranged themselves in an expression of compassionate understanding. 'It is for the good of all,' the archbishop intoned in his best confessional voice. 'Allow me to hear your thoughts and we will decide what to do.'
'Let it be as you say,' said Rognvald, as if relieved to have the thorny decision behind him. 'Here is the nub: it occurred to me that there might be a way to ensure the harmony and, shall we say, the original integrity of the enterprise so cruelly curtailed by the Saracens.'
'Yes? Go on,' urged Bertrano, 'I am listening.'
'If you agree, I might fulfil that certain task which troubled his last days, and which death forced him to abandon.' The archbishop shook his head in sorrow over the sad plight of the suffering Templar's trouble-filled last days. 'In short,' Rognvald continued, 'I could serve in de Bracineaux's place.'
Before the churchman could respond to this, Rognvald turned to Cait, stretched out his hand and took hers, saying, 'I am sorry, my love. I know I should have discussed it with you, but the notion just occurred to me.'
The cleric gazed at the knight thoughtfully, and then, with a clap of his hands, declared, 'I am liking this. Continue.'
'It seemed to me that a letter, even by swiftest courier, would take several months to reach the Templars-if it should reach Jerusalem at all. It could so easily go astray and fall into the wrong hands.'
'Too true,' agreed Archbishop Bertrano. 'I feared as much with the first epistle. But if you were to act for me in this, it would hasten our undertaking to a favourable outcome.'
'Am I to have nothing to say in this matter?' Cait said, adopting the manner of a neglected and much-put-upon wife. Turning to the churchman, she said, 'You must forgive me, archbishop, if I find the prospect of losing my husband less than agreeable. He was three years in prison,' she lowered her eyes modestly, 'and I have only just got him back.'
'I can but apologize, my love,' answered Rognvald, 'and beg your pardon.' To the archbishop he said, 'My wife is right. I pray you will excuse me, and release me from the duty I have so rashly proposed.'
The trusting cleric, distressed to see the perfect solution to his dilemma receding as swiftly as it had presented itself, raised his hands in a fatherly gesture of mediation. 'Peace, dear friends. Let us not make any hasty decisions we will soon regret. I am certain there is nothing to prevent us proceeding along a harmonious and, dare I say, mutually beneficial path.'
To Cait he said, 'My dear, I can well understand
your reluctance in this regard. But once you learn the nature of the prize before us, you will understand. Moreover, you will embrace our purpose with a zeal you cannot now imagine.'
Cait regarded the cleric doubtfully. 'Since you put it that way,' she allowed, none too certainly, 'perhaps you had better tell me about this prize, whatever it might be.'
'Oh, my lady, it is not to be spoken of lightly,' said Bertrano, growing earnest. 'For it is a wonder long concealed from the world, but pleasing God to reveal in our time to further the glorious conquest of his Blessed Son over the heathen infidel.'
He raised his cup and gulped down more wine, as if fortifying himself for what he was about to divulge. Delicately wiping his mouth on his sleeve once more, he leaned forward in an attitude of clandestine solemnity. Cait and Rognvald drew nearer, too.
'The Rose of Mystic Virtue,' he announced, savouring the words. Eyes shining with excitement, he looked from one to the other of his guests, and seeing the uncomprehending expressions, exclaimed, 'Here! Does the name mean nothing to you?'
'Upon my word, it does not,' Cait confessed, beguiling in her innocence. 'What does it betoken?'
'The holiest, most worshipful object that ever was known,' declared the archbishop. 'It is nothing less than the very cup used by our Lord and Saviour in the holy communion of the Last Supper.'
Yes! Cait's heart quickened. At last! Oh, and what a rare treasure indeed. Beyond price, to be sure. The treasure of the ages, she thought, remembering the description on the parchment, our very real and manifest hope for this present age and the kingdom to come.
It was all she could do to keep from laughing out loud for the sheer joy of having discovered the secret. Oh, yes! she thought, this is what I have been catted to do. Like my father and grandfather before me, I am to seek a prize worth kingdoms!
Adopting a more solemn tone, she said, 'But how do you know? I mean no disrespect, my lord archbishop, but it has been lost a very long time, as you have said. Forgive my asking, but how does anyone know it is the selfsame cup?'
The mystic rose cc-3 Page 15
