The Hidden Keystone, page 22
“He’s waking up.”
Tiny feet swished through the rushes covering the dirt floor. Bertrand groaned again. He blinked. A thick film of sleep had caked his eyelashes.
Impressions registered slowly: timber beams overhead, tightly woven thatch stained with wood smoke, the smell of ashes and a whiff of fever sweat. Rough woollen blankets rubbed against his skin. He caught the sound of low, regular breathing nearby. His back ached from lying down for too long.
How long had he slept on Huon’s floor? The tightness in his chest had eased and fever no longer throbbed at his temples. Sharp pangs of hunger had taken up residence in his stomach instead.
Bertrand peered up at chinks in the thatch roof. It was dark outside, although he had no sense of what time it might be. Early in the morning or evening? He had the impression of having slept for a long time, but it may have only been a few hours.
He lifted his right hand. Salome’s tiny rose still nestled in the webbing between thumb and forefinger.
Why hadn’t he turned to God for guidance? Why hadn’t he prayed instead of rushing to do Salome’s bidding? Devotion was at the heart of their daily routine at the Commanderie. Yes, they had been attacked and pursued, but that did not excuse his lapse. He was a chevalier of Christ, yet he had forgotten what that meant in just a few short days.
No. That was not entirely true. He had not forgotten. The guilt souring his stomach told him as much. If he was honest, if he listened to the still parts of his soul, he knew the answer. The life that he had known, the place that he had earned, had been stripped from him not once but twice. In the very moment of his ascension to the rank of chevalier, the foundations of his new life had been uprooted. Everard was dead, Arnaud and Roland and his fellow brother-knights were slaughtered. He was an outlaw, a fugitive from the King. Clearly God had abandoned him. What other conclusion made any sense?
He rolled onto his side and dry-retched. Nothing remained in his guts to bring up. He was empty. Even the solace of his faith had abandoned him.
They had left him near the fire, swaddled in woollen blankets. Smooth cotton brushed against his face. The pillow beneath his head was filled with fine goose feathers. Too fine for Huon’s family, which could only mean one thing.
Bertrand sat up and peered around the gloomy cottage. Dizziness sloshed inside his skull. Eventually, it agreed to settle if he remained still. He caught the whispers of curious children in the far corner of the cottage. A small head jerked back behind the curtain with a suppressed squeak.
He was weak. It would be days yet before he was strong enough to travel. And Justine couldn’t afford to just give them horses. At best, they might secure a nag to carry their supplies.
Bertrand turned his back to the children. Salome lay on her side next to him, knees drawn up to her stomach and covered by her cloak. A strand of dark hair had fallen across her scarred cheek and the top of her lip. A desire to brush that lock aside seized Bertrand. The compulsion was so strong it made him shake. He drew in a fast, shallow breath and leaned over her.
Salome’s eyes flickered open. Bertrand froze, caught between what looked like an attempt to kiss her and the belated desire to pull away.
“Bertrand.” She breathed his name.
His gaze fixed upon the swell of her lips, the way they moved when she spoke his name. He felt he should say something, but every reply that came to him felt dull and inadequate.
“Our time will come,” she said. “Protecting me will require it. But you’re not well enough yet.” Her gaze flickered in the direction of the drape. “Besides, I doubt you’d want such a young audience.”
A flush burned through Bertrand. He drew his knees up to his chest to cover his embarrassment. “Forgive me,” he said hoarsely. “I wanted to make sure you were well.”
Her eyebrows lifted infinitesimally. “Really? That’s…disappointing.”
“Where’s Rémi?” It was the first question he could think of.
“Outside, scouting.” She sat up, demurely keeping her knees together and turned away from him. “I fear your loyal sergeant isn’t made to sit still.”
Bertrand relaxed enough to smile. “No, he’s not. But we’re safe here.”
Salome’s smile faded. “Nowhere is safe, Bertrand. Nowhere.”
“We only just arrived,” Bertrand protested.
She shook her head. “You slept for two nights and a day.”
“Truly?” That would explain the hunger gnawing at his innards.
She rose to her feet, smoothed her dress, and shook out her cloak. Bending down, she touched his forehead. “Your fever has broken.”
He stood and spots swarmed across his vision. Salome caught his arm as he staggered. “She knows that I’m here, doesn’t she?” He nudged the fine pillow with his toe for emphasis.
“Yes.” Salome tilted her head. “How do you feel about seeing her?”
There was no point lying as Salome probably knew the answer. “I don’t know. Seeing Justine again in normal circumstances would’ve been difficult. Now?” He threw his hands up.
Salome took a step closer. “You should go to her without me. It’ll be easier.”
“For whom?” Bertrand instantly regretted the question.
“For both of us, I should think.” Salome considered the matter carefully. “Mostly you,” she said with a playful smile.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to be parted.” Bertrand knew he was being churlish, but he couldn’t help it. She always made him feel so foolish and inadequate.
“We aren’t. At least not for long. You’ll know when it’s time to return. I promise.”
Bertrand caught movement from the corner of his eye. Huon, sleepy-eyed and dressed only in an under-tunic and breeches, had appeared from behind the drape. “Messire,” he said with a bow.
“Huon, it’s good to see you again.”
“And you, although if you don’t mind me saying, I’ve seen you look better.”
Bertrand pulled a face. “How is she?” The question was accompanied by a pang of anticipation.
The smile slid from Huon’s face. “Well enough. I don’t think I’d be doing her a disservice to say she pined for you after they sent you to the Commanderie.” Huon parted his herd of solemn children and warmed his hands before the fire. “Not that she said as much, mind. It’s just—” He gazed at the flames and rubbed his chin absently.
“Just what?” Behind Bertrand, Salome had stilled to listen to the conversation. He noted that Huon had failed to acknowledge her.
“She came to visit after we heard the news. Of you joining the Order, I mean. She’s never done that before. I think—” Huon frowned. “I think in her loneliness, see, she came here. Not for company o’course, but to be closer to her memories of you. Only the once, mind. And she seemed sad, not that we spoke much. She just asked us all to leave so she could have a few moments alone.”
Bertrand pictured Justine standing alone in the cottage. He was pleased to discover that she had missed him, but that did not change the fact that she had manipulated him. Pinning down how he felt about their impending reunion was proving more difficult than he had expected.
Salome moved closer to the hearth. From just behind Bertrand’s elbow, she asked, “Did you take the message to the Lady Justine?”
Huon’s expression clouded over. “I did.”
“And?”
“What did you tell her?” Bertrand asked at the same time.
“The truth.” Huon shrugged. “That you and Rémi had returned, along with a…companion. Her ladyship asked about your condition. I told her that you appeared to have had a rough time of it. She wanted to send her physician, but in the end, she agreed that secrecy was best.”
“And did she give you any instructions?”
“She did at that.” Huon glanced at his feet, as if embarrassed. “She’d like to see you. In secret, of course, once you’re well enough. I said that you’d probably need at least another day to make sure the ill-humours had passed.”
Bertrand closed his eyes. He was going to see Justine tomorrow. Tomorrow! That was so soon and yet too long to wait.
“We’ll need to get you cleaned up,” Salome murmured.
“Thank you, Huon,” Bertrand said. “For speaking to her ladyship and allowing us into your home. I wish I could reward you somehow.”
Huon waved Bertrand’s thanks aside. “No need. Her ladyship looks after me and mine. And I look after her interests.” His disapproving stare alighted upon Salome and darted away again. “I’ll see about some breakfast.”
“Bertrand, take this.” Salome pressed a hard object into Bertrand’s hand.
He opened his palm to discover a ruby. Cut in a rectangular shape, it was bigger than his thumbnail. Firelight rippled along its polished edges so that it appeared as if a wick of flame prowled inside the jewel.
“Where did you get this?” Bertrand asked in astonishment.
“It doesn’t matter. Just give it to Justine when you see her. We’ll need three strong horses, food for at least two weeks and oilskins to repel the rain. Make sure you ask for a skillet, a block of lard and sheets of canvas for when we make camp. And don’t forget thick blankets. It will only get colder as we head north.” Salome cocked her head. “What? You look surprised.”
“You sound like you want to leave as soon as I get back.” Bertrand hated the plaintive note that had crept into his voice.
“We can’t stay here, Bertrand.” Salome dropped her voice. “The longer we do, the greater the risk to these people.”
“I know. It’s just good to be among friends.”
Salome squeezed his arm. “This sense of safety is an illusion. If you really care for them—for her—you must take me away from here as soon as possible.”
“Why? No one knows that we’re here. Nogaret’s men don’t even know you’re with me, so they’ve no idea where to look.”
“Perhaps not yet,” Salome replied grimly, “but they will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Salome moved to the hearth to warm her hands. “I don’t know how, but they always seem to find me in the end.”
Bertrand absorbed this thoughtfully.
“Rest while you can,” Salome said. “Tomorrow will be difficult for everyone, I fear.”
CHAPTER 34
18 July 1099
The Temple of Solomon
“I commanded you to stop, Achambaud,” Godefroi said furiously. “No one gave you leave to break the final seal.” The hidden crawlspace in the scriptorium separated the two men.
“I’m sorry, messire, but it’s too late to turn back now.” Achambaud bent down and picked up his torch. “It has been ever since we crossed the northern wall.”
Hugues noticed Achambaud’s torch was burning low.
“I am your lord.” Godefroi’s sword quivered with rage.
Achambaud dropped to one knee. “I’ll always defend you, but in matters of the spirit, every man must follow their conscience.”
“This has nothing to do with theology.” Godefroi pointed his sword at Hugues. “This is your fault. You’ve turned a loyal servant against me.”
“I’ve done no such thing.” Hugues met Godefroi’s accusing stare. “Achambaud’s right. Our conscience must always be our guide.”
“I’m the Defender of the Holy Sepulchre.” Godefroi beat a fist against his mailed chest for emphasis. “You will obey me.”
“Publicly, yes. But not here, in this place,” Hugues replied. “I’ve told you before, each of us is part of a greater whole. No sacred point can be set above the other four.” Hugues glanced at the mouth of the hidden tunnel. “I realise that it’s easier to be angry than afraid, but you must face whatever waits down there. We can only locate the artefact by penetrating the tenth sphere.”
Godefroi stiffened and the tip of his blade sank to the floor. “Very well.” His expression hardened. “One day you might do me the honour of trusting me as much as you insist that I trust you.” He sheathed his sword. “And I’m not afraid of facing anything.” He dropped to his knees and examined the dark cavity with his waning torch. The tunnel was narrow and angled into the rock.
Using the torch to light his way, Godefroi crawled into the tunnel. He was soon swallowed by the darkness. Only the sound of his shuffling descent marked his progress.
“Do we follow?” Achambaud’s torch was faltering. It would not last much longer.
“I’ve no intention of letting him go down there alone.” Hugues took a moment to light one of his candles from Achambaud’s torch before following Godefroi.
The tunnel was tight and Hugues was smaller than the other two men. After some experimentation, he found it easiest to slide forward on his stomach, using elbows and knees to propel him forward. The hilt of his belt knife pressed cruelly into his abdomen and the head of his mace banged painfully against his knee. Despite these discomforts, Hugues was able to protect the candle so that he continued his descent in a small pool of light.
The walls of the tunnel were unusually smooth and the tunnel echoed with the slither and scrape of their progress. It would be difficult climbing out again, especially if the artefact proved bulky. Hugues pushed the thought aside and continued his slow, controlled slide.
Moisture dripped from overhead and a bead of water trickled into the corner of his mouth. The bitter taste of minerals stung his palate. The passage seemed to go on and on. He had no choice but to continue. The tunnel was too narrow for him to twist around and climb out. What if this was a dead end? He shoved the horrifying thought away.
The tunnel ended abruptly, and Hugues slid down a short drop onto a level floor. The candle flame guttered and nearly went out, but he managed to protect the precious light.
His first impression of this new chamber was of space. Darkness and silence pressed in on all sides, but the claustrophobic press of rock had lifted. Hugues rose cautiously to his feet. The wall that he had emerged from was cut from solid rock, although it was unnaturally smooth. The feeble light of the candle was unable to reach the ceiling.
“He’s here,” a dull voice said from the dark. Hugues belatedly drew his mace from the loop attached to his belt.
“Godefroi?” Hugues raised the candle overhead. The hollow, despairing tone did not sound like the man he knew.
Hugues took a tentative step forward, then another. Sand shifted beneath his boots. Godefroi appeared from the gloom. His torch had gone out and lay discarded at his feet. He had his back to Hugues, so he couldn’t make out Godefroi’s expression. Nor could Hugues see what held Godefroi’s attention.
“Godefroi? What is it?” Hugues inched forward as Achambaud slithered out of the tunnel.
“I don’t want to fight,” Godefroi said.
Hugues swung back towards Godefroi. He wished the reach of his candle was greater. How could Godefroi possibly see any adversary? Hugues moved forward and the darkness vanished to reveal a glorious dome curving overhead. Silver-tinted light illuminated the large chamber.
Hugues stared in astonishment. Stars winked in the dark vaults overhead, mimicking the constellations of the night sky. They shifted slowly, almost imperceptibly, as if circling the chamber.
He could not find any obvious source of illumination, yet the clarity of the light was so clear and pervasive, it did not cast any shadows.
It took Hugues a moment to notice the figure that awaited them. The man was a Saracen: that much was evident from his dark skin, sharp nose and glittering black eyes. The face beneath his tear drop helmet was weathered and lined. His long hair was white with age and had been bound in a queue. He wore a light chain-mail cuirass and carried a curved scimitar in one hand, and a long knife in the other.
Hugues took a step forward, hopeful the man might understand French or perhaps Greek. Godefroi’s arm blocked Hugues. “Stop. Look.” Godefroi pointed at the floor.
Ankle-deep sand lapped at the edge of a raised dais. Pristine white tiles, tinged silver by the mysterious light, covered the platform. Each was cut in the shape of a pentagon, interlocking with its five neighbours to form a seamless mosaic.
Godefroi placed one foot on the tiles and hesitated. A haunted expression flitted across his face. “You said each of us would be tested in different ways.” He drew a short, sharp breath. “You didn’t tell me I’d have to kill a man who feels like the brother I never had.”
Hugues frowned. “There’s no need for bloodshed.”
Godefroi shook his head. “You know nothing about honour among warriors.” He mounted the platform. The ancient Saracen smiled, revealing yellow teeth.
A circle of light pulsed beneath the old man’s feet and Hugues was suddenly drawn from his body. He rose to the apex of the dome, amid the stars that shifted in the night sky. Looking down upon Godefroi and the Saracen, Hugues finally understood the true purpose of this place.
The Saracen stood in a circle at the foot of a symbol hidden beneath the tiles. A tree with three branches rose from the sphere beneath the Saracen warrior’s feet. A knot of darkness further up the central branch drew Hugues’ eye. No, it went deeper than that. It was an absence, an open wound that refused to heal. The emptiness drew Hugues towards it, pulling him down from the heavens, dragging him in, until…
…Hugues jolted back into his body. He staggered and caught his balance.
Beside him, Achambaud said in a wondering voice, “What was that pattern?”
“You saw it too?” Hugues asked in surprise.
Achambaud nodded.
“That was the Tree of Life, the holy tree that describes the ten spheres of God that He used to create the universe.”
“And the Saracen is trying to defend it from us?” Achambaud asked.
“I’m not sure,” Hugues replied.
