Faithful Dead

18

He strode out into the middle of the glade.

Afraid though he was, it seemed a better option than skulking in the shadows, peering out nervously and waiting for someone to leap out and attack him. Besides, there was nobody there.

Was there?

He walked across to the shelter and glanced inside. There was a bedroll and what might have been a small supply of spare clothing, neatly folded. He wondered how this traveller had got there: on foot? On horseback?

Circling the glade, he looked for signs of a horse, or mule. Presently he came to a mound of horse droppings; they looked fairly fresh. It was beginning to look as if the visitor, whoever he was, had left his camp for the day, riding off on some pressing errand. Quite what that errand might be, Josse was not sure he wanted to know. Because, although it was but one possibility out of many, this man might be a killer. Might have murdered Prince John’s spy and old Galbertius’s servant, with swift, ruthless skill and no more compassion than if he had been slaughtering a pig to salt its flesh down for the winter.

Angry suddenly, Josse went to stand beside the campfire. He was on the point of shouting out, summoning whoever had made his camp here to show himself, when with no warning whatsoever there was a strong arm around his neck and the cold kiss of a blade at his throat.

A voice said, ‘Keep silent. If you try to call for help, I shall kill you.’

Josse made himself relax. ‘I will not call out,’ he said. ‘If you knew the forest as I do, you would let me yell all I want, because there is nobody to hear.’

‘You are wrong,’ the soft voice said. ‘But no matter.’

As he spoke, he removed the stranglehold on Josse’s neck and, with the blade still pressing in hard, was busy with his free hand tying Josse’s wrists behind his back. Then he exerted strong pressure on Josse’s shoulders and pushed him down to kneel on the forest floor.

With his prisoner thus disabled, finally the firm touch of the blade eased a little. Josse sensed the man move around behind him and, after a moment, he stood before him.

Josse stared up at his captor.

The man was swarthy-skinned, the flesh of his face an olive colour against the thick black beard. The hair of his head was also black, what could be seen of it; he wore a square of cloth over his head, held in place by more cloth wound into an elaborate turban. He was dressed in a heavy cloak of some deep-coloured material, fastened so as to hide whatever he wore beneath it. The eyes, dark, narrow, were heavily hooded and seemed to be elongated at the outer edges. Their expression was difficult to read; whatever the emotion they held, Josse was quite sure it was unfriendly. To say the least.

In his hand the man held a knife with a curved blade. Although slightly bigger than the one found lodged in the body of the dead spy, it was similar in shape and style.

‘What do you want of me?’ Josse asked. His voice, he was pleased to hear, sounded calm; his fear, he thought, did not show.

The man studied him for some moments. Then an expression of puzzlement crossed the dark face. His left hand — the hand not holding the knife — crept inside his cloak and, after some fumbling, seemed to close on an object concealed inside his garments. Wondering if he were about to draw out some weapon used for swift dispatch of victims, Josse closed his eyes and tried to pray.

It was interesting, he often thought afterwards, what sprang into a man’s mind when he was sure he was about to die. In Josse’s own case, the prayer was one of duty: dear Lord, of thy mercy and grace, help my brothers and my family and all at Acquin.

But that had not been what he had begged first. The swift instinctive prayer that had burst silently from him had been, please, Lord, protect Helewise.

But, this time, death had not come to claim him.

Feeling the blade busy at his wrists, cutting the cords that bound them, he opened his eyes. Just as the dark man, in front of him once more, fell to his knees and cried, ‘Forgive me, I beg you, forgive me! You should have said who you were, called out your name as soon as you came into the glade!’

Josse struggled to his feet. Disorientated, the relics of dread still close, he said simply, ‘Why?’

The man had pressed his face into the spongy leaf mould on the forest floor. Raising his head, he said, ‘Because you are the man I have been seeking! You are Josse, son of Geoffroi d’Acquin, and so far have I travelled to find you that my home is now but a dim memory.’

Josse held out a hand and helped the man to his feet. ‘What do you want with me?’

‘I have brought you what is yours.’

‘You bring-’ But Josse hesitated to mention the Eye. Instead he said, ‘I was warned that you sought me.’

‘Warned?’ The dark face creased into a frown. ‘There was no need of warning, for I mean you no harm.’ Then, suspicion clouding his eyes, the man said, ‘Who issued this warning?’

Josse was about to reply when the stranger, nodding his head, interrupted. ‘Do not trouble to tell me,’ he said coldly. ‘Save your breath, for I already know.’ Then, passionately, he went on, ‘He sees me, you know. He watches me, and I cannot escape his deep eyes. He knows that I come to you, he knows what it is I bear.’

‘John Dee,’ Josse breathed.

The dark man said, ‘I perceive not his name. But he allies himself with one who is important in your land, who bears power and ever seeks more. But, powerful though he is, he is accompanied by one yet greater than he, one who is a magus of rare ability.’ He paused. ‘One who is spoken of with awe even among the great sorcerers of my own land.’

‘Where is that land?’ Josse asked, feeling that he already knew.

The man said, ‘To you, my homeland is a part of the great region to the east of the Inland Sea, the area that you know as Outremer. But we call it Lebanon.’

The name was only vaguely familiar to Josse; he was ashamed of his ignorance, as if not to know of a man’s homeland were some sort of insult. He did not wish to dwell on the thought; hastening on, he said, ‘You did not know who I was at first, when you crept up on me. But then, quite suddenly, your attitude changed, as if you had been told who I was. What happened?’

Again the man slid his hand inside his cloak. ‘I knew,’ he replied. ‘Is that not enough?’

It wasn’t, not by a long way. But Josse felt that to pursue the matter would get him nowhere and might actually antagonise the stranger. He said quietly, ‘I see.’

The man smiled, his regular teeth white in his dark face. ‘I think not,’ he murmured. Then, as if making up his mind, he said, ‘I will tell you a tale, Sir Josse d’Acquin, Geoffroi’s son, if you have ears to listen.’

‘That I have,’ Josse said; too quickly, for the man’s smile widened at his eagerness.

‘Come and settle by the fire.’ The stranger took his arm. ‘I will spread skins for us to sit on, to keep out the ground’s chill.’ He hurried to his shelter, returning with two neat rolls tied with cord. Unwinding the cords, he laid out what appeared to be sheepskins, the short fleeces cream and tightly curled, unlike any sheep’s fleece that Josse knew of. ‘Sit!’ he said. ‘Be comfortable!’

And Josse, settling down into a cross-legged position by the fire, did as he was told.

The dark stranger waited until he had stopped wriggling before sitting down himself. Then, his movements far more supple and graceful than Josse’s, he sank down on the opposite side of the hearth and began to speak.

‘Long ago, a Persian king bought a beautiful sapphire with an eye in its depths,’ he said. His voice, Josse immediately noticed, had taken on the singsong tones of a professional storyteller, or perhaps merely of a man accustomed to entertaining fellow travellers by the fire. ‘He was drawn to it above every other stone in the merchant’s pack, so he trusted his intuition and bought it. He showed it to his magus, who told him that he had chosen wisely since the stone had power, and would bestow on its rightful owner many very useful gifts. So the king gave the stone to his jewellers, who shaped it and polished it until its shape was round and regular, pleasing to those who looked upon it. And, just as the magus had said, there in its depths, for those who had the patience to study it in silent patience, was its own eye, staring out at the beholder.

‘Then the king gave the stone to his goldsmiths, who set it into a thick gold coin, its centre moulded into lips to hold the stone secure and safe. The magus told the goldsmiths that they must write an inscription on the gold coin. The style of writing and the language were those commonly employed in the land, but the words made no sense to the goldsmiths because they were in code, and the code was known only to the magus.

‘The king treasured his stone above all others for, as the magus had predicted, it had many useful powers. It bestowed success and good fortune. It could stop bleeding, both from an external wound and that which mysteriously arises in a man’s secret insides. And, like the magic of a mother’s loving kiss on a sick child’s forehead, it could take away fever. It could detect when poison had been dropped into a man’s goblet of wine. And, most valuable of all, it warned of secret enemies.’

‘Did the king have secret enemies?’ Josse interrupted.

The stranger glanced at him. ‘He did. As does every king, including your Malik Richard. Now, straight away’ — he was clearly keen to continue his narrative — ‘the king realised that all that he had been told was true, for it seemed that everything he attempted was a success. The land of Persia was strong and proud and, when the king felt that the time was right to challenge the might of the Babylonian Empire, his magus consulted the stars and dwelled privately on the omens, and then agreed with him. So King Cyrus — for that was his name, and he was ever known as Cyrus the Great — marched on Babylon, took it and founded an empire of his own, which was called the Acaemenid and was the greatest that the ancient world had ever seen.

‘Now when King Cyrus’s army took Babylon, they found dwelling there the sad remnants of an alien people who called themselves Judeans. The Babylonian king, Nebuchadrezzar, had attacked their city, Jerusalem, and brought the people to their knees. But the Judean king had unwisely listened to those who gave him bad advice, and allowed himself to be persuaded into a rebellion. Nebuchadrezzar sent his army back again and, this time, showed no mercy. Jerusalem was taken and destroyed utterly, and its people were led away into exile. Their king, whose name was Zedekiah, was captured with them, and both his eyes were put out.’

Josse gave an involuntary shudder of horror. The dark man, who seemed to sense it, shot him a swift look. ‘I told you that Nebuchadrezzar showed no mercy,’ he murmured. ‘So a king deals with a rebellion. It is the way of the world, is it not?’

Josse did not answer.

‘So it was,’ the stranger resumed, ‘that King Cyrus discovered the last descendants of the Judeans living in wretchedness in Babylon, far away from their homes. He took pity on them and allowed them to return to their own land, and he gave back to them many precious items of gold and silver which Nebuchadrezzar’s men had stolen from the temple at Jerusalem. It was said that one such item was King Solomon’s ring, set with a sapphire seal stone, but this ring was lost and nobody could say where it was. Now King Cyrus was troubled by this, and he consulted his magus and asked what he might do to make amends to the exiles returning home. “For it is my wish,” he said, “to demonstrate to these people that Cyrus is not Nebuchadrezzar, and that he knows when to show mercy.”’

‘What did the magus suggest?’

‘The magus said to King Cyrus, “You have in your possession, sire, a jewel that is the match of the sapphire in King Solomon’s ring, if not its superior.” And the King, although his heart misgave him, knew that the magus spoke of the great sapphire set in gold. But he trusted the magus and so, after much thought, accepted his advice. He sent for the leader of the Judeans and said, “I give you a treasure, a sapphire eye set in a coin of gold.” In a sudden burst of inspiration, he held up the stone and declared, “Behold the Eye of Jerusalem, which I give to the people of that city in recompense for the eyes of King Zedekiah, that Nebuchadrezzar put out.” And the Judeans took it home with them, and put it in a place of safety in the temple that they rebuilt on the ruins of the one destroyed by the Babylonians.’

‘It was a gift of rare generosity,’ Josse said.

‘It was. But the King was advised by his magus that he should not let the Eye entirely out of his sight, for it was ever possible that the people of Judah might one day use it against its former owner.’

‘That would have been hard, when it was King Cyrus who had given it to them!’

‘Indeed. But when necessity drives, a nation will take what steps it must to survive. The magus, who looked into the hearts of men and could understand them with a rare clarity, told King Cyrus what to do. “The Eye must be watched,” he said, “in order that its whereabouts are ever known, as are the uses to which its powers are being put.” He proposed to the King that two men be appointed Guardians of the Stone, and he suggested for chief Guardian a man he knew of and trusted. This man was an astronomer trained by the greatest of the Babylonian star-gazers, one Enil of Sidon; he had a young nephew, who was also his apprentice, who could fill the post of the second Guardian.’

‘And the King agreed to this?’

‘With alacrity. The Guardians were appointed and informed that, under Persian law, their post was to be in perpetuity, passed from father to son or, failing that, uncle to nephew or grandfather to grandson.’

‘A woman was never to be a Guardian?’

The dark man looked almost affronted. ‘Certainly not. The great unseen forces of the supernatural are not for women.’

How little you know, Josse thought. But he said nothing.

‘And so it came about,’ the steady voice went on, ‘that the Eye of Jerusalem was hidden away deep within the heart of the Temple of Solomon, safe, unused, almost forgotten, and the Guardians had little guarding to do. But they kept the tradition alive, each generation impressing on the next that theirs was a royal appointment and that it was to last forever.

‘In time the Persian Empire fell, just as the Babylonians had fallen to King Cyrus. This time, it was a young general from Macedonia who led the invincible army, and this Alexander, like Cyrus before him, was also called the Great. He crossed the Hellespont and challenged Cyrus’s descendant, King Darius, defeating him and going on to conquer Phoenicia, Palestine, Egypt, Babylon, Susa and Persepolis before marching on into India. Nobody can tell how far Alexander’s great wings would have stretched, for he died and his empire was divided up between his generals.

‘The land of Palestine fell to the general known as Seleucus, whose successor persecuted the Judeans. Once again, their temple was destroyed. But the Guardians, perceiving the threat in time to take action, removed the Eye by night and took it away to Damascus. And there it stayed, while in the outside world the power of the Greeks diminished and the Romans rose up to take their place, destroying the temple of Jerusalem yet again when the people of Judah rose up in revolt. The Guardians, now many generations removed from their originals, had kept the precious jewel in Damascus. Now no longer sure who they should be protecting from possible misuse of the Eye, they decided that the best thing they could do was to make sure that it went on being ignored.’

‘Then how did Mehmed come to have it?’ Josse demanded.

The dark man gave a faint sigh. ‘Wait, and you shall hear. Soon after the death of their prophet, Jesus Christ, a Christian community had begun to flourish in Damascus. But then Mohammed and his followers, the great and holy founders of the Muslim era, moved from Mecca to Medina in the land known as Arabia, and the city of Damascus was thrust into prominence. It so happened that a young and ambitious Guardian had recently inherited the chief’s post from his father, possibly too soon for the good of either the Eye or himself. He was driven to seek favour with the rapidly burgeoning power of the Muslims, and he offered the Eye to the rich and charismatic head of the Mehmeds. The Mehmeds were an influential family poised for power; the Guardian reasoned that a position in their household would be preferable to remaining in the background and, eventually, becoming lost in one of history’s forgotten backwaters.’

‘But he would go on guarding the Eye?’

‘It is not thought he considered that, since his aim was, as I have said, to gain favour; although in fact he did continue to be the Eye’s Guardian. However, as he was fetching the Eye from its hiding place and preparing to take it to the Mehmeds, he was overcome by a trance and he received what he believed to be a message. Obeying what he thought the Eye had ordered, he warned the Mehmeds that a day would come when they would have to give up their great treasure in exchange for something that they valued even more. Laughing, heady with the powers of the Eye as described by the Guardian, they took little note.’

‘But then along came my father.’

‘As you say, along came Geoffroi d’Acquin. Along came a Frankish knight of rare compassion, who saw a terrified child in mortal danger and who saved the boy’s life at the risk of his own. And Mehmed — that is, the man who was head of the Mehmed family at the time — recognised that this was the event that had been predicted when the family first gained possession of the Eye.’

‘It was a great gesture, nevertheless, to let the treasure go,’ Josse commented.

The dark man smiled. ‘Ah, you are as lacking in cynicism as your father,’ he murmured. ‘When the Mehmeds were told that they would one day have to yield up the Eye, they were also told that if they did not give it away when the moment came, its power would be lost to them. Oh yes, they would still possess a pretty and valuable jewel, but its unique abilities would no longer serve them; might, indeed, begin to work against them.’ He chuckled. ‘When he heard of Geoffroi’s brave deed and how he had saved Azamar, old Mehmed spent many long hours trying to calm fevers and test for poisons deliberately put in wine goblets. And a hapless servant almost lost his arm while Mehmed waved the Eye over the deep cut he had just made in it, in a fruitless attempt to staunch the bleeding.’ His eyes, still full of amusement, met Josse’s. ‘Mehmed did not give the Eye to your father until he was absolutely certain that it was of no more use to him.’

Feeling a strange sense of betrayal, as if the conclusion to a favourite folk tale had just been changed for something far less satisfactory, Josse said, ‘The little boy survived into adulthood, I am told.’

‘Azamar? Yes, he grew up to be a fine man, who has begotten many strong, healthy sons. He has been in his time a mighty warrior and, now that he is gradually becoming too old — and too precious — to wield a sword, he is a valued advisor to those who carry on the fight. He has the ear, they say, of Saladin.’

Has he, indeed? thought Josse. No wonder Prince John had made that somewhat bitter remark about King Richard and his knights not being entirely happy about Geoffroi’s having saved the boy’s life.

But the dark man was speaking. ‘. . has not forgotten Geoffroi d’Acquin,’ he said.

‘Eh? Who hasn’t?’

The stranger sighed. ‘Azamar. Who else?’

Josse wiped his hands over his face. He was finding it difficult to maintain his concentration, and he was sure there were questions he ought to ask, mysteries that could be solved, if he could only get his brain to work properly.

One matter, however, stood out clear, even to a man as weary as Josse.

‘You killed the Prince’s spy, and the young lad who was servant to Galbertius Sidonius.’ At this the stranger’s head shot up, and there was an expression of surprise on his face. ‘Oh, we worked out who was responsible for both deaths,’ Josse said fiercely. ‘You would not deny your guilt, would you?’

‘No, no.’ The man shook his head impatiently, as if he wished to brush the matter aside and proceed to something more interesting. ‘The first man I caught up with on the road up out of the river valley. I guessed that he was on his way to steal the Eye, for I had tracked the bearer of the Eye to England and knew him to be nearby. I killed the thief before he could carry out his intention, and I stripped the body and hid it in the bracken.’ He shook his head again, this time wonderingly. ‘I did not know then that the Abbey and the shrine lay so near, or I should have concealed the body more efficiently, somewhere that it would never be found.’

‘But it was found.’

‘I know, I know. You must believe me when I say that I am not usually so careless.’

He only regrets that he did not hide the body well enough, Josse realised, with a tremor of alarm. He does not rue the fact that he murdered the man; not one jot.

‘And the boy?’ he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

‘The boy stole the Eye from his dying master, who was bringing it to you, Josse d’Acquin.’ The man sounded outraged. ‘He did not get very far before his conscience began to bother him, but by then he was in mortal dread that the monks from the Abbey would hold him responsible for his master’s death. He hid out in the fields and the hedges, seeking shelter in barns and outhouses when the weather grew chill. He had no food, and began to grow sick. He was making his slow way back here, I think to return the Eye and give himself up, when I killed him.’

‘But he was innocent!’ Josse protested. ‘He had no hand in Sidonius’s death — the old man was gravely ill, and it was his cough that killed him!’

Again, the look of surprise crossed the stranger’s face. Then he said, ‘Innocent? The boy had stolen the Eye! I took it from him; it is quite safe, you must not concern yourself, and-’

‘You murdered him!’ Josse cried. ‘Although the mark on the front of the throat was faint, it was noticed. What was it? A blow with the side of your hand?’

‘Yes.’ The man looked almost proud. ‘Such skills the Guardians have ever been taught.’

‘Aye, you’re a Guardian.’ Josse nodded. ‘I guessed as much. You followed my father and the Lombard from Outremer to Acquin-’

‘Not I,’ the man put in. ‘My father and his brother. They watched over the Eye while your father kept it, at Acquin, until my father died of a sickness that ravaged the region. Then, although I was quite young, I took his place. With my uncle I followed the man you call the Lombard back to his home. I was for killing him and returning the jewel to your father, but my uncle overrode me.’ A scowl crossed the dark face. ‘He said that the Lombard would repent of his theft, if we were but patient. He was right, but patience was not my way and I found the waiting cruelly hard.’ He shrugged faintly. ‘So we kept watch over the Eye there in the land of the Lombard until he came back north to Acquin, seeking Geoffroi, your father. We followed him, and then my uncle died. He was weak and old, and the long journey proved too much for him. The Lombard led me on from Acquin to England, eventually here to Hawkenlye.’ He said the word slowly and carefully, as if unaccustomed to it. ‘Although I did not know that he was heading here. I had imagined he would try to find you straight away. I lost him, briefly, which was when I killed the man who came hunting the Eye. But then I found him again. The rest, you know.’

Josse nodded slowly. ‘Aye. And I guessed much of what went before. You followed Galbertius Sidonius for much of his life, you and your father before you, and-’

The man held up his hands as if in protest. ‘This is what I cannot understand!’ he said, puzzlement clear on his face. ‘The man known as the Lombard, your father’s friend who stole the Eye from him and then tried to bring it back, you refer to him as Galbertius Sidonius!’

‘Aye, I do,’ Josse agreed. ‘He stayed with my family at Acquin, and my brother reported that his servant addressed him so.’

‘No, you are wrong,’ the stranger insisted. ‘The lad may have spoken the name, but he cannot have used it when referring to his master.’

There was a pause then, with simple dignity, he said, ‘I am Galbertius Sidonius.’