The blask rood

FIFTEEN

Caitriona, dearest heart of my heart, we must take courage. The day of dread is near. The caliph has returned.

I have been told that he will soon summon me. Wazim Kadi, my amiable Saracen jailer, informs me that I am to prepare myself. Tomorrow, or the day after, I will be called before Caliph al-Hafiz to answer for my crimes.

As I have said before, and say again, the outcome is certain. Death, however, holds no fear for me. My only regret is that I will not see you again, my soul. I had hoped to have time enough to finish this, my final testament; yet it seems that, in his wisdom, our Merciful Redeemer has ordained otherwise.

I search through the pages I have written, and my spirit grieves. There is so much more that I wanted to say to you. I despair to think what you will make of this fragmentary and insubstantial tale. Time was against me from the beginning, I fear, so perhaps I was fortunate to have written even the little you hold in your hands.

Well, no doubt, all is as it was meant to be.

I can but give you what I have left, and that is my everlasting love, and this crude, unfinished document which, if nothing else, will at least bear witness that in my last hours upon this earth, I was thinking of you, my beloved daughter.

Wazim assures me that my letter will be treated with all respect. I have the promise of the caliph that it will find its way to you. I trust in this. The word of the caliph is absolute. Nevertheless, I have instructed faithful Wazim that if any difficulty should arise, the papyri should be given to the Templars who, one way or another, will see that you receive it. Thus, I can rest in peace, assured that you will hear from your loving father again-albeit, from beyond the grave, as it were. For, by the time you receive this, I will be long dead.

So, here, I must leave it. A tale unfinished, but for time. I have prepared a second letter for my father and mother. If, by chance, it fails to arrive with this one, please tell your grandfather Murdo that he was right about everything: the Holy Land is a realm of demons, and only madmen think to conquer it.

Still, I had to try.

Farewell, my love, my light. I pray our Gracious King to send bright angels to surround you all the days of your life. Farewell…