"Speak, Jew, and be brief," said the Grand Master. "What is the purpose of your dealings with Bois-Guilbert? And beware, Jew, should you speak falsely. If your tongue deceives me, I'll see that it's torn out."
"I am the bearer of a letter," Isaac stammered. "A letter to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, from Prior Aymer of the Abbey of Jorvaulx."
"Did I not say that these were evil times, Conrad?" said Beaumanoir. "A Cistercian prior sends a letter to a soldier of the Temple and can find no more fitting messenger than an unbelieving Jew. Give me the letter."
Isaac stretched forth the letter, but Beaumanoir recoiled from him, waiting until Conrad took it and broke the seal.
"Read it," said Beaumanoir. Conrad read the letter.
Aymer, by divine grace, Prior of the Cistercian house of Saint Mary's of Jorvaulx, to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, a knight of the Holy Order of the Temple, wishing health, with the bounties of King Bacchus and my Lady Venus. Touching our present condition, dear Brother, we are a captive in the hands of certain lawless and godless men, who have not feared to detain our person and put it to ransom; whereby we have also learned of De Bracy's misfortune and of your escape with that fair Jewish sorceress whose black eyes have bewitched you. We rejoice in your safety. Nevertheless, we pray you to be on your guard against this second Witch of Endor. Your Grand Master, who cares not a bean for black eyes and cherry cheeks, is said to be en route from Normandy to diminish your mirth and amend your misdoings. Wherefore we pray you heartily to beware, and to be found watching. The wealthy Jew, Isaac of York, has pleaded with me to give him letters in his behalf. The woman is his daughter. I entreat you to hold the damsel to ransom. He will pay you as much as may find fifty damsels upon safer terms, whereof I trust to have my part when we make merry together, as true brothers. Until that merry meeting, we wish you farewell. Given from this den of thieves, about the hour of matins,
Aymer, Pr. S.M. Jorvolciensis
"What say you to this, Conrad?" said Beaumanoir. "Small wonder the hand of God is upon us, when we have such churchmen as this Aymer. A den of thieves is a fit residence for the likes of him! Yet, what does he mean by this second Witch of Endor?"
"I think I know, but I will endeavor to find out for certain," Conrad said. "Jew, is your daughter a prisoner of Bois-Guilbert?"
"Rebecca was taken from me, reverend sir, by that same knight," said Isaac, taking great pains to maintain a subservient tone. "Whatsoever ransom a poor man may pay for her deliverance-"
"Your daughter, Rebecca, practiced the art of healing, did she not?" said Conrad.
"Indeed, gracious sir, my daughter is the very soul of goodness. Many a knight and yeoman, squire and vassal, may bless the gift which Heaven has assigned to her. She has helped many when every other human aid had failed. The blessing of the God of Jacob is upon her."
"Behold the deceptions of the devouring Enemy," said Conrad Mont-Fitchet. "I doubt not your words, Jew. Your daughter cures by words and sigils and other cabalistical mysteries not known to good Christian souls."
"No, no, reverend knight," said Isaac. "She cures in chief measure by balsams of marvelous virtue, not by any mystical art!"
"Where had she that secret?" said the Grand Master.
"It was delivered to her by Miriam, a sage matron of our tribe," said Isaac, reluctantly.
"And was this not the same witch, Miriam of Endor, the abomination of whose enchantments caused her to be burnt at the stake, her ashes scattered to the four winds?" said Mont-Fitchet. Turning to Beaumanoir, he said, "The matter seems quite clear now, reverend father. This Rebecca of York was a pupil of this Witch of Endor and she has enchanted Bois-Guilbert so that he has forsaken his sacred vows."
"No! My daughter is no witch, I swear by-"
"False Jew!" said Beaumanoir. "I will teach this witch daughter of yours to throw spells and incantations over the soldiers of the blessed Temple! Damian, spurn this Jew from the gate and shoot him dead if he oppose or turn again! We will deal with his daughter as the Christian law and our own high office warrant!"
Bois-Guilbert stood before Rebecca. She sat silently by a small window, looking out across the surrounding countryside. She did not turn when he entered.
"Rebecca," he said. "Rebecca, please look at me."
She turned an empty gaze upon him.
"Rebecca, I have brought you more grief than I had intended. I would it had been otherwise."
"You should have thought of that before you took me against my will," she said softly.
"A passionate man takes what he wants," Sir Brian said, "and I wanted you from the first day I set eyes on you at Ashby. Had we more time, you would have grown to love me, Rebecca."
"You flatter yourself, Sir Brian. I did not think that it was my love you wanted."
"What's done is done," he said. "Still, I would that it were otherwise. I could have given you a life such as you had never known. What future is there for a daughter of a lowly Jewish merchant? You could be the woman of a Knight Templar, a lady to be treated with respect."
"The way you treated me?"
"You are bitter."
"I am dishonored."
"Yet you are still alive. When I brought you here to Templestowe, it was not my intention to place your life in danger, yet that is what I have done. Albert Beaumanoir has returned to Templestowe. I have just come from him. The Grand Master is not a man of vision. He clings stubbornly to the old ways. In time, his influence would become inconsequential, but as yet, he is still Grand Master of our Order. I had sought to keep your presence here a secret from him, but he has found out."
"Then he will set me free?"
"He means to set your spirit free," Sir Brian said. "There is to be a trial and you are the accused."
She looked up at him, startled. "Accused of what? I have done nothing."
"The charge is sorcery," said Bois-Guilbert.
"Then I will trust to God to see me delivered," said Rebecca, "for I am innocent."
"You are innocent, indeed," said Bois-Guilbert. "Innocent of the ways of the world. You are closer to your God than you know. The trial has not been held yet, but rest assured that the outcome has already been decided. You have but one chance to avoid the stake. Demand a champion."
"I do not understand."
"If you demand a champion, then according to our ways, and the ways of chivalry, your fate will be decided in a trial by combat. Choose me as your champion and I will fight for you with my last breath."
"And if you lose?"
"Then I lose my life and you will be burnt at the stake," said Bois-Guilbert. "But I will not lose. No man will take from me that which I have gone to so many pains to obtain. You are mine, Rebecca. You must choose me. It is your only hope."
"Then I have no hope," she said.
"Think well on this," said Bois-Guilbert. "There would be no purpose served if you threw your life away. If you do not choose me, who else would fight for you? Who cares what happens to a Jew?"
"God will care for me," she said.
"Your death would be a tragic waste," said Bois-Guilbert. "Think on the agonies of death by fire, Rebecca. I pray that you will change your mind."
The men did not have long to wait. They were not sure exactly how the pick-up would be arranged, but when the contact came, it proved to be a surprise. And it stood to reason. There must have been someone keeping an eye on them, someone who had taken the tremendous risk of undertaking his mission with implant removed, so that he could not be scanned. He was a captain in the Observer Corps. They knew him as Alan-a-dale.
"So it's almost over," Alan-a-dale said to them when they returned to camp.
"Almost?" said Finn.
"Well, the hard part's over," said the minstrel, winking at them. "Irving's dead."