I was on the point of refusing to accept his money, when Padraig climbed out of the boat and embraced the old man. 'Bless you, my friend,' he said. 'May Heaven's rich light guide you always, and may the Lord of Hosts greet you when you enter his kingdom.' He then made a little bow of respect.
Bezu, discomfited by this unexpected ritual, blushed bright red and, not knowing what to say or do in response, simply pretended that it was a normal occurrence and smiled. We made our farewells then and cast off; the armourer stood on the quayside, watching us away. I waved to him and called a last farewell, and then turned my face towards Marseilles, and hoped we were not already too late.
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…
PART II
November 11, 1901: Papkos, Cyprus
In the days and weeks following that fateful meeting of the Inner Circle, I determined to educate myself in the crucial events taking place in the world around me. Inspired, not to say alarmed, by the vital importance of the work now before us, I endeavoured to emulate the example of the others by learning all I could of the current social and political climate of Europe and the West, thinking a firm grasp on contemporary affairs would aid me in the coming battle. The Seven had other plans for me, however, as I was to discover one rainy afternoon in early spring.
A wintry gale was blowing cold off the North Sea, lashing the windows and making the lights flutter above my desk. It was nearing closing time, and I was not looking forward to braving the elements on my way home for the evening. I heard footsteps outside my office, shortly accompanied by a rapid knock. 'Enter,' I called, glancing up as the door opened.
To my surprise, it was Pemberton, and with him, Zaccaria. I jumped to my feet at once, for never had a single member of the Brotherhood darkened my door-and now there were two. 'Gentlemen, welcome. Come in,' I said, rushing forth to relieve them of their dripping coats and hats. 'It is beastly out there. Come in, both of you, and sit by the fire. We'll have you dried out in no time.'
'Thank you, Gordon,' said Pemberton genially. 'I hope you will forgive this intrusion.'
'Intrusion? Not at all,' I replied, pushing chairs towards the fireplace where the coals were glowing red and warm in the grate. 'It is, in fact, a welcome break in the monotony that passes for studious industry in a legal firm.'
'You are most kind,' said Zaccaria, settling into the offered chair with a sigh. He patted his face with a folded handkerchief to dry it.
I pulled my own chair from behind the desk and, feeling slightly awkward playing the host, I said, 'May I offer you something to chase the chill-a tot of brandy, perhaps?'
'Splendid,' said Pemberton, rubbing his hands to warm them. 'Just the thing.'
I stepped to the tray of decanters on the sideboard and poured three small snifters of the firm's tolerable brandy, and passed them to my visitors. 'Slainte!' Pemberton said, raising his glass. We sipped our drinks then, and I took my seat and waited for them to reveal the reason for their visit.
'No doubt you will recall that last time we met mention was made of, shall we say, the imperatives before us,' Pemberton said, settling his lean form back in his chair. He cradled the bulbous glass in his long ringers as he swirled the aromatic amber liquid.
'Indeed, yes,' I replied. The dire warnings voiced in that meeting had scarcely been absent from my thoughts.
'You were a classicist at university, I believe?' said Zaccaria suddenly. A small, energetic man of swarthy complexion and sturdy build, he burns with a lively, barely contained intensity many people mistake for giddiness.
'Why, yes,' I allowed, somewhat cautiously, uncertain of the pertinence of this fact, 'now that you mention it, I was. It's been so long since anyone accused me of that, I had all but forgotten.'
'History, too, isn't that correct?'
'I hope you haven't spent too much effort rooting around in the hall of records. I'm afraid my academic career does not make scintillating reading.'
Zaccaria smiled, but did not disagree. 'At least, you showed a distinct affinity for the ancients rarely seen these days. For that, I commend you.'
'You will have studied Latin,' Pemberton said. 'Did you enjoy it?'
'After a fashion. My tutor was a dry old stick, prone to bouts of absentmindedness. He should not shoulder all the blame, however; had I applied myself with a modicum of effort, I might have made a better job of it. Still, Virgil, Cicero, and Julius Caesar have stood by me through thick and thin. Also, being in the legal profession, I have the chance to brush up the odd phrase now and then.'
'What about Greek?'
'Ah, no,' I replied. 'Greek was never my strong suit. After a brief flirtation, I abandoned the enterprise completely. Euripides almost did me in. I managed enough to scrape by, but only just.'
'I suspected as much,' mused Zaccaria; he made it sound as if he had long harboured grave misgivings about my natural parentage and patriotism.
'Then that is where we will begin,' said Pemberton. He tossed down the rest of his drink and set the glass aside. 'We have been thinking it was time you were better acquainted with your heritage, so to speak.'
'My Greek heritage?' I said. 'I wasn't aware I had any.'
'Oh, you'd be surprised,' replied Pemberton with a smile. 'Shake a family closet, and you never know what might tumble out.'
'I think it more precise to say your Greek-speaking heritage,' Zaccaria said.