Surrounded by ranks of servants, aides, scribes, and court officials of various kinds – most of them sitting on the polished marble floor on enormous tufted cushions, the Caliph of Cairo was a much smaller man than I anticipated, very brown, and with the aspect of someone who has spent an active youth beneath the scorching sun of the desert. His skin was deeply creased like well-used leather, and his hair was thick and entirely grey. Like many holy men, his beard was long, and woven into two braids which were drawn up into his turban somehow. And aside from his turban, which was purest white and glistening like sunlight on fresh snow, and bore an enormous blood-red ruby surrounded by the turquoise tips of peacock feathers affixed in gold over his brow, the caliph dressed in the manner of a simple tradesman or farmer. His clothes were spotless and finely made, but of humble, hard-wearing cloth.
He sat on a broad cushion upon his throne with his legs crossed beneath him, as if he were in a tent in a wilderness camp. He frowned when he saw me, and I knew my sentence was sealed.
Still, I bowed low as Wazim presented me and, by way of greeting, I spoke the few words of Arabic which he had taught me. 'Most Excellent and Exalted Khalifa,' I said, 'may the One God who created all men preserve you forever. I am deeply honoured to meet my lord and master, whose kindness and generosity have so long sustained me.'
Although the words were Wazim's, I meant what I said; I was grateful for my benign captivity under his roof. I knew how easily it could have been otherwise.
The great man's frown deepened further, but with consternation. He made no reply, but sat pulling on his long, grey moustache and watching me narrowly.
'As you are an educated man,' he replied in good Latin, 'let us speak directly.'
I was much heartened by this, to be sure; any time an Arab -be he Saracen, Seljuq, Danishman, or Egyptian-deigns to speak to you in your own tongue, number yourself among the few and fortunate. Still, I did not allow my elation to show in my manner or my speech, which would have been disrespectful. 'As you will, lord,' I replied evenly.
He regarded me for a time, and then said, 'You have been sent to me by the Khalifa of Baghdad.'
'That is true, my lord. No doubt he imagined I would be a useful addition to your illustrious court.'
Al-Hafiz grunted at my small attempt at humour. 'What is your name?'
'I am Lord Duncan of Caithness in Scotland. I am on pilgrimage, my lord, and was sojourning in Anazarbus when it was attacked by Amir Ghazi. I was captured and taken prisoner by the Seljuqs.'
'Khalifa al-Mutarshid says that you are a spy and a traitor to Islam. He has condemned you to death.' Then, with a dismissive wave of his hand, he added, 'I see no reason to alter his judgement.' Addressing the guards, he said, 'This one is to be executed at once. Take him away.'
As the guards stepped forwards and grasped me by the arms, al-Hafiz demanded, 'Have you nothing to say?'
Placing myself firmly in the palm of the Swift Sure Hand, I replied, 'No, my lord. All is as the Great King decrees.'
The guards seized me, turned me around, and led me from the hall. Wazim, padding along behind, distraught, muttered platitudes of comfort under his breath. I paid him no heed, for I was gathering my courage to face the headsman's axe.
We reached the great ebony doors and halted while they were opened by two blue-robed porters. From the throne behind us the caliph called, 'Infidel, who did you mean?'
The guards halted, and I was hauled around to face the caliph. 'My lord?'
Lifting his hand from his lap, he motioned the guards to bring me before him once more. 'You spoke of the great king just now. Who did you mean?'
'I meant the Lord God, Ruler of Heaven and Earth, Shaper of Destiny, Architect of the Ages, and Champion of the Faithful.' These last were titles the Muhammedans used for the Almighty, and which any Christian could also espouse in all good faith.
The caliph's dark eyes grew narrow-whether with anger or distrust, I could not tell. 'There is but one God,' he declared, thrusting a long finger into the air above his head. 'Allah is One.'
'That is so, my lord,' I said, bowing my head in reverence. 'There is no god but God Alone.'
The frown reappeared upon his dark, wrinkled face. 'What do you know of such things?'
'Very little, my lord. I am but a simple pilgrim -'
'So you have said,' he snapped. 'But not so simple as you make out, I think.' Frowning furiously, he leaned forward, chin in hand, and glared as if trying to decide what to do with me. Finally, he said, 'Do you deny you are a Christian?'
'No, lord,' I answered. 'I am a Christian. With your permission, I would merely point out that I have nothing to do with either Rome or Byzantium. Neither pope nor emperor hold authority over me.'
This surprised him. And, strangely, his surprise gratified him. It was as if he had suspected something curious about me, and now his suspicion was rewarded. The frown vanished instantly, and he regarded me with an expression of wary interest. 'So! You, too, are an Armenian. We know of these Christians.'
'I beg your pardon, Most Excellent Khalifa,' I replied, 'but neither am I an Armenian.'
'Not an Armenian?' he said. 'What are you then, Christian? Tell me quickly.'
'My lord Khalifa, I am of the Cele De,' I replied. 'We are an obscure sect-once plentiful, but now vastly diminished in numbers. Where once we ruled the whole of Britain, we are now confined to a small realm in the far north.'
For some reason, this appeared to please him immensely. 'I have heard of this Pritania,' he replied. 'It is very far away from Rome and Byzantium, you say?'
'Yes, my lord. As far as east from west with three seas between.'
The caliph squirmed on his cushion impatiently. 'Since you are a Christian of particular devotion,' he said, 'I will grant you a day to make peace with your God before I send you to meet him in judgement.'
'I thank you, my lord,' I replied, bowing in acknowledgement of his generosity.
He gestured to the guards once more, and I was taken from the hall and returned to my rooms, where I now sit and write in contemplation of what has happened. Although I am grateful for even this small reprieve, I cannot think what it might betoken. Still, I have this day. Dare I hope for more?
I pray the hand of the executioner may spare me yet a little longer for your sake, Cait. While I wait, I can think of nothing better than to proceed with my tale. This I will do even now.
Marseilles is a rowdy river town, heaving with rough industry. There are no fewer than five ship yards-all of them clattering to wake the dead from the crack of dawn to after sunset. Half the town and countryside is kept busy serving the shipbuilders, and the other half earns its crust supplying the wharf and harbour with goods and commodities of one kind or another. The harbour is well-protected, wide, and deep; and there we found the last of the Templar ships making ready to set sail.
The larger part of the fleet had already departed – there were forty-two ships in all-but eighteen remained in port, taking on supplies which had not been ready in time. I instructed Sarn to put in close to the Templar ships, and then Padraig and I hurried to find the soldier we had spoken to in Rouen.
'Pax vobiscum,' I said, approaching the first warrior monk we saw. 'God be good to you, my friend. We are looking for one of your brothers.' I explained that we had been instructed to meet a member of his order in this very place. He asked who we were looking for, and I told him.
'It was de Bracineaux?' the man asked, looking us up and down. 'Renaud de Bracineaux, are you certain? If it was Renaud, then you are fortunate indeed. He was to have departed with the first ships, but has been detained. He is still here.'