“In those days, the brotherhood would still come looking for me whenever they found themselves near my camp, or, if I heard tidings of one of them being in my vicinity, I would send Arlo to make contact with him, and he would arrange for me to meet with the newcomer in secret. But that could only apply, obviously, to those brethren whom I knew in person. The others, the newcomers, had no way of reaching me, and I had no means of learning who they were. And thus I fell into a growing pattern of silence that extended even to my oath-brothers and the Order itself. I know that is reprehensible. It might even be unforgivable, but I can offer no excuse, other than eccentricity.”
St. Omer was peering up at Hugh from beneath his furrowed brows, and now he nodded. “Aye, which some might think of as willfulness.” The words were condemnatory, but the tone in which he uttered them was mild.
De Payens nodded. “They might. That is true. But what about you? When did you last have dealings with the Order?”
St. Omer twisted in his seat and glanced over his shoulder, checking to make sure that they were still alone by the smoldering fire before he responded. “Five years ago, and they were directly concerned with you, my friend. I was carrying instructions for you from Amiens when I fell into the hands of the Turks.”
“For me, from Amiens? I know no one in Amiens.”
“You knew me.”
“Aside from you, I mean. Who else would write to me from there?”
“The Order. The letter was from the Seneschal himself, Jean Toussaint, Seigneur of Amiens, second in rank only to the Grand Master.”
“Toussaint wrote to me? Why? What could he want of me now?”
“Many things, apparently, judging from the bulk of the dispatches. Unfortunately, however, I lost them when our ship was sunk at sea.”
“You lost them …” De Payens sat blinking at him, then nodded his head. “Well, you must have. You lost everything, except your life, thank God. And had you no indication of what the letters contained?”
“Absolutely none. Why should I? Like you, I am decently literate, but they were none of my concern. I was coming to rejoin you, as a friend, at the suggestion of the Order, which needed my compliance to deliver documents to you. I thought no more of bringing them than I would of scratching myself. I knew that you would read them when we met, and that if you chose to tell me what was involved, it would mean that the senior brethren at home had wished me to know. But to wonder what was in there before they were delivered would have been to invite the temptation to pry, during the long nights of travel, to the imperilment of my sacred oath. Anyway, now that years have elapsed, I presume that the brethren at home have learned that I did not arrive here in Outremer and have either abandoned their intentions for you or switched them to another recipient. You have heard nothing at all from them in the interim?”
“Not a word, written or spoken. And that is really strange, because you must have left Amiens more than a year before Count Hugh left Champagne to come back here. He arrived two, nigh on three years ago, in 1114, and remained for almost a year. I was on duty in Edessa much of that time, but I did see him, albeit briefly, on several occasions, yet he made no mention of anything being sent to me. Nor did he know anything of your misadventure, now that I come to think of it. Your name was never mentioned, and we would have spoken of your disappearance, as a fellow member of the Order, had the Count known anything about it …” Hugh sat frowning for a moment. “That is passing strange, for the Count is high in the Governing Council, so I would think he must know of anything involving me.”
St. Omer waved a hand. “Not so, Hugh. The Council may have seen no need to inform anyone else of what they had required of you the previous year. After a year had passed it might have seemed less urgent, or they might not have expected to hear from you for some time to come … At any rate, we cannot begin to guess at the instructions they had issued you. It might be a good idea, however, for you to send word back now, somehow, that you are back in communication.”
“I will, rest assured on that. Lucien of Troyes is leaving to return to Champagne tomorrow, and once there he will report directly to Count Hugh, as his deputy. Now I shall find him again and tell him all that you have told me, and he will take the word back for us.”
“Is he one of us?”
“Of course he is, otherwise I would not dream of trusting him with word of mouth. He is senior to me in membership by two years, but he is from the Argonne, so you might never have met him.”
“Excellent … So be it that he is of the Order.” St. Omer nodded, then pushed himself to his feet, where he stood swaying for a moment, waving away Hugh’s offer of help. “I am well, stay where you are. But I’m getting tired and it is growing cold. Go you now, and find this Lucien of Troyes, and be sure to tell him everything, so that he can report you had no knowledge of any task being assigned you. I can find my own cot. Sleep well, and we will talk again tomorrow.”
Hugh bade his friend good night and went looking for Lucien of Troyes, who was in the final stages of preparing for departure. The magnificent Roman rooms that the Count and his deputy had occupied for the past three years lay empty now, their furnishings cleaned out and packed for travel by de Troyes’s men, and Hugh’s steps echoed emptily as he strode across the tessellated floors. He found Sir Lucien in a tiny sleeping chamber by the front entrance to his quarters, and the knight listened intently as Hugh told him all that he had just discovered, making no interruption and nodding deeply at the conclusion of the tale, after which he promised to waste no time in reporting Sir Hugh’s story to Count Hugh, and to ask him to pass it along to the senior members of the Governing Council.
The following morning, Hugh was on hand to watch Sir Lucien depart for home, accompanied by a small but heavily armed retinue that struck out towards the coast, where a ship waited to transport them to Cyprus and from there, by various stages, home to Christendom. He knew he would hear more from the Order, now that he had broken his silence, but he had no way of knowing when that might be. For the time being he was content to wait, and to assist his friend Godfrey to regain his health and strength. He watched until the knight of Troyes and his party had disappeared from view, then turned and beckoned to Arlo, bidding him bring their swords and other weapons for sharpening.
FOUR
“There’s a damsel in the marketplace asking about you.”
De Payens lowered the blade he had been polishing until it rested on his knee, and raised his head slowly to look at Arlo from beneath the border of the cloth that shielded his head from the blazing sun. “Do we know him?”
“No. How could we? He’s a damsel, I told you.”
“Did you tell him where to find me?”
“What am I, a fool? If he’s to find you, he’ll do it on his own. I know how to earn your thanks, and it’s damn hard work. And it’s never through telling people how to find you. All I ever get from that is the rough edge of your tongue …”
Even as Arlo spoke, however, de Payens could see the stranger approaching behind him, from the gates of the caravanserai, closely followed by a servant leading a mule with a wooden chest strapped to its back, and he lost awareness of Arlo’s mutterings as he took stock of the newcomer, the damsel, as Arlo had called him.
It took no great amount of brain power to understand where the name damsel came from, or what it stood for. The newcomer was tall and pinkly pale in the way of all newcomers to Outremer, people who had not yet had time to adjust to the searing glare of the desert sun and the parching blast of the hot winds that blew the sand like living rasps against exposed skin. They were instantly recognizable, their clothing too new and too unsuitable for the climate here, their colors all too bright and vibrant, their chain mail and armor still rusted and damp between the links with the moistures of Christendom and the sea passage they had just endured. It would take months in the dry desert air before their mail took on the burnished, sand-scoured look that would brand its wearer as a veteran.
Damsels w
ere everything that the name suggested: virgins among carnivores; innocents among satyrs; pallid equestrian neophytes still untried against the fiercest horse-borne warriors in the world. The jest in Outremer was that the damsel’s pallor came of the anticipated fear of seeing his first Turkish janissary in full charge.
This one was a perfect example of the breed, with that unmistakable freshness of the new arrival. His clothing still bore the brightness of non-desert climes, and his bright, eager eyes betrayed that he had yet to see a hostile Mussulman, let alone fight one. He came striding right up to Hugh’s fire and addressed him directly. “I seek Sir Hugh de Payens and was told I would find him here. Do you know where he might be?”
“You’ve found him.” Hugh, who was sitting on a rock close by his cooking fire, set down his long-bladed sword, its point towards the fire, and drew himself up, aware of the surprise on the new man’s face and of the reason underlying it, for Hugh was dressed as no Christian knight. He was unarmored and wore the long, loose-fitting garments of the local desert nomads, and now he stood up, throwing the ends of his burnoose back to hang behind his shoulders.
“I am Hugh de Payens. Who are you?”
The man took three steps forward and dropped to one knee beside the fire, reaching for Hugh’s hand and seizing it before the surprised knight could snatch it away. “Your pardon, Sir Hugh, for my tardiness in reaching you, but I have been searching for you ever since landing at Joppa more than a month ago.” He looked up at Hugh, who was still too astonished to take back his hand. “My name is Gaspard de Fermond. You are a hard man to find, my lord.”
“I’m not your lord, man. I am a simple knight in fee to Count Hugh of Champagne and you should have had no difficulty in finding me. I live openly here, among the other knights.”
The newcomer flushed, but nodded his head, acknowledging that, and still refusing to relinquish the hand that de Payens was trying to withdraw. “I know that now, my lord, but when I came here at first, enquiring after you, someone sent me to Jericho, swearing you were there.”
“I told you, I am not your lord.” De Payens tilted his head to one side, looking at the man through narrowed eyes. “Now, why have you been searching for me? Who sent you to find me?”
“Pardon me, my lord, but you are my lord, in truth. Your late father knighted me with his own hand and gave me property within his barony, so you are my liege lord. As for who sent me, that I think you must know, if you but reflect on who knows you are here.” As he said these words, the damsel’s hand moved in Hugh’s, pressing on the knuckle and then moving in an unmistakable manner. Given how the man had kept hold of his hand, however, Hugh was prepared for something of the kind, and allowed no reaction to show on his face. He merely returned the proper response of recognition and finally took his hand away, beckoning with it to where another stone sat close to his.
“Sit down, Fermond,” he said, “and accept a word of advice. Never ignore the opportunity to collect a suitable fireside stone for your encampment. There are surprisingly few of them lying around in this land, and Frankish knights do not take kindly to sitting on the ground. Stones of the proper size are prized for sitting on. If you spend any time at all here, you will come to know how true that is. Now sit, and tell me what you have for me.” Hugh pointed with his thumb. “This is Arlo, also from Payens. He has been with me since we were boys together and is both my friend and my good right hand.”
When the two men had exchanged greetings, Hugh continued. “When did you last eat and drink? We have a skin of wine, sour but safe to drink, some bread from yesterday, and some goat cheese. Arlo, will you bring them?” He watched Arlo depart and then turned back to de Fermond. “Arlo is trustworthy, but he is not of the Order. What do you have for me?”
“First, the proof that I am who I say I am. I attended your Raising.”
Hugh was astounded, but he had been schooling himself for years to allow his face to betray nothing of what he was thinking, and so he sat motionless although his thoughts were racing. He had absolutely no recollection of this man. Neither his face nor his name were familiar, and there was nothing at all about the fellow that rang the slightest chime of memory. Besides, he would have sworn that de Fermond must be at least three years his junior, and yet if the man had attended the Raising in Payens, then he must be at least a year older than Hugh.
Within minutes, however, de Fermond had proved that he spoke the truth, for not only did he recall the occasion clearly, he knew who else had been there and what they had spoken about afterwards at the celebration, and he even recalled an amusing story Hugh’s grandfather had told about the night his son, Hugh’s father the Baron, had been raised to the same honor. Hugh listened with enjoyment, and when his guest was finished, he nodded.
“You obviously are who you say you are, so if you will, tell me what you have to tell me.”
De Fermond cleared his throat and looked about him. “Is there a spot nearby, perhaps, in which to walk and think, perhaps to talk, without being overheard?”
Hugh looked at him in surprise. “In a caravanserai? Of course there is, providing you wish to have your throat cut. There is no such ‘safe’ place in any hostelry that I know of in all Outremer, save for this one.” He grinned widely. “You are fortunate, because this hostelry is unique. Its owner is an honest man with eight big, strapping sons, which is why I stay here every time I travel from Jerusalem. There is a stream nearby, flowing from the oasis into the desert for a way before it sinks beneath the sand. We can walk there. But here comes Arlo. We will eat first, and then we will walk and talk.”
Once they had eaten, they made their way out of the caravanserai to find the stream, and now they were walking along a path, lined with tall grasses, that followed its banks. When de Fermond was confident of their privacy, he spoke directly, asking Hugh, “Have you heard about the death of Sir Godfrey St. Omer?”
“Godfrey St. Omer is dead?”
“Aye, my lord. He was taken and killed by pirates, five years ago, on his way here from France.”
“He will be most displeased to hear that, because he was in fine health ten days ago, when last I spoke with him.”
De Payens smiled at the other man’s open-mouthed stupefaction. “Godfrey was captured, my friend, taken at sea and sold into slavery, but he was not killed. I sent word of his survival home to France six months ago, but you must have passed it on your way. He spent four years as a galley slave and then was miraculously able to escape with his life almost a year ago, thanks be to God. He made his way to Jericho and sent word to me, and I brought him back to Jerusalem, where he is now returned to full health. He told me that he was carrying missives for me from the Council when he was taken. They were lost with the ship on which he sailed.”
De Fermond closed his gaping mouth and nodded soberly. “Thanks be to God indeed, that he survived. We had heard nothing from him since he left, and we had scarce expected to, but the Council was beginning to grow anxious over having heard nothing from you since then, after several years. And then came word that Sir Godfrey’s ship had been taken by corsairs, with the loss of all hands. Soon after that I was dispatched, one of four in all, to find you … Have you heard from any of the others?”
“No, you are the first to reach me, and I confess I am now very curious as to what this is all about.”
“It is very simple, my lord. I have been sent by the Seneschal and the Governing Council of the Order to remind you of your responsibilities to your brethren at home in France.”
“My responsibilities. I see … Now tell me, if you will, who is Seneschal of the Order nowadays, and what are these responsibilities of which you speak so blithely?”
De Fermond blinked slowly, unsure whether he was being twitted. “The Count is Seneschal today—Count Hugh. He was appointed on his return to France last year, soon after the death of Jean Toussaint, Seigneur of Amiens. Did you not know that?”
“No more than you knew of the safe return of Godfrey St. Omer. How
could I know it, man? Our Order is a closed society, Fermond, and secretive above all else. That means that word of such things travels slowly and seldom makes a noise. Count Hugh will be an excellent Seneschal. He has the temperament, and his governance will benefit everyone, including the Order itself. Speaking of which, tell me more about these responsibilities you spoke of. What are they and how do they affect me?”
The other man gaped again. “Your responsibilities,” he repeated, waving one hand indeterminately. “To the Order … its history and all its teachings.”
De Payens stopped walking and pretended to adjust the drape of his flowing robe as he made sure that no one was close by. “You are making noises, de Fermond, but not much sense. How can I be responsible for the Order and all its teachings?”
“Not responsible for, my lord … I meant responsible to … as we all are.” He cleared his throat and his tone became markedly more solemn as he delivered a memorized message. “For hundreds of years—and these are the Count’s own words to me, to be passed on to you—everything our Order has done has been aimed towards the fulfillment of the situation—the circumstances—that now exist in Outremer, in the Kingdom, and in the City, of Jerusalem. The Seneschal saw the evidence of this unfolding while he himself was here before, a Councillor but not yet Seneschal, but he had been sent at that time to observe and take notes, and had no authority to do anything on his own initiative. His orders were to return home to report all that he had seen and learned to his fellows on the Council. But he left you behind deliberately, in situ, even although he had not been permitted to tell you anything of what he had been about in his brief visit—for he was here but for a few months, is that not so?”