The Long Sword(187)

            One day she sent ‘Be careful – you have more to lose than I.’

            That seemed odd.

            But her notes seemed to promise everything, and I became less inclined to secrecy and more to romance.

            Fiore hit me in the head a great many times that week.

            We chose the Monday night as the most private, the most secret. By Friday, I had fine castile soap and a little Hungary water and my clothes were cleaned and brushed. Repeatedly. Marc-Antonio was beginning to show his irritation with my new level of personal beauty.

            On Saturday evening, we had two tables of piquet at the inn. The knights did not forbid gambling: with wine, it was an ‘allowed’ vice. I was playing with Fra William when the legate came in. We all rose.

            He glanced at the cards with unhidden disapproval. ‘We are so close to Jerusalem that a man might reach out and touch her,’ he said. ‘The centurions diced at the foot of the cross, I suppose.’ He looked at me. ‘I need you.’

            I bowed. ‘My lord.’

            He took me to one of the snugs, where Marcus, his archdeacon and sometimes his secretary, served us wine.

            ‘Sabraham will sail tomorrow,’ he said.

            That didn’t surprise me. Many of the ships had water aboard and all had their full compliments of sailors and oarsmen. We, that is, Nerio and Juan and I, thought that the expedition might load on Friday and sail on Saturday week.

            ‘He desires you to support him,’ the legate said.

            I had no choice but to agree. I owed Sabraham my life, and I owed it to the legate as well.

            ‘You hesitate,’ he said.

            I shrugged.

            ‘You may tell me anything!’ he said.

            May I tell you that I have an amorous meeting in a church with the woman I love, where I hope to woo and win her, to make love among the pillars of the nave? May I tell you that, Father?

            ‘I’ll be ready,’ I said.

            ‘You go to scout beaches for the crusade,’ he said.

            I confess, I was proud to have been chosen by Sabraham.

            Proud … and devastated.



            I sent Marc-Antonio with one last note.



            My dear,

            I sail in the morning. Only the orders of God’s Vicar could keep me from you. Pray for me, and know that you have all my love.

            Your knight



            He came back an hour later. ‘No note,’ he said. He sounded puzzled and angry and handed me a packet.

            It was no packet. It was a piece of blue silk, and on it was picked out a passage of the Gospels, in pearls. It took me a long time, too long, to realise that it was a favour, meant to replace the old one.

            A slow, strong smile filled my face – and my heart.

            On Sunday morning, just about the time we were leaving Mass, the Cypriote fleet entered the harbour – almost eighty sail. The king’s brother was there, and all the rest of his nobles and officers who had not seen him in two years. I understood from what I heard in Venice and on Rhodes that the king feared that if he went home to Cyprus, he would never leave. As it proved, I think he knew his people well. I never saw him on Rhodes – later I learned why – but the coming of the Cypriotes doubled our army and our fleet, and made the whole empris seem possible. With eight thousand men-at-arms and almost two hundred ships we might actually take Jerusalem. Surely it was the largest Christian host in a hundred years.