The Seal(10)

Marcus eyed the man with deep suspicion and Etienne observed it.

When he was gone the Grand Master turned to the marshal. ‘What do the spies know?’

The marshal made a fidget of the hand. ‘I have been returned from a meeting with brother Ibelin and brother Soisson only a day, the spies have not yet reported to me.’

Marcus huffed. ‘To whom do they report if not to you?’

The marshal straightened and drew into himself, becoming cautious, like a man who only now realises he is suspected of something. ‘To the Venetians or the Genoese or the bankers, what do I know? This place is a snake pit!’

‘There was a vessel in the bay yesterday.’ Etienne watched his expression. ‘It was flying an unknown flag, today it is gone. What of that?’

Ayme shrugged his shoulders. ‘How should I know?’

‘Because it is your charge to know!’ Marcus hissed.

The Grand Master waved them to silence and there was a long moment between them. ‘Do you see why we are deserted upon this island? We have failed and continue to fail. We are at once too light and too heavy. We have lived too long between the Devil abroad and the Devil at home without a deed, between hell and the Holy Land. See how we squabble amongst ourselves? More and more is it clear to me that we have not accomplished the original intentions of our founder! Where is our passion, brothers? Our passion to make the world more just, to fire the will of ordinary people and to inspire love for their duty to Christ? We have become road builders, landlords and bankers! That is why, in spite of the dream, I must go to France. But before I do,’ he looked at them, ‘I shall see to it that the gold, charters and titles are safe. Without them there shall be no revenge of Acre and no recovery of our Lord’s Sepulchre.’

‘It is clear then, my lord,’ Etienne was thinking as he spoke, ‘that we must move the gold from this place.’

‘That is what I thought,’ Jacques answered. ‘Marcus, there has been no Commander of Jerusalem since Acre, and you as Grand Commander of the Order have held charge of the strong room and storage vaults where lie the gold, the archives and the titles to our holdings over the sea and on the continent and so, I ask you . . . are you of the mind to take the gold from this place?’

The man, surprised, thought a moment. ‘If it can be done . . . It will take time, we need a galley, not one of our own, but a Venetian and provisions . . .’

‘It will cost a deal . . . maybe more than a fortune,’ interjected Ayme.

Jacques nodded. ‘And your advice, Marshal?’

Ayme d’Oselier grunted. ‘I do not concur. To my mind it is more dangerous to move it.’

‘What then?’ Jacques said.

‘We hide it at Limassol,’ he said.

‘Why have we come to this modest house of Famagusta, Ayme,’ Etienne gave back, ‘if not to outwit the spies at Limassol?’

Marcus said something under his breath not meant for other ears.

‘They shall find it at Limassol.’ Jacques added in paternal irritation, ‘That is where they shall look for it and it must be safe until I am certain! You know I shall not wish to remove the gold without your agreement, so it is . . . we must decide.’

Ayme shifted with discomfort from one heavy foot to the other, carrying the burden of eyes upon him.

To Etienne a separation was occurring between the three of them standing before their master – not a physical line drawn, that made each man acknowledge its meaning, but a thing of subtle quality. Ayme, it seemed, was singling himself from the rest as if his fate were a different one and must be played out in a different way.

‘May we find agreement?’ Jacques waited with raised brows.

Ayme looked askance at Etienne and Marcus, searching for sanctuary, and found none. ‘If in your wisdom you believe it must be done, then you shall have my agreement.’

‘Good,’ Jacques said. ‘I have anticipated it. And I have anticipated your thoughts, Marcus. The galley you saw in the harbour, Etienne, will fly a Venetian flag. Roger de Flor will captain the vessel. They will await my orders at Tomar. It shall leave in a day at dawn with the gold as ballast.’

‘Roger de Flor?’ Marcus said, disconcerted. ‘I know who he is! He took the Falcon from the quays at Acre and never returned . . . I thought him dead.’

‘Well, he is alive and an ally . . . for a price,’ Jacques replied.

‘He is a mercenary!’ Ayme d’Oselier put in, turning his head and giving an eye to Marcus, as if to say, I agree, do you see how I agree? But it made little impression on Marcus since now they were men standing upon different ground.