‘Look there, something comes,’ Andrew pointed, ‘oars in the water.’
Marcus stood. ‘He does not signal.’
‘No,’ Etienne followed him.
‘Well, what then?’ Andrew pulled up his old bones to see.
‘What then?’ Etienne let the question escape from his lips. ‘We wait, ready for anything.’
At the same moment there was another sound, this came from the landed edges of the beach.
Without a word they unsheathed their blades. It came towards them, faster now. Two feet . . .
‘Hist!’ the voice said in a whisper some way off. ‘Seneschal!’
‘Iterius! How come you here?’ Marcus’s harsh voice made a sting in the night.
The steps halted, hesitant in the narrow light.
‘I am sent to the seneschal,’ Iterius said, breathless, ‘as escort.’
Etienne stared hard and firm at the space where the man stood but the thin moon showed up nothing of that face. ‘Who sends you?’
‘The captain of the guard and before him the marshal. He had orders from the Grand Master.’
‘The Grand Master, you say?’ Marcus moved towards the shape.
There was a moment of hesitation. ‘Yes, lord.’
‘I have not heard of such orders,’ Etienne said to him.
‘It was thought that you might be light on men for your return.’
‘Go to the track from which you came and keep watch. Turn no eye in our direction – we shall not need you on the beach.’ Etienne turned from him and further argument, but the man was insistent.
‘I can help when the boat arrives . . .’
But Marcus was upon the man then. ‘The seneschal has said nothing about a boat, Egyptian! Now . . . go!’
The dark shadow of the sergeant nodded, and turned towards the hill and the road.
Marcus took Etienne aside, before giving a rough whisper into his ear: ‘Listen Etienne, such a man as Ayme together with that Egyptian . . . there is something in that sergeant’s eye . . . I sense some form of devilry afoot. I would watch my back on your return to Famagusta!’
Etienne was in agreement. ‘I am glad Jacques de Molay is moved to safety since the same had struck me.’
The other man let out a breath of air rendered inaudible by the cry of a gull. He sucked another in and said all in a rush, ‘Then again, perhaps Ayme is right to make friends upon the island, Etienne . . . what do you think of it? Perhaps Ayme believes the Grand Master is losing a wit? Since his appointment and even before that at Acre the old man has been staring into distant places, places that I do not see with these eyes!’ He made a spasm of movements. ‘More and more he makes himself mysterious, and it is no wonder the men begin to think him unravelling. I confess I do not know where he is taking us! Deceiving the world and ourselves and at the same time reveal¬ing our plans to Ayme d’Oselier, a man he suspects to be a traitor!’ Marcus persuaded Etienne forward. ‘And now this business with Roger de Flor, whom I do not trust. After all, this is the Order’s entire treasure I am taking with me, Etienne. You know as well as I, it is all that is left in the east since Ruad. At the loss of it, what would be left of the glory of the Temple? What would be left to us?’
‘I do not know,’ Etienne said, plain and short.
Marcus nodded his head, vindicated, and pressed on. ‘You see? Not you. Not you, nor I, and that is why such a duty is likely to send me to the edge of madness! Therefore I do not trust even myself!’ He was circling Etienne. ‘I do not trust my own thoughts! That is what it has come to!’
Etienne stared into the dark disc of that face and a concern rose to his throat.
This man will put the entire business of the voyage and the task of hiding the gold at risk.
In the end, however, he was the Grand Master’s choice, and a man such as Jacques de Molay could readily see into a man’s soul and so Etienne made his voice sound serene and confident. ‘I would have no argument with you, if you were wretched and feeble, Marcus, madness is their luxury, but it is not ours, not yours and not mine.’
There was a long pause. Gulls made more cries out in the water. Marcus gave a short stiff laugh. ‘Yes, there is no provision in the rule for madness and none for luxury!’
‘Things go to pieces.’ Etienne was looking at the dark around them. ‘I wish it were different.’
‘You wish it were different? Well, so do I, so do I.’ There was a sigh and his voice sounded lighter. ‘No, perhaps I shall not go mad . . . You see? There . . . how the Bear shines this night in that black sky! Perhaps it is a good omen?’
There was a sharp whisper. ‘They are here!’ It was Andrew.