‘Do?’
‘Upon this passage?’
Such a question seemed strange to Etienne, he felt as if he would smile at it; instead he took a breath and the smell of rosemary and lavender mingled with the salt air in his lungs. ‘I will see to the safety of the Grand Master,’ he told him.
‘And you aim to march into France with him?’
Etienne hesitated, not wishing to disclose the delicate nature of the dangers facing the Grand Master. ‘To attend to the business of the Order.’
Roger’s voice was full of scorn. ‘They lure you with some enticement – a pretext, my friend, for other machinations, I assure you. I was there last year. I saw Philip roast Jews like chestnuts on his island. That man lives to smell burning flesh when it brings him profit.’
Etienne fell sceptical. ‘You seem to know much.’
‘A merchant must know everything, or else he is not a merchant!’ There came understanding. ‘By my beard! You believe old man Clement will keep you safe! Well, well, there exists an abyss between us, Etienne, quite naturally, for you still have your faith, while I do not!’ Then, having observed the silent disapproval, he added, ‘The Pope is a Frenchman and to Philip he owes the keys of Peter – this is a singular convenience for a French king who has run out of money and bodies to burn. There are rumours . . . of treachery.’
Etienne changed the subject. ‘This is fine talk coming from a deserter and a traitor.’
‘A deserter, certainly, but I am no traitor. I gave back all the gold I made at Acre to the Order. That is the truth of it. I admit that I wanted the Falcon, a finer ship you will not find anywhere and, besides, my father was a falconer! She is on her way to Syria to bring back silver and silk. But on that other matter, Etienne . . . I know that you must do your duty to a Grand Master whose mind is bent on his schemes and I’ll say no more on it except that you may rest easy, I am paid well to make the gold of the Order my business.’
The slaves moved backward and forward along the beach. The sound of their grunting and the jingle of their chains made a mark in the silence. A faint light smudged the horizon. Etienne could now see that Roger de Flor was dressed in a dark cloak in the eastern style, a shirt and doublets. As it became lighter his face came into view, horribly cut and disordered as if divided and reassembled in haste. Etienne did not look away, but stared through the mangled flesh to the eyes. He was anxious to be off and away from this man.
‘It is light.’ He began to walk to the shore.
‘When the Order passes, Etienne, will you know why you live and die?’
The wind freshened. ‘Do you know why you live and die?’ Etienne gave back.
‘To expand my trade! Why else?’ The man laughed. ‘I was on my way to Scotland in any case.’
‘Scotland?’ Etienne paused, his mind moving over the words.
‘When the worst comes we can sail to Foyle from Portugal and from there to my holdings on the west – but there is the channel to think of; this is King Edward’s sea all the way to Ireland and beyond it to Scotland, and it crawls with English galleys warring with Robert Bruce. It would be best to take a wide loop around the west coast of Ireland to avoid them. It may take longer but we can do it in good time with a fair breeze at our backs.’ He paused a moment, turning his head like an intelligent dog.
‘You did not know?’
Etienne walked on and let his teeth worry his lip to prevent him from losing his calm. He had been kept in a dark room that was now lit by a mercenary. It left him feeling bewildered and disquieted.
Roger came beside him. ‘You will adjust to it, things move fast in the world.’
He did not look at the man. ‘In your world, not mine.’
Roger de Flor gave out a whistle. ‘This is your world now! The world of ordinary men.’ He held him by the arm. ‘You shall see you are not worth less for living in it, though you will need to recast yourself anew!’
Etienne shrugged away his hand. ‘A light metal cannot hold the same value.’
The mercenary followed. ‘Well then, I admire you for it, Etienne. Leaning on the rule has shaped you in God’s image.’
Etienne did not turn around but spoke over his shoulders: ‘I am not the image of God’s because I lean on the rule, de Flor! I lean on it to stop me from falling over the rim of the world!’
‘Ahh!’ the mercenary said, waving it away with a hand full of rings that reflected the light they gathered. ‘Some of us must live on the rim of the world! But then we had best lean on gold, it is far more steady than a rule!’
They heard Marcus call out to them from the beach then, where a rose sun hung over the water throwing hints of day over the barge that was loaded up and ready to go.