She picked up her hoe and moved away from the circle of men.
Gideon made a move to stop her.
‘Leave her!’ Etienne said and watched her go to her little house.
‘Old women have a taste for rumour, lord.’ Delgado was patting his sides to keep him warm.
She is a cunning woman to have saved a child from the flames and after that to have lived this long waiting. A ‘good woman’ as the pure ones called them. I recognise her from the scar over her eyes, Etienne told himself and dismounted, feeling his bones shift all the way to the base of his skull. ‘She is not one for rumours.’
Jacques de Molay dismounted and stretched at his back. ‘She wears her head as though it should bear a crown.’
‘She should like that,’ Etienne answered him, ‘a crown upon the head of a witch!’ And took himself to the sparseness of the hut of stone.
The woman was wrapping a large dry loaf, a block of cheese and a chunk of dried beef in a cloth. She made a knot at the top with bone-strong hands. ‘You will take this and yourselves to the old cave. You remember it? Where I took you after your mother was put to the pyre?’ Then she looked at him through the space that existed between them and for a moment there seemed to be tenderness in those black eyes. ‘How you stared at that pyre from the parapets of that castle! I thought you would cast your body upon the rocks below to follow her to her death. Then I dragged you through the old passageway kicking and biting . . . I still bear the scar for it.’
She lifted her sun-browned hand to show him and nodded to herself and gave him the food. ‘You are two things, Etienne de Congost, two minds, and two wills, I have always known it. To these be added a third thing,’ she said and the cold came back into her stare. ‘When the third comes it shall be the end of something, but it shall bring an answer to the question you carry in your heart. This day I read it in your cards . . . I knew you were coming and I knew you would go.’
Etienne stood with his mouth slightly open. Once again he was a child unable to explain his thoughts with words.
‘Go now and forget me.’
‘I shall not,’ he said.
‘Well I shall forget you, after many years of remembering.’ She turned around to her hearth.
Etienne had a sense there was no need for further words. In that small time the woman had come to know the rhythms of his soul and what kind of man he had become and now she would die, perhaps content to have seen him one last time, perhaps not. For his part he would go as she said he would . . . but he would not forget the scar over her eye and the bone-strong hands. He made a vow to himself then that he would pray each night to St Michael on her behalf.
Outside Jacques de Molay sat beneath a tree, his countenance pensive and wasted, from the poison, the journey or his concerns, Etienne did not know which. He observed this and realised once again that weighty business. The business of making decisions to secure the welfare of his Grand Master in a land now foreign to his experience and lurking with enemies.
Jacques de Molay looked up from his thoughts and, seeing Etienne’s face, nodded, stood and took himself to his horse. The other men followed and when they had mounted they waited for Etienne. But Etienne was giving one more look at the stone house, the cross entwined with roses and the road that led upward to the keep of his forebears.
After that he mounted his own horse and led the party to the old cave.
The sun had fallen behind the forest and the evening began to grow cold as they arrived. The cave was large enough, its entrance occluded by trees. Once he had settled the Grand Master with Jourdain, Etienne took the others outside. ‘Iterius, go and gather wood for a fire. Gideon and Delgado, bring the horses to the mouth, lest they be seen. The Grand Master will rest here until I return.’ He paused, searching his mind.
Iterius leant in. ‘The Grand Master takes long to recover . . . not from the poison . . . but his loss of heart.’
This seemed an affront to Etienne, and his pensive countenance was made alive with anger. ‘I do not like you, nor do I trust you, Egyptian! Perhaps you have saved his life . . . perhaps you have not. On that score I am not yet decided. But that you add a load to this journey which is ill supported is a sure thing, and I will not need much reason to lighten it!’
The other man became the very picture of meekness and a moment later was setting off with a limp to his task. Etienne watched him until he was out of sight.
Gideon and Delgado, having observed the traffic between them with interest, now felt the sting of that pale regard. ‘There is a Templar house nearby. I shall go and seek for allies,’ Etienne said. ‘I return before daybreak. One will watch there . . .’ he pointed to the escarpment above, ‘the other will keep watch over the Egyptian.’