‘From me?’
‘Ahh!’ Marcus looked at his men and each made a small laugh. ‘You continue a paragon, Etienne! But you forget that I know you! You would never desert Jacques de Molay if not by his command . . . Come, Jacques gave you something of great value to place in a hiding spot, something he could not have taken into the King’s jail. The sovereign seal of the Order! It is my guess that he left it with his faithful seneschal.’ A smile broadened on his face and once again it was a puppet at the behest of some playful devil. ‘No doubt he wished to prevent a new Order from arising out of the old since without the seal this is impossible. That is one thing. As for the other, I am thinking that there may be a more potent lure . . . some mystical worth?’
Etienne blinked.
‘Come now! I am certain you remember that scoundrel sergeant, the Egyptian? He is the King’s astrologer now. Is that not something? He has seen it in the stars!’ Marcus began to laugh so heartily he had to hold on to a comrade for support. ‘In the stars! Oh my Etienne! Think of it! The stars disclosing secrets to that useless misshapen creature!’ Then the laughter died down and he grew serious. ‘And yet, he has become useful to someone while we are useless . . . except that you are carrying something that is wanted, a useful treasure that I am of the mind to take for myself.’
Etienne held his gaze. He knew he should have killed the Egyptian at Ayios Memnon. Outside the day moved upwards over the windowsill, and broke into the building.
‘The Egyptian is a counterfeit . . .’ Etienne said.
Marcus smiled and chuckled and then it was gone again and in his throat came a growl low in his chest. ‘I am mad but I am not a fool!’ he shouted. ‘It sits there upon your finger as proud as a maid in May!’
‘This is my seal, Marcus, the second seal not the first.’
‘Well, all you have to do is to hand it to me and we shall see, then perhaps I shall be of the mind to let you live . . . Yes indeed,
perhaps I shall let you live because I half remember you and our life together. Then again, perhaps I wish to forget that life by killing you. Name your will.’ He made a mock bow, sweeping the sword behind him.
‘My will is not my own,’ Etienne answered.
‘Ahh!’ Marcus cried jubilantly. He straightened and raised the blade over his head as if it were a festival and he an object of observation. ‘I was hoping you would say that, since I have always wondered how I should fare in a battle with you . . . Also my poor men are hoping for blood since the Jews were hardly enough to quench their war lust!’ He said this and he smiled a little, while his tongue came to his teeth in anticipation, as he viewed the reaction of his foe, of further smiles.
Etienne was gripped by a desire to listen and inclined his head therefore in the other man’s direction and gave an ear to him – perhaps he had not heard correctly?
Marcus nodded, having read his mind.
Etienne raised his sword. To kill was one thing – Etienne had killed scores and scores and in a moment he would seek to kill again – but to kill with such a love for it sheltering in the heart? To kill with zeal what was unarmed and innocent was to kill spring and doom the world to a winter of the soul! All this passed over his mind in an instant.
His breath came fast. ‘The woman is dead, then?’
There was a nod.
‘And . . . the child . . .?’
‘My wolf has not had meat for three days.’
There was heard in Etienne’s ear what he had waited to hear. What came then was the sound of many waters; it set him off balance and after that there was only a blank space into which he found himself desirous to fall from the pain that moved like a river of hot ice over his chest. He took in a breath and gazed out of eyes over which a mist was descending. He would rip out the man’s throat . . . just one more word . . .
‘It was quick,’ Marcus obliged him, ‘across the throat . . . only the woman took longer . . . Strange creature, did not call for help . . . perhaps she was sparing you . . . ahh!’ There was a sudden realisation. ‘How difficult it is to find a noble woman! Unfortunately my men were not interested in her nobility, she was, rather, a vessel for their cravings . . . these animals of mine . . . and she was a difficult work!’ He shrugged as if the thought of it made a chill over him. ‘For my part I don’t take to Jew flesh . . .’
The air quickened, the animals moved in their cribs and Etienne added this new madness to all the rest, and let the wave of hate take him. He allowed himself to linger there on the lip of it and felt it surge through him, feeling the enormity of its power galloping out from his limbs towards the figure of Marcus. He did not see the smile upon the other man’s face, nor did he hear the cries of his men. He only heard his own shout, ‘Beauseant! ’