‘By killing and robbing innocent men and women – that is spreading her love, is it?’
‘Their deaths meant nothing: she told me so herself; all those who fell in her cause would be received into Heaven by her intercession. Those souls who died – including your father, my old friend Henri – have been saved! They are with the Mother of God in Heaven.’
I felt sick. Was he mad, I wondered. And how can one tell with folk who believe themselves touched by God? Or, in his case, the Mother of God. I had taken part in the Great Pilgrimage with thousands of other ordinary folk, and we had crossed Europe to bring war and death to the Holy Land in the name of Christ. Was this any different? Was he truly inspired by the Blessed Virgin Mary? Was she the source of his strange power that had very nearly allowed him to walk calmly from under my sword only a few days ago?
‘Cut my bonds, Alan,’ said the Master. ‘Allow me to go free to serve the Queen of Heaven and her Son. Cut them now: nobody will know but you and I. And you will assure yourself of a place in Heaven by your actions.’
His bright blue eyes compelled me, and my will dissolved; I could feel it melting away like snow on a boot top propped by a hearth; then with a dreamy jolt, I found I was outside my own body, like a ghost, looking across at a young blond knight stretching his left hand forward to grasp the cruel ropes that bound this innocent man of God, this good and holy monk …
No, no, a thousand times, no. With a wrench, I broke our locked gaze, came to my senses and snatched my left hand away as if from a flame. I reminded myself that this slight monk had commanded savage gangs of lawless bandits to do his bidding; he had controlled scores of knights and sent them out to kill at his behest. I had felt the full force of his mind and had nearly been overcome. I had a glimpse of Robin’s mocking face, and I knew that he would find the feebleness of my will entirely risible. He alone, among a dozen Westbury men, had been impervious to the Master’s powers in the round room above the tower: was it his cynicism, his godlessness that had protected him?
I lifted the lance-dagger in my right hand, taking refuge in its implied threat. I was about to make one more appeal to the man before me when I heard movement behind and turned to see roughly dressed, well-armed men pushing Robin’s sentries out of their way and swaggering into the tent: it was Mercadier and half a dozen of his routiers.
‘We have orders from the King,’ said Mercadier. ‘That monk is to be fetched to the royal tent, immediately. Put that ridiculous blade away and stand aside … Sir Knight.’
I stood and sheathed the lance-dagger. ‘He is my prisoner,’ I said. ‘You cannot merely steal him from under my nose in broad daylight.’
‘The King needs him! We have information from another wretch that this monk has in his possession a magical bowl, a relic of some sort, that can cure a man no matter how severe his hurt. So I say once again, Sir Knight, for the last time: stand aside by order of the King!’
I looked down at the Master. His eyes were closed; I heard him whisper: ‘Thank you, Lady, for your mercy!’
I made a final effort: ‘He does not have the magical bowl you seek. I have been trying to persuade him to reveal its hiding place …’
‘We shall persuade him more effectively than you, I think,’ said Mercadier, with a cold smile.
I put my hand on my sword hilt. But Mercadier spoke again: ‘Think carefully, Sir Knight, before you lose your head! You once took a captive monk from me by force – do you remember? Do you think I would flinch from doing the same to you in order for a chance to save the King’s life?’
On either side of Mercadier, two crossbowmen were aiming their weapons at my chest. I took a breath, shrugged and released my hilt. ‘Guard him closely,’ I said, moving out of the way of Mercadier’s men, who went forward swiftly to seize the Master. ‘I shall certainly want him back from you when you are done with him.’
I expected Robin to be angry with me for allowing the mercenary to steal our prisoner but he merely smiled and said: ‘Persuasion is an ugly business, and that scarred brute is more practised at it than I am; better that he should do it.’
But it galled me to have had to surrender the Master to my enemy, and I said as much. ‘There was nothing you could have done,’ said Robin. ‘Mercadier had a warrant from the King to seize him; he would have killed you had you resisted him. Besides, all is not lost. When Mercadier is finished, we will reclaim him; and perhaps the Grail, too.’
The King died the next day. Quietly, holding his mother’s hand, having made his last confession, the Lionheart took his leave of this earthly life. The first I heard of it was a deep hollow baying, like a pack of hounds at feeding time, the cries of many hundreds of grief-stricken men, and word spread throughout the camp in a ripple of sorrow growing louder and louder. Knights wailed and tore their hair; I saw grizzled men-at-arms who would cheerfully murder a child or loot a church weeping like girls. And quietly, almost imperceptibly, that very same day the royal army began to melt away.