Brother Michel stepped forward and placed his hands on the shoulders of Sir Eustace – and I could not help but stare in horrified fascination at the twin thumbs on his left hand. Brother Michel was oblivious to me; he was murmuring quietly to Eustace and eventually he turned him and led him away from my chair to a dim corner of the chapel where he began speaking to him urgently and yet rhythmically, the half-heard drone of his voice oddly soothing. I pulled my attention back to Reuben, standing before me, smiling sadly – his kindly brown face a little more worn, his dark hair now streaked with threads of grey – he looked far older than the last time I had seen him in the Holy Land. But I took comfort from his presence and from his first words:
‘I imagine that you must have many questions, Alan, my friend, but for the moment, keep your silence, I beg you, and know that I am here as Robin’s representative, and that I speak for him. I am so very sorry that I could not save Hanno – but I swear that, if it is in my power, I will not allow any harm to come to you. Hold your tongue and husband your courage, and we will see what can be salvaged from this situation.’
‘Cut me free, Reuben, and give me a weapon,’ I said, glancing at Hanno’s corpse, still slumped gorily against the restraining ropes, and my own voice sounded thick and clogged. I had it in my mind that I would kill Sir Eustace without delay – and Brother Michel too, if I could manage it – before the assembled Knights of Our Lady, now standing quietly and watching us from the shadows of the chapel, cut me down.
‘Alas, Alan, I cannot do that yet,’ said Reuben. ‘I have told Brother Michel, in the most forceful terms, that killing you would certainly bring the wrath of the Earl of Locksley, and all his considerable might, down on his Order, ensuring its destruction, and possibly Robin’s too – and he has agreed to discuss the matter with me. But I cannot cut you free, not yet. Be patient.’
‘What are you doing here?’ I was still quite astonished to see him in front of me.
‘I am Bishop de Sully’s esteemed new doctor – I have been for three days now. But I fear that the poor man is slowly dying. The Crab is in his stomach, and he may last another year, maybe two at best. There is nothing I can do but make him as comfortable as I can.’
‘I don’t care about de Sully. I mean, what are you doing here in Paris?’
‘Robin summoned me from Montpellier and sent me here to watch over you – but no more questions now, Alan. Stay silent and allow me to see whether I can extricate us from this predicament.’
Over his shoulder I could see Brother Michel striding towards us, his handsome face serene. I was suddenly struck by something that had been in the back of my mind since I had first met him: he resembled Robin. But the resemblance was not one of flesh and bones, or in the angle of eye or mouth, but rather he had that air about him of invisible power and utter, iron-cast confidence, the conviction that whatever task he was about, however wrong it might appear to lesser men, it was the right thing to do because he was doing it. I had the bizarre sensation that if he ordered something, anything, I would obey him.
‘I fear you have upset poor Sir Eustace,’ he said.
I opened my mouth to reply, but caught Reuben’s eye and shut it with a snap.
‘I think perhaps it would be best,’ said Reuben, ‘if we all considered our positions in a calm and reasonable manner. First of all, let us have poor Hanno taken away for burial, and let us release Alan from his bonds, and then perhaps we could discuss this over a glass of wine.’
‘He stays there,’ Brother Michel said quietly. ‘Sir Alan is a formidable man, even unarmed – I am told he dispatched my Guillaume, an iron-hard fellow and skilled with a knife, in a matter of moments. Sir Alan, I’m afraid, must remain bound till we have determined his fate.’
‘But my dear Brother Michel …’ Reuben began in a soothing tone.
‘You may call me Master – Jew. I am the Master of the Order of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Our Lady and the Temple of Solomon,’ the monk’s voice was icy, and he drew himself up to his full height and made a bold gesture with his right hand behind him to the exquisite stained-glass window. ‘I serve the Queen of Heaven, the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of Our Lord Jesus Christ. And, knowing this, Jew, you will accord me the appropriate honour to my station and address me as Master!’
‘Very well, “Master” it shall be,’ said Reuben, with a wide agreeable smile. ‘Now, Master, could we perhaps—’
‘You fought in Spain,’ I said, looking directly at Brother Michel. It was somehow hard to look at him, as if he were a bright and shining light that burnt my eyes. Of course, it came from the low sun shining through the magnificent window behind him, but still its glare was painful and I closed my eyes and continued: ‘And you scrambled to the top of the dung pile, to the title of Master, over the bodies of your comrades. Even when they disbanded the Order, you kept it alive, in secret; a handful of knights at first, and then more, younger ones, men who wished to serve God with their swords but would never have been accepted as true Templars.’