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Authors: Sigmund Brouwer
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ground.
“During attack, always keep the sun at your back,” the man instructed. “It gives you much light and blinds your opponents.”
The man grinned and kicked aside one of the fallen bandits to step forward and extend his right hand to Thomas in a weaponless clasp of friendship.
The voice and face belonged to the captured ex-Crusader that Thomas had last seen struggling in the bonds of slavery alongside a caravan of camels.
“I hope you will consider this a debt paid,” Lord Baldwin said. “The water you once offered a poor slave in return for your life now.”
Sixteen
K atherine wished that she had been born deaf. For then she could not have heard the words that now pierced her heart.
“Thomas has failed our test.” The muscles around Sir William’s jaw tightened as he spoke through clenched teeth. “We must conclude he is not an Immortal.”
The test. So long ago, it now seemed, she and Thomas had reached St. Jean d’Acre. And while he was in the public baths, cleaning away the stench of weeks in the brig of the ship, the beggar, a spy for Sir William, had taken her to the house she remembered from her youth. There, to her surprise and delight, Sir William had greeted her, and they had hurriedly devised a way to test whether Thomas was truly one of them. Two others of the cause—posing as assassins—would pretend an attempt on their lives as soon as she rejoined Thomas. This was very believable; for chances were that real assassins would have been sent for them by those on the other side.
Then, unfolding as they had planned, they would escape into the tunnel while Thomas believed assassins lurked nearby. In this manner, Sir William and Katherine could hurry Thomas into accepting the need for separate travel. In this way, they could give him something of pretended tremendous value. If he appeared in Nazareth, with the parcel still sealed, he could be trusted. If he did not appear …
“Can we not wait one more day?” Katherine asked. “Perhaps Thomas has been delayed.”
And, she added to herself, to wait means hope—any hope at all—that Thomas can be trusted and believed.
Sir William resumed his pacing of the inn courtyard and did not reply immediately, as if he were indeed considering her request. The sun had long since passed the highest point of the day. As the air cooled, so had Nazareth quieted and settled. The calls and babble of the town market beyond the inn was now the silence of an early evening breeze that rustled the leaves of the courtyard’s fig trees.
“No,” Sir William finally said. “We have waited two weeks. Each day I, too, have told myself he has been delayed. But that is only wishful thinking. We must force ourselves to accept the bitter truth. Thomas has deceived and betrayed us.”
Katherine heard a tiny voice speak. “Perhaps … perhaps he is dead.” She was startled to realize the tiny voice was hers.
How she was torn! For if Thomas were dead, there was the consolation that he had not betrayed them and she could always love his memory. If he were alive, she would have to learn to hate him, even though she would always harbor the slightest hope that somehow he might be part of their cause, and that her love for him could, against all odds, be realized.
“He is not dead,” Sir William said. “No matter how much I might wish to use that for an explanation. You remember the package and how we prepared ourselves for that terrible event, do you not?”
“Yes.” Katherine sighed. A great reward had been promised to the finder of the parchment inside the package entrusted to Thomas. If Thomas were killed by accident or murder, and the package opened—for what passerby or murderer would not be curious of a sealed package?—there would be found the message directing the finder to appear in Nazareth with the book to receive a great reward. Yes, should Thomas have been killed or found dead along a road, someone would have appeared, or at the very least,
“During attack, always keep the sun at your back,” the man instructed. “It gives you much light and blinds your opponents.”
The man grinned and kicked aside one of the fallen bandits to step forward and extend his right hand to Thomas in a weaponless clasp of friendship.
The voice and face belonged to the captured ex-Crusader that Thomas had last seen struggling in the bonds of slavery alongside a caravan of camels.
“I hope you will consider this a debt paid,” Lord Baldwin said. “The water you once offered a poor slave in return for your life now.”
Sixteen
K atherine wished that she had been born deaf. For then she could not have heard the words that now pierced her heart.
“Thomas has failed our test.” The muscles around Sir William’s jaw tightened as he spoke through clenched teeth. “We must conclude he is not an Immortal.”
The test. So long ago, it now seemed, she and Thomas had reached St. Jean d’Acre. And while he was in the public baths, cleaning away the stench of weeks in the brig of the ship, the beggar, a spy for Sir William, had taken her to the house she remembered from her youth. There, to her surprise and delight, Sir William had greeted her, and they had hurriedly devised a way to test whether Thomas was truly one of them. Two others of the cause—posing as assassins—would pretend an attempt on their lives as soon as she rejoined Thomas. This was very believable; for chances were that real assassins would have been sent for them by those on the other side.
Then, unfolding as they had planned, they would escape into the tunnel while Thomas believed assassins lurked nearby. In this manner, Sir William and Katherine could hurry Thomas into accepting the need for separate travel. In this way, they could give him something of pretended tremendous value. If he appeared in Nazareth, with the parcel still sealed, he could be trusted. If he did not appear …
“Can we not wait one more day?” Katherine asked. “Perhaps Thomas has been delayed.”
And, she added to herself, to wait means hope—any hope at all—that Thomas can be trusted and believed.
Sir William resumed his pacing of the inn courtyard and did not reply immediately, as if he were indeed considering her request. The sun had long since passed the highest point of the day. As the air cooled, so had Nazareth quieted and settled. The calls and babble of the town market beyond the inn was now the silence of an early evening breeze that rustled the leaves of the courtyard’s fig trees.
“No,” Sir William finally said. “We have waited two weeks. Each day I, too, have told myself he has been delayed. But that is only wishful thinking. We must force ourselves to accept the bitter truth. Thomas has deceived and betrayed us.”
Katherine heard a tiny voice speak. “Perhaps … perhaps he is dead.” She was startled to realize the tiny voice was hers.
How she was torn! For if Thomas were dead, there was the consolation that he had not betrayed them and she could always love his memory. If he were alive, she would have to learn to hate him, even though she would always harbor the slightest hope that somehow he might be part of their cause, and that her love for him could, against all odds, be realized.
“He is not dead,” Sir William said. “No matter how much I might wish to use that for an explanation. You remember the package and how we prepared ourselves for that terrible event, do you not?”
“Yes.” Katherine sighed. A great reward had been promised to the finder of the parchment inside the package entrusted to Thomas. If Thomas were killed by accident or murder, and the package opened—for what passerby or murderer would not be curious of a sealed package?—there would be found the message directing the finder to appear in Nazareth with the book to receive a great reward. Yes, should Thomas have been killed or found dead along a road, someone would have appeared, or at the very least,
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