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give you
three men to take with you in case of mischief. You see how I lay my thoughts
upon your cares? These men are smart and their word is sure. Best of all they
are disinterested in loyalties since they are paid to render good service
– while the money lasts.’ There was a white smile in the darkness.
    ‘Who are they?’
    ‘ Gideon is one , the other is Aubert .
They are Normans – strange, dangerous men, their blood is tainted with
Viking.’
    ‘What! More than
your own Teuton blood, Duke of Romania?’
    There was a
laugh. ‘Yes, by God! Even more than mine! They are Christian by a
hair’s-breadth and this means they hold fast to their old customs, but apart
from that they are as solid as a wall and as steady – and the best part
is, they do not feel pain like the rest of us.’
    Etienne thought
of Jourdain’s previous words concerning pain and courage and realised that once
again the boy was filling his head with thoughts he did not need.
    ‘There is also a
Catalan,’ Roger de Flor continued, ‘my best man. He was with me at Adrianople
and fought valiantly in the
    fortress of Gallipoli to avenge me,
his dead master! His name is Delgado – he is a cunning creature who
laughs while he cuts your throat from ear to ear – a more agreeable assassin
you shall not encounter!’
    ‘Mercenaries . .
.’ Etienne said it as if the word was poison in his mouth.
    ‘I prefer to use
a different language, to me they are warriors without faith.’
    Etienne thought
this through. ‘And the Grand Master has agreed?’
    ‘He agrees that
you are short on loyal men and I have an abundance. Take it as a gift. You may
return them to me at Tomar.’
    This concern
increased the burden upon Etienne’s shoulders. Andrew was right: all things
were disordered and out of temper when Knights of the Temple had no other
recourse than to rely on the charity of a renegade and the protection of
mercenaries.
    ‘What are you
going to do?’ Roger asked him.
    ‘Do?’
    ‘Upon this
passage?’
    Such a question
seemed strange to Etienne, he felt as if he would smile at it; instead he took
a breath and the smell of rosemary and lavender mingled with the salt air in
his lungs. ‘I will see to the safety of the Grand Master,’ he told him.
    ‘And you aim to
march into France with him?’
    Etienne
hesitated, not wishing to disclose the delicate nature of the dangers facing
the Grand Master. ‘To attend to the business of the Order.’
    Roger’s voice
was full of scorn. ‘They lure you with some enticement – a pretext, my
friend, for other machinations, I assure you. I was there last year. I saw
Philip roast Jews like chestnuts on his island. That man lives to smell burning
flesh when it brings him profit.’
    Etienne fell
sceptical. ‘You seem to know much.’
    ‘A merchant must
know everything, or else he is not a merchant!’ There came understanding. ‘By
my beard! You believe old man Clement will keep you safe! Well, well, there
exists an abyss between us, Etienne, quite naturally, for you still have your
faith, while I do not!’ Then, having observed the silent disapproval, he added,
‘The Pope is a Frenchman and to Philip he owes the keys of Peter – this
is a singular convenience for a French king who has run out of money and bodies
to burn. There are rumours . . . of treachery.’
    Etienne changed
the subject. ‘This is fine talk coming from a deserter and a traitor.’
    ‘A deserter,
certainly, but I am no traitor. I gave back all the gold I made at Acre to the
Order. That is the truth of it. I admit that I wanted the Falcon, a finer ship
you will not find anywhere and, besides, my father was a falconer! She is on
her way to Syria to bring back silver and silk. But on that other matter,
Etienne . . . I know that you must do your duty to a Grand Master whose mind is
bent on his schemes and I’ll say no more on it except that you may rest easy, I
am paid well to make the gold of the Order my business.’
    The slaves