who had never doubted his own power. Andre blinked, tempted for the briefest of moments to stand firm and be as defiant as he felt, but then he remembered that he did not know what kind of trouble he was in and realized that defiance might not be in his own best interests. The man ahead of him was pulling away rapidly and had not even glanced around to see if he was following, and so Andre grunted and set out after him. He stepped out briskly, surprised to find himself enjoying the simple movement.
Twenty paces farther along, another passage crossed the one they were using, and just beyond that junction their passageway ended in a pair of doors that filled it entirely, height and width. The knight threw open one of the doors and stepped sideways, holding it for St. Clair, who hesitated at the unexpected courtesy, glanced at the man, then walked right through and came to an abrupt halt. A second set of heavy doors now barred his way, exactly like the first and separated from them by the distance of three paces.
“Sound barrier,” the man said, and stepped past Andre to swing open the second set of doors. Andre blinked and walked past him again, then halted just inside the doors, looking about him. The only need for a sound barrier that he could imagine was to shelter the ears of the sensitive innocent from the screams of the tortured guilty, and the thought instantly banished the stoic calm he had achieved with his
The large chamber they had entered appeared to be windowless, and yet light was spilling into it from somewhere. He tilted his head back and looked up, but still he could see no windows. High walls on both sides of him were paneled with wood and draped with richly woven tapestries. Ahead of him, on each side of a stone wall containing a massive fireplace, stood more ceilinghigh doors, and he realized that daylight was streaming through from behind them, too.
An enormous iron basket in the hearth contained a roaring log fire that threw heat out to where St. Clair was standing, just inside the door, and three vast stuffed couches fronted the fire in an open box formation, with the pelt of a great beast that St. Clair knew, from paintings he had seen, to be a tiger spread on the floor between them and the fire. Throughout the room oversized iron sconces, some of them with several arms apiece, held what appeared to be hundreds of fine, clear-burning candles. On his left, against one wall, a long, heavy table held an array of cups and tall, decorative ewers, together with what appeared to be an abundant supply of foodstuffs covered with cloth. The very sight made his mouth water, and he reflected, bitterly, that this bounty was unlikely to benefit him in any way. He was the prisoner here, mired in ignorance of what he had done, but under no illusions about the seriousness with which his transgression was being viewed.
St. Clair distinctly heard the doors close quietly at his back and turned to see the unknown knight in the act of unhooking a ring of keys from the belt at his waist. Without a word, the fellow stepped forward, gently turned St. Clair around, and unlocked the manacles that bound him, removing them and tossing them carelessly against the wall by the fire, where they clattered to the floor. Unbound, St. Clair tensed and prepared himself for whatever might come next. If the chance came to defend himself, he would not hesitate.
“Subterfuge, Sir Andre, subterfuge … Elaborate by necessity. This will all be explained to you, once the others arrive. In the meantime, I’ll wager you might enjoy a cup of wine.”
Without waiting for a response, and clearly not expecting one, he stepped to the table and picked up two heavy, long-necked ewers, turning back to cock one eyebrow at St. Clair, who had been eyeing the scuffed and battered condition of the sheathed broadsword that hung from the belt at the Templar’s waist. He hoisted one of the containers slightly higher than the other.
“We have a choice, thanks to the Bishop of Aix. One of these contains the deep blood-red nectar of Burgundy, the other, pure amber magic from the Rhine. Which would you prefer? I’m Belfleur, by the way. Plain Jean Belfleur, of Carcassonne. Red or gold?”
“
“What others?”
“Patience, my friend, contain your curiosity, I pray you.” He waved towards the three couches fronting the fire. “Come, have a seat. I will not ask you about your journey here, for it could not have been pleasant, but I will tell you that when our business here is concluded, you will have access to a hot bath, to wash away the stink of your imprisonment, both literally and symbolically, and to fresh clothing, fitting for your rank. Your own weapons and armor will be returned to you.”
St. Clair could do no more than nod reluctantly, acknowledging his recognition of the other’s goodwill and feeling oddly abashed at his own feelings of resentment. But he moved obediently to one of the couches and sat down slowly, relaxing gradually and gently over the next quarter hour as the full-bodied red wine spread its own goodwill inside him. Neither man spoke again, but the silence between them held no trace of strain. Both were content, for different reasons, to await developments.
The effect of the wine, the heat of the fire, and the long night without sleep all combined to seduce Andre, who had no awareness of nodding off until he heard the doors swing open at his back and leapt to his feet, dropping the empty cup he still held as he swung around to face the imposing group of men who now strode into the chamber and spread out in a loose crescent, facing him. There were nine of them, of varying ages, some of them wearing armor and one, a Templar, standing half a head taller than any of the others. Red haired and ruddy faced, with bright, pale blue eyes, there was something about this man that reminded St. Clair instantly of Richard Plantagenet. This man was every inch a soldier and warrior, and he exuded the same kind of reckless self- confidence. He was the first to speak, tilting his head a little to one side as he looked directly into Andre’s eyes.
“Sir Andre St. Clair. Welcome to our House. I am Benedict of Roussillon, Count of Grenoble and Preceptor of the Temple Commandery of Aix.” He extended his hand, and Andre stepped forward to bend over it, but before he could begin to bow he felt the unmistakable pressure of Roussillon’s grip on his own hand pulling him up, and he returned it, his eyes widening in astonishment. The preceptor of the Temple of Aix was a Brother of the Order of Sion.
But the Count was already turning to indicate the others in his group, the first of them another Templar. “Here you have Henri Turcot, the Castellan of Grenoble and my staunchest ally, as well as deputy preceptor of the commandery there. Henri has just arrived, having ridden all night from Villeneuveles-Avignon. And with him came this young man, Henry, Count of Champagne, a brother of our ancient Order, but far removed from his home.”
The young Count smiled and inclined his head towards St. Clair, who responded by bowing deeply. Henry of Champagne was known to him by repute, nephew to both Philip Augustus of France and Richard of England through Eleanor of Aquitaine’s first marriage to King Philip’s father.
As Count Benedict went on to introduce the others in his company, some of whom were far advanced in age, St. Clair found himself becoming more and more awe-smitten as the awareness grew in him that the people he was meeting so casually here were the most powerful and influential men in the territories ruled by the two monarchs leading this third great expedition to the Holy Land, and that they were all members of the Governing Council of the Order of Sion. Their names were familiar to him because they were already legendary within the Order, honored and revered by all the brotherhood, but it was becoming more and more disturbingly evident to him that they had all assembled here in this place to meet with
Recognizing St. Clair’s confusion, one dignified member of this cadre, whose name was Germain of Toulouse and who appeared to be the eldest among them, called the others to order and reminded them that their guest had not yet been informed of what was taking place here, and within moments they had all removed their outer garments and made themselves comfortable wherever they could find a seat. When they were settled, Benedict of Roussillon stood up again and, speaking clearly and courteously, described the circumstances of this strange situation for St. Clair’s benefit.
St. Clair had been brought here, he explained, because the Council of the Order had assigned him a momentous task, a task for which he was uniquely suited, for a number of reasons, all of which would be explained to him in due course. Because of its importance, however, it was also a task that demanded utter secrecy, over and above the standards of secrecy already demanded by the brotherhood. No one, de Roussillon emphasized, other than the nine elders present here plus one more—the man to whom St. Clair would report during the performance of his task—could be permitted to have any inkling of what St. Clair would really be doing in Outremer after his arrival there. De Roussillon reiterated that, driving the point home not merely to St. Clair, it
