swayed my better judgement. I warned him that any man would perish on this quest without a daughter of the blood as a guide.
A loud pounding on my door prevented me from confiding in him further, praise god.
It was Molier who yelled through the thick wooden door to warn me that Pierre de Saint-Martin had been slain and he ordered that I unbolt my door at once for my own safety.
What little favour Devere had gained was abruptly dispersed, and I accused him of murdering yet another of my guardians.
Devere simply pointed out that his sword was clean. Then, wrapping my long dark braid around one hand, Devere dragged me from my bed and tossed my warrior disguise at me. ‘No time for a judicial inquiry now, princess,’ he hissed.
His lack of respect for my station infuriated me—no knight of the high orders would treat a priestess of the blood in such a manner, whether he subscribed to the faith or not. This seemed to confirm Devere’s falsehood in my mind and I glanced to the solid timber door that was being rammed, hoping the guards would break through.
‘You are not the only daughter of the blood left on Earth,’ Devere commented, as he spotted the two chains around my neck disappearing under my long undershirt.
He was implying that my sister would serve his purpose just as well as I, and she would prove a far less troublesome hostage. My sister was needed at the chateau and I was hardly going to expose her to further danger; she did not have the constitution for such an adventure. Too many people had died to aid my quest for me to be parted from my burden so easily.
I dressed quickly, but before we descended the rope to the courtyard that would soon be swarming with guards, Devere stole one of the chains from around my neck. It was the chain of gold that hosted the Star—the Highward Fire-Stone.
‘Stay close or lose it,’ he warned.
It puzzled me then, as it does now, why Devere didn’t take both sacred vials? Why bother extending me such a show of faith? And yet, if Devere had indeed been a knight of the high orders of Sion, he may well know that the Fire vial I carry is of little use to me or anyone else who is not a male of my bloodline, for it is meant for their consumption alone. Only the contents of the Star vial heightened my awareness and the supernatural talents inherent in me. Those of my order only partook of the Highward Fire-Stone during sacred rites or holy feast days and even then, it was in the smallest of quantities so that its influence was of a temporary duration. Too much psychic talent had been known to drive women of my order insane with visions of the dark times ahead and the evil thoughts and intent of the non-Perfecti. In this instance, however, I feel the creator would have forgiven me for using the sacred substance to divine the truth about my abductor.
As it is, I am in a complete quandary with regard to his true loyalties, for he has made it quite clear that he does not subscribe to the beliefs of my faith. And when I asked him why the Grand Master of Sion had chosen him for this mission, Devere claimed he was the only knight of his order who had previously visited our final destination. This seemed a satisfactory reason and yet I sensed there was something he wasn’t telling me. I fear that only when we reach the Sinai will I be enlightened to his true character and intent.
In a few days we will reach Marseilles, and board a vessel bound for Outremer. Once our sea voyage has commenced it will prove nearly impossible for Molier’s rescue party to find us. I can only pray that he will hunt us down before then. For, despite his tolerance so far, I do not trust Devere. The way he observes me at times is most unnerving. I can almost hear the selfish voice of Rex Mundi at work upon his mind and heart. MARCH 28TH 1244
I found my abductor’s choice of transport for our sea voyage curious. Although the Templar Knights have many vessels that sail between their coastal strongholds on this side of the Mediterranean coast, Devere opted to purchase passage on an Armenian trade ship headed home to Cilicia, via Antioch. The ship and captain may have been Cilician, but the crew was a mix of Armenians, Christian Palestinians and Arabs—there were even a couple of Turks. Despite the cultural diversity of the crew they conversed mainly in Arabic, except for when they were socialising within their own ethnic group.
I suspected Devere’s choice of transport had something to do with the rift that had caused the formal separation between the Order of Sion and the knights of the Temple at Gisors in 1188. Since then the Templars’ parent order has slipped quietly into obscurity, whilst the Templars, free to pursue their own objectives, have dramatically increased their fame, wealth and power. It is my guess that the separation was all show, for the knights of the Temple are fast becoming more influential than any one king, emperor, or even the Church of Rome. I fear the papacy will not tolerate such undermining of their authority, and once they have finished with the persecution of my people, they will be looking for new wealth and knowledge to covet. One thing I do know for certain is that the two orders of knights no longer share the same Grand Master and have not done so since the time Bertrand de Blancheford held the high position.
Watching Devere converse with the captain and crew of our vessel, it is clear that he feels far more at ease with these men of the East than he did with the men-at-arms at Montsegur. It is also apparent that his colouring— dark hair, eyes and skin—is similar to these men. He certainly has no problem conversing in the foreign dialect. In fact, Arabic seems to roll off his tongue more readily than D’oc or English; for a Scot his accent had, from the start, seemed rather lacking in colour.
I, too, had dark colouring, for it is said that the blood of Judah still runs strong in the females of my line. One day, should I survive this quest, I shall be called upon to mate with a male of the blood and produce an heir to carry on the holy traditions and keep the sacred knowledge until such time as mankind is ready for an awakening. Three- quarters of a century ago, St Bernard had hoped that this time was nigh, but the past forty years of terror and torture have extinguished all hope in that regard.
Gone, too, is any hope of Molier’s rescue party finding me, now that we are at sea. I have spent every free waking hour praying that I shall still succeed in my quest before I am delivered from this loathsome existence—this is my only wish for this life. MARCH 30TH 1244
My earthly vessel has been so wretchedly ill these past few days that, even now, to write this account is a great effort. Yet I am compelled to attempt to purge myself of these undesirable feelings in the hope of soothing my agitated spirit. For I cannot honestly say whether it is the sea voyage, or my companions, that sickens me more.
I still wear the apparel of a knight and the crew of this ship has conveniently resolved to treat me as a man, despite knowing full well that I am not. Devere has made an arrangement with the captain for me to use his quarters to relieve and refresh myself. Nonetheless, this seems to be the only allowance made for me.
I am not as fluent in Arabic as my abductor, yet I do comprehend enough of the language to understand a lot of
