Count clutched it tight. My lord,“ the abbot said sternly, the box was empty. Nothing was found in Astarac. That is why I brought you here, to see for yourself. Nothing was found.” This was found!' the Count insisted. And it proves the Grail was here.
Does it?' the abbot asked sadly.
The Count pointed to the faded words on the box's side. What else does this mean?'
There is a Grail in Genoa,“ Planchard said, and the Benedictines at Lyons once claimed to own it. It is said, God let it not be true, that the real one is in the treasury of the Emperor at Constantinople. It was once reported to be in Rome, and again at Palermo, though that one, I think, was a Saracen cup captured from a Venetian vessel. Others say that the archangels came to earth and took it to heaven, though some insist it still lies in Jerusalem, protected by the flaming sword that once stood sentinel over Eden. It has been seen in Cordoba, my lord, in Nimes, in Verona and a score of other places. The Venetians claim it is preserved on an island that appears only to the pure of heart, while others say it was taken to Scotland. My lord, I could fill a book with stories of the Grail.”
It was here.“ The Count ignored everything Planchard had said. It was here,” he said again, and may still be here.“ I would like nothing more,” Planchard admitted, but where Parsifal and Gawain failed, can we hope to succeed?“ It is a message from God,” the Count averred, still clutching the empty box.
I think, my lord. Planchard said judiciously, that it is a message from the Vexille family. I think they made the box and painted it and they left it to mock us. They fled and let us think they had taken the Grail with them. I think that box is their revenge. I should burn it.'
The Count would not relinquish the box. The Grail was here. he maintained.
The abbot, knowing he had lost the box, closed the chest and locked it. We are a small house, my lord. he said, but we are not entirely severed from the greater Church. I receive letters from my brethren and I hear things.'
Such as?'
Cardinal Bessieres is searching for a great relic. the abbot said. And he is looking here!' the Count said triumphantly. He sent a monk to search my archives.
And if Bessieres is looking. Planchard warned, then you may be sure he will be ruthless in God's service.
The Count would not be warned. I have been given a duty. he asserted.
Planchard picked up the lantern. I can tell you nothing more, my lord, for I have heard nothing that tells me the Grail is at Astarac, but I do know one thing and I know it as surely as I know that my bones will soon rest with the brethren in this ossuary. The search for the Grail, my lord, drives men mad. It dazzles them, confuses them, and leaves them whimpering. It is a dangerous thing, my lord, and best left to the troubadours. Let them sing about it and make their poems about it, but for the love of God do not risk your soul by seeking it.'
But if Planchard's warning had been sung by a choir of angels the Count would not have heard it.
He had the box and it proved what he wanted to believe. The Grail existed and he had been sent to find it. So he would. Thomas never intended to escort Robbie all the way to Astarac. The valley where that poor village lay had already been plundered, and so he meant to stop in the next valley where a slew of plump settlements were strung along the road south from Masseube, and then, when his men were busy about their devil's business, he and a few men would ride with Robbie to the hills overlooking Astarac and, if there were no coredors or other enemies in sight, let the Scotsman ride on alone.
Thomas had again taken his whole force except for a dozen men who guarded Castillon d'Arbizon's castle. He left most of his raiders in a small village beside the River Gers and took a dozen archers and as many men-at-arms to escort Robbie the last few miles. Genevieve stayed with Sir Guillaume who had discovered a great mound in the village that he swore was the kind of place where the old people, the ones who had lived before Christianity lit the world, hid their gold and he had commandeered a dozen shovels and begun to dig. Thomas and Robbie left them to their search and climbed the eastern hills on a winding trail that led through groves of chestnuts where peasants cut staves to support the newly planted vines. They saw no coredors; indeed they had seen no enemies all morning, though Thomas wondered how long it would be before the bandits saw the great plume of smoke boiling up from the warning pyre in the village where Sir Guillaume dug into his dreams. Robbie was in a nervous mood that he tried to cover with careless conversation. You remember that stilt-walker in London?“ he asked. The one who juggled when he was up on his sticks? He was good. That was a rare place, that was. How much did it cost to stay in that tavern in London?”
Thomas could not remember. A few pennies, perhaps.“ I mean, they'll cheat you, won't they?” Robbie asked anxiously. Who will?'
Tavern-keepers.'
They'll drive a bargain,“ Thomas said, but they'd rather take a penny off you than get nothing. Besides, you can lodge in monasteries most nights.”
Aye, that's true. But you have to give them something, don't you?'
Just a coin. Thomas said. They had emerged onto the bare summit of the ridge and Thomas looked about for enemies and saw none. He was puzzled by Robbie's odd questions, then real ized that the Scotsman, who went into battle with apparent fearlessness, was nevertheless nervous at the prospect of travelling alone. It was one thing to journey at home, where folk spoke
your language, but quite another to set off for hundreds of miles through lands where a dozen strange tongues were used. The thing to do,“ Thomas said, is find some other folk going your way. There'll be plenty and they all want company.” Is that what you did? When you walked from Brittany to Normandy?'
Thomas grinned. I put on a Dominican's robe. No one wants a Dominican for company, but no one wants to rob one either. You'll be fine, Robbie. Any merchant will want you as company. A young man with a sharp sword? They'll be offering you the pick of their daughters to travel with them.
I've given my oath,“ Robbie said gloomily, then thought for a second. Is Bologna near Rome?”
I don't know.'
I've a mind to see Rome. Do you think the Pope will ever move back there?'
God knows.'
I'd like to see it, though,“ Robbie said wistfully, then grinned at Thomas. I'll say a prayer for you there.”
Say two,“ Thomas said, one for me and one for Genevieve.” Robbie fell silent. The moment for parting had almost come and he did not know what to say. They had curbed their horses, though Jake and Sam rode on until they could see down into the valley where the fires of Astarac's burned thatch still sifted a small smoke into the chill air.
We'll meet again, Robbie,' Thomas said, taking off his glove and putting out his right hand.
Aye, I know.'
And we'll always be friends,“ Thomas said, even if we're on different sides of a battle.”
Robbie grinned. Next time, Thomas, the Scots will win. Jesus, but we should have beaten you at Durham! We were that close!“ You know what archers say,” Thomas said. Close don't tally. Look after yourself, Robbie.'
I will.' They shook hands and just then Jake and Sam turned their horses and kicked back fast.
Men-at-arms!' Jake shouted.
Thomas urged his horse forward until he could see down the road that led to Astarac and there, not half a mile away, were horsemen. Mailed horsemen with swords and shields. Horsemen under a banner that hung limp so he could not see its device, and squires leading sumpter horses loaded with long clumsy lances. A whole band of horsemen coming straight towards him, or perhaps towards the great plume of smoke that rose from where his men savaged the village in the neighbouring valley. Thomas stared at them, just stared. The day had seemed so peaceful, so utterly empty of any threat, and now an enemy had come. For weeks they had been unmolested. Until now.
And Robbie's pilgrimage was forgotten, at least for the moment. For there was going to be a fight.
And they all rode back west.
Joscelyn, Lord of Beziers, believed his uncle was an old fool and, what was worse, a rich old fool. If the Count of Berat had shared his wealth it would have been different, but he was notoriously mean except when it came to patronizing the Church or buying relics like the handful of dirty straw he had purchased for a chest of gold from the Pope at Avignon. Joscelyn had taken one look at the Christ-child's bedding and decided it was dunged straw from the papal stables, but the Count was convinced it was the first bed of Jesus and now he had come to the miserable valley of Astarac where he was hunting for even more relics. Exactly what, Joscelyn did not know, for neither the Count nor Father Roubert would tell him, but Joscelyn was convinced it was a fool's errand. Yet, in recompense, he
