She slid back into the water and reached out and grabbed him, hanging onto him while struggling to keep her other hand gripped on one of the inflatable's handles. Through the thrashing water, she saw that his eyelids were shut, his head bouncing listlessly against the neck support of the life jacket.
Blood streaked from a big gash across his forehead, disappearing and reappearing as each surge of water washed over the wound.
She tried to push him into the lifeboat but quickly realized that it was an impossible task. Worse, it was sapping the little energy she had left. The lifeboat was becoming more of a liability than a lifesaver, filling with water and threatening to ram into them with every resurgence of the swell.
With a heavy heart, she let go of the handle to which she was clinging and seized hold of Reilly instead.
Watching as the inflatable was swept away, she struggled to keep Reilly's head above the surface.
For what felt like forever, it took all of her determination just to stay conscious. The storm showed no signs of abating, and Tess knew that she had to stay alert, but it was a losing battle. Her strength was quickly fading.
That was when she saw a large piece of timber, a hatch cover of some sort, she guessed.
Desperately, she struck out toward it, one arm clasping Reilly to her until, at last, she managed to reach out with her other arm and grasp a rope trailing from it. Laboriously, painfully, she dragged herself and Reilly onto the flat platform, then used the rope to tie them both to it as best she could.
She also hooked the belts of her life jacket into his. Whatever else happened, they wouldn't be separated. In some strange way, that thought triggered a small stirring of hope inside her.
As the storm continued to explode its might around her, Tess closed her eyes and sucked long draws of air into her lungs, trying to calm her fears. Whatever else, she could not afford to panic. She had to find the strength she would need to keep herself and Reilly from losing their tenuous grip on this frail scrap of timber. Other than that, she was helpless. All she could do was lie back and let the elements take them wherever they wanted them to go.
The makeshift raft seemed to settle for a moment, and Tess opened her eyes, wondering if the respite was a sign of better things to come. She couldn't have been further from the truth. Towering over them was a gargantuan wave, one that completely dwarfed the one that had capsized the Savarona. It appeared to hang there, motionless, almost taunting her.
Holding desperately onto Reilly, Tess shut her eyes and awaited the onslaught, and then it came, smashing down on them like a falling cliff and swallowing them up as effortlessly as if they were dead leaves.
Chapter 79
His back to the bitter wind that swept down from the north, Martin of Carmaux crouched low by the small fire. The howling of the wind was compounded by the roar from a waterfall that plunged down into the shadowy depths of a narrow ravine. Beside Martin, wrapped in the tattered remnants of a cloak taken many months ago from one of the Mamelukes slain at Beer el Sifsaaf Hugh moaned softly in a fitful sleep.
In the course of their long journey since washing ashore after the sinking of the Falcon Temple, Martin had developed much affection for the old sailor. Aimard of Villiers apart, he'd never met anyone with a greater sense of devotion and determination, to say nothing of Hugh's stoic acceptance of all that had befallen them. In the long, arduous days of their travels, the seaman had sustained several injuries in fights and accidental falls, yet he still covered mile after brutal mile without a word of complaint.
At least he had until the last few days. The harsh winter now had them firmly in its deathly grasp, and the icy blasts from the mountain range that separated them from France were starting to take their toll on the weakened man.
For the first few weeks after leaving Beer el Sifsaaf, Martin had kept the four survivors together, believing that as long as they were within easy reach of their Muslim enemies, they needed the strength this gave them. After they left Mameluke territory, however, he decided that the time had come to follow Aimard's plan and split into two pairs. The dangers they still faced, in particular from roaming bandits in the foothills of the Stara Planina and for much of the thousand and more miles that would follow before they reached the Venetian states, were very real.
He had decided on a simple plan. After they had divided into two pairs, they would follow a predetermined route, about half a day apart. This way, those ahead could give warning to those that followed of any dangers; and those behind could help out the leaders should any harm befall them.
'At no time,' he had urged, 'must the safety of the letters be compromised. Even if it means abandoning any one of us to his fate.'
No one had argued.
He hadn't allowed for the savagery of the terrain. Barring their way were mountains and chasms, fast-flowing rivers, and dense forests. They had been obliged to make many detours from their planned path. After they had separated, with him and Hugh leading, only once had he seen signs of their brothers. That had been many months ago.
Along the way, they had lost their horses, through death or trading for food, and had been reduced to walking weeks ago. Many a night, as he lay exhausted by a campfire but unable to sleep, Martin wondered if the others had been more fortunate, if they had perhaps found an easier and safer route and had already reached Paris.
It made no difference to his plans. He could not give up. He had to go on.
Looking now at Hugh's sleeping figure, a dispiriting thought hit him. He thought it unlikely that the old sailor would reach Paris with him. The winter weather would get harsher, the terrain more difficult, and his companion's wheezing cough was getting much worse. Earlier that night, Hugh had been gripped by a violent fever, and his coughing had produced blood for the first time.
Reluctant though he was, Martin knew that the time was fast approaching when he would have to leave Hugh and press on alone. But he couldn't leave him helpless here in the foothills of the mountains. Hugh would surely freeze to death. He had to find shelter, somewhere to leave his friend, before carrying on.
They had glimpsed a small town the day before, across the mountain range. The town was close to a quarry they had skirted, where they had seen distant tiny figures toiling amid clouds of dust and huge slabs of marble. Perhaps he could find someone in the town in whose care he could leave Hugh.
When Hugh emerged from his troubled sleep, Martin told him his thoughts. The shipmaster shook his head emphatically. 'No,' he protested, 'you have to continue on to France. I will follow as best I can. We can't rely on these strangers.'
That much was true. The people of this land were known and mistrusted for their dealings, and here, in the far north, bands of robbers and slave traders added to the area's notoriety.
Heedless of his companion's protests, Martin clambered down the rocks that lined the edge of the waterfall. A light snow had fallen overnight, enshrouding the mountain in a ghostly blanket. As he made his way through a narrow crevice, Martin paused to take a breath and noticed that one of the rocks had fissures that resembled a splayed cross, much like that which the Knights Templar had made their symbol. He contemplated the strange cracks for a moment, seeing in them a hopeful portent. Perhaps Hugh would find a peaceful end to his days in this quiet, desolate valley after all.
Once in the town, Martin was soon at the door of the local healer, a portly man whose eyes watered in the cold that was snapping at them. The knight told him the tale he had concocted during his descent to the town: that he and a companion were travelers headed for the Holy Land.
'My companion is sick and needs your help,' he pleaded.
The older man eyed him warily. Martin knew he undoubtedly looked like a penniless vagabond.
'You can pay?' the man asked gruffly.
'We have little money,' he nodded, 'but it should be enough to pay for some food and shelter for a few days.'
'Very well.' The man's eyes softened. 'You look like you're about to collapse yourself. Come in and eat something, and tell me where you've left your friend. I'll find some men to help bring him down from the mountain.'
Comforted by this sudden change in the man's demeanor, Martin entered the low-ceilinged room and
