shade of a pillar for a good look around before proceeding. Among the scores of ships anchored in the harbour below-Genoese and Venetian for the most part, along with Greek of various kinds-small fishing boats plied the still water. Here and there along the wharf scatterings of crusaders lazed, waiting, no doubt, for ships to take them home.
At the far end of the wharf, he saw the imposing imperial galley, its tall yellow masts and folded red sails towering over its nearest neighbours: the low-hulled longships of King Magnus' Viking fleet. He searched among the tall, upswept prows for the one he knew best, and quickly found it;
Leaving his hiding place, Murdo started down to the wharf, where he made his way quickly towards Magnus' ships, forcing himself to appear calm and unhurried, just one more eager home-going pilgrim.
He drew near the Norse fleet, and saw several hulking figures he recognized; men left behind to guard the ships. He had almost reached the first friendly hull when the dreaded cry sounded behind him.
'There he is! Stop him!' the cries went up. 'Stop thief! You there! Stop that thief!'
Two men reclining on the planking jumped to their feet as Murdo fled past. They made a grab at him, and one of them snagged a piece of his sleeve and spun him around. But Murdo was ready. Even as he turned, he swung the iron lance down hard on the man's forearm. The fellow yelped and released his hold, falling back with a curse between his teeth as Murdo leapt away.
He put his head down and ran for Jon Wing's ship, and was up and over the rail before anyone else could lay a hand on him. He dived for the prow, his fingers searching under the rail for what he had hidden there. When he did not find it, dull panic seized him in its icy grasp. Had it been found? Had someone removed his handiwork?
The shouts on the wharf were louder. His pursuers were almost upon him. He ducked out of sight beneath the upswept prow, swallowed down his fear, and searched again.
Cold iron met his touch. He grasped the metal, and pulled the spear he had made in Aries from its hiding place. The weapon now wore a thin coat of rust from the sea air and damp of its long stowage beneath the rail. This gave it a much older appearance, thought Murdo, which was no bad thing.
Hearing footsteps on the deck behind him, he turned and saw the familiar face of Jon's pilot. 'Gorm!' he called. 'Keep them off the ship!'
Without a word, the leather-skinned pilot swung around, seized a spear from the holder and levelled it on the nearest of the advancing pursuers. The men, unready to face this challenge so early in the morning, hesitated and fell back.
Swiftly, swiftly, Murdo's hands flew over the golden cord and binding cloth of the Holy Lance, stripping it away-and just as quickly rewrapping it. He could hear the voices shouting from the wharf. They were calling for him to come out and show himself. He also heard the clatter of hooves on the dock timbers, and knew that his ruse was all but finished. He could not hope to hold them off any longer. He tied the last knot on the golden cord, carefully lay the lance on the deck, took a deep breath and stood to meet his fate.
A sizeable crowd had gathered on the quay. The knights who had raised the pursuit stood on the wharf, weapons drawn, staring at him. At Murdo's appearance, the shouting had ceased; it now began again. Murdo calmly raised his hands-for silence, and to show that he held no weapons. 'Please!' he called. 'In the name of Our Lord Christ, I beg you, let me speak.'
'Silence!' roared the foremost knight. When quiet reclaimed the crowd, he said, 'What do you have to say, thief?'
'Who is your lord?' asked Murdo. He knew, but he wanted those looking on to hear it for themselves.
'We are Count Baldwin's men,' the nobleman replied. 'We demand that you return that which rightly belongs to him.'
'What is it that you believe I have stolen from Count Baldwin?'
The nobleman glanced quickly at the crowd around him before answering. Clearly, he did not like the direction the proceedings were moving. Flinging his hand at Murdo, he shouted, 'He has stolen the Holy Lance!'
The crowd on the wharf murmured in astonishment. The Lance of Christ! Here? they wondered. How can this be?
'I have stolen nothing from you,' Murdo answered directly. 'What I have, I obtained not from you but from the amir.'
'Liar!' shouted the man. 'Seize him!'
The crowd, inflamed by the knight's accusations and a desire to involve itself in this interesting conflict, surged forward in a rush towards the ship. Murdo stooped quickly and retrieved the lance and lofted it above his head. 'Halt!' he shouted.
Amazed at the sudden disclosure of the relic, the crowd lurched to a stop.
'Stay where you are,' Murdo warned. 'If anyone takes so much as one step nearer, I shall throw the lance into the sea.'
'Do it!' challenged the knight. 'We will find it again easily.'
'You might,' allowed Murdo. 'Then again, you might not. Shall we put your faith to the test?'
The knight glared at him. 'I will gut you like a fish and throw the bloody pieces to the dogs if you drop that lance.'
The crowd began muttering again, and several made bold to advance a step nearer. Murdo took one hand away from the spear and let it slip. The throng gasped and shrank back in horror.
Murdo frowned. The thing was not going as he had anticipated. Moreover, the length of iron was heavy and his arm was starting to tire. He did not know how much longer he could hold it outstretched with the weight of the lance at the end. He would have to put it down soon, and then what?
'Hear now,' said the nobleman. 'If you but give the lance to me at once, I will see you absolved of your theft.'
'I did not steal -' Murdo began, but never finished. He heard the wet splosh of water spilling onto the deck and whirled to see two men slip over the side and into the boat. 'Gorm! Help!' he cried as the two men rushed upon him.
Murdo threw the end of the lance into the face of the first one, who ducked the blow. He jabbed at the second, who made a grab and somehow caught hold of the silk-wrapped iron and tried to yank it from him. Murdo hung on, and the two pulled him into their grasp. They heaved him up onto the rail where he thrashed and squirmed, clinging desperately to the lance.
The crowd, seeing the fight, began clamouring for the two attackers to throw him in. Those nearest the boat made swiping lunges at him from the wharf, trying to pull him down.
'Peace!'
Even above the outcry of the crowd, Murdo heard the shout. It sounded twice again before it had any effect, and by then Murdo, like everyone else on the wharf, knew that someone of unassailable authority had arrived.
In the name of God, I pray you cease and desist this unseemly display.' The voice was deep and resonant, and loud enough to be heard from one end of the wharf to the other.
The crowd calmed under its stern admonition, and Murdo turned his eyes to see the throng parting to make way for a tall man on a warhorse. There were half a dozen or more knights with him, and all had swords drawn and shields at the ready.
'You there, on the boat,' the man called. 'Release him and stand easy, or answer to me for your disobedience.'
The soldiers reacted instantly to the stranger's command. Much to Murdo's relief they pulled him back aboard the boat and eased their hold on him.
'Step away from him,' the tall man instructed, and the two reluctantly obeyed.
Murdo straightened and found himself looking into the quick, intelligent eyes of Count Bohemond. He sat his saddle easily at the edge of the quay where he calmly regarded Murdo. 'God be good to you, friend,' he said. 'I think we know each other do we not?'
'Yes, my lord,' replied Murdo. 'We met yesterday outside the walls.'
'It seems you have roused the ire of half the people of Jaffa, and this before the sun has quartered the sky. I would hear how you performed this prodigious feat.'
'That is easily told,' Murdo said. 'I have the Holy Lance, and they,' he indicated Baldwin's knights, 'would take it
