'Pilgrimage?' suggested Rognvald, supplying the term she had used before.
'It is no pilgrimage,' Cait admitted.
'No?'
She looked across the deck to where the knights were now lolling around the brazier, their voices loud with raucous talk. Rognvald was right; she had entrusted her life to these knights, she might as well trust him with the rest. She stood. 'Come with me. It will be easier if I show you.'
She led him below deck to her father's quarters where she opened the wooden sea chest containing his clothes and belongings. Reaching down into the chest, she felt along the side of the box and brought out a flat parcel wrapped in one of her mantles. While a bemused Rognvald watched, she untied the knotted fabric and withdrew a flat parchment tied with a red silk band.
'This,' she said, placing the document in his hands, 'is why we are going to Galicia.' She indicated that he should open it.
He untied the silk band and opened the stiff parchment. 'A letter,' he said, scanning the salutation, 'to the Patriarch of Rome.'
'Yes,' she confirmed, 'and it leads to a prodigious treasure.'
CHAPTER TWELVE
'That which is beyond all price,' intoned Rognvald, following his finger along the heavy parchment, 'the treasure of the ages, our very real and manifest hope for this present age and the kingdom to come, the… what? Rosa Mystica..' His voice trailed off and he looked to Cait for an explanation.
'I do not know what it is, either,' she confessed. 'He calls it the greatest treasure in the world. I mean to have it.'
'And the Templars? What of them?'
'The letter was in the possession of a Templar commander,' Cait explained. 'I got it from him.'
'You stole it,' guessed Rognvald.
'Yes.'
The Norseman nodded slowly. 'This priest, Bertrano-do you know him?'
'All I know about him is there.' She pointed to the elaborate signature in red ink: Bertrano de Almira, Archbishop of Santiago de Compostela. 'First we find the man who wrote this letter and induce him to tell us where the treasure can be found. Then we go and get it.'
Rognvald frowned and looked at the letter again. 'Simple plans are often the best,' he mused.
Cait caught a note of censure in his tone. 'You disapprove?'
'Of the treasure? No.' Tapping the signature with his finger, he said, 'But have you considered that Archbishop Bertrano may not feel like telling you what you want to know?'
'You asked me what I planned to do, and I have told you.' Cait stood and, hands on hips, glared down at the disagreeable knight. 'I do not require your approval, my lord, but I will insist on your obedience. And I will thank you to keep your opinions to yourself.'
They came in sight of Cyprus the second day after leaving Tyre, and that evening Persephone sailed into the harbour at Famagusta. The rumoured pirates had not appeared, and the crossing proved wholly uneventful – which Cait counted a victory for her decision. The next morning, as soon as the markets opened, she sent Rognvald and the knights into the city to search out the best armourer. 'Take Abu with you, and when you have found the one,' she instructed, 'send Abu to fetch me. He will find me in the street of tailors.'
The knights departed in high spirits, and Cait and Alethea disembarked a short while later, with Otti as an escort, and proceeded to a narrow dog-leg of a street where the city's tailors plied their trade. They passed along, examining the goods on display carefully, and asking the prices.
'Oh, look, Cait,' said Alethea, holding up a white linen mantle with tiny blue flowers embroidered around the neck. 'It is beautiful, is it not?'
A young Greek fellow squatting in the doorway leaped up just then, crying, 'No! No! No! This is not for you. God forbid, my fine lady, you should ever wear anything so coarse and unflattering.' He seized the mantle and tossed it back on to the pile of folded garments. 'This!' he said, producing a mantle in butter-coloured satin. 'This is for my lady.'
Alethea was delighted. 'Oh, Cait, look!' She clasped the delicate mantle to her and gazed down at its shimmering length. 'It is wonderful.'
Sensing a potential sale in the offing, two tailors from across the street hurried over. 'You like this, lady? We have more,' said one. 'And better than this,' added the other. 'Much better. Here, come, we will show you.'
The young Greek stepped between his customers and the other merchants. 'Get back, Theodores. Away with you.' He pushed them back. 'I saw them first. Go. Leave us in peace.'
'If he cannot help you,' called Theodoros, 'come to us. We have better goods.'
'If I cannot help them, I will personally bring them to you. Now, go.'
Having sent away his rivals, he turned to his customers, and made a polite bow. 'I am Didimus. What can I show you? A new cloak perhaps? I have several I think would appeal.'
'Where did you learn your craft?' asked Cait, examining the stitching on the mantle Alethea still clutched tightly in her hands.
'My family lived in Jerusalem-six generations, all tailors,' the young man said. 'When the city fell to the Franks, we were among those fortunate enough to survive. We fled to Jaffa, and then here. Now, I am the only one left.' His long, sad face brightened. 'But I have a son. God willing, he will learn all I have to teach and he will become the best tailor in Famagusta, like his father.'
'It is good work. But we are not looking for ourselves,' she said, and went on to explain that she required clothes for four men. 'Everything,' she said, 'from cloaks to belts.'
'Small-clothes as well?' he asked politely.
'Small-clothes as well. Everything.'
It will be a pleasure, my lady,' he said, bowing low. He ran to the door and called to someone inside, then returned with a stool for Cait. 'Please, be seated. I will bring you some things to examine, and we will begin.'
He hurried away again, and returned with an armload of cloth which had been half-sewn into cloaks. While he was showing Cait his wares, a young dark-haired woman emerged with a tray containing a jar of sweetened lemon water, and small honey cakes which had been baked until they were dry and crisp. She placed the tray on the ground beside Cait and knelt down to pour the drinks and offer the cakes, before retreating hastily inside.
While Cait sipped her drink and made her selections, Alethea munched honey cakes, and chose beribboned shifts and flowered mantles for herself. In the end, Cait decided on five cloaks: one red, two green, two blue with thin rust-coloured stripes; five short mantles, all white; five pairs of long breeches cut from a stout, tightly woven wool which had been dyed a deep brown. 'Now the belts,' she told Didimus. 'They must be leather, and they must be stout.'
'Alas, I do not have belts such as you require, but my wife's brother works in leather. If it please you, my lady, I could take you to his shop and you can tell him what you want. Also, if you need shoes for these men of yours, he would be happy to oblige.'
So, that is what they did. Cait paid for her selections, arranged for the knights to come along later to be fitted for their clothes. At the shoemaker's workshop she chose the leather for the belts, and was discussing the cost of new boots when Abu appeared to say that Rognvald had found an armourer with whom he was pleased to deal. 'They are waiting for you now.'
It was not an armourer who greeted Cait, but a merchant named Geldemar who traded with smiths and weapons-makers from many places, including Cairo, Constantinople, Tripoli, and Damascus; the continual warring in the Holy Land brought a steady commerce to his door that made him wealthy, discriminating, and fat. He conducted his lucrative business from a large house at the end of a street of metalworkers. The house, protected by a high wall and three imposing servants with dogs, boasted two floors; the lower rooms were crammed with weapons and armour of all kinds. 'Your men have been kind enough to express an interest in my wares,' Geldemar told her, lifting a jewelled hand to a hall bristling with lances, pikes, halberds, and swords. 'As you see, I have
