A Templar's Apprentice (5 page)

“Adventure is a misleading thing, Tormod. It covers naught o' the pain an' guilt, uncertainty an' fear.”

Fear,
I thought,
how can one such as he be fearful o' anything?
The guilt I now knew firsthand, but I detected sadness in him as well. I began to tell him of the village, my family, and the celebration I had missed. He seemed to relax in the hearing.

“I kept ye from that,” he said. “I ask yer pardon.”

I twisted in surprise. It hurt something awful and I swayed. His big hand grasped the drape of plaid across my chest, and he hauled me upright. “Ye need ask nothing o' me. I've longed to be gone from there.”

He remained quiet, perhaps assuming that I would explain my words, but I could not. How could I tell him that every day was a trial there, that I was looked on even in my own home as an oddity. I pushed aside the memory that haunted me.

“My mam will be worried,” I said.

“The Abbot will assure them that ye're well.”

I must have tensed for he read something in my manner.

“What?” His voice rumbled in my ear.

I was afraid to even voice my thoughts. “I was on my way to deliver the flint an' tinder for starting the Beltane bonfire when ye arrived. I didn't deliver the supplies. I just left. Do ye think that God will punish us if the Beltane ceremonies didn't start as planned?”

The livelihood of the whole village depended on the season's catch. If I had angered God, would He prevent a fruitful season?

He was quiet a moment, thinking on his reply. “God is not a vengeful being. Whether or not the Beltane fire was lit on time is not a reason He would punish a
village. The catch will depend on the weather, the feeding cycles o' the fish, an' about a dozen other factors.”

I was shocked to hear him speak so. Da was adamant on the doctrine that all of the ancient holy days be observed just so. But the Templar's words were confident. I wanted to believe him, even if it was just that I didn't want to worry over the possibility of one more bad thing happening because of me. I almost had more guilt and worry than I could deal with.

“Well, I'll be strapped for it either way.” I said. It didn't worry me as much as it might. I didn't look forward to it, and it would hurt, but I would get over it within a day. To me, it was worth it to be here now. To have seen what I had and been a small part of their complement for even a short time.

“Will it be bad?” the Templar asked.

I cringed thinking on it.

“Not overmuch,” I said. “But he reminded me twice today that I was responsible for the fire. I paid him no mind, because Torquil had agreed to do it.”

“Why should ye be strapped then?” he asked.

“Because I trusted my brother,” I said bitterly. “I traded a portion o' his duty hauling wood for running back to the croft to get the materials. He reneged on the arrangement.”

“Ye will tell your da that happened?”

“I don't know. It was my responsibility. I should not have tried to trade it away in the first place. Mam gets worked up when there are punishments. An' she is with child.”

“Yer mam is strong,” the Templar said. “An' ye will set it to right with yer brother.”

I didn't reply. There were times when I wondered if things would ever be set to right between Torquil and me.

“If ye would,” I said softly. “Tell me where ye've been an' what ye've seen. I canno' talk anymore. I have not slept all night. My head aches something fierce.”

“The ship is not long away. Sleep. I will keep ye upright. I don't believe yer head injury to be serious. 'Tis why I kept ye awake. To check it. We'll talk later.”

I gave in, gratefully. And drifted into oblivion.

I
came awake in bits and starts during the rest of the trek. The hills around us were deeply shadowed. The heather, a vibrant purple by day, was barely brighter than the rocks and road by moonlight.

On waking, the Templar passed me a strong drink from a skin. Its taste was odd, like berries, bark, and wood smoke. I didn't like it very much, but it seemed to make the blistering ache in my head go away. I must have slept again after drinking it, for I don't remember more of the trip.

I came to when I felt the horse beneath me stop and the Templar slide from his place. My head was thick and my mouth was rotted and dry. “Where are we?” I mumbled.

The Templar hissed for silence, and the strong grip he laid on my arm brought me awake fast. We were at the top of a rise, hidden by a copse of dense trees. Below was the sea. The rhythmic wash of waves beat in my blood and made the night seem alive and dangerous.

I knew to heed the Templar's warning this time. There was an urgency in his bearing I recognized. Quietly I slid from our mount, grabbing the saddle to steady myself. The Templar pulled up his cloak to cover his silver hood of mail and without a word slipped silently away. I watched, tense under the onslaught of a stiff breeze that whipped the hillside. His silhouette was dark, the black of his cloak nearly concealing him. He angled down toward the beach and I lost sight of him. Still staring down to the beach, I tied off our mount.
Seamus and Brother Andrus hung back in the shadow of the trees.

In the small harbor, an enormous ship rocked gently in the wash. It was a cog, a single-masted merchant ship, with curved outer planking at the sides of its hull. High on the single sail, the red Templar cross blazed in the moonlight. I had seen these ships in our harbor many times and watched as the cargo had been loaded and unloaded.

Two men stood sentinel on the small rocky beach. I had not seen them at first, for they carried no torches and blended with the darkness, but their voices carried over the wind.

The language was different than my own, a murmur that was nearly muffled by the surf. At my side the leaves stirred suddenly, and my heart lodged itself somewhere behind my tongue. The Templar moved past me to Seamus.

“Our ship has been taken,” the Templar said softly.

“Who are they?” Seamus asked.

“More o' the same from the pass,” said the Templar.

“What do they want?” I asked, though it earned me a dark look from Seamus.

The Templar answered plainly, “Apparently they want me.”

“The odds are not in our favor, Alex,” Seamus said. “There are two on the shore an' a' least one prowls the
deck. We don't know if there are more below or if others were sent ashore to seek us out.” His voice was filled with doubt, but I heard resignation as well. “We will take it back.” It was not a question but a conclusion.

The Templar did not hesitate. “Aye. 'Tis our only hope. We must be gone from here.”

“Aye,” said the sergeant. “Ye have a plan?” My mind reeled trying to understand the conversation.

“Not much o' one, but better than none. I'll swim out from the east point. 'Tis not far from the prow. There is a rope that anchors the ship on that side. I will go up it.”

I swallowed hard imagining such a maneuver.

“I'll need a diversion on the shore, something to draw the watch away from that side.”

“I shall give ye one,” said Seamus, reaching out. They clasped each other's forearms.

“May the Lord guide our steps with light,” said the Templar.

“An' our faith remain true,” replied Seamus.

The hair on my arms stood on end. The Templar turned away and started down the slope. I followed. My tread was not as silent as his was. He turned suddenly and motioned me back. I shook my head no. He glared and pointed back again, then turned and continued down the hill without another glance.

I hesitated, but for only a moment, then followed
him down the incline. He knew I was there, but refused to acknowledge my open disobedience. I moved as he moved, crouched when he crouched. I thought about the fall I had taken and the consequences of it and paid close attention to my footing. I would not — could not — repeat the incident and cause the Templar any more trouble.

When we reached the rocks by the jetty, he shed his cloak and vestments.

“Ye need someone at yer back,” I murmured.

Though he was not speaking to me, I reached for his cloak. I could feel his annoyance. “I just mean to fold it for ye,” I whispered meekly.

He was not happy with me, but let me take the garment as he took off his mail and dropped it beside his boots and sword. In tunic and breeks he moved toward the water.

“Would ye no' be faster in yer braies,” I whispered. The smaller underclothes would be easier to swim in.

As he stepped into the water he said, “'Tis forbidden.” I looked after him, puzzled. I must have been mistaken in my hearing.
Forbidden,
I thought,
to swim in yer braies in the ocean? How strange. Forbidden by whom? And why?
I could not ask as he was up to his waist by then.

The Templar was a good swimmer and the ocean
water was calm. I watched, breathing in time to the movement of his body as it dipped beneath the water. Then when I could bear the tension no more I turned away.

His clothes were piled on the rock beside me. I picked up his mantle. It was fine cloth, soft and tightly woven. Beneath were the hard links of iron that made up his mail. The loops rippled beneath my fingers, and when I lifted it, I was amazed at its heaviness and the way it was both hard and fluid at the same time. I lowered the mail to the rock to see what more was there. A glint of silver and flash of jewels made me gasp — a dagger! I wondered where he had kept it. The sheath had a cloth tie worked through its top. He must have had it tied to his arm.

In the half-light I lifted the knife, awed by its foreign beauty. The haft was silver and etched with many birds and animals. Their eyes were studded with glistening jewels that seemed to wink as I turned and admired them. The blade was not made in Scotia. I knew it came from the far-off, from the land of the Saracens.

Reverently I slid the knife from its sheath and rested the edge on the pad of my thumb. The quick jab of pain as the blade cut took me by surprise.

I looked up quickly. The Templar was nearly halfway to the ship. The knife glinted in my hand. My body tensed. He was unarmed.

I
threw off my plaid, tunic, and breeks as fast as I could.
He was unarmed. Did he forget the knife?
The thought seemed to rattle inside my head. I stumbled down the dark and slippery rocks, determined to reach him in time. Barnacles tore at my feet, but I ignored them and hurried into the ocean.

The water was freezing. I clenched my teeth to still their chattering. My hands were instantly numb, and when I began to stroke, the knife was hard to hold.

I was a stronger swimmer than the knight, even with an aching head and sore body. The sea and I were long friends. I skimmed the waves and let the current do much to pull me out, but he'd reached the ship before I could catch him. There was no way to get his attention. His hands were on the anchor's rope. I stopped stroking and floated, lifting the knife above the water.

Suddenly, he turned and fixed a glare directly at me. Cold as I was, the eerie way he seemed to sense my presence made my shivering multiply tenfold. The scowl on his face, however, told me right off how angry he was that I had followed.

From the shore came the sound of an argument. It was Seamus. His words were overloud and quite unlike his usual serious tones. It sounded, I thought, like several of our crew when they've dipped overmuch into the ale.

“This is the ship I paid passage for, an' a good lot o' silvers it was, too,” said Seamus. “They told me to be here a' the rise o' the moon, an' I am. Step aside an' let me by.” His voice seemed to float across the water.

The silhouette of the Templar was black against the darkness of the ship's hull. Slowly he made his way, hand over hand, nearly silently up the rope. I watched him go over the rail and out of sight.

On the shore, Seamus was still arguing.

“What goes on there?” A strong, deep voice cut the night directly above me where the Templar had gone over. I held my breath.

“A drunkard,” the man from on shore replied.

“Kill him,” the one on deck commanded.

A clash of blades and muffled oaths crossed the water. Frantic, I glided toward the ship. Something was happening there as well.

What should I do?
The whole of my body was trembling with cold and fear, but suddenly I decided. I stuck the knife between my teeth, reached for the rope, and began to climb.

It was more difficult than I had reckoned. The
Templar made it seem easy, but my body was wet and my arms ached beneath the strain. I tried to set my mind to other climbs, other times when I'd scaled the hut walls to reach the roof to do the thatching repairs. But never had the hut pitched beneath the roll of waves.

The sound of a scuffle grew loud as I neared the rail. My mouth was tight, holding the knife in my teeth, and my throat was dry. My legs shook and my arms burned as I pulled myself up and over, fearful that I would be seen, terrified that an assassin waited there to kill me.

The deck was black, but the silhouette of two men was clear. I scrambled behind a pile of sailcloth palming the knife as I went.

The Templar faced an opponent much larger than he. The man was enormous, and in his gigantic arms a broadsword gleamed. Yet neither man moved.

As I stared, I slowly became aware of a strange itch in the back of my mind, the movement of something behind my eyes and deep within my ears.

I shook my head to clear it, but the oddity remained. Then from my place I heard what I hadn't before — the soft sound of the Templar's voice.

“How did ye know I was here?”

His assailant's murmur was too low for me to catch.

“Where is the map taken from the Abbot?”

Again the other spoke, but I could make out nothing.