A Templar's Apprentice (9 page)

I was grateful. I was cold just being on the water. In the water would not be good at all. I grabbed his boots when the boat's hide scraped the sandy bottom and jumped ashore.

We dragged the boat up into the shadows of a copse of trees, and the Templar shrugged into his boots. A thin, curving track snaked through the dense woods. The rain dripped from the branches onto my head. I huddled waiting, wondering what lay ahead. And then we were off.

Beyond the trees, the visual similarity to home disappeared. A long, wide road stretched ahead, tamped solidly by those who had traveled and continued to traipse along its length. It was muddy and pocked with rain-filled ruts. I avoided them as best I could, but my boots were soaked in moments.

The town was surrounded by an enormous stone wall and appeared to have grown upward in a spiral
toward the crest of a hill. Approaching the gates, I was stunned by its bulk. The wall seemed as tall as a mountain. “I've never seen anything like this,” I said.

The Templar laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. “Aye. 'Tis awe-inspiring, but no more than the manor within. Let us not tarry. A warm room an' hot food await.”

He shoved forward and I stumbled along staring gap-jawed. How such a feat as building it could have been accomplished, I could not imagine. It stretched above our heads and to our left and right beyond sight.

“The wall surrounds the whole o' the city,” he said, nearly reading my thoughts. “There are towers built at regular intervals all around. An' there—he pointed upward—are walkways between that guards patrol. Look up as we enter.”

I did as he suggested, though the rain drizzled in my eyes and down my chest. Amazed, I let out a hissing breath. A fearsome iron-studded gate hung suspended above our heads. If it were suddenly let loose, we would be skewered and crushed by the sharpened points of its base.

“'Tis called a portcullis. 'Tis lowered at night or in case o' emergency when the city needs to be sealed off. There are two with a small passage between. Beyond the first ye'll see holes in the roof beams above. If an enemy
makes it through the first gate, the second is dropped, an' hot oil or pitch is poured from above.”

I shivered at the horrific image and moved quickly inside. The noise and smell hit me immediately, and a wave of travelers entering behind threatened to bring me to ground. Jostled and elbowed, I lost sight of the Templar. In a panic I spun around. A hand clamped my arm, and I was jerked roughly aside as a group who had come in behind us nearly plowed me down. “Stay with me, Tormod.”

I didn't have a chance to argue as he tugged me along. A variety of shops lined the road's edge, and an open market was being held against one length of the great wall. We hurried through the rain, dodging the crowds that did business no matter the weather. I tried to absorb everything at a glance as I trailed. Merchants, with tarps staked and strung in a succession of low-hanging shelters, had arrayed their wares on wooden tables against the wall. There were vendors of fish and vegetables, booths of earthenware, jewelry, and weapons. Voices were raised in barter as customer and vendor argued over the best price. Bairns in wet homespun ran and played amid the booths as business went on around them. It was familiar to our trips to market. Chaos reigned, and yet it was life as usual for those involved.

“This way,” he said, taking off along a road that snaked between two rows of shuttered houses. “Stay close and keep pace. We've a walk ahead to the manor and some o' these roads attract a rough sort o' traveler.”

The smell in the alley made my throat close tight. I had often complained about the air belowdecks. Though open to the morning sky, this smelled worse, if that could be believed. Urine and refuse mingled beneath the onslaught of the rain and wafted up my nose, lingering in the folds of my plaid, which I held to my face. The Templar paid little attention to me as we walked, save to occasionally make sure I was still at his side. He seemed to withdraw deeply into himself, a condition I was getting to know fairly well. I didn't distract him with idle chatter.

I had no need, for I was engrossed in the new sights spread before and behind us. We traveled in a strange twisting that seemed to wind ever upward. I marveled that the Templar made his way unerringly, for there were a good many turns we took that I would have thought would wind back on themselves and end our journey. He had obviously been here before.

Below us the town spread like a tapestry woven with dark, vivid colors and sharp blackness. The higher we climbed, the more enthralled I became. The manor was on the very tip of the rise, and I craned my neck to see past the sheer walls of rock that surrounded it. When
finally the road we traveled ended, we stood before a formidable gateway. There were two dark wooden doors at least six arm spans wide, crossed by bands of hammered iron.

The Templar used the hilt of his sword to gain attention from within. I felt the thump of his rap in my chest. Far above our heads on the stone walls a guard appeared. The Templar spoke. “I am Alexander Sinclair, Knight o' the Holy Temple o' Solomon. I was told Archbishop Lambert is within. I wish an audience.”

M
y knees felt suddenly too weak to hold me upright. An Archbishop … the rank to me was as would have been the King. Though I knew this was the man who the Templar sought, it didn't hit me until this very moment that I might be in his company when it happened. The child of a fisherman in the presence of one most holy …

“Our great Lord was a fisherman, Tormod,” the Templar said with amusement.

I shook my head in disbelief: again this reading of my thoughts. He had done it several times now, and it was unnerving.

He smiled. “Ye mumbled, Tormod. As ye do more often than even ye can recall.”

It was a long wait. We huddled beneath the small overhang of the wall, avoiding the worst of the downpour. My plaid enveloped the whole of me, but I was far from warm. It had rained so much that the wet now penetrated the heavy wool, and I was chilled from the bones out. At times it crossed my mind that we might be turned away. The Templar kept his hand resting lightly on the haft of his sword, his body set in a rigid stance between the door and myself. Thoughts again pummeled my mind.
Could we be walking into an ambush?
Just then the great doors swung slowly inward. And my heart sank.

The doors didn't open to the main residence but to another winding, now cobbled, road. I suppressed a groan. Whatever was to come, I wished that it would finally come to pass, for I'd have given my right arm for a warm fire and a space out of the rain. We passed through a series of arches, outer buildings, and large open spaces. When finally we were shown to the grandest of them all, I realized we had reached the pinnacle of the heights. I stopped for the barest of moments and looked down, back from where we'd come.

Ours was the most wondrous of views. Below and all around us was a patchwork of color. At first glance I understood why I had been so drawn to the map. From
my current height the whole of the land looked like one great parchment — as if the world had suddenly flattened. If I looked at any one particular area, I could quickly make out the individual rise and fall of the village in the distance. The trees were great billows of green and brown, and when I looked at the land as a whole, one thing blended into the next.

The Templar had already moved toward the manor, and I scrambled to keep from being left behind. All the while the image of the map, the one that haunted my memory from the first, stood sharply in my mind's eye.

The manor, as he called it, was no less than my idea of a castle — a great house of stone built into the rock of the hillside. It was several stories tall and stretched back and away so that I could not see where it actually ended. A servant dressed in robes of gray linen met us at the door and escorted us inside.

The entranceway was dark, and I craned my eyes to see in the dim space before me. The sconces on the walls held beeswax candles. They smelled pleasant but didn't throw off much light. The room, however, was a haven of warmth, and I reveled in the difference.

“I will take your outer garments and lay them by the fire,” said the servant. “The Archbishop will see you momentarily. He is in conference. I will be back to escort you.”

The Templar nodded and, as soon as the man was out of sight, moved furtively toward the entrance ahead, staying close to the wall as he peered beyond. I made a move to follow, but he forestalled me with an open hand. I moved instead to the wall closest. A group of paintings were set in frames on the walls — men in formal dress. I'd never seen images portrayed so realistically.
How incredible,
I thought,
to be able to capture a likeness that way.
I slid my fingers along a rounded cheek and across an ear and was surprised to find the surface rough and dry. My mind expected to feel the soft and wrinkled skin my eyes so clearly beheld.

“This way, Brother Knight. The Archbishop awaits you.” The Templar started after the servant of the house, and I reluctantly left the paintings to follow. So dim was the corridor that I barely saw the men whose backs I followed. We were shown into an enormous room lit by a multitude of glowing, golden lights. Tapers, tallow candles, and the flames of lit straw rushes abounded, so much so that I had to blink several times to accustom myself to the brilliance.

The Archbishop was seated on a richly appointed chair facing the door through which we entered, and he rose as we were announced. He was large, with wide shoulders and a light olive complexion. His hair was white like his robes, a set of unornamented linen, and
yet his bearing proclaimed his rank as a high official of the Church. I hung back, awed.

“Brother Alexander, God's hand has guided ye to me.”

“Aye, it has, Yer Grace, an' we are humbled an' thankful o' it.” He knelt before the Archbishop and kissed his ring. Then gaining his feet, he said, “I have troubling news nonetheless an' had hoped ye might counsel me in a few matters.”

His gaze flicked to mine and back to the knight. “I am always yer servant, Alexander.”

“My pardon, Yer Grace,” said the Templar. “Allow me to introduce my apprentice, Tormod MacLeod. He is a rare lad an' will be a welcome addition to the Order.” He turned to me. “Tormod, present yerself.”

I nearly stumbled as I crossed the short space between us and sank to my knees to kiss the ring before me.
A Templar's apprentice? Could he possibly be serious?
I had dreamt half my life of the possibility. “Yer Grace.” I spoke breathlessly. “'Tis an honor.”

He turned to the Templar. “I would speak to ye privately a moment, Alexander. Help yerself, Tormod. There is food set out beyond that door. Break yer fast. We will no' be long.”

I was nearly as glad of the excuse to absent myself from the piercing gaze of the Archbishop as I was happy
to indulge in food that was hot and not salted or dried. I moved quickly across the room and through the door to give them their privacy.

The chamber I entered was richly appointed. Heavy, vividly embroidered tapestries lined the walls, and in a great hearth real coal burned. I stretched my hands to the warmth. Peat, the turf we used in my homeland, never burned as hotly as this.

On a long table were dishes upon dishes, platters of stuffed eel and pheasant, sweet onions and plums, puddings of rich reds and browns, and breads drizzled in honey and coated with almonds. Even on the highest feast days the family had never such an assortment at one time.
A Templar's apprentice,
I thought.
Could it really be true?

As I ate and my body warmed, I became aware of a need that had been pressing in on me for much of our trip up the hill — something I had forgotten in the presence of the Most Holy Archbishop and the prospect of food. I had to make water. And at this moment it was a desperate urge.

I fidgeted, willing my unhappy bladder to cease its pressure, but my body was in no mood to take yet another of my mind's commands. At last I knew I had to find the garderobe or I'd make a fool of myself.

I crept into the chamber, quietly so that I would not intrude on the Templar and His Grace's discussion. If I could but slip by unheeded, I thought, perhaps the servant beyond would give me direction.

But as I skirted the edge of the chamber, my eyes turned toward the two at the dais. The Templar was down on one knee with his head bent low. The Archbishop stood before him, and in his outstretched hands was a small carving. It was an odd scene, to be sure, but something even stranger happened then. On my skin I felt the waft of a warm breeze — a breeze with no origin in an enclosed room. I stopped, perplexed, my eyes riveted to the scene before me.

Suddenly the darkness of the carving began to slowly change. It grew brighter and the wind blew stronger. The candle flames flickered in a way that made the room shimmer with light.