The Treasure (10 page)

“We have no liking for filth either.” Kadar paused. “Where did you spend your youth?”

Tarik didn’t answer. “I’ll send a servant to bring you food to break your fast. But I hope you’ll see fit to join me later for a more substantial meal.” He quickly ushered Kadar from the room.

Selene slowly unfastened her cloak and dropped it on the stool by the window. It was true she had not slept well last night, but she doubted if she would be able to nap now. Her mind was too full of questions. She could see why Kadar had been intrigued with the puzzle Tarik presented.

A very unusual man.

“YOU DID NOT EAT WELL,” Tarik said disapprovingly. “You don’t like my food?”

“I’m not hungry,” Selene said.

“I could send for something else.”

“The food is excellent. I’ve just had little appetite of late.”

“It’s good to eat heartily at midday. It gives you strength to—”

Kadar interrupted, “If she doesn’t wish to eat, don’t urge her.”

“Ah, you’re quick to jump to her defense even in this small thing.” Tarik smiled. “I meant no harm. I’ve no intention of forcing food upon the lady. I merely wish you both to enjoy it here.”

“We’re not here to enjoy ourselves. You promised to show me the box.”

“And so I shall.” He rose to his feet. “This very minute. Come with me to my chamber.” He turned to Selene. “Would you also like to see it? It’s an object of great beauty, and you must be curious.”

“I’m seldom curious.” She avoided Kadar’s amused glance as she stood up. “But I have nothing better to do.”

Tarik’s chamber was as stark and simple as the room he had given her was soft and textured. A gauze-draped pallet instead of a bed. No tapestry to keep out the night chill. A table and two unadorned wooden chairs. The only ornate object in the room was the chest set against the wall. It appeared very old but lovingly cared for. The intricately carved scene on the dark-teak lid was a small boat drifting down a river past three long-legged birds wading among graceful cattails.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Tarik lifted the lid. “It was carved by a young slave of the court.”

Kadar pounced. “What court?”

Tarik only smiled. “But this wooden chest is far less impressive than the object it shelters. I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Kadar’s eyes widened in surprise, as he only saw a small wooden statue resting on a bed of purple silk. “I’m afraid I don’t agree.”

Neither did Selene. She had been expecting splendor, and the nine-inch wooden statue had nothing splendid about it. The crudely carved figure was that of a robed woman but with the head of a jackal. She said, “Your statue is interesting but no treasure beyond price.”

“It is to me.” Tarik lovingly stroked the statue. “Tell me, Kadar, do you see no beauty in it either?” When Kadar didn’t answer, he glanced at him. “What is it?”

Kadar was staring at the statue with narrowed eyes. “Nothing. It just looks . . . familiar.”

“You’ve seen something like it before?”

“No, I don’t—” He shrugged. “Perhaps, but I can’t recall where.” His gaze shifted to Tarik’s face. “Is this a ploy to deceive us? I didn’t come here for a statue. Where is the box?”

“You hurt me.” Tarik sighed. “Oh, well, perhaps you’ll prefer this.” With a flourish, he removed the purple silk on which the statue had rested.

Selene inhaled sharply.

“My God,” Kadar whispered.

The shimmering gold box was perhaps two feet by one foot and it, too, was intricately carved. Not with a gentle country scene, as the chest was, but with odd, sharp symbols. Lapis lazuli stones formed a scrolled needlelike cross that covered the entire length of the box.

Selene reached out and gently touched the cross. “It’s truly wonderful . . .”

“Yes.”

“No wonder Nasim wants it,” Kadar said.

Tarik shrugged. “He’d crush the coffer beneath his horses’ hooves if it meant he could have what’s inside.”

Selene shook her head. “I can’t believe that. Even if he cares nothing for beauty, it must have great value.”

“He’d destroy it.” Tarik carefully draped the silk back over the box, placed the statue on top of it, and closed the chest. “Without a second thought.”

“The cross must have some meaning,” Kadar probed. “Though Nasim assured me the content was not a religious relic and I’d have no trouble with the Knights Templar.”

Tarik raised his brows. “And you believed him?”

“Not entirely. Is it a holy relic?”

“Some might consider it so.”

“And you keep it here in your chamber, unguarded?”

“My men are loyal. It would be no easy task to wrest it from me.” He shrugged. “And perhaps, in my heart, I wish it to be stolen away from me. Sometimes the burden becomes too great.”

Kadar smiled. “Then let me oblige you.”

“Maybe I will.” He turned toward the door. “We shall see. Would you like to inspect my guardroom and see how well I’ve quartered your friend Haroun?”

“Why not?”

Tarik glanced at Selene. “I’d ask you to accompany us, but my soldiers are rough and not accustomed to ladies.”

“I’ve no desire to go with you.” Selene moved toward the door. “I’ll return to my chamber.”

“And be bored.” Kadar shuddered. “For which we will pay dearly later, Tarik.”

Tarik chuckled. “Will it help if I send her fine silks to embroider?”

“Maybe.”

“I understand she plays a fine game of chess. Perhaps I could have the honor of a game after we sup tonight.”

“Not if you continue to speak as if I’m not in the room,” Selene said bluntly.

Tarik chuckled and bowed deeply. “My apologies, sweet lady. Will you do me the courtesy of forgiving this lowly serf and amusing me this evening?”

“I don’t play for amusement. I play to win.”

“Fair warning.” His smile faded and he suddenly looked very weary. “I haven’t hungered for victory for a long, long time. It must be pleasant to care that much for small things.”

“Women are only permitted pleasure in small things.”

“Most women. But what you’re not permitted, you take. Is that not true?”

“Yes.” Kadar grinned. “You read her well, Tarik.”

“She’s a good deal like my wife.”

“Rosa?” Selene asked, remembering that moment in her chamber.

“No, my first wife, Layla. Rosa was a gentle soul and took only what she was given.”

“A pleasant change?” Selene asked.

“Not necessarily. I loved them both very much.”

Again Selene was aware of a great sadness in him. She impulsively reached out and touched his arm in comfort. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know how you must feel.”

“You have a good heart.” His gaze searched her face. “But you cannot know. You’ve not known great loss yourself. That is to come.”

“I have had a loss. My mother died when I was a child.”

He shook his head and gently removed her hand from his arm. “It is to come.”

A multitude of emotions surged through Selene as she watched them walk away. She liked him. She had not expected this response to such a complex man. Tarik could be humorous one moment, gentle and wise the next, but he was also an enigma. It was dangerous to be drawn to him.

“Checkmate.” Selene looked up from the board in triumph. “That last move was not at all clever, Tarik.”

Tarik groaned and leaned back in his chair. “Not only a thrashing but verbal abuse.” He glanced at Kadar, who was seated on the hearth a few yards away. “Save me, Kadar.”

“You say that every time, but still you play her.” Kadar smiled and his gaze shifted back to the fire. “She’s right, the last move was stupid.”

“I was distracted,” Tarik defended. “After all, I’m a man of many concerns.”

Selene made a derogatory noise.

“That sounded suspiciously like a snort.” Tarik frowned. “And not at all respectful of a man of my years.”

“Excuses. How old are you? Forty?”

He flinched. “Do I look forty?”

She relented. “Well, perhaps a
little
less than forty.”

“You’re too kind,” he said ironically. “I’m a man in my full prime. It’s dealing with young rascals like you and Kadar that has aged me.”

“Another game?”

“Not now.” He stood up and limped toward the table across the room. “I need a goblet of wine.”

Selene grinned. “Coward.”

“Abuse again . . .” he murmured.

“It’s a constant threat with Selene,” Kadar said.

There was no threat in this chamber tonight, Selene thought lazily. There was only peace and laughter and ease. It was strange how comfortable they had become in Tarik’s presence during the past eight days. Even at Montdhu she had never felt more content, and she could see Kadar felt the same way. He spent most of his days with Tarik, and in the evening it had become the custom for them all to gather in the hall for chess.

But Kadar had been very quiet tonight, she realized suddenly. She had played him first, and when Tarik had taken his place, he seated himself on the hearth and watched them with none of his usual banter. “Are you well?” she asked. “You’ve scarcely spoken.”

“I was just thinking.”

“Ah, a dangerous practice in a man like you,” Tarik said as he poured wine from the pitcher into his goblet. “I believe you need another goblet of wine too.”

“No.” Kadar met Tarik’s gaze. “I believe I need to see the object that made Nasim send me here.”

Tarik stopped pouring in midmotion. “I was wondering when you’d retrieve that particular promise.” He set the pitcher down. “But I was enjoying your company so much that I’d almost forgotten I’d given it.”

“I don’t think you did. But you made it easy for us to forget.”

“You believe I’ve been lulling you into a false sense of security? You’re wrong; you
are
secure here. Every day that passes convinces me that endangering you is the last thing in the world I’d want.”

“The object,” Kadar prompted.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Tonight.”

“You’re very stubborn.” Tarik sighed. “Very well, tonight.” He set his goblet down and picked up a candelabra. “Follow me, it’s in the chamber at the end of the corridor.”

The room to which Tarik took them was small and sparsely furnished. A long oak table and two chairs occupied the center of the room. On the table was a wooden pedestal on which a brown leather-bound manuscript rested.

Tarik gestured. “There it is.”

“That’s no treasure,” Selene said.

“But it’s what led Nasim to seek the treasure,” Tarik said. “And a manuscript’s value is in the eyes of the beholder.”

Selene felt a surge of excitement. “An entire chamber for one manuscript?”

“Don’t read importance into that. If I could obtain more volumes, I would do so. I have a passion for words. What a rare delight they are in this rough world.”

Kadar was already seating himself at the table and carefully opening the volume. “I’ll need light. Leave the candles, Tarik.”

“The light would be much better if you’d wait for morning.”

“Leave the candles.”

Tarik set the candelabra on the table. “You’ll go blind. The script is none too good. It was done by a scribe, not a monk from the abbey.” He turned to Selene. “Will you, at least, be sensible and go to your bed?”

“Presently.” She sat down in the chair across the table from Kadar. “I’ll stay awhile.”

Tarik’s gaze went from one to the other, and a faint smile curved his lips. “I should have known to argue would be of no avail. A sip is never enough when you have a great thirst, and you both have a voracious thirst for life.”

“And so do you,” Selene said.

“I once did. But I’ve drunk deep enough to quench my thirst.” He moved toward the door. “Well, I’m going to my bed. Don’t wake me. I won’t answer any questions until morning.”

As the door closed behind him, Kadar’s gaze eagerly fastened on the parchment.

Selene settled back in her chair, watching his face, waiting.

She was being carried up the stairs.

Selene opened drowsy eyes to see Kadar’s face above her. His expression held excitement and tension.

Were they going to the tower chamber?

No, this was different. No scent of hashish . . .

“Kadar, where—”

“Shh, you fell asleep at the table.” He was taking her to her chamber, laying her on the bed.

She had fallen asleep at a table? What a strange—the manuscript!

“What did it say?” She sat bolt upright in bed, wide awake. “What was in it?”

He sat down on the bed beside her. “Nothing to become excited about. I think the manuscript must be a jest of Tarik’s.”

“A jest?”

“It’s a troubadour’s tale.
Le Conte du Graal
by Chrétien de Troyes. It’s the story of a king and a wandering knight named Perceval.”

“And it does not mention the box?” she asked, disappointed.

“No.”

She could barely see him in the moonlit dimness, but there was something in his tone. He was not telling her everything. “Or what’s in it?”

“I don’t think so.” He paused. “Unless it’s the grail.”

“Grail?”

“A goblet used by Christ at the Last Supper. A cup with special powers sought by the knights of King Arthur’s court.”

“Dear God,” she whispered.

“A troubadour’s tale. Though sometimes it does not read like a tale, and Chrétien de Troyes tells of another document from which he took his story.”

“But it could be this grail that’s in the box in Tarik’s chamber?”

“Or what Nasim thinks is the true grail. He worships power. He would do anything to obtain a magical grail that would give the possessor Godlike powers.”

“He’s an evil, evil man. I cannot believe God would give him any more power than he has already.”

“But it’s not what you believe but what Nasim believes. To him, God is Allah, and Allah has always smiled on him.”