'Were you the very emperor himself, I would speak,' declared the irate archbishop. 'For when vile pride usurps a man's humility and true affection it is the duty of a priest to speak, to name the sin and call the sinner to account.'

The Templar's eyes narrowed dangerously; his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. 'I came before you in friendship and humility,' he said, forcing the words between clenched teeth, 'and I was shunned. Now, as I stand before this crowd of witnesses, I am reviled.'

His jaw muscles worked, grinding his teeth with suppressed rage. 'I command armies and ships, fortresses and cities; I have but to lift my hand and kingdoms are overthrown; I speak and heathen nations tremble. And I swear before Almighty God, were it not for the sake of the Holy Cup, you would be kneeling before the Throne of Heaven even now, proud priest.'

Archbishop Bertrano raised a triumphant finger. 'Now do I truly believe you are the Master and Commander of the Knights of the Temple. For who else but a man long accustomed to the wicked conceits of high position could stand in the presence of God and boast as you do? Your pride, sir, is a stink in the nostrils of God Almighty, and unless you repent on bended knee, it will drag you down to hell.'

De Bracineaux, livid and shaking, reached out and snatched hold of the archbishop's robe and pulled him close. 'Tell me where the Mystic Rose is to be found, or I swear by my right hand that before you draw another breath I will carve that devious tongue from your lying mouth.'

The archbishop, his lips pressed into a firm, defiant frown, glowered at the Templar with smoldering indignation.

'Well, priest?' de Bracineaux said, his breath hot in the cleric's face. 'It was your letter that brought me here, and I have not come this far to fail. I ask but once more.' He tightened his grip on the archbishop's robe. 'Where is the Holy Cup?'

'As God is my witness, I tell you I do not know where the relic is to be found,' answered the archbishop. 'That knowledge resides with the monk Matthias; he alone knows the whereabouts of the Sacred Vessel, and he is not here. He is in Aragon.'

'Then you will tell me where this brother is to be found,' the commander said. Even as he spoke, his eyes took on a sly gleam. 'Better still, so that no further misunderstandings threaten the harmony between us, you will show me the way. Considering that this singular opportunity has come about through your interfering offices, I think it is the least you can do.'

Releasing the cleric, he called to Gislebert. 'Ready a horse for our friend. His highness the archbishop is joining our pilgrimage.'

'You cannot command me,' the archbishop spluttered. 'I have work to do.'

'Then I suggest you make haste to discharge your obligations without delay.' He turned on his heel, and gestured to the Templars looking on. 'Bring him.'

One of the pack mules was hastily saddled and made ready for the archbishop, who, protesting the outrage being practised upon him, was forcibly manhandled on to the back of the beast. Then, at the sergeant's signal, the ranks of Templars moved slowly off.

The monks gave out a loud cry of dismay, pushed past the mounted soldiers and ran after their beloved archbishop, clamouring for his release. The soldiers paid them no heed-until some of them ran up to the churchman's mule and tried to haul him from the saddle. At a word from the Master, Gislebert called a command and the last rank of Templars wheeled their horses, raised their shields and lowered their lances, instantly blocking the street and preventing the townsfolk and monks from impeding their retreat.

Meanwhile, the rest of the cavalcade rode on. Archbishop Bertrano, realizing there was no rescue forthcoming, called to his monks for building work to continue in his absence. He was still shouting instructions when his listeners disappeared from sight.

'Impossible!' cried Carlo de la Coruna. 'Holy Mother of God, bear witness! I cannot allow it.'

Surprised by the magistrate's sudden vehemence, Cait glanced at Thea, who rolled her shoulders in a shrug of perplexed resignation. 'Why ever not?' wondered Cait, somewhat more innocently than she felt.

'You will certainly be killed, all of you. The bandits are very fierce. They are brigands. Cut-throats!' Carlo's wicker chair creaked as he squirmed with agitation. 'No, it is impossible. My conscience would give me not a moment's peace if I let you go. I would never forgive myself. Indeed, God himself,' he said, thrusting a finger heavenward and crossing himself solemnly, 'would never forgive me.'

'The road is safe enough,' Cait pointed out. 'We saw no sign of anyone all the way from Bilbao-neither bandits, traders, nor anyone else.'

'You see? The king's ban is working. We are starving the bandits into submission.'

'No doubt,' said Alethea, stirring herself from her listlessness, 'the thieves have already moved on to more profitable pickings elsewhere.' She yawned. 'Otherwise we would have seen them.'

The little man shook his head from side to side. 'No, no, no, no, no. It is too dangerous. I cannot allow it. You must stay here at Palencia until the Knights of Calatrava can escort you and your lovely sister properly and in all comfort and safety.'

'May I remind you, magistrate, we already possess such an escort,' Cait insisted gently. 'And if you agree to allow us to buy the supplies we need, then we will be as well provided on the road as we would be here behind the walls of your excellent city.' She displayed her most winsome and beguiling smile. 'You are very kind, Carlo, and your concern shows a generous and compassionate heart.' She reached out and pressed his hand warmly. 'But, you see, there is really no cause to be fearful on our account.'

'Madre mia,' sighed the magistrate. 'The king would boil me alive in hot oil if he found out.'

'The king,' Alethea replied blithely, 'is only three years old.'

They feasted that night in the banqueting hall of the old palace; Palencia had been a favourite royal residence many years ago-from the time when Alfonso III expelled the Moors and took over the amir's house for his own. Rognvald and the knights had spent the day roistering with some of the higher-ranking townspeople and had made a fair few acquaintances among Palencia's knighted nobility -a small but ferociously loyal brotherhood. Most of these had been invited to the feast, and so the warriors carried on their revel late into the night.

In all it was a grand repast, and when the celebrants arose from the crumb- and bone-strewn tables and staggered out into the darkened streets of Palencia, new friendships had been forged and vows of eternal brotherhood pledged. The next morning, Caitriona, Alethea, Rognvald and Dag rode out to an estate a short distance south of the city where, as Rognvald had learned from one of the local noblemen, Brother Matthias was reported to be building a church for the vassals.

The estate was not far, and Magistrate Carlo offered to ride with them and show them the way; Cait was desperately trying to find a way to politely, but gently, discourage him from this course, when he was called away on urgent business to settle a dispute between a pair of brothers over the use of a cow which they had bought. 'Let us go quickly now,' Thea said as the officious governor hurried off, 'before he comes back.'

The way was well marked, and they had no difficulty finding the church, for, but a short distance from the trail, they observed a heap of rubble and several piles of rough lumber. In the midst of these heaps, a ragged curtain of laid stone was being raised.

Leaving Dag on a nearby hilltop to keep watch on the trail and warn them should any trouble approach, they rode on to the building site where, on a plank balanced between two sections of wall, stood a young man wrapped in the brown robe of a priest. The hem of the robe was drawn up and tucked into his wide leather belt, revealing a pair of muscular, but dirty, legs and equally filthy bare feet. The day being warm, he had withdrawn his arms so the upper half of the wool garment hung down around his trim waist.