'Pax vobiscum,' called Rognvald as they reined up.

The monk straightened from his work and turned to greet his visitors, holding in his hands the stone he was about to lay. 'Pax vobiscum,' he replied, glancing from the knight to the two women. His dark hair and wispy beard had been lightened by long hours in the sun.

'We are searching for a priest called Brother Matthias,' said Rognvald. 'I am wondering if you could help us find him.'

'Your search is at an end, brother,' replied the monk in easy, Spanish-tinted Latin. 'I am Matthias.'

'God be good to you,' said Cait. 'We have something of importance to discuss. Is there a place we might talk?'

'I have no secrets before God, sister,' the monk replied, turning back to his work. 'And, as you can see, there is no one here but the Good Lord and me, so whatever is in your heart, speak.' He placed the stone on to a bed of oozing grey mortar which he had prepared, then scooped the excess mortar from the side of the wall and packed it around the stone.

'Are you building this church all alone?' asked Alethea. 'Is there no one to help you?'

'God is helping me, sister,' answered the monk. He lowered himself on to the plank, and then dropped to the ground; moving to the nearest heap of rubble, he chose another stone, hefted it on to the plank, and then clambered up once more. 'The people come when they can, but it is soon harvest time and they are needed in the fields.'

'We have come from Archbishop Bertrano in Santiago,' said Rognvald.

'Have you indeed?' said the monk, turning towards them again. 'Then you have travelled a fair distance.' He straightened and regarded them with renewed interest. 'I would share a cup of wine with you,' he said, 'but all I have is water.' He pointed to a gourd hanging from the wall by a strap. 'Still, you are welcome to it.'

Cait thanked him, but declined. 'I fear we come bearing bad news,' she said.

'Bertrano is dead?' guessed the monk. He picked up the stone from the plank and gazed at it sadly. 'How did it happen? Was it one of the builders?'

'The good archbishop was hale as ever when we last saw him,' Cait assured the priest quickly. 'Unfortunately, it is Commander de Bracineaux who is dead.' She noticed Alethea's quick and questioning glance, and prayed her sister would, just this once, keep her mouth shut. 'I am sorry,' she said, ignoring Alethea. She hated deceiving the priest in this way, but the ruse must be maintained if they were to secure his help.

A puzzled frown clouded the monk's open, guileless features. 'I do not understand.'

'There was a shipwreck,' Rognvald said, and explained how the Templar commander and the other survivors were attacked by Muhammedans. 'Sadly, the commander died of his wounds.'

'I am aggrieved to hear it,' offered the monk, resuming his work.

Alethea watched him set another stone in the wall. 'You seem to take your grief in your stride,' she observed.

'Thea, hush!' whispered Cait furiously.

Matthias glanced at her, his sun-browned features breaking into a grin. 'No doubt I would be more sorrowful if I had the slightest idea who this man de Bracineaux might be.'

'You do not know him?' asked Cait.

'Good lady, I know him less well than I do the knight beside you,' said the monk, 'and him I know not at all.'

'Forgive me, brother,' said Rognvald quickly. 'I am Rognvald, Lord of Haukeland and Orkney) ar. And this is Lady Caitriona, and her sister Lady Alethea of Caithness in Scotland.'

'May the Lord of All Holiness bless you and keep you, my friends,' said the priest, inclining his head in an ecclesiastical bow.

'As it is nearing midday,' said Cait, 'I wonder if we could entice you down from your lofty perch with an offer of a meal. We have brought some food-would you care to share it with us?'

'The work of God cannot be diverted.' Matthias dropped down to the ground once more, selected another stone, and hoisted it on to the plank.

'You do eat, do you not?' asked Alethea.

'Sometimes,' allowed the monk, 'when time is not so pressing. Still, I want for nothing. God supplies all my needs.'

'If he feeds you like he helps with the building,' Thea observed, 'then I am not surprised you have but little time for food. Indeed, it is a wonder you do not waste away altogether.'

Matthias laughed. 'O, ye of little faith,' he said, clambering back on to his rough plank. 'We must work while we have the light. For I tell you the truth, night is soon coming when no man can work.'

To Cait's surprise, it was Rognvald who parried this light-hearted thrust. 'Blessed Yesu said, "My food is to do the work my father has given me." Perhaps, what we have to tell you is also the work of God. Therefore, let us also eat-and perhaps we will discover what Our Heavenly Father would have us do with the light we yet possess.'

The priest stood upon his plank and beamed. 'A man after my own heart. I yield to your wise counsel.'

As the priest climbed down from his suspended walkway again, Cait indicated a solitary scrub-oak tree a little apart from the building site. 'Come, Thea, we will prepare the meal. We can sit in the shade.'

They dismounted and, taking the bundles from behind her saddle, Cait led her sister past the mounds of stone and timber to the tree. 'Thea, there is no time to explain. But whatever Rognvald or I may say – just you consider it the truth. Better yet, Thea, keep your mouth closed.'

'I know the Templar isn't dead,' she said. 'Is that what you mean?'

'Yes, and there is more. I will explain everything later. Believe me, I do not like it any more than you do -'

'I like it just fine,' remarked Alethea glibly. 'And so do you-I saw your face when you told him. You enjoy it! So, do not try to pretend being holy and contrite all of a sudden. I know better.'

'Oh, very well, have it your way,' Cait told her. 'We will talk later. Just see you do not interfere.'

'Why would I interfere? Anyway, he is a fine and handsome man-do you not think so, Cait?'

'He is a priest!' hissed her sister. 'You cannot treat with him like other men. In fact, you must not treat with him at all.'

Alethea shrugged, and they unwrapped the bundle and began spreading the meal beneath the tree. Shortly, the knight and priest finished their inspection of the far-from-finished church, and joined them. 'Bertrano sent you to tell me this?' the priest was saying.

'He did,' answered the knight. 'You see, the archbishop took your concern to heart and sent to the pope for guidance in the matter of the Holy Cup.'

'You know about the Mystic Rose?' wondered Matthias. 'Bertrano told you?'

'Commander Renaud de Bracineaux was Master of Jerusalem,' the knight said. 'He told me of the pope's letter before he died. He asked me to take word to Archbishop Bertrano, and Bertrano has sent me to you.'

The priest nodded. 'I begin to see now. I did not know the archbishop would involve anyone else. I told him in confidence.'

'And so it remains,' Cait quickly assured him. 'I am certain the good archbishop would not have confirmed us in this task if there was a better way.'

'Although you might not know it,' the knight added, 'the Muhammedans have been troubling the region of late. Travel has become very difficult. No doubt the archbishop took this into account.'

'I suppose you are right,' agreed Matthias. 'There has been trouble, true enough. Thanks be to God, we have been spared until now.'

'Why did you think Archbishop Bertrano was dead?' wondered Alethea.

'Thea, not now,' hushed her sister.

Matthias grinned again, his teeth white against the sun-darkened patina of his skin and curly wisp of a beard. 'So long as that cathedral of his remains unfinished, the man is a very plague to all the poor workmen who must labour under his tireless zeal.' He chuckled to himself. 'In truth, it is only a matter of time before one of his harried builders smites him with a hammer, or throws him from a scaffold.'