“I’ll win Baldwin ’s ear,” I promised. “Then I’ll cut it off and bring it back to you.”

“Good. We’ll make a soup of it!” the jester roared. He pulled my hand soundly, as if trying to force me off my mark, then looked at me with some welling in his eyes.

“You are sure of this, Hugh? Of going to all this risk? It would be a shame to waste this valuable teaching on a corpse. You’re sure your wife lives?”

“I feel it with all my heart.” I looked into his eyes.

He raised his bushy brows and smiled. “So go, then, lad… To the sails …Find your beloved. You are a dreamer, boy, but, yikes, what good jester isn’t?” He winked and stuck out his tongue. “Give her a lick for me.”

IT WAS A COOL MORNING as the sun broke through the mist, low in the sky. Emilie met me on the stone road outside the castle gate. “You rise early, Hugh De Luc.”

“And you, lady. I’m sorry to have brought you out so early in the morn.”

She smiled bravely. “It is for a good purpose, I hope.”

“I hope so too,” I said.

She had on her brown cloak, which she always wore for matins. She cinched the collar against the mist. I stood before her in my ridiculous jester’s outfit. I did a sprightly hop and a jump that made her laugh.

“I hear it is you I have to thank for the new duds.” I bowed.

“What thanks?” She curtsied. “A jester could not do his work without looking the part. Besides, your other clothes reeked of a particular smelly beast.”

I smiled, fixing on her soft green eyes. “I feel the fool in front of you, my lady.”

“Not to me. You look quite dashing, if I say so.”

“The dashing jester… Not what is normally thought of as right.”

Emilie’s eyes glistened. “Did I not tell you, Hugh, that I have a penchant for not doing what is considered right?”

“You did tell me.” I nodded.

[117] We stood and stared at each other for a long while, the space empty of words. A rush of feelings rose in my chest. This beautiful girl had done so much for me. If not for her, I would have been dead, a bloody mound on the side of the road. I reached my hand out to hers. There was a spark between us, a warmth against the cool of the morning.

I let my hand linger, longer than I could have dreamed. She did not pull away. “I owe you so much, Lady Emilie. I fear I owe you a debt I can never repay.”

“You owe me nothing,” she said, her chin raised, “but to be on your quest and to complete it safely.”

I didn’t know what else to say. For me there had only been Sophie. Each night I went to sleep with my mind dancing with a thousand images of our lives together, my hands aching to touch her skin once more. I loved my wife, and yet, this woman had done so much. And gotten nothing in return. I wanted to take her in my arms and let her know how I felt. The strongest surge swelled inside me; it gave me a trembling in every bone in my body.

“I hope with all my heart your Sophie is alive,” Emilie finally said.

“She is alive. I know it.”

My hand was still cupping hers. When I finally pulled it away, I felt a loss-but also a small object pressed inside my palm, wrapped in a linen cloth.

“This was in your clothes,” Emilie said, “when I first found you on the road.”

I unwrapped it. The breath froze in my chest. It was the broken comb with the painted edge I had found in the cinders of our inn. Sophie’s comb.

Emilie’s eyes were liquid and courageous, her voice strong. She took my hand. “Go find her, Hugh De Luc. I truly believe that is what you were saved for.”

I nodded. I squeezed her hand back with all my might. “In all the world, I hope to see you again, my lady.”

[118] “In all the world, I hope to see you again too, Hugh De Luc. It pains me that you leave.”

I let her go and tossed my sack upon my back. I picked up my staff and started south, on the true road to Treille.

I took a skip and a hop and twirled around to take a final look at Emilie. She was still watching me and smiled bravely. I wondered, with all the worlds that separated us, how I had deserved such a lovely friend.

“Good-bye,” I whispered under my breath.

I thought I saw her lips move too. “Good-bye, Hugh.”

THE ARMORED RAIDERS SWEPT DOWN upon the sleeping manor. It was a large stone house in a neighboring duchy, miles from the nearest town.

I will make them pay, Black Cross promised. No man is bold enough to steal from God. Especially not the true relics of Christendom.

At first, there was a yip of dogs as the massive chargers thundered out of the calm night. Then torches lit up the darkness and everything went ablaze.

The horsemen set fire to the stables, horses bucking and neighing in fright. A few terrified workers who had been sleeping there ran out and were mowed down by the blades of hard metal charging by.

The manor burst alive with light. Six dark knights dismounted and two of them crashed through the heavy wooden door with their axes. Black Cross burst inside with his men.

The knight of the manor appeared in a doorway inside. His name was Adhémar. All France knew of this old man, this renowned fighter, who still stood with a strength that spoke of his past. Behind him, his wife huddled in a bed gown. The knight had donned his tunic. It bore the purple-and-gold fleur-de-lis of the King.

[120] “Who are you?” Adhémar challenged the raiders. “What do you want here?”

“A piece of gold, old man. From your last campaign,” said Black Cross.

“I am no banker, intruder. My last campaign was in service to the Pope.”

“Then it should not be so hard to remember. What we seek was plundered from a tomb in Edessa.”

“ Edessa?” The old knight’s eyes flicked from intruder to intruder. “How do you know this?”

“The noble Adhémar’s fame is well-known,” Black Cross said.

“Then you also know I fought with William at Hastings. That I wear the Gold Fleur, awarded to me by King Philip himself. That I have defended the faith at Acre and Antioch, where my blood still lies.”

“We know all of this.” Black Cross smiled. “In fact, that is why we are here.”

He signaled to one of his men, who bound the arms of the knight’s wife. Adhémar moved to defend her, but he was pinned by the blade of a sword to his neck.

“You insult me, intruder. You show no face or colors. Who are you? Who has sent you? Tell me, so I will know you when I meet you in Hell.”

“Know this,” Black Cross said, and lifted his helmet, revealing the dark cross burned into the side of his neck.

The old knight fell silent with recognition.

“Take us to the relic,” Black Cross said.

His henchmen dragged the couple through their house, the knight’s wife screaming futilely at her captors. They went through a stone arch leading to a rear courtyard, where there was a small chapel. Inside was a bronze altar with a crucifix hanging above.

“In Edessa, you looted the tomb of a Christian shrine. In the reliquary, there were crosses and vestments and coins. There [121] was also a gold box. In it were ashes. That is all we came for. Just a box filled with ash…”

Black Cross grabbed a war ax from one of his cohorts and raised it over the knight’s head. The knight closed his eyes. As the knight’s wife shrieked, Black Cross swung the ax in a mighty arc, narrowly missing the knight, smashing the stone floor beneath the altar. The rock crumbled under the mighty blow.

Beneath the masonry, a hidden space came into view. Inside was a gold ark wrapped in cloth. One of Black Cross’s men knelt and lifted it. He smashed the valuable chest as if it were a trinket.

He lifted out a simple wooden box. He opened the lid and gazed awestruck at the dark sand inside.