Again, I promised to think about all he had said, thanked him for the food and drink, and bade him farewell. 'Pax vobiscum,' called the knight, raising his hand in benediction after us. 'God go with you.'

'Pax vobiscum,' replied Padraig. We walked on in silence, retracing our steps to the quayside where we joined the traders and porters passing to and fro along the wharf with their baskets, kegs, bundles, and chests of goods. Unable to rein in his curiosity any longer, Padraig said, 'Are you truly thinking of joining them?'

'It is tempting,' I confessed. 'But no, my thoughts are otherwise.'

'Then what are you thinking, my lord?'

'I am thinking,' I replied, 'that if a pilgrim were bound for the Holy Land, he could not do better than to travel in the company of God's own knights.'

We spent the rest of the day, and most of the next, trying to discover more about this Marseilles. For although Padraig professed to know of the place, he had no idea how far it might be, nor by which route it could be found. We showed Sarn's map to the pilots of no fewer than six of the larger ships and asked them if they could show us where it might be. Two of them had never heard of the place; one knew the name and told us it was on the south coast, but had never been there; and three pilots tried to buy Sarn's chart for themselves.

Then, as the sun was going down, a slender young man approached the place where our boat was tied. Sarn and I were sitting on the wharf discussing the problem, and Padraig was stirring among the supplies in preparation of our evening meal. The stranger came to where we stood and bowed low before us. 'Pax vobiscum,' he said, 'I would be most grateful if you could tell me if I am speaking to the men who have been inquiring about Marseilles.'

His speech, although flawless, lacked warmth-as if he were uttering words he was being forced against his will to speak. I regarded him closely. His eyes were large and dark against his sallow skin; his hair was black and thick, and cut close so that the curls were tight to his scalp like a knitted cap. His limbs were thin; the clothing that hung on his bony frame, however, was of the finest cut and cloth, and well made. On his thumb was a huge ring of gold, and a fat purse hung at the wide belt which gathered his long tunic around his too-narrow waist; a large knife with a bone handle protruded from the folds.

'We have been asking about Marseilles,' I replied, and explained that it was our wish to join the Templar fleet travelling to the Holy Land.

His large dark eyes, which had appeared somewhat cloudy or hazy, suddenly brightened at my affirmation. 'This is your boat,' he said, pointing to the sturdy craft behind us.

'It is, yes,' I replied.

'And you are its master, yes?' he asked, almost quivering with excitement.

'The boat belongs to my father,' I told him. 'But I have the use of it.'

'Splendid!' he cried, and I thought he would swoon. When he had calmed himself, he said, 'Please, do not think me brazen, but I would like to hire your boat.'

'I admire your boldness,' I told him, 'but I must disappoint you. My boat is not for hire. You see, we -'

'I have money,' he said quickly. 'I will pay whatever you ask. It is very important that I return to my home in Anazarbus as soon as possible.'

'Again, I fear I must disappoint you,' I replied, and explained that so far as we could understand, it was a very long voyage to our destination, and that we possessed, as anyone could see, only a small vessel. With four passengers it would not only be uncomfortable, but dangerous as well. 'I am very sorry,' I told him. 'Still, this is a busy port. No doubt you will soon find someone else who can take you.'

He frowned as sorrow overtook him, and I thought he would cry. His head dropped forwards and he looked at his feet. Then he drew a deep, steadying breath, and said, 'I have no wish to appear impertinent, but the extremity of my plight makes me persist where others would graciously relent. If I offend you, I beg your forgiveness. It seems to me, however, that you contemplate sailing to Marseilles by sea.'

Sarn smiled. His Latin was good enough to understand most of what the young man was saying. 'Sailing is best done at sea,' he replied dryly.

'Of course,' allowed the stranger, 'a man of your obvious skill would find it so. I merely wish to point out a fact that might have escaped your notice. You see, there is another way.'

'You know this other way?' I asked.

'Indeed, yes.'

'And you would show us?'

'Of course, yes. If I were a passenger in your boat,' he said, 'it would be in my best interest to reach our destination by the fastest way possible.' He smiled, his face suddenly glowing with triumph. 'What do you say, my friend? I will most happily be your guide.'

Now it was Sarn's turn to frown. He leaned near, putting his head close to mine. 'I do not like this fellow,' he said. 'How can we be certain he knows what he is talking about?'

'We will find out more,' I told him. To the thin young man, I said, 'What you say intrigues me, I do confess. Perhaps you would care to have supper with us, and we will sit together and discuss the matter.'

Glancing at Padraig, who was beginning to assemble the various items for our meal, the young man said, 'You are most gracious, lord. I will sup with you, but I must beg you to allow me to contribute something to the meal.'

Despite my assurances that this was not in any way necessary, he hastened away-only to reappear a short while later accompanied by a man carrying a large bundle in one hand, and two good-sized jars in the other. At the young man's direction, the man placed the jars and bundle on the ground and, with a low nod of his head, hurried away.

'Please,' said the young stranger, indicating that we should open the bundle. Sarn obliged, pulling the knot in the cloth, which opened to reveal a veritable feast. There were spit-roasted fowl and fish of several kinds; fresh-baked bread, dried fruit, and sweetmeats; there was a stew of beans and pork in a sauce of savoury herbs; and little cakes made with honey and almonds, and covered in tiny white seeds. There was enough for all of us, and more besides.

Pointing to the two jars, he said, 'I did not know if you preferred ale, or wine-so I brought both.'

Sarn was delighted with the banquet, and grinned happily. 'Perhaps we might listen to what he has to say,' he whispered, and began laying out the food.

I called Padraig to come join us, and bade the young man to sit down. 'I am Duncan Murdosson of Banvard in Caithness,' I said. 'And this is Sarn Short-Finger my pilot, and Padraig ap Carradoc, my friend and advisor.'

The young man professed himself delighted to make our acquaintance and, bowing low, declared, 'I am Lord Roupen, son of Prince Leo of Armenia.' He sat down on the wharf, removing his shoes and crossing his legs.

Padraig blessed the meal, then handed the bowls and cups around, and we began to eat. The food was excellent, and we were soon licking our fingers and smacking our lips. Our young friend, however, picked at his food as if he found it distasteful or unpalatable. He smiled wanly from tune to time as Sarn, unable to help himself, exclaimed over the various dishes.

'Your generosity has won the favour of our pilot, it would seem,' I observed, pouring wine into the young lord's cup. 'But I cannot help noticing that you do not share his enthusiasm for our meal.'

'Alas, it is so,' he sighed. 'Exquisite as it surely is, I cannot eat this fare.'

Sarn heard this, and asked, 'Is it because you are a Jew?'

Roupen smiled sadly. 'I am neither a Jew, nor a Muhammedan-despite what many believe. The Princes of Armenia have been Christians for a thousand years.' He glanced with pensive sadness at the food. 'Alas, my lack of appetite is due to a unknown malady with which I have been inflicted since coming to this country.'