Unfortunately, when the sun began to descend in the west and loosen its grip on the land, then the midges came seeking our blood once more. We spent another endless, insufferable night wrapped in our cloaks. Anyone stumbling upon our camp in the night would have imagined we had all been slain and prepared for burial in our shrouds.

After three days of fighting a losing battle against the vicious midges, we at last entered a deeper channel and, though there was only the slightest, most hesitant breath of a breeze, Sarn raised the sail so that we might leave the plague of pests far behind as swiftly as possible.

Downstream, we stopped long enough to prepare one final, meagre supper with the last of our provisions-a gruel of flaked dried meat and meal which, like starving dogs we devoured instantly; we licked the bowls clean and journeyed on. The channel was good and the moon bright, so we sailed through the night and arrived at Aries late the next day-tired, sore, very hungry, and with no money to buy food.

It was beneath my dignity to beg, although if it came to that, I would so humble myself. Roupen said he would rather starve than beg; and Sarn said that since we were already starving, he did not see that begging made any difference one way or the other. 'Beyond that,' I said, 'I reckon our best hope lies in reaching Marseilles as soon as possible, and beseeching the Templars to take pity on us.'

Padraig, however, had other ideas. 'It may be the Templars will aid us,' he allowed indifferently when I suggested it, 'although I do not see why they should.'

'If you have something better to offer, I am waiting to hear it.' I cupped a hand to my ear and leaned towards him. 'Well, I am still waiting.'

'If you would cease your yammering, you might hear something worthwhile,' he replied testily. 'As it happens, your father stopped here on his way to the Holy Land-or have you forgotten?'

I had forgotten. Then again, owing to Murdo's reluctance to speak of his part in the Great Pilgrimage, I knew little about the place to begin with. Most of what I had heard about Aries I owed to Emlyn, who had also told Padraig-apparently far more than he had told me.

'They wintered here,' I said, remembering. 'There is a monastery. We could ask them for food-is that what you are thinking?'

'Come, I will show you what I am thinking.' He started off along the quay and I hurried after, leaving Roupen and Sarn to refresh the water casks and make the boat fast.

Padraig found his way to a market square near the harbour. As in most settlements of any size, there are always a fair number of elder citizens gathered around talking and taking their ease. Padraig greeted them respectfully and, seeing we were strangers, they wanted to know where we were coming from, and where we were going. He told them a little about our pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and they all nodded earnestly. They had heard of the Great Pilgrimage, of course, and several of them said they knew men who had participated, and had stories to tell. We listened and talked like this until they were well satisfied with our integrity, and then Padraig said, 'My uncle wintered here on his way to the Holy Land; he was a priest travelling with some Norsemen. Perhaps some of you remember them.'

The old men shook their heads. No, they did not remember, but they were certain that such things did occur.

'There was also an armourer who lived here. He became friends with this man's father.' Here the priest indicated me, which impressed the choir of idlers enormously. 'I wonder if he is still here.'

Our informants grew very excited. Not only was the fellow still there, they said, he was still doing a brisk business in weapons of all kinds, and only for the noblemen of the region. 'The Templars have been here to see him,' one toothless fellow proclaimed proudly. 'They are fighting priests, you know. Only the best will do for them.'

Upon learning that we were on our way to Marseilles to join the Templar fleet, we were enthusiastically informed that one of the Templar ships had come into the harbour to receive the weapons which had been purchased the previous year. 'They were returning to Marseilles and were to set sail for the Holy Land in three days' time.'

'How many days ago was this?' I asked.

'Four,' replied the old man. 'They will have sailed by now. If it is the Templars you were hoping to find, I fear you have missed them, my friend.'

One of the other men spoke up. 'What are you thinking of, Arnal? It was only two days ago the Templars were here.'

'It was four days,' maintained the one called Arnal. 'I suppose you think I no longer know one day from another, eh?'

'When did you ever know one day from another?' said his friend. 'It was two days ago the Templars were here, I tell you. Charles remembers as well as I.' Turning to a third old fellow, he asked how many days since the Templar ship had sailed. The man leaned forwards on his stick, thought for a moment, opened his mouth, then closed it, thought some more, and then said, 'Three days.'

'There! You see?' cried Arnal triumphantly. 'I told you, it was never two days.'

'Where would we find this armourer?' I asked, breaking into their deliberations. 'Maybe he could tell us more.'

They told us how to find Bezu's forge, and we thanked them for their inestimable help and hurried off in search of the smithy. We passed the priory of Saint Trophime, where, as Padraig remembered, Emlyn and his brother monks had passed many a dreary winter day in fiery debate with the priests of Aries. The day faded around us as we hurried through the narrow streets and pathways and into the old part of the city.

'They said Bezu's forge was once a gatehouse used by the legion,' mused Padraig. Pointing to a high stone wall rising broad and tall above the low rooftops of the houses clustered tight beneath it, he said, 'There it is-and there is the smithy.'

It was a solid stone edifice built into the wall. We could see the place where the old doorway had been closed up with rubble stone. Black smoke issued from a squat chimney, and the clang of hammer on anvil rang out from within. The low, wide door was open, so the canny monk walked directly into the smithy and called to the proprietor, telling him he had visitors who wished to make his acquaintance.

I stepped through the door to see a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard, his face red from the glowing iron in his hand. His shirt was a filthy rag full of tiny burned holes from the sparks and bits of molten metal that flew from his hammer. He regarded us without interest, and went back to his pounding.

I felt a pang of disappointment. 'Are you Bezu?' I asked; but he made no reply.

Instead, my question was answered by a man who suddenly stepped from the darkness of the room behind the forge. This fellow was short, white-haired, plump, and smiling. Clean-shaven, his round face glowing with the heat from the forge fire, he was dressed in a long mantle of fine cloth, with a wide leather belt to which a fine, slender sword was attached. He regarded us with a kindly expression, and said, 1 am Balthazar of Aries, at your service, my friends.'

I begged his pardon, and told him we were looking for the armourer named Bezu.

'My dear friends, of whom I have many, call me Bezu,' he informed me. 'You may do so, if you wish.'

'It is an honour to meet you, Master Bezu,' I told him. 'I am Duncan Murdosson, and this is my friend and companion, Brother Padraig.'

'A man who travels in the company of a priest must either be very devout,' Bezu observed cheerfully, 'or else he is so wicked as to require continual observation and correction.'

'Then again,' I suggested, 'it may be such a man is merely on pilgrimage.'

'Ah, yes, I expect that will be the likeliest explanation.' Bezu laughed, and said, 'You were looking for me? Well, here I am. How can I help you.'