I rose slowly and followed. Roupen declined, saying he would stay with Sarn and help watch the boat. I caught up with the long-legged priest as he started across the all-but-deserted square which fronted the wharf. 'You will like the chapel, Duncan,' he said as I fell into step beside him. 'It has a very unusual carving.'

He led me to a small square building made of stone. A dull glimmer of light shone in the two tiny windows either side of an arched wooden door. An iron latch secured the door, but it lifted easily and Padraig pushed open the door. Two large candles burned either side of a simple wooden altar above which hung the carving Padraig had mentioned.

The candles were poorly made and gave off black smoke which stank of burning hair. The foul light did little to dispel the gloom, but, as the room was empty, we stepped up to the altar for a closer look at the carving: a mother with an infant child cradled in her arms. A halo of gold surrounded the heads of both mother and the holy child whose figures had been carved from a large piece of very dark wood. Aside from that, it was something one might have seen in any Latin church.

'What do you notice?' asked Padraig.

'The wood carver employed some considerable skill. Beyond that, I find nothing unusual about it.'

'They are black,' said Padraig.

'Well, the wood is black,' I allowed.

'No,' he said. 'Look more closely.'

I did as he directed and put my face near the carving. As I had said, the figures were finely rendered. The child was reaching a tiny hand up towards the mother's solemn face as she gazed with maternal gravity upon the world that would one day revile and crucify her son. Aside from the sombre, almost doleful, expression on the mother's face, I saw nothing at all to remark upon. 'Is there some mystery here that I am supposed to see?' I asked.

'They are black,’ Padraig repeated.

'Yes, we have established that. They are black -'

'Not because the wood is black; it is not. They were painted black.'

I looked again, more closely, and realized he was right. There were places near the base where scratches in the paint work revealed the lighter colour of the wood beneath. 'How strange,' I remarked, touching the coloured wood lightly with my finger. 'Why would anyone want to paint them black? Is it that they think the mother of Jesu was an Ethiope?'

'She is called the Black Madonna,' announced a voice from the doorway. Roupen had thought better of his decision and joined us after all. He came to the altar and, indicating the mother figure, said, 'Mary she is, but not the mother of Jesu.'

'Then who is she?' I wondered.

'Mary the Magdalene.'

'But that is ridiculous. Why should the Magdalene be cradling the infant Christ? It makes no sense.'

'Indeed.' The monk smiled shrewdly. 'Unless, it is not the infant Christ she is holding.'

I waited for one of them to tell me who the infant figure represented. 'Well, am I the only one in all of Frankland who does not know who the infant is supposed to represent?'

'It is Jesu's son,' said Roupen.

His answer so amazed me that it took me a moment to work out all the implications of this extraordinary revelation. 'Christ's son!' I exclaimed aloud, staring at the tiny carved figure. 'But that is horrendous!'

Placing a finger to his lips to quiet me, Padraig merely nodded. 'There are those who believe that Jesu and Mary were husband and wife. After all, the scripture speaks often of the disciple Jesu loved. Most scholars assume the appellation betokens John the apostle, but there is no reason why it might not designate another.'

'Besides,' added Roupen, 'it is well known that many women followed Jesu and supported his earthly ministry in various ways-this, too, is well attested in holy scripture.'

'But see here now,' I protested. 'Christ's son – think what you are saying.'

'As to that,' the monk replied in the same calm, equivocal tone, 'it was commonplace for a Jewish rabbi to be married. In fact, it would have been remarkable, if not improbable, if it had been otherwise. If, as the church that bears his name believes, Our Lord and Redeemer was subject to the same humanity we all possess, then why should marriage remain beyond Christ's experience? The union of husband and wife is an essential part of God's design for the human family, after all. Should not the author of our faith adhere to the same rigours that are imposed upon his followers?'

'The Magdalene was a prostitute and a demoniac,' I protested. 'Would you have me believe that our Beloved Lord was one flesh with a demon-ridden whore?'

'Again, you speak only hearsay and slanderous supposition. Nowhere in the scripture is it written she was a whore – only that demons were driven from her and she was healed. In all likelihood the designation of prostitute came very much later when it became, let us say, inconvenient for the pope to recognize the rank and position of a powerful and influential woman.' Lifting a hand to the carving, he said, 'However it was, those who hold to this cult believe the union of Jesu and Mary produced a child. After Christ was crucified, and the persecution of the new faith began in Jerusalem, the holy family fled-first to Damascus, and then to Rome. Eventually, however, they settled here.'

'In Marseilles?' I wondered. 'This grows more fantastic with every word.'

'Indeed,' agreed Roupen. 'I have never heard that part of the tale.'

'It was called Marsalla then,' Padraig explained, 'a well-known Roman port. Grain and cattle were shipped from here to the East, and the trade in those days was very good. It was a fine and prosperous city – and far away from the religious intrigues and oppressions of the East. The holy family and their train of followers brought the new faith with them, and they have been revered in this region ever since – as you can see.'

He answered with such assurance, I could not help asking, 'How can you possibly know all this?'

Padraig smiled. 'The cult of the Black Madonna is well known to the Cele De. It is heresy, of course, although mild compared to most. Still, it is heresy nonetheless. We came to know of it when it was once laid on the head of Beloved Pelagius, our great teacher and advocate. He defended himself mightily against the charge, answering his accusers in a bold treatise which is preserved and studied by the keepers of the Holy Light.'

Padraig led us briefly in our prayers, and we finished a short while later. Roupen went on ahead, leaving Padraig and me to our talk. 'You knew the Black Madonna was there,' I said. 'Was that why you brought me?'

He shook his head. 'I had no idea it was there until I saw it today when I came In to pray.' He dismissed the carving, saying, 'It is of no account-a curiosity, nothing more.'

'Then why?'

'I wanted to remind you that things are not always as they seem,' he replied. 'And that even the most forthright appearances often hide a deeper meaning for those who know how to look.'

Even in the dim and flickering candlelight, I could see his gaze grow keen, and knew there would be no evading him any longer.

'I brought you here so that you could tell me the true purpose of your pilgrimage.'

I should not have been surprised, but-as I have said, and will say again-the priests of the Cele De are ever full of surprises. I suppose he had worked it out following our brief exchange earlier in the day. Although I would have preferred telling him when we were somewhat closer to our destination, I knew there would be no putting him off now, so I said, 'Very well. It seems this is the night for sharing hidden purposes.'

Padraig smiled knowingly. 'It is that.'

'It is easily told,' I began as we left the chapel, 'and not half so mysterious as the Black Madonna. First, I must ask you whether you have ever heard of the Iron Lance?'