'Of course.' He did not laugh outright, but my question amused him. 'It is the spear of Christ's crucifixion.'

'It is that,' I affirmed. 'And since it seems the priests of the Cele De know everything, you probably also know that the sacred object resides in my father's treasure room.'

'Now that you bring it up, I seem to recall hearing about that, yes.'

'Have you always known?' I asked, feeling like a fool for ever thinking I might hide anything from him. I stopped walking to look at his reaction.

'No,' he replied. 'Indeed, I learned of it only a day or so before we left.'

'Abbot Emlyn told you, I suppose.'

'He did,' confirmed Padraig. 'But my uncle asked me never to speak of it to anyone-unless, like now, someone else should speak of it first.'

'Have you seen the Sacred Lance?'

'Alas, no. One day, perhaps-who knows?'

'Well,' I told him, resuming our ramble, 'I have seen it and held it in my hands. It was the night my father told me how he had rescued it from the heathen, and from the hands of the iniquitous crusaders who would have made of it a sacrilege. That same night, I vowed within myself that even as my father had rescued the lance, I would rescue the cross.'

'The True Cross,' mused Padraig. I could not tell whether he approved of my plan, or not.

"Torf-Einar told me all about the shameful desecration of that holy treasure before he died,' I said. 'You were there, you heard how they cut the cross of our redemption into pieces-with as little thought as I might chop a kindling stick.'

'I was there, yes. I heard.' He took a slow, deliberate step away, and then turned to face me. 'And this is why you could not swear the oath of the Templars?'

'I did not think it would be right, since I cannot say where or how I shall obtain the pieces of the holy relic. I must remain unencumbered in my search.'

'I can see that.'

'And you approve?'

He did not answer; instead, he asked, 'What will you do with the cross-if by some miracle you should obtain it?'

'I will bring it back to Caithness and place it in my father's treasure room alongside the Sacred Lance.'

'I see.'

He was quiet for a time, gazing up into the night-dark sky- as if in search of an answer written in the stars.

'Your plan,' he said at last, 'lacks nothing in audacity. And what it wants in feasibility, it more than makes up in ambition.'

'But do you approve?'

'In truth, I do not,' he declared firmly. 'If this is why you have undertaken pilgrimage to the Holy Land, leaving all you love and hold dearest-then I must tell you as a priest and friend, that I do not approve in the least.'

Deep down in my bones, I suppose I had feared he would say something like this-which is why I had kept it from him. I knew he would not like my plan, but I needed his help.

The wily priest grinned suddenly and spread his hands. 'The Lord moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform,' he said. 'And, contrary to what you apparently believe, he does not often seek my blessing before he acts.'

'Is this your way of saying you think it is a good idea anyway?'

'No, it is a terrible idea,' Padraig assured me. 'Even so, it may also be inspired.'

'Please, your assurance is breathtaking,' I replied.

'Have you not heard?' wondered Padraig. 'The Good Lord often uses foolishness to humble the wise. If this idea of yours is of God, then the combined might of all the nations on earth cannot stand against it.'

I accepted his judgement, and we walked silently along the darkened street for a time. As we came onto the quayside, I asked, 'You did not tell me, Padraig, why is the Magdalene painted black?'

'That I cannot say. It has been suggested that it was the colour of her cloak when she came to these shores, and that is how she was known to the people: the Black Mary. Others say it is to distinguish her from the mother of Jesu, since they are so often confused one for the other.' He paused thoughtfully, then said, 'Wise Pelagius said that it was to hide a secret which those who revere the Black Mary hold sacred and guard to the death.'

'What is this secret?' I wondered aloud.

'No one outside the cult knows,' said the monk. 'And those inside will never tell.'

The Templars were ready to sail by the time Padraig, Roupen, and I joined the ship the next morning. I wanted to see Sarn safely away before leaving, and although his passengers, the Tookes, were ready, we had to wait for the provisions to be delivered. The merchants appeared just after daybreak, and we quickly loaded the boat, and bade the three returning travellers farewell.

'Take care, Sarn,' I called, pushing the boat from the wharf. 'Give all at home a full and fair account. Ask them to pray for our safe return.' We watched until they were under sail, and then the three of us hurried to board the Templar ship. We were greeted courteously on our arrival, and shortly after climbing onto the deck the order was given to cast off.

We stood at the rail and watched the city of Marseilles pass slowly from view as the ship moved out into the bay. Once in deeper water, the helmsman turned the ship and headed south-west along the coast, and we settled ourselves aboard our new vessel.

I will now describe a Templar ship, for they are very unlike the sort of craft seen in northern waters. Broad of beam and high-sided, they possess several decks, one above another, and a single mast of gigantic proportions. These vessels ride tall in the water and tend to bob awkwardly in the least swell; they are unsteady and woefully difficult to manoeuvre – much, I imagine, like steering a hogshead barrel in a flood. Indeed, for this reason sailors even call them 'round ships'.

For all they are ungainly and largely unsuitable for any purpose save the one for which they were made: the transportation of men and animals across the mild sea of Middle Earth. God forbid that they should ever be caught in one of the storms which scourge the northern isles throughout the winter. I have no doubt the precarious craft would sink like an anvil at first squall. Be that as it may, the Venetians own many of these ships, and the Genoans, and others, too. Our vessel was owned by a merchant from Otranto whose son -a plump, sweet-natured man named Dominic-served as captain.

We were introduced to him shortly after Marseilles disappeared from view. He invited us to break bread with him in his apartment.

You see, Gait, how very large these ships can be; there are rooms beneath the uppermost deck, some of them large as chambers in a lordly hall. And this is what the captain had-a chamber with a box bed and a long table with room enough for six men on benches either side.

Thus, Renaud, Padraig and I, and Roupen, as well as other high-ranking Templars were invited to dine with the captain that first night. Roupen excused himself, saying his stomach was unsettled; for all I know, that may have been the truth, and not an excuse to avoid joining the rest of us. However, I think it more likely that he had no stomach for the Templars, never mind the food. Padraig and I eagerly accepted the invitation, and if that meal was in any way typical, I quickly discovered how our captain maintained his rotund form despite his long sea journeys. Of meat and sweet breads, and other fancies, there was no stint: roast fowl and smoked pork, beef, and fish of several kinds, and flat bread made with the oil of olives-which Sicilians especially esteem-and small barley loaves made with honey. Wine was drunk throughout the meal-for the noblemen of Taranto dearly love their wine, and think nothing of serving it and drinking it by the tun.

Hoping to keep our wits about us, Padraig and I attempted to dine with some circumspection, as did Commander Renaud. Everyone else, however, behaved as if our supper was a festal meal following a long privation. I was appalled at the amount of food and drink which my fellow diners consumed, shoving bread and meat down their gullets in uncouth chunks and gobbets. Oblivious to any restraint, they guzzled wine until it ran down their beards in crimson streams and pooled about their elbows, which they planted on the table and never removed. My embarrassment for them went unheeded, however, as they blithely ate and drank their way through enough provisions to sustain a dozen farm labourers for a month.