Yordanus raised his cup, and Sydoni emptied the last of the jar into it. He drained the cup and said, 'But all that was a very long time ago. No one wants to hear it now.'

Roupen, duly chastised and anxious to make whatever amends he might, quickly said, 'If you please, sir, I would hear it.'

Certainly, that was the right thing to say, for the old man's eyes rekindled with a spark of his former gladness.

'Well, perhaps I will just say this one thing more-so to improve your understanding,' Yordanus conceded, swiftly overcoming his reluctance. Taking up a small bronze bell from the table, he rang it vigorously several times, and then said, 'Jerusalem became too dangerous, so my people fled south. Since the time of the great patriarch, Abraham, whenever trouble threatened in Palestine, the Jews took refuge in Egypt. This my people did, and in Egypt they stayed. In time, we became Egyptians, and those of us who remained staunch in the faith became known as Copts. My ancestors prospered greatly; they became traders-some with fleets, and some with camels, some with important stalls in the principle markets of the great cities.

'This is the life that was handed down to me. I became a trader, after my own fashion, and my son likewise.' At these words, a shadow passed over the old man's face; his voice faltered. 'My son…' he paused, cleared his throat, and finished, saying, 'Once the extent of my interests stretched from the banks of the Nile to the tops of the Tarsus mountains. Now all that is gone… gone and finished and dead – like my son. The last hope of my illustrious line.'

Yordanus raised his eyes and smiled sadly. 'I am sorry,' he said, sinking once more into himself, 'my grief is a burden I did not intend forcing upon you. Forgive an old man.'

He paused, during which time the fat man who had met us at the door appeared. 'Gregior,' Yordanus ordered, 'bring us more wine.' The sullen servant turned without a word and lumbered off. 'And try not to drink it all before it reaches the table,' his master called after him.

'I do not believe in keeping slaves,' explained Yordanus. 'But I make an exception for Gregior and Omer. They are hopeless, you must agree. If I turned them out they would soon starve, and I cannot, in good Christian conscience, allow that to happen. So, I keep them for their own good, as no one else would have them.' He smiled weakly and spread his hands. 'I apologize for your sorry reception. Mind you, it would have been no different for anyone else. Be you caliph or king, beggar, leper, or thief, Omer would treat you exactly the same.'

'What language does he speak?' asked Padraig. 'I could not make out a word of it.'

'So far as I know, it is no language at all,' answered our host, chuckling to himself. 'Omer imagines he is speaking Latin, but so long as I have known him, I have never had so much as a single intelligible word out of him in any tongue whatsoever.' He shook his head wearily. 'Hopeless.'

The wine arrived in a great silver jar, and Sydoni poured it into the cups which Yordanus offered to us once more, saying, 'I drink to my friends, old and new! May the High Holy One keep you all in the hollow of his hand. Amen!'

We drank and our host, placing his cup firmly on the table, said, 'Now then, to business. Tell me, why did our Templar friend de Bracineaux send you to old Yordanus?'

Yordanus listened with half-closed eyes while I made a brief account of the events which had led us to his door. He nodded and glanced at Padraig as I described how the priest and I had come to be on pilgrimage, and how we had met the Templars and young Lord Roupen in Rouen, and all that had flowed from that meeting-all, that is, save for Bohemond's plan to reclaim the Armenian stronghold at Anazarbus. I thought it best to keep that to myself.

When I finished at last, Yordanus frowned mildly and said, 'A fascinating tale, to be sure. Yet, you have omitted one or two significant details, I think. No doubt you have your reasons, but if I am to help you…' He turned his palm up as if offering me a choice.

I hesitated, trying to decide whether to risk telling him more. He saw my reluctance and pressed me further. 'For example,' he continued, 'you have not said why you were forced to flee from Antioch so quickly.' Lifting a hand to Roupen, he added, 'Would I be wrong in thinking your troubles, whatever they may be, began and ended with your young friend here?'

'Not far wrong,' I replied cautiously. Roupen lowered his eyes, but said nothing.

'Come now, my friends, if I am to help you I must know everything about this affair. What have you done? Impugned the prince's virtue? Sullied the patriarch's good name? Stolen the Rood of Antioch?'

At mention of the Holy Cross, my heart clutched in my chest. 'Forgive me, my lord,' I said quickly, 'but I did not care to burden you with our troubles unnecessarily.'

He waved the feeble excuse aside. 'Tell me.'

So, I told him of Prince Bohemond's intention to attack the Armenian stronghold, and how Padraig and I had-out of friendship for Roupen and at the strangely veiled behest of the Templar commander – determined to thwart the impetuous prince's ambition if we could.

'We went to him to ask him to repent of his plan,' I concluded. 'Unfortunately, things got out of hand and de Bracineaux was taken prisoner in the citadel. Padraig, Roupen, and I were forced to flee before Bohemond could capture us as well. The good commander suggested we come to you.'

Yordanus plucked a red plum from a basket and bit off the end. He sucked the juice for a moment, and then observed, 'It seems to me that your path has been prepared from the beginning.'

'Indeed?' I wondered. Padraig nodded, smiling as he regarded the old man with, as I thought, renewed respect and appreciation.

Pushing himself back from the table, the old man beamed expansively. 'Rejoice, my friends!' he declared. 'Yordanus Hippolytus is the one man in the whole world with both power and inclination to speed you to your purpose.' Glancing at the young lord who had yet to exchange his wary, haunted expression for a more mirthful countenance, the ageing trader leaned over and gave him a fatherly pat on the arm. 'Be of good cheer! Your adversaries, though they be legion, have now to deal with me, eh?'

'I did not know we had so many enemies,' Roupen replied, struggling to rise to the occasion.

'For a fact, you do,' Yordanus told him. 'There are many in this part of the world who would love nothing more than to see the Armenian House obliterated by the swiftest means possible. Unsavoury, perhaps, but it is the truth.'

Turning to Padraig and me, he asked, 'Now then, who else knows about your errand?'

'De Bracineaux, of course,' I replied.

'And Bohemond probably, too, by now,' added Padraig.

'No one else?'

'Apart from you and your daughter,' I glanced at Sydoni, who was leaning on her palm and gazing at me, 'no one.'

'Have you spoken to anyone along the way?'

'Not a soul,' I said. Padraig shook his head. Roupen looked glumly ahead.

'Well and good.' Yordanus rose stiffly from his cushion, his mind made up. 'We must work quickly. The necessary arrangements must be made. We begin tonight.'

It was late and I was exhausted; traipsing through the hills all day had taken their toll. 'Tonight?'

'Forgive me. You are tired from your travails. Leave everything to me. Take your rest, and in the morning, God willing, we will be ready to depart.'

He rang the bell and summoned Gregior to lead us to the guest rooms. We bade good-night to our hosts and went to bed in far better spirits than we had enjoyed for many days. Padraig stayed up a little longer saying his prayers, but I lay down and slipped at once into a deep and dreamless sleep-only to be roused some time later by the whispered hush of urgent voices in the courtyard. I listened for a while, but was too sleepy to make anything of it, and soon drifted off again.