Planchard sighed and, for a moment, looked very old. Then he stood. I can do better than that, my lord," he said, I can show you."

Show me?" The Count was astonished and elated. Planchard went to a cupboard and took out a horn lantern. He lit its wick with a brand from the fire, then invited the excited Count to follow him through a dark cloister and into the abbey church where a small candle burned beneath a plaster statue of Saint Benedict, the only decoration in the austere building. Planchard took a key from under his robe and led the Count to a small door which opened from an alcove that was half hidden by a side altar on the church's north side. The lock was stiff, but at last it gave way and the door creaked open. Be careful of the steps. the abbot warned, they are worn and very treacherous." The lantern bobbed as the abbot went down a steep flight of stone stairs which turned sharp right into a crypt lined with great pillars between which bones were stacked almost to the arched ceiling. There were leg bones, arm bones and ribs stacked like fire wood, and between them, like lines of boulders, lay empty-eyed skulls. The brothers?" the Count asked.

Awaiting the blessed day of resurrection," Planchard said and went on to the farthest end of the crypt, stooping under a low arch and so into a small chamber where there was an ancient bench and a wooden chest reinforced with iron. He found some half-burned candles in a niche and lit them so that the small room flickered with light. It was your great-grandfather, G.o.d be praised, who endowed this house," he said, taking another key from a pouch under his black robe. It was small before that and very poor, but your ancestor gave us land to thank G.o.d for the fall of the House of Vexille, and those lands are sufficient to support us, but not to make us wealthy. That is good and proper, but we do possess a few small things of value and this, such as it is, is our treasury." He bent to the chest, turned the ma.s.sive key and lifted the lid.

At first the Count was disappointed for he thought there was nothing inside, but when the abbot brought one of the candles closer the Count saw the chest contained a tarnished silver paten, a leather bag and a single candlestick. The abbot pointed to the bag. That was given to us by a grateful knight whom we healed in the infirmary. He swore to us it contains Saint Agnes's girdle, but I confess I have never even opened the bag. I remember seeing her girdle in Basle, but I suppose she could have had two? My mother had several, but she was no saint, alas." He ignored the two pieces of silver and lifted out an object that the Count had not noticed in the chest's deep shadows. It was a box that Planchard placed on the bench. You must look at it closely, my lord. It is old and the paint has long faded. I am quite surprised that we did not burn it long ago, but for some reason we keep it." The Count sat on the bench and lifted the box. It was square, but not deep, big enough to hold a man's glove, but nothing much larger. It was hinged with rusting iron and, when he lifted the lid, he saw it was empty. This is all?" he asked, his disappointment palpable.

Look at it, my lord," Planchard said patiently. The Count looked again. The interior of the wooden box was painted yellow and that paint had lasted better than the exterior surfaces, which were very faded, but the Count could see that the box had once been black and that a coat of arms had been painted on the lid. The arms were unfamiliar to him and so aged that it was hard to see them, but he thought there was a lion or some other beast rearing upright with an object held in its outstretched claws. A yale," the abbot said, holding a chalice." A chalice? The Grail, surely?"

The arms of the Vexille family," Planchard ignored the Count's question, and local legend says the chalice was not added until just before Astarac's destruction."

Why would they add a chalice?" the Count asked, feeling a small pulse of excitement.

Again the abbot ignored the question. You should look, my lord, at the front of the box."

The Count tipped the box until the candlelight glossed the faded paint and he saw that words had been painted there. They were indistinct and some letters had been rubbed clear away, but the words were still obvious. Obvious and miraculous. Calix Meus Inebrians. The Count stared at them, heady with the implications, so heady he could not speak. His nose was running, so he cuffed it impatiently.

The box was empty when it was found. Planchard said, or so I was told by Abbot Loix, G.o.d rest his soul. The story goes that the box was in a reliquary of gold and silver that was found on the altar of the castle's chapel. The reliquary, I am sure, was taken back to Berat, but this box was given to the monastery. As a thing of no value, I suppose."

The Count opened the box again and tried to smell the interior, but his nose was foully blocked. Rats scuttled among the bones in the neighbouring crypt, but he ignored the sound, ignored every thing, just dreamed of what this box meant. The Grail, an heir, everything. Except, he thought, the box was too small to hold the grail. Or maybe not? Who knew what the Grail looked like? The abbot reached for the box, intending to return it to the chest, but the Count clutched it tight. My lord," the abbot said sternly, the box was empty. Nothing was found in Astarac. That is why I brought you here, to see for yourself. Nothing was found." This was found!" the Count insisted. And it proves the Grail was here.

Does it?" the abbot asked sadly.

The Count pointed to the faded words on the box's side. What else does this mean?"

There is a Grail in Genoa," Planchard said, and the Benedictines at Lyons once claimed to own it. It is said, G.o.d let it not be true, that the real one is in the treasury of the Emperor at Constantinople. It was once reported to be in Rome, and again at Palermo, though that one, I think, was a Saracen cup captured from a Venetian vessel. Others say that the archangels came to earth and took it to heaven, though some insist it still lies in Jerusalem, protected by the flaming sword that once stood sentinel over Eden. It has been seen in Cordoba, my lord, in Nimes, in Verona and a score of other places. The Venetians claim it is preserved on an island that appears only to the pure of heart, while others say it was taken to Scotland. My lord, I could fill a book with stories of the Grail."

It was here." The Count ignored everything Planchard had said. It was here," he said again, and may still be here." I would like nothing more," Planchard admitted, but where Parsifal and Gawain failed, can we hope to succeed?" It is a message from G.o.d," the Count averred, still clutching the empty box.

I think, my lord. Planchard said judiciously, that it is a message from the Vexille family. I think they made the box and painted it and they left it to mock us. They fled and let us think they had taken the Grail with them. I think that box is their revenge. I should burn it."

The Count would not relinquish the box. The Grail was here. he maintained.

The abbot, knowing he had lost the box, closed the chest and locked it. We are a small house, my lord. he said, but we are not entirely severed from the greater Church. I receive letters from my brethren and I hear things."

Such as?"

Cardinal Bessieres is searching for a great relic. the abbot said. And he is looking here!" the Count said triumphantly. He sent a monk to search my archives.

And if Bessieres is looking. Planchard warned, then you may be sure he will be ruthless in G.o.d's service.

The Count would not be warned. I have been given a duty. he a.s.serted.

Planchard picked up the lantern. I can tell you nothing more, my lord, for I have heard nothing that tells me the Grail is at Astarac, but I do know one thing and I know it as surely as I know that my bones will soon rest with the brethren in this ossuary. The search for the Grail, my lord, drives men mad. It dazzles them, confuses them, and leaves them whimpering. It is a dangerous thing, my lord, and best left to the troubadours. Let them sing about it and make their poems about it, but for the love of G.o.d do not risk your soul by seeking it."

But if Planchard's warning had been sung by a choir of angels the Count would not have heard it.

He had the box and it proved what he wanted to believe. The Grail existed and he had been sent to find it. So he would. Thomas never intended to escort Robbie all the way to Astarac. The valley where that poor village lay had already been plundered, and so he meant to stop in the next valley where a slew of plump settlements were strung along the road south from Ma.s.seube, and then, when his men were busy about their devil's business, he and a few men would ride with Robbie to the hills overlooking Astarac and, if there were no coredors or other enemies in sight, let the Scotsman ride on alone.

Thomas had again taken his whole force except for a dozen men who guarded Castillon d'Arbizon's castle. He left most of his raiders in a small village beside the River Gers and took a dozen archers and as many men-at-arms to escort Robbie the last few miles. Genevieve stayed with Sir Guillaume who had discovered a great mound in the village that he swore was the kind of place where the old people, the ones who had lived before Christianity lit the world, hid their gold and he had commandeered a dozen shovels and begun to dig. Thomas and Robbie left them to their search and climbed the eastern hills on a winding trail that led through groves of chestnuts where peasants cut staves to support the newly planted vines. They saw no coredors; indeed they had seen no enemies all morning, though Thomas wondered how long it would be before the bandits saw the great plume of smoke boiling up from the warning pyre in the village where Sir Guillaume dug into his dreams. Robbie was in a nervous mood that he tried to cover with careless conversation. You remember that stilt-walker in London?" he asked. The one who juggled when he was up on his sticks? He was good. That was a rare place, that was. How much did it cost to stay in that tavern in London?"

Thomas could not remember. A few pennies, perhaps." I mean, they'll cheat you, won't they?" Robbie asked anxiously. Who will?"

Tavern-keepers."

They'll drive a bargain," Thomas said, but they'd rather take a penny off you than get nothing. Besides, you can lodge in monasteries most nights."

Aye, that's true. But you have to give them something, don't you?"

Just a coin. Thomas said. They had emerged onto the bare summit of the ridge and Thomas looked about for enemies and saw none. He was puzzled by Robbie's odd questions, then real ized that the Scotsman, who went into battle with apparent fearlessness, was nevertheless nervous at the prospect of travelling alone. It was one thing to journey at home, where folk spoke your language, but quite another to set off for hundreds of miles through lands where a dozen strange tongues were used. The thing to do," Thomas said, is find some other folk going your way. There'll be plenty and they all want company." Is that what you did? When you walked from Brittany to Normandy?"

Thomas grinned. I put on a Dominican's robe. No one wants a Dominican for company, but no one wants to rob one either. You'll be fine, Robbie. Any merchant will want you as company. A young man with a sharp sword? They'll be offering you the pick of their daughters to travel with them.

I've given my oath," Robbie said gloomily, then thought for a second. Is Bologna near Rome?"

I don't know."

I've a mind to see Rome. Do you think the Pope will ever move back there?"

G.o.d knows."

I'd like to see it, though," Robbie said wistfully, then grinned at Thomas. I'll say a prayer for you there."

Say two," Thomas said, one for me and one for Genevieve." Robbie fell silent. The moment for parting had almost come and he did not know what to say. They had curbed their horses, though Jake and Sam rode on until they could see down into the valley where the fires of Astarac's burned thatch still sifted a small smoke into the chill air.

We'll meet again, Robbie," Thomas said, taking off his glove and putting out his right hand.

Aye, I know."

And we'll always be friends," Thomas said, even if we're on different sides of a battle."

Robbie grinned. Next time, Thomas, the Scots will win. Jesus, but we should have beaten you at Durham! We were that close!" You know what archers say," Thomas said. Close don't tally. Look after yourself, Robbie."

I will." They shook hands and just then Jake and Sam turned their horses and kicked back fast.

Men-at-arms!" Jake shouted.

Thomas urged his horse forward until he could see down the road that led to Astarac and there, not half a mile away, were hors.e.m.e.n. Mailed hors.e.m.e.n with swords and shields. Hors.e.m.e.n under a banner that hung limp so he could not see its device, and squires leading sumpter horses loaded with long clumsy lances. A whole band of hors.e.m.e.n coming straight towards him, or perhaps towards the great plume of smoke that rose from where his men savaged the village in the neighbouring valley. Thomas stared at them, just stared. The day had seemed so peaceful, so utterly empty of any threat, and now an enemy had come. For weeks they had been unmolested. Until now.

And Robbie's pilgrimage was forgotten, at least for the moment. For there was going to be a fight.

And they all rode back west.

Joscelyn, Lord of Beziers, believed his uncle was an old fool and, what was worse, a rich old fool. If the Count of Berat had shared his wealth it would have been different, but he was notoriously mean except when it came to patronizing the Church or buying relics like the handful of dirty straw he had purchased for a chest of gold from the Pope at Avignon. Joscelyn had taken one look at the Christ-child's bedding and decided it was dunged straw from the papal stables, but the Count was convinced it was the first bed of Jesus and now he had come to the miserable valley of Astarac where he was hunting for even more relics. Exactly what, Joscelyn did not know, for neither the Count nor Father Roubert would tell him, but Joscelyn was convinced it was a fool's errand. Yet, in recompense, he had command of thirty men-at-arms, though even that was a mixed blessing for the Count had given strict instructions that they were not to ride more than a mile from Astarac. You are here to protect me," he told Joscelyn, and Joscelyn wondered from what? A few coredors who would never dare attack real soldiers? So Joscelyn tried to organize a tourna ment in the village meadows, but his uncle's men-at-arms were mostly older men, few had fought in recent years and they had become accustomed to a life of comfort. Nor would the Count hire other men, preferring to let his gold gather cobwebs. So even though Joscelyn tried to instil some fighting spirit into the men he had, none would fight him properly, and when they fought each other they did so half-heartedly. Only the two companions he had brought south to Berat had any enthusiasm for their trade, but he had fought them so often that he knew every move they would make and they knew his. He was wasting his time, and he knew it, and he prayed ever more fervently that his uncle would die. That was the only reason Joscelyn stayed in Berat, so he would be ready to inherit the fabulous wealth reputed to be stored in the castle's undercroft and when he did, by G.o.d, he would spend it! And what a fire he would make with his uncle's old books and papers. The flames would be seen in Youlouse! And as for the Countess, his uncle's fifth wife, who was kept more or less locked up in the castle's southern tower so that the Count could be sure that any baby she bore would be his and his alone, Joscelyn would give her a proper baby-making ploughing then kick the plump b.i.t.c.h back into the gutter she came from. He sometimes dreamed of murdering his uncle, but knew that there would inevitably be trouble, and so he waited, content that the old man must die soon enough. And while Joscelyn dreamed of the inheritance, the Count dreamed of the Grail. He had decided he would search what was left of the castle and, because the chapel was where the box had been found, he ordered a dozen serfs to prise up the ancient flagstones to explore the vaults beneath where, as he expected, he found tombs. The heavy triple coffins were dragged from the niches and hacked open. Inside the outer casket, as often as not, was a lead coffin and that had to be split apart with an axe and the metal peeled away. The lead was stored on a cart to be taken to Berat, but the Count expected a far greater profit every time the inner coffin, usually of elm, was splintered open. He found skeletons, yellow and dry, their fingerbones touching in prayer, and in a few of the coffins he found treasures. Some of the women had been buried with necklaces or bangles, and the Count tore away the desiccated shrouds to get what plunder he could, yet there was no Grail. There were only skulls and patches of skin as dark as ancient parchment. One woman still had long golden hair and the Count marvelled at it. I wonder if she was pretty?" he remarked to Father Roubert. His voice sounded nasal and he was sneezing every few minutes. She's awaiting judgement day. the friar, who disapproved of this grave-robbing, said sourly.

She must have been young," the Count said, looking at the dead woman's hair, but as soon as he tried to lift it from the coffin the fine tresses disintegrated into dust. In one child's coffin there was an old chessboard, hinged so that it could fold into a shallow box. The squares, which on the Count's chessboards in Berat were painted black, were distinguished by small dimples, and the Count was intrigued by that, but much more interested in the handful of ancient coins that had replaced the chess pieces inside the box. They showed the head of Ferdinand, first King of Castile, and the Count marvelled at the fineness of the gold. Three hundred years old!" he told Father Roubert, then pocketed the money and urged the serfs to hammer open another vault. The bodies, once they had been searched, were put back in their wooden coffins and then into their vaults to await the day of judgement. Father Roubert said a prayer over each reburial and something in his tone irri tated the Count who knew he was being criticized.

On the third day, when all the coffins had been pilfered and none had proved to hold the elusive Grail, the Count ordered his serfs to dig into the s.p.a.ce beneath the apse where the altar had once stood. For a time it seemed there was nothing there except soil packed above the bare rock of the knoll on which the castle had been built, but then, just as the Count was losing heart, one of the serfs pulled a silver casket from the earth. The Count, who was well wrapped up against the cold, was feeling weak. He was sneezing, his nose was running and sore, his eyes were red, but the sight of the tarnished box made him forget his troubles. He s.n.a.t.c.hed it from the serf and scuttled back into the daylight where he used a knife to break the clasp. Inside was a feather. Just a feather. It was yellow now, but had probably once been white, and the Count decided it had to be from the wing of a goose. Why would someone bury a feather?" he asked Father Roubert. Saint Sever is supposed to have mended an angel's wing here," the Dominican explained, peering at the feather.

Of course!" the Count exclaimed, and thought that would explain the yellowish colour for the wing would probably have been coloured gold. An angel's feather!" he said in awe. A swan's feather, more like. Father Roubert said dismissively. The Count examined the silver casket, which was blackened from the earth. That could be an angel. he said, pointing to a curlicue of tarnished metal.

It could equally well not be."

You're not being helpful, Roubert."

I pray for your success nightly. the friar answered stiffly, but I also worry about your health."

It is just a blocked nose. the Count said, though he suspected something worse. His head felt airy, his joints ached, but if he found the Grail all those troubles would surely vanish. An angel's feather!" the Count repeated wonderingly. It's a miracle! A sign, surely?" And then there was another miracle, for the man who had discovered the silver box now revealed that there was a wall at the back of the hard-packed earth. The Count thrust the silver box and its heavenly feather into Father Roubert's hands, ran back and clambered up the pile of soil to examine the wall for himself. Only a sc.r.a.p of it was visible, but that part was made from trimmed stone blocks and, when the Count seized the serf's spade and rapped the stones, he convinced himself that the wall sounded hollow. Uncover it. he ordered excitedly, uncover it!" He smiled triumphantly at Father Roubert. This is it! I know it!" But Father Roubert, instead of sharing the excitement of the buried wall, was looking up at Joscelyn who, armed in his fine tour nament plate, had ridden his horse to the edge of the uncovered vaults. There is a smoke pyre. Joscelyn said, in the next valley." The Count could hardly bear to leave the wall, but he scrambled up a ladder and stared westwards to where, in the pale sky, a dirty plume of smoke drifted southwards. It seemed to come from just across the nearest ridge. The English?" the Count asked in wonderment.

Who else?" Joscelyn answered. His men-at-arms were at the bottom of the path that climbed to the castle. They were armoured and ready. We could be there in an hour. Joscelyn said, and they won't be expecting us."

Archers. the Count said warningly, then sneezed and afterwards gasped for breath.

Father Roubert watched the Count warily. He reckoned the old man was getting a fever, and it would be his own fault for insisting on making this excavation in the cold wind.

Archers. the Count said again, his eyes watering. You must be cautious. Archers are not to be trifled with." Joscelyn looked exasperated, but it was Father Roubert who answered the Count's warning. We know they ride in small parties, my lord, and leave some archers behind to protect their fortress. There may only be a dozen of the wretches over there." And we may never have another chance like this. Joscelyn put in.

We don't have many men. the Count said dubiously.

And whose fault was that? Joscelyn wondered. He had told his uncle to bring more than thirty men-at-arms, but the old fool had insisted that would be sufficient. Now the Count was staring at a patch of grubby wall uncovered at the end of the vault and letting his fears overwhelm him. Thirty men will be enough. Joscelyn insisted, if the enemy is few.

Father Roubert was staring at the smoke. Is this not the purpose of the fires, my lord?" he enquired. To let us know when the enemy is near enough to strike?" That was indeed one purpose of the fires, but the Count wished Sir Henri Courtois, his military leader, was with him to offer advice. And if the enemy party is small. Father Roubert went on, then thirty men-at-arms will suffice." The Count reckoned he would have no peace to explore the mysterious wall unless he gave his permission and so he nodded. But take care!" he ordered his nephew. Make a reconnaissance first! Remember the advice of Vegetius!" Joscelyn had never heard of Vegetius so would be hard put to remember the man's advice and the Count might have sensed that for he had a sudden idea. You'll take Father Roubert and he'll tell you whether it is safe to attack or not. Do you understand me, Joscelyn? Father Roubert will advise you and you will take his advice. That offered two advantages. The first was that the friar was a sensible and intelligent man and so would not let the hot-headed Joscelyn do anything foolish, while second, and better, it would rid the Count of the Dominican's gloomy presence. Be back by nightfall. the Count commanded, and keep Vegetius in mind. Above all, keep Vegetius in mind!" These last words were called hurriedly as he clambered back down the ladder.

Joscelyn looked sourly at the friar. He did not like churchmen and he liked Father Roubert even less, but if the friar's company was the price he must pay for a chance to kill Englishmen, then so be it. You have a horse, father?" he asked. I do, my lord."

Then fetch it." Joscelyn turned his destrier and spurred it back to the valley. I want the archers alive!" he told his men when he reached them. Alive, so we can share the reward." And afterwards they would cut off the Englishmen's d.a.m.ned fingers, take out their eyes and then burn them. That was Joscelyn's daydream as he led his men westwards. He would have liked to travel fast, to reach the next valley before the English withdrew, but men-at-arms on their way to battle could not move swiftly. Some of the horses, like Joscelyn's own, were armoured with leather and mail, and the weight of the armour, let alone the weight of the riders" armour, inevitably meant that the destriers had to be walked if they were to be fresh for the charge. A few of the men had squires and those lesser beings led packhorses, which carried c.u.mbersome bundles of lances. Men-at-arms did not gallop to war, but lumbered slow as oxen.

You will bear in mind your uncle's advice, my lord?" Father Roubert remarked to Joscelyn. He spoke to cover his nervousness. The friar was normally a grave and self-contained man, very conscious of his hard-won dignity, but now he found himself in unfamiliar, dangerous, but exciting territory.

My uncle's advice," Joscelyn responded sourly, was to heed yours. So tell me, priest, what you know of battle?" I have read Vegetius," Father Roubert answered stiffly. And who the h.e.l.l was he?"

A Roman, my lord, and still considered the supreme authority on military matters. His treatise is called the Epitoma Rei Militaris, the essence of military things."

And what does this essence recommend?" Joscelyn asked sarcastically.

Chiefly, if I remember aright, that you should look to the enemy's flanks for an opportunity, and that on no account should you attack without a thorough reconnaissance." Joscelyn, his big tournament helmet hanging from his pommel, looked down on the friar's small mare. You're mounted on the lightest horse, father," he said with amus.e.m.e.nt," so you can make the reconnaissance."

Me!" Father Roubert was shocked.

Ride ahead, see what the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are doing, then come back and tell us. You're supposed to be giving me advice, aren't you? How the h.e.l.l can you do that if you haven't made a reconnaissance? Isn't that what your vegetal advises? Not now, you fool!" He called these last words because Father Roubert had obediently kicked his mare ahead. They're not up here. Joscelyn said, but in the next valley." He nodded towards the smoke that seemed to be thickening. So wait till we're in the trees on the hill's far side." In fact they did see a handful of hors.e.m.e.n on the bare summit of the ridge, but the riders were far off and they turned and fled as soon as Joscelyn's men came into view. Coredors, as like as not, Joscelyn reckoned. Everyone had heard how the coredors were haunting the English in hope of earning one of the Count's rewards for an archer taken alive, though Joscelyn's view was that the only reward any coredor should ever fetch was a slow hanging. The coredors had vanished by the time Joscelyn reached the crest. He could see most of the valley ahead now, could see Ma.s.seube to the north and the road reaching south towards the high Pyrenees. The smoke plume was directly in front, but the village the English plundered was hidden by trees and so Joscelyn ordered the friar to ride ahead and, to give him some protection, ordered his two personal men-at-arms to accompany him.

Joscelyn and the rest of his men had almost reached the valley floor by the time the Dominican returned. Father Roubert was excited. They did not see us. he reported, and can't know we're here."

You can be sure of that?" Joscelyn demanded.

The friar nodded. His dignity had been replaced by a suddenly discovered enthusiasm for warfare. The road to the village goes through trees, my lord, and is well shielded from view. The trees thin out a hundred paces from the river and the road crosses it by a ford. It's shallow. We watched some men carry chestnut stakes to the village."

The English didn't interfere with them?"

The English, my lord, are delving into a grave mound in the village. There seemed to be no more than a dozen of them. The village itself is another hundred paces beyond the ford." Father Roubert was proud of this report which he considered to be careful and accurate, a reconnaissance of which Vegetius himself might have been proud. You may approach to within two hundred paces of the village. he concluded, and arm yourselves in safety before attacking."

It was indeed an impressive report and Joscelyn looked quizzically at his two men-at-arms who nodded to show they agreed.

One of them, a Parisian named Villesisle, grinned. They're ready for butchering," he said.

Archers?" Joscelyn asked.

We saw two," Villesisle said.

Father Roubert was saving the best news till last. But one of the two, my lord," he said excitedly, was the beghard!" The heretic girl?"

So G.o.d will be with you!" Father Roubert said vehemently. Joscelyn smiled. So your advice, Father Roubert, is what?" Attack!" the Dominican said. Attack! And G.o.d will give us triumph!" He might be a cautious man by nature, but the sight of Genevieve had stirred his soul to battle.

And when Joscelyn reached the edge of the trees on the valley floor he saw that everything seemed to be exactly as the Dominican had promised. Beyond the river the English, apparently ignorant of the presence of enemies, had set no picquets to guard the road that came down from the ridge and instead were digging into the big mound of earth at the centre of the village. Joscelyn could see no more than ten men and the one woman. He dismounted briefly and let his squire tighten the buckles of his armour, then he heaved himself into the saddle again where he pulled on his great tournament helm with its yellow and red plume, leather padding, and cross shaped eye slits. He pushed his left arm through the loops of his shield, made sure his sword was loose in its scabbard, then reached down for his lance. Made of ash, it was sixteen feet long and painted in a spiral of yellow and red, the colours of his lord ship at Beziers. Similar lances had broken the best tourney fighters in Europe, now this one would do G.o.d's work. His men armed themselves with their own lances, some painted with Berat's colours of orange and white. Their lances were mostly thirteen or fourteen feet long, for none of Berat's men had the strength to carry a great lance like those Joscelyn used in tournaments. The squires drew their swords. Helmet visors were closed, reducing the world to bright slits of sunlight. Joscelyn's horse, knowing it was riding to battle, pawed the ground. All was ready, the unsuspecting English were oblivious of the threat and Joscelyn, at long last, was off his uncle's leash.

And so, with his men-at-arms tight bunched to either side, and with Father Roubert's prayer echoing in his head, he charged. Gaspard thought the hand of the Lord was on him, for the very first time he attempted to pour the gold into the delicate mould that had once held the wax model of his Ma.s.s cup, it worked. He had told his woman, Yvette, that it might take ten or eleven attempts, that he was not even sure he could make the cup for the detail of the filigree was so delicate that he doubted the molten gold would fill every cranny of the mould, but when, with a beating heart, he broke away the fired clay he found that his wax creation had been reproduced almost perfectly. One or two details were lumpish and in some places the gold had failed to make the twist of a leaf or the spine of a thorn, but those defects were soon put right. He filed away the rough edges, then polished the whole cup. That took a week, and when it was done he did not tell Charles Bessieres that he had finished, instead he claimed there was still more work to do when in truth he simply could not relinquish the beautiful thing he had made. He reckoned it was the finest piece of goldsmithing ever achieved.

So he made a lid for the cup. It was conical, like the cover of a font, and at its crown he placed a cross, and about its rim he hung pearls, and on its sloping sides he made the symbols of the four evangelists. A lion for St Mark, an ox for Luke, and angel for Matthew and an eagle for John. That piece, not quite as delicate as the cup itself, also came sweetly from the mould and he filed and polished it, then a.s.sembled the whole thing. The golden cup holder, the ancient green gla.s.s cup itself and the new lid hung with pearls. Tell the Cardinal," he told Charles Bessieres as the exquisite thing was packed in cloth, straw and boxes, that the pearls stand for the tears of Christ's mother." Charles Bessieres could not care what they stood for, but he grudgingly acknowledged that the chalice was a beautiful thing. If my brother approves of it," he said, then you'll be paid and freed."

We can go back to Paris?" Gaspard asked eagerly. You can go where you like," Charles lied, but not till I tell you." He gave his men instructions that Gaspard and Yvette were to be well guarded while he was away, then took the chalice to his brother in Paris.

The Cardinal, when the cup was unwrapped and the three pieces a.s.sembled, clasped his hands in front of his breast and just stared. For a long time he said nothing, then he leaned forward and peered at the ancient gla.s.s. Does it seem to you, Charles," he asked, that the cup itself has a tinge of gold?"

Haven't looked," was the churlish reply.

The Cardinal carefully removed the lid then lifted the old gla.s.s cup from the golden cradle and held it to the light and he saw that Gaspard, in a moment of unwitting genius, had put an almost invisible layer of gold leaf around the cup so that the common gla.s.s was given a heavenly sheen of gold. The real Grail," he told his brother, is supposed to turn to gold when the wine of Christ's blood is added. This would pa.s.s for that."

So you like it?"

The Cardinal rea.s.sembled the chalice. It is gorgeous," he said reverentially. It is a miracle." He stared at it. He had not expected anything half as good as this. It was a wonder, so much so that for a brief instant he even forgot his ambitions for the papal throne. Perhaps, Charles", there was awe in his voice now, perhaps it is the real Grail! Maybe the cup I bought was the true object. Perhaps G.o.d guided me to it!"

Does that mean," Charles said, unmoved by the cup's beauty, that I can kill Gaspard?"

And his woman," the Cardinal said without removing his gaze from the glorious thing. Do it, yes, do it. Then you will go south. To Herat, south of Toulouse."

Berat?" Charles had never heard of the place. The Cardinal smiled. The English archer has appeared. I knew he would! The wretched man has taken a small force to Castillon d'Arbizon, which I am told is close to Berat. He is a fruit ripe for the plucking, Charles, so I am sending Guy Vexille to deal with him and I want you, Charles, to be close to Guy Vexille." You don't trust him?"

Of course I don't trust him. He pretends to be loyal, but he is not a man who is comfortable serving any master." The Cardinal lifted the cup again, gazed at it reverentially, then lay it back in the sawdust-filled box in which it had been brought to him. And you will take this with you."

That!" Charles looked appalled. What in Christ's name do I want with that?"

It is a heavy responsibility," the Cardinal said, handing his brother the box, but legend insists the Cathars possessed the Grail, so where else must it be discovered but close to the last strong hold of the heretics?"

Charles was confused. You want me to discover it?" The Cardinal went to a prie-dieu and knelt there. The Holy Father is not a young man," he said piously. In fact Clement was only fifty-six, just eight years older than the Cardinal, but even so Louis Bessieres was racked by the thought that Pope Clement might die and a new successor be appointed before he had a chance to make his claim with the Grail. We do not have the luxury of time and so I need the Grail." He paused. I need a Grail now! But if Vexille knows that Gaspard's cup exists then he will try to take it from you, so you must kill him when he has done his duty. His duty is to find his cousin, the English archer. So kill Vexille, then make that archer talk, Charles. Peel the skin from his flesh inch by inch, then salt him. He'll talk, and when he has told you every thing he knows about the Grail, kill him."

But we have a Grail/ Charles said, hefting the box. There is a true one, Charles/ the Cardinal said patiently, and if it exists, and if the Englishman reveals where it is, then we shall not need the one you're holding, shall we? But if the Englishman is a dry well, then you will announce that he gave you that Grail. You will bring it to Paris, we shall sing a Te Deum, and in a year or two you and I shall have a new home in Avignon. And then, in due time, we shall move the papacy to Paris and the whole world shall marvel at us."

Charles thought about his orders and considered them unnec essarily elaborate. Why not produce the Grail here?" No one will believe me if I find it in Paris/ the Cardinal said, his eyes fixed on an ivory crucifix hanging on the wall. They will a.s.sume it is a product of my ambition. No, it must come from a far place and rumours of its discovery must run ahead of its coming so that folk kneel in the street to welcome it." Charles understood that. So why not just kill Vexille now?" Because he has the zeal to find the true Grail and if it exists, I want it. Men know his name is Vexille, and they know his family once possessed the Grail, so if he is involved in its discovery then it will be all the more convincing. And another reason? He's well born. He can lead men and it will take all his force to prise that Englishman from his lair. Do you think forty-seven knights and men-at-arms will follow you?" The Cardinal had raised Vexille's force from his tenants, the lords who ruled the lands bequeathed to the Church in hope that prayers would wipe away the sins of the men who granted the land. Those men would cost the Cardinal dear, for the lords would not pay rents for a year now. You and I are from the gutter, Charles/ the Cardinal said, and men-at arms would despise you/ There must be a hundred lords who would seek your Grail/ Charles suggested.