Michael Spradlin: Keeper of the Grail

Passing through the marketplace we found a cobblestone street leading toward the eastern edge of the city. Maryam said the Commandery was not too far away now, and for some reason, the closer we got, the more nervous I became. As we passed an alleyway leading between two large buildings, I had a thought.

“Can both of you wait here a moment?” I asked. “I need to find a place to, well, you know…”

Robard laughed, and he and Maryam nodded. I headed down the alley. It wasn’t straight, curving back and forth the farther along it I went. Finally I reached a quiet spot, glancing around and seeing no one about. Above me clothing dried in the sun on a line tied between the two buildings. A few empty barrels were stacked next to a door that led into the rear of one of the structures. A small yellow dog lay in the brief shade of a doorway, but its eyes were mostly closed as it napped in the heat of the afternoon sun. The coast was clear.

Moving several feet down the alley from the doorway, I found my spot. Kneeling in the dirt, I used the small knife from my satchel to make a footlong scratch in the side of the building, very near the ground. I rubbed a handful of sand over the fresh scratch so that it was still visible but did not look newly made. With my knife I scooped out a hole in the sand directly below the mark on the wall.

I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should take Sir Thomas’ letter with me to the Commandery; I might need it to prove my identity. But I finally decided it was safer to keep it for some future point in my journey. It shouldn’t be that difficult to convince the local Commandery of my identity.

I placed Sir Thomas’ letter and ring at the bottom, and after removing all my other possessions from the satchel, and double-checking to make sure that I was not being watched, I lifted out the Grail and set it gently in the hole. Then I covered it all with sand, smoothing it out with my hands. I repacked my possessions and stood up, walking back and forth over the spot numerous times, scuffing my feet. When I was finished, it looked like it had never been dug up at all.

As I turned back, the small dog lifted its head to watch me. It yawned, stretching as I passed by, and I reached down to scratch it behind the ears. A scrawny dog, it appeared as if it hadn’t had much to eat recently. Inside my satchel I had a few dates I had saved, and I tore one into smaller pieces, holding them out for the dog to examine. She hungrily snatched them up. I gave her the rest of what I had, and the little mutt licked my hand before dropping her head back down and drifting off to sleep.

Maryam and Robard were standing where I’d left them, fidgeting. I was sure they hadn’t spoken a word to each other since I’d been gone. Robard was doing everything in his power to look at anything but Maryam.

“Thanks,” I said. “Let’s go.”

We continued down the street, and before long, the Commandery appeared, a Templar banner hanging from the roof. The sight was comforting. I felt relieved to see something so familiar. The front gate to the grounds was guarded by a single sergeanto. Dust lined his face, and he sweated in the heat. His expression said he’d rather be anywhere but on guard duty.

“Maryam,” I said. “I think this is where we should say good-bye.”

Sadness flitted across her face, but then she nodded.

“Thank you for guiding us here. I hope that you will make it safely to wherever you are going next,” I said.

“Good-bye, Tristan. Good-bye, Archer. I hope our paths will cross again sometime,” she said.

I felt like I should say more, but I had no idea what. She looked at me expectantly, but then turned her gaze on Robard. No matter what she was, I no longer felt like she was my enemy. And I don’t think Robard did either, although he was probably loath to admit it.

“Yes. Well. Good-bye. Nice knowing you. Thanks for not killing us while our backs were turned,” he said.

To my surprise Maryam laughed. Her hand darted out, and she briefly squeezed Robard on the forearm. Robard’s face turned red at her touch, and he was suddenly consumed by a coughing fit.

With a smile Maryam turned and strolled off down the street.

Robard and I watched her go, then turned toward the guard.

“State your business,” he ordered as we approached.

“I am Tristan of St. Alban’s, squire to Brother Knight Sir Thomas Leux of the Dover Commandery most recently deployed in Acre. I have a report for the Marshal,” I answered.

“I know of Sir Thomas, but I don’t know you. Do you have proof of this?” he asked.

“I do. I carry his sword,” I said, turning so the sergeanto could see the battle sword that I carried across my back. I also showed him the Templar seal carved into the hilt of my short sword. The sergeanto nodded but wasn’t completely satisfied.

“Who is this?” he asked, pointing to Robard.

“This is Robard Hode, formerly of the King’s Archers. He has accompanied me from Acre. Please, sergeanto, we saw Saracen patrols not more than a day away. I have urgent news for the Marshal. May we enter?”

His eyes flew open when I mentioned the nearby Saracens. He considered us a moment longer, then stepped aside and opened the gate.

“You will find the Marshal in the office off the meeting room in the main hall,” he said.

This Commandery was quite similar to the one in Dover, with only minor differences in the construction of the buildings. It was made of mud bricks and once inside smelled like wet dirt, but the layout was almost identical.

Entering the main hall, it felt unusually quiet. I was used to the hubbub of the barracks and grounds in Acre, but perhaps the knights were off on patrols or performing other duties. A squire sitting at a table mending a harness directed us to the Marshal. He pointed to the left where a corridor led away from the main hall.

There was a small room at the end of the corridor, and as we approached, I could see through the doorway a man, dressed in a Marshal’s tunic, sitting at a wooden table writing on parchment. A sergeanto stood next to him holding several more sheets, waiting for the Marshal’s signature.

I knocked on the doorway.

“Sire, I beg your pardon for the disturbance, but I bring news from Acre and the knights there,” I said.

Both men looked up. The Marshal studied me for a moment. He was a small man, balding and round faced. His eyes were dark, and it looked like a permanent frown was etched on his face. As he regarded me, his face was expressionless, but I could see cunning in his eyes. Something told me to be careful with what I said.

“You may enter,” he said.

Stepping before his desk, I was about to begin my report when a voice from the corner of the room interrupted me. “I was wondering when you would show up.”

A voice, contemptuous and full of hate, that I would know anywhere. My knees trembled and the blood rushed through my ears, and for a moment I thought I might faint.

My eyes needed to see to be sure that my ears did not deceive me, so I turned to look and there he was, standing in the corner, near a window that bathed the room in soft light.

Sir Hugh.

This is the one I spoke of, Marshal Curesco,” Sir Hugh said. His smile told me all I needed to know. It was a spider’s smile, if spiders were to actually smile. He could barely contain his glee at finding me here. But how could this be? How could he have escaped from Acre? And more important, did he know what I carried here?

Sir Hugh’s tunic looked freshly cleaned. He appeared fit and rested. True, he hadn’t done much fighting in Acre, but now to see him up close, I was astounded to find him free of any signs of warfare or battle. No wounds or scars. Not a bruise to be seen. Just his pinched face and that same scraggly beard.