Martyr's Fire (7 page)

Men and women stood in a long line down the center of the nave, the main chamber of the church. At the front of the church, in the chancel that held the altar, stood a priest who briefly dipped his hands in a vessel from a stand near the altar, then touched the forehead of the person bowed below his hands.

“Move on, man!” a fat man growled at Thomas from behind. “This is no place to daydream. Not with blessings to be had.”

Thomas told himself he could not spare any thoughts of grief, only thoughts of action. He fell in behind two women and slowly limped toward the front of the church.

The measured pace of the line gave Thomas time to look around the structure he’d seen so many times before. This time, however, he looked with the anxious eyes of stalked prey. Vaulted stone ceilings gave an air of majesty and magnified the slightest noise, so that all inside only spoke in careful whispers. The nave where Thomas stood was, of course, clear of any objects except support pillars. While rumors had reached Magnus that London churches contained long bench seats called pews for the worshipers, no
person bothered believing such nonsense. People had always stood to worship, and that was the natural order of the Lord’s Day.

There were at least four Priests of the Holy Grail posted throughout the church—one at the front and three on the sides of the nave. Thomas tried to study their movements without betraying obvious interest.

Was it fear, or did he imagine they in turn studied him?

Thomas also wondered at his own lunacy. How much trust should he have placed in Gervaise? Had the blows to the old man’s head addled him? What could exist beneath the altar? And how would the altar be reached—and kicked—without the notice of the four Priests of the Holy Grail?

Yet Thomas moved forward. He had no choice. Those behind him pressed heavily.

And even if I could turn away, what good would it do?
There was no place to hide in Magnus, and if he bolted now, surely the watchers would then decide he had been more than a cruel-hearted beggar sent inside by Gervaise to seek alms.

His heart pounded harder and harder as step by step the line advanced to the priest at the front.

Closer now, Thomas recognized him as Hugh de Gainfort. The priest, garbed in royal purple robes, dipped his hand in the liquid.

“Partake of the water of the symbol of the Grail,” the scar-faced man intoned, “and henceforth be loyal to the Grail itself, and to its bearers. Blessings will be sure to follow. Amen.”

The woman kissed his hand.

The line moved ahead.

The next person moved up.

Hugh spoke the same words.

Would the puppy in Thomas’s arms remain quiet? Or would he draw unwanted attention?

“Partake of the water of the symbol of the Grail …”

Thomas wondered if the priest would hear the thumping of his heart long before he reached the front. Only ten people stood between him and Hugh de Gainfort, and Thomas could see no way to reach the altar beyond without drawing attention.

What trouble had Gervaise cast him into?

“… and henceforth be loyal to the Grail itself, and to its bearers. Blessings will be sure to follow. Amen.”

The light of the sun through the reds and blues of the stained-glass windows cast soft shadows upon Hugh de Gainfort, so that if Thomas did not look closely, he did not see hatred glittering in those eyes—the same hatred Thomas had felt during their brief audience earlier in the castle keep.

Would he be recognized during the blessing? If not, how could he reach the altar unseen? What truth could there be in the old man’s instructions? And even if the passage revealed itself, how could he enter unnoticed?

Thomas swallowed in an effort to moisten his suddenly dry throat. This was madness, and he was only one step away from a blessing that …

It was his turn.

“Partake of the water of the symbol of the Grail”—de Gainfort’s hand dipped into the water, and wet fingers brushed against Thomas’s forehead—“and henceforth be loyal to the Grail itself, and to its bearers. Blessings will be sure to follow. Amen.”

Thomas started to turn away. The movement drew Hugh’s eyes briefly. Suddenly those black eyes widened.

“It is you!” the priest hissed. He opened his mouth to shout.

Thomas reacted with a move Robert of Uleran had taught him—a move he had practiced hundreds of times but had never been forced to use. He twisted his shoulders away from the priest, then spun back to drive forward his right hand in a shortened swing. In that blink of an eye, Thomas
managed to hit his target with his clenched fist, middle knuckle slightly protruding. The point of the knuckle found its target, a small bone between the ribs, just above the priest’s stomach.

The air left the priest’s lungs with an audible
pop
. He clutched himself and began to sway, wind knocked out thoroughly.

It happened so quickly that those behind Thomas were not sure what they had seen.

Before Thomas could decide how best to flee, a terrifying crash overpowered the cacophony of whispers. One of the arched windows fell inward, burying a nearby priest. White light from sudden sun flooded the church and danced off rising dust.

Hugh de Gainfort dropped to his knees, still winded so badly he could barely breathe, let alone draw enough air to shout.

Then another crash as the window farther down tumbled inward.

It could only be Gervaise!

Thomas did not hesitate. Whatever sacrifice the old man had just made to create the diversion must not be wasted. Thomas darted to the altar.

What had the old man said? The panel beneath the candles was to be kicked sharply near the bottom. Twice.

Thomas glanced to see if Hugh de Gainfort had seen him, but the priest had sagged into a limp bundle. All others stared in frozen horror at the destruction. If a passage truly existed, Thomas might escape without witnesses.

Thomas kicked once. Twice.

Soundlessly, the panel swung inward, revealing a black square beneath the altar wide enough to fit a large man. A spring hinge ensured that it would snap shut.

Then a scream from outside the building. What price was Gervaise paying to buy Thomas these extra moments?

Thomas bit his lower lip. The old man’s sacrifice should not be made in vain. Thomas ignored the pain in his leg and sat quickly, so that his feet dangled over the edge. He pulled Beast from beneath his arm.

“Gervaise, my friend, if you go to your death, so do I.”

Thomas put both arms around the puppy to shield him, then let himself drop into the darkness.

Death arrived for neither.

Thomas dropped through the air for half a heartbeat. He closed his eyes and braced for the crush of impact, splattering him against the black unknown.

Then, incredibly, it felt as if arms began to wrap him tightly. A great resistance began to slow his fall.

Those arms grew tighter, then brushed against his face. In the same moment, Thomas felt growing friction against his body and realized these were not the arms of a savior, but a giant cloth sleeve, tapered into an ever-narrowing tube.

It slowed him almost to a standstill as the tube grew so tight that the fabric squeezed against his face.

Then, just as it seemed he had more to fear from suffocation than from splintered bones and shredded flesh, his feet popped into open air, and he slid loose from his cloth prison.

Even though the final drop was less than the height of a chair, Thomas was not able to see the ground in time to absorb the impact; the jarring of his heels against hard ground forced loose a grunt of pain.

He recovered his breath quickly and strained to see around him.

“Wherever we are, Beast,” Thomas said, “we can assume it is a better alternative to what was in store for us above.”

Thomas was glad in this darkness for the company of his furry friend. Except for his own voice and the whimpers of the puppy, there was silence.
It told Thomas that the Priests of the Holy Grail had not seen him escape. They did not know, then, of the passage beneath the altar.

He felt his heart begin to slow. Without immediate pursuit, he could move slowly and thoughtfully.

Thomas reached around him to explore for walls. In the darkness, he could not even see the movement of his own arm. He pulled his eye patch loose. It did not help his vision.

“What is this place?” Thomas asked, then forced himself to smile. “Ah, Beast, you do not answer. That is a good sign. For if I were mad or dreaming, you would speak.”

The puppy whined at the gentle sadness in his master’s tone and squirmed in Thomas’s arms. He offered comfort with well-placed licks.

“Enough!” Thomas said through a laugh. “Next, you’ll try to soothe me by wetting yourself!”

He set the puppy down but felt a wave of panic when Beast snuffled away from his leg. He had no idea if the ground gave way to holes or rifts. He or the puppy could break a leg. Yet what could he do but explore?

Thomas sobered immediately.

So much had happened so quickly. Only yesterday, he had ruled the island castle of Magnus, and by extension, the kingdom around it. Today he was a fugitive, marked for death or worse by the offer of a brick of gold for his head. Because of him, his friends had suffered equally.

Robert of Uleran’s fate was unknown.

Gervaise might have paid the ultimate price for his sacrifice of distraction.

Tiny John could only wander the streets and hope the Priests of the Holy Grail would not place any importance on his freedom.

And now?

Thomas took a deep breath to steady his nerves.

Now he was in pitch blackness, somewhere below Magnus in a pit or passage he had never known existed.

To return to Magnus, even if possible, endangered his life. Yet how long could he remain, blind, within the bowels of the earth?

A new thought struck Thomas with such force that he sucked air in sharply.

Gervaise knew.

Gervaise knew of the trapdoor below the altar.

More thoughts tumbled through Thomas’s cluttered mind.

Warnings of evil within Magnus. Whispered secrets that had plagued him since first conquering the kingdom.

Surely this must be part of the mystery of Magnus. Yet if Gervaise knew, why had he not revealed it much earlier, before the arrival of the Priests of the Holy Grail? Thomas strained to remember the old man’s words.
“After sixty steps, you must make the leap of faith. Understand? Make the leap of faith. You will find the knowledge you need near the burning water.”

Somewhere in this darkness, he would find the answer.

Despite darkness so deep that even a quarter hour of adjustment had failed to show the faintest light to his eyes, Thomas spoke in a conversational manner, as if he and the puppy were in bright sunshine, sharing the warmth of the spring day outside. “Well, Beast, he was right about the altar panel and provided for our escape. But what am I to make of this ‘leap of faith’ Gervaise has instructed me to make?”

The puppy whined in response.

“I would ask him if he were here, silly dog! Knowing Gervaise, he’d probably say something such as, ‘Thomas, faith is difficult to explain,’ ” he said, imitating Gervaise’s deep, calm voice. “ ‘But with it, prayer eases the mind much.’ How do I know He listens? That I cannot explain either.”

A light patting reached Thomas as the puppy’s tail thumped the ground to reflect contentment. Then a yip.

“Well, that’s just the way he talks. Gervaise is not known for addressing the situation in front of you. He’s a more subtle man.” The puppy remained pressed against his feet. Thomas tucked his chin into his chest and mimicked the old man’s voice. “You have a mind, Thomas. How can you remain so unwilling to learn? Just because some men have twisted this religion for their own purposes is no reason to cast away faith. Because the monks in your boyhood abbey showed such little faith is no reason to apply their falseness to the essential truth.”

Thomas squatted and scratched the puppy’s head. He reverted to his own voice and spoke almost absently, because his mind was already on the problems ahead. “As much as I do not want to believe, puppy, I cannot deny
that twice I faced death, and twice I cried to the God in whom I did not want to believe. Explain that. We are here now because false priests seek to obscure the truth. And we must apply that to our situation—the darkness is obscuring our path. We cannot rely upon our eyes now, just as the people should not trust what they see performed by the Priests of the Holy Grail. We can only rely upon that which we know to be true, and in our case, that is Gervaise. And, as always, he speaks to me about a leap of faith.”