Dusk had fallen over Constantinople. It was not dark enough to hide the hunted man. The setting sun filled the Hippodrome with light the colour of blood in water.
The long shadows of the pursuers grasped at his heels. The distorted shape of a helmet sprang up in front of him, then bobbed away.
The excubitors were closing ground.
John glanced back. One line of guards snaked directly behind. Others climbed along the seating on either side, intent on cutting off his escape.
Above his head loomed the ornately sculpted facade of the imperial box. As Lord Chamberlain, John knew those seats were inaccessible to the easily inflamed crowds. He was just as familiar with the area directly below, used by the Emperor's servants, musicians and guards. As reached the chest-high wall of the enclosure and pulled himself over, a spear hissed by his ear and rattled down onto the marble floor.
He thanked Mithra the door leading from the enclosure was for once unlocked. He leapt through the doorway into darkness and plunged headlong down a sloping corridor ...
No one had been told why the Templar was in Lincoln. Gerard Camville had said in passing that de Marins had been on crusade in the Holy Land with the now-dead King Richard back in '91, and had been captured by the Saracens during a skirmish near Acre at the end of that year. After eight long years of captivity he had recently escaped. It was obvious that he had been tortured during his incarceration, for he wore a leather patch over the eye-socket of his missing right eye and walked with a pronounced limp. When, early one morning, he came into the hall to break his fast after attending Mass in the castle chapel, all eyes had turned his way but, although polite, he had said nothing of his past and seemed disinclined to talk about it. [...]
As he began to recover his health, he had taken to practising his combative skills in the yard, first with a blunted sword against the wooden stake erected for the purpose, and finally with Ernulf in mock battle using both sword and shield. While he seemed to have regained his former weight, his prowess with a sword was hampered by the lameness of his leg and the blindness of one eye. For all that, he still made a formidable opponent for Ernulf, who needed all the tricks he had learned in his many years as a soldier to keep pace with the Templar.
'You have taken an age to get here, Simon. Can you not teach your servant to ride a little faster?'
Simon felt Hugh stiffen behind him, but smiled in return. 'It was my fault, sir. I stopped to talk to the monks.'
'What monks?' asked the knight absently as he led them in through the thick wooden door.
'Didn't you see them? We came upon them at the end of your lane here. Four monks and an abbot; they're on their way to the monastery at Buckland.'
Baldwin frowned slightly. 'No, I didn't see them,' he said with disinterest, and shrugged, seeming to put them out of his mind as he smiled again. [...] 'As bailiff to knight, I think we can talk to each other as equals.'
Recognising the honour, Simon smiled and inclined his head. It was not his imagination – he could feel that already there was somekind of bond between him and this grave knight. The man seemed to be seeking his friendship and Simon found it flattering, even though he knew that it was likely to be only the interest of a lonely newcomer seeking the acquaintance of an important neighbour. He continued, 'Thank you. So, Baldwin, your estate has not been so badly affected as some others. The rains have been very bad this year, but Furnshill is high enough to have missed the worst of the damage ...
