François and Colin were led to the gates of the fortress and expelled without further ado. Gamliel’s secretary was sitting in the shade of an olive tree close by the ramparts, waiting for them. He stood up to greet them, then pulled on a linen cloth to reveal a platter laden with food.
“Shalom, gentlemen.”
While Colin and François threw themselves on the smoked poultry, oatcakes, and dried fruit, the Jew opened a bottle of wine with all the dexterity of a trained steward.
“My master has had excellent news from Jerusalem.”
“Your master has brought us enough bad luck,” Colin growled back.
As François undertook to explain the reason for so much anger, the rabbi’s secretary listened to him with a distracted, almost amused expression, indifferent to the flush of rage on Colin’s face. Federico’s betrayal seemed not to surprise him at all.
“Your bravery is highly praiseworthy. You passed this test with a distinction that does you honor.”
François and Colin were stunned. Such a denunciation overstepped the mark. It might have cost them their lives. What malicious pleasure did these people take in mortifying the king’s emissaries in this way? François even wondered if the qadi of Nazareth, whose clemency he found hard to fathom, had not also been complicit in this charade.
“We had to make sure of your loyalty,” the secretary continued in a neutral, disenchanted tone, as if bored by the thankless mission with which his master had entrusted him.
“While we have no guarantee of yours!”
The two Frenchmen were hardly in a position to demand anything. They could not return home empty-handed without risking the gallows and as long as they stayed here, lost and destitute, their fate depended on Gamliel’s goodwill. The secretary did not therefore take the trouble to respond. He clapped his hands, and two Mongols appeared, supporting Aisha. Wild-eyed, she flashed a reproachful glare at François and Colin. Her body bore the marks of the abuse she had endured.
“The poor thing has been harshly treated. It’s best if she doesn’t go back to Safed. She won’t be well received there. Whether or not she was raped by the guards, she’ll be seen as defiled.”
François clutched his crumpled hat in his clumsy hands. He leaned toward Aisha and kissed her fingers. She leapt back in terror. François turned to Gamliel’s secretary. Defiled or not, he refused to abandon her to her fate. Colin threw François a disapproving glance. A woman was bound to bring trouble down on their heads. Unconcerned by what would befall this slave, the secretary decided he would hear no more. He was hoping to expedite his task as quickly as possible.
“Take off those rags. Two Mongols will wear your prison grab in order to create a diversion. They’ll leave for Safed this evening. Here are fresh clothes and shoes.”
“I’m sick and tired of all your precautions!” roared Colin.
The secretary remained calm. “We have to be careful. Not because of the Mamluks. The Vatican has agents in Nazareth. They must have had wind of your arrival in the Holy Land.”
“Have you forgotten that I have the support of the Bishop of Paris?”
“But what rabbi would trust the Bishop of Paris?”
François grabbed hold of Colin’s arm before he could knock the wretched fellow out. Taking several steps back, the secretary pointed at a tall thin man leaning against a tree, wearing torn and frayed pirate breeches and with a red scarf tightly knotted around his skull. Two big toes, the nails black, poked out of the ends of worn boots that looked as if they had seen better days—and a better owner. He was kneading a piece of straw between two rows of carious teeth.
“Djanoush will be your guide. On the roads, a nomad attracts less attention. His mission is to take you to the Holy Sepulcher. From there, we’ll take over.”
At a signal from the secretary, Djanoush approached, two donkeys tied to his horse. Colin refused the bridle the gypsy held out to him. Djanoush insisted. Colin cursed. Djanoush lost his temper. All this lasted a while.
“Let’s just gratefully accept,” François said.
“I’m not going to ride through Galilee on a donkey!”
“Our Lord did.”
“This one’s all lopsided, I’ll take the other one.”
The secretary watched helplessly as the scene unfolded. These two foreigners were constantly squabbling over trifles. They never talked about anything serious, not even their mission. And they drank too much wine. The King of France must be a poor monarch indeed. You just had to look at his emissaries. And yet Rabbi Gamliel gave them a good deal of respect. He even claimed that they had been sent by Providence. It was to make sure of this that he had put them to such a hard test. He saw their coming here to Judea as a sign from God. As for Master Federico, he had been certain they would pull through.
“My master has obtained permission for the gate of the Holy City to be opened to you.”
“Any camel driver can go through those gates any day of the week!”
“Not this gate.”
“Which gate is that, then?”
The Jew looked Colin and François up and down one last time, increasingly irritated by their insolence. “The gate to the secret Jerusalem.”