Cadfael reeled back in agony as the whip struck but recovered swiftly enough to plant his staff firmly in the prostrate de Plaincourt's stomach. The air rushed out of the injured man with a great whooshing sound and he lay, gasping and groaning by turns, at Cadfael's feet. A small cockleshell badge, the mark of a pilgrim of St James, clattered on the flagstones beside him.

The commotion summoned other knights, Count Raymond among them. He surveyed the scene. Before him lay one of his own knights rolling in agony while a short, stocky man-at-arms with thick russet curls was leaning against a pillar, unwinding a wicked-looking leather whip from about his brow. The austere nobleman arched an eyebrow towards Sir Mercier de Longueval who stood mutely shaking his head.

The long explanations were received at first with incredulity and then with rising anger. At length, Raymond of Toulouse spoke with slow and icy clarity.

"I charge you, Sir Mercier, to report everything that has happened this night to your master. Tell him also, that I sanctioned none of it."

He motioned to the figure of Sir Giles, who was by now struggling to his knees.

"Take this wretch away. Let him be stripped of his demesne. I will reserve my justice for the morning."

With that, and a haughty stare at Cadfael, the Count departed followed by his retinue, who talked urgently together in hushed whispers.

Sir Mercier crossed to Cadfael. The young Welshman was rubbing his head ruefully. A line of livid bruises was starting to appear on his forehead like a crown of thorns.

Two years later

The sun was but a half hour from setting as a tired traveller entered through Antioch's west gate and made his way wearily through the city to the Street of Sailmakers. Cadfael ap Meilyr ap Dafydd of Trefiw, once a soldier of the Cross, had returned to make good a promise.

He smiled in recognition at the dark-haired young woman standing in the apothecary's booth. She looked up and her eyes grew wide in surprise before an answering smile lit up her face. He stopped and drank her in. The shapeless black robe and plain head covering that custom demanded that she wear in public could not entirely conceal the taut slimness of her body and a tangle of unruly dark hair was forever escaping from its confinement. As he gazed at her in a mixture of wonder and admiration, he cast his mind back to the night of his departure, some two years previously.

Then he had gone to say his farewells and to tell Salah all that had transpired. The Apothecary had been amazed and then relieved as the story unfolded.

"But how did you know, my friend, how came you upon the answer?"

"I had thought too much upon the Elect of Hassan. I missed the whip that de Plaincourt wore. Then I remembered your belt. Seven knots for the seven tenets of Islam."

"I don't understand."
"It all became clear when I asked Sir Mercier about the bruises on Walter Veritas. I asked how many there were. He told me upwards of a dozen. It was then I knew it was not a fanatic's belt but something else, and saw in my mind that whip with the iron tags."

"Still, you had no proof."

"As things turned, I needed none. Sir Giles tried to attack me in the same way. And then there was the pilgrim's badge at the last."

"And now you are leaving?"

Cadfael nodded slowly but his sharp ears caught the sound of a sudden intake a breath from behind the screen. Mariamhad been listening, as he had hoped and suspected. Salah gave Cadfael a hard look and read the quick flash of elation on the latter's features. He sighed inwardly and rose.

"I must go out, my friend. I have a patient to visit. Stay here a while and we will talk some more on my return."

Cadfael accepted the invitation with a glad heart. He stood and saw the older man to the door. When he returned, Mariam was there, standing with downcast eyes.

"Mariam, I leave for Jerusalem on the morrow."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Cadfael took her hand, felt the slight trembling there and something else; a warmth seemed to crackle between them at the contact. She raised her head and looked into his eyes. In the dim glow of the lamp, Cadfael was convinced he could see the slight gleam of a tear starting at the corner of one eye. He said nothing but pulled her to him. He hugged her close, feeling the softness of her pressing against his chest. He could smell the sandalwood scent of her hair. Still they did not speak. His mouth searched for hers. Their lips touched and all the aching yearning that she felt was assuaged in the instant of that first, sweet kiss.

They sat together on the divan talking. It was as though a dam had burst inside her and the words came flooding out. She told him of her life; how she had married, been widowed, of the emptiness of her days. He responded in kind. He related how he had fled his native Wales, the familiarity of tref and maenol, the certainty of his place in the world, to follow, firstly, a wool merchant, and later to take the cross. He told of his betrothal to and abandonment of a young Welsh girl. He spoke also of his regret and shame and yet, somehow, the inevitability of his chosen path. She drew it all in without comment or censure. He felt a sense of absolution, but also one of hopelessness. In a few short hours he would march away. Ahead lay battle, hardship and the possibility of death.

He made the promise then. He would return. He could not promise more, nor could she ask for it. Their doom settled over them like a cloak and they grew quiet. Salah returned. His glance took in the twinned faces, the mix of joy and sorrow. He nodded briefly.

"Do not ask for my blessing, that I cannot give you. I have set my countenance against this folly but I see I am in vain. No blessing then, my friend, but I will not oppose you more."

Now, as the sun set, he had returned. The intervening years had not dimmed his passion. Mariam took his hand and drew him into the booth. It was cooler inside and she lit a lamp to cast its soft glow upon them. Their first kiss was fierce, full of pent-up longing. When they broke apart, flushed and gasping, she told him that her uncle had retired. Salah had gone back to his native village, taken a young woman to wife and was content to see out the remainder of his days in tranquillity. The apothecary's booth he gave to Mariam. She was happy now and would not leave. This fell between them like a weight.

She brought him cheese and olives and fresh cold water to drink. He washed away the dust of his journey wrapped in bittersweet thoughts. He knew, then, that Antioch could not hold him but a part of him would remain with her forever. He pushed away the remnants of his meal and gazed at her in silence. She stood and slowly eased the robe from her shoulders. The lamplight threw soft shadows on the swell of her breasts and the gentle curve of her slim hips.

"We shall have this night," she said.
She undressed him then. She kissed each scar upon the muscled body. Her fingers flowed over him. She took sweet-scented oil and worked it into his chest and shoulders. Her hands were trails of fire across his skin. She cried out sharply when he entered her. He felt her fingernails dig into his back and the fierce passion that arose within her like a sudden summer storm. He seemed to be tumbling into the well of her body as the night receded from his consciousness. There was only Mariam as the world vanished from his ken. He reared above her, driving to his climax and she cried out once again as he reached his fulfilment.

He stayed fast within her. Began again, a slow, soft movement that fired her to the core. Pleasure lapped at her in mounting waves. She felt the lightning building and rolled her hips to meet him. She was suspended somewhere above the Earth. She was shuddering now, she could feel his body on her and everywhere their skin touched was a tiny nexus of heat. It was as though she embraced pure flame. Then she was lost, soaring towards some great lightness. The world spun around her and her heels drummed upon the sheets. She heard him cry out, as though at a great distance, and warmth suffused her, sweeping over her being and carrying her onwards as the stars exploded in her head.

They lay together afterwards, clinging together in the wreckage of her bed. Twice more that night they tested their passion, each time leaving them still insatiate. Dawn found them intertwined. Cadfael rose with a heavy heart and washed. Mariam regarded from the tangle of the bed, her mute eyes wide but unreadable. He made to speak but she stilled him with a finger upon his lips.

"Say nothing, Cadfael. We have no need of words. My uncle was right. We could neither be happy in the other's world. Have no regrets for I have none. Go with God but, please, go now and quickly. But should you chance this way again..."

He trudged through the burgeoning heat of the morning towards the port of St Symeon with ashes in his soul. The day wore on and he stopped to find shade around noon. Gradually, his mood lightened. Sorrow was slowly replaced by gratitude. He had known real love, albeit briefly. Mariam was with him in his heart. Who knew? One day he might return and, if so, he would have at least one true friend in Antioch. In the meantime, the World waited for an adventurer.