Blaze of Silver by K. M. Grant Page A

According to the Benedictine Rule, the abbot should have eaten nothing, for he had already eaten earlier in the day. However, the venison was too tempting and although he refused a trencher, his pudgy hand kept sidling out. “Just the scraps,” he said to Will, his face pink with guilty longing. “It’s a sin to let them go to waste.” Even Hal had to bite his lip to stop himself from snorting.
    With his mouth full, the abbot was full of the gossip his monks had gleaned from sailors returning from Palestine and the East. The Saracens were leaderless and their lands in chaos. “If Richard is released in time to lead another crusade, they say he could sweep all before him.” The abbot licked his lips as grease dropped off his many chins. “But for us poor creatures, more war will just mean more money and we have collected so much already.”
    Amal, disgusted by the abbot as he stood behind Kamil’s chair, heard this without moving a muscle. After supper, however, he set off down to the town. Ports were always full of the Old Man’s spies. Amal had hisinstructions but fresh word would also be welcome. As he hung about in the crowd along the quayside watching people gazing with resentful wonder at the heavily guarded ransom wagons, he wondered if anybody would make contact. At first he thought the woman clutching his knees was demanding money. She had the whining voice and ragged clothes of a beggar although a flash of gold at her neck suggested something else. But when she said his name, Amal followed her at once down a side street. Only when she bade him enter her house did he hesitate, fearing a trap. But what trap could there be? Nobody knew him in this place. He went in and was relieved to find the woman did not want to waste any time.
    â€œYou received the letter?” she asked, her voice no longer whining but hard and businesslike. She spoke in Norman French. There was no pretence that Amal could not understand.
    â€œI did.”
    â€œThe Old Man sends word to say that his plans are now complete.” The woman looked around her as if the walls might be listening, then she edged nearer to Amal and began to whisper in his ear. She spoke for some time and when she stopped, Amal stood perfectly still. “A strange twist, indeed,” he said, his voice low.
    â€œDo you object?”
    Amal was frightened and answered quickly. “I do not,” he said. “What the Old Man has commanded shall be done. But,” he couldn’t help adding, “I’m glad Kamil is not my son.”
    The woman said nothing as she showed Amal out, but when her own boy came home, she kissed him more warmly than usual.
    It was not until much later that night that Amal discovered his booklet was missing. He had not looked inside his hat since leaving Hartslove. At first he was just puzzled and shook his clothes carefully, turning his hat inside out. But when he realized the booklet had, indeed, vanished, his long face became quite wild and he rushed back to the wagon, searching it from top to bottom, not caring about the comments and stares. Only when Kamil came and asked what was the matter did Amal try to regain some composure, saying that he was looking for a spare tunic, which he thought he must have left at Hartslove. Kamil commiserated, saying that he, too, had carelessly left something behind—his little comb. Perhaps he could give Amal a change of clothes? Amal had to pretend to be grateful but he could not sleep and, in the dawn, shed bitter tears.
    The next morning, as they boarded the ship, Amal was very quiet. Though the loss of the booklet was a personal tragedy, Amal could not believe there was any real danger. Even if somebody found it, who could read it? He did not think Ellie would remember enough now that their lessons were over, and the words she had learned were mainly to do with horses. Anyway, it had most likely fallen out as Amal packed and by now the