Raphael naturally assumed that Percival had come up, on the spur of the moment, with some clever stratagem. The Frank was going to tell Benjamin some plausible-sounding cock-and-bull story about their errand, innocuous enough to assuage all the Khazars’ fears.
And so it was with a light heart and giddy expectation of quick success that Raphael now rounded up Feronantus and Rabbi Aaron and got them all together in the latter’s little house, with Percival standing before them, ready to spring his clever tale.
As soon as Percival opened his mouth, however, Raphael saw it had been a terrible mistake. He knew this even before Percival uttered a word. He knew it because of the look on Percival’s face: the utterly open, childlike guilelessness—and that weird effulgence that surrounded him whenever he was seized by whatever angel or demon took delight in toying with him.
“Weeks ago, I had a vision,” Percival announced, “that we should set our course for Kiev, where we would find something of inestimable value, without which our quest was doomed.”
Benjamin shifted and threw Raphael an irritable look. His instincts were clearly telling him to run away. The packhorses were neighing restlessly in the stable yard. Yet here they were, trapped in a conversation with a Frank who suffered from supernatural visions.
Feronantus had little choice but to play the role of the dignified leader and see this through as if he had expected it all along.
All unaware of this prickly dynamic, Percival continued. “I assumed, at first, that this benison would be some sort of holy relic. And when Vera told us of the tunnels and catacombs below the city, filled with treasures, I naturally assumed that what I sought would be found there. Instead, we uncovered nothing but a few odds and ends, and I lost my best friend in battle.”
Percival’s face darkened—literally. The effulgence took on a grayish hue, which Raphael observed with both alarm and deep curiosity. He threw a glance at Benjamin, who had cocked his head to one side, mouth open a little, eyes searching. Their gazes met. Raphael gave the merest shrug.
“In the weeks since,” Percival said, “I have prayed and meditated upon these events, imploring God to send me understanding. This morning, God answered my prayers. The object of our quest to Kiev was not some artifact but the Shield-Maidens themselves. Vera’s return to our group is confirmation of God’s will. She was destined all along to join us and ride with us into the East.”
Benjamin seemed embarrassed. “You have too many quests for me to keep track of,” he muttered.
Percival shook his head forbearingly. “For us, there is only one,” he said.
“The one that takes you into the East, following the caravan trails?”
“The same.”
“And what, pray tell, might be the object of that quest?”
“Don’t!” Feronantus sat forward and stretched out an arm toward Percival. But it was too late.
“We will ride into the heartland of the Mongols’ empire. We will find the Great Khan, and we will slay him.”
Feronantus burst out with a long oath in his native Gothic, not at all becoming of a monk. Raphael was able to make out the names of at least two pagan gods.
The little meeting had become a Tower of Babel. Benjamin spoke to the nonplussed rabbi in Khazar Turkic, presumably translating Percival’s words, and they went on to conduct an agonizingly long discussion in that tongue, perfectly opaque to Raphael.
Finally, as Feronantus buried his head in his hands and sank back in gloom, Benjamin looked at Raphael. His cloudy scowl faded, he lifted his shoulders, held out his hands—and smiled.
“Why not just tell us that in the first place? I cannot speak on behalf of my cousins who dwell in this little village, of course. But as far as I’m concerned, anyone as determined as you seem to be to kill the Great Khan, and throw his empire into disarray, is brethren to us all in this terrible time foretold by the Nevi’im, and there is almost nothing I won’t do to help further your quest.”
The rabbi ran his fingers through his beard, as was his habit when deep in thought.
“I felt confident you’d see it that way,” Percival said, breaking into an amazed silence.
“This all came to you in a vision?” Benjamin asked.
Percival looked up and smiled. The light on his face was again apparent. Raphael was almost certain the others saw it as well. There were so many reasons for living, breathing, sinful men to feel uncomfortable around Percival.
“You are indeed a holy fool,” said Benjamin, “for I am a strange man, and not one merchant in a thousand would respond as I have.” Benjamin now turned to address Raphael in Hebrew. “Please say to the others that I commend you all for your bravery and wish you the best of luck on your quest. But we who must remain here are in grave danger. We can only assume that the Mongols will search tirelessly for the surviving Shield-Maidens.” Raphael quickly translated.
Feronantus’s response was immediate and simple. “We will draw them away from you,” he said, “and destroy them.”
21
Quod Debuimus Facere, Fecimus
“WHY DID YOU let him go, you idiot?” Fieschi snarled, whirling away from de Segni in frustration. “He was right there, he was standing next to you, you were befriending him...and then what? I looked away for one moment, and suddenly, Robert of Somercotes is practically embracing him!”