as like as man and mirror.â
âHow not? Weâre twinborn. Thatâs a power in itself, the old wives say.â
âAre you both left-handed?â
Aidan laughed, startled, beginning to like this soldier-monk. âBoth of us. How did you know?â
The blue eyes glinted. âNo magic, my lord. I watched you in hall. You should learn to eat with your right hand if you intend to go among the infidels. They take very unkindly to a man who does not.â
âWhy is that?â
âA teaching of their Prophet. He ordained every smallest action. The right hand, he decreed, shall be for eating and for cleanly things. The left is for wiping oneself, and for giving the devil his due.â
âDo they all fight left-handed, then?â
âOh, no,â said the Hospitaller. âWar is holy, as holy as prayer. The blood of infidels is their Eucharist.â
âWhat makes you think that I should care for an infidelâs mummery? I came to kill them, not to dine with them.â
The Hospitallerâs eye rested on the cross that Aidan wore, blood-red on black: the Crusaderâs sign and seal. âA most devout sentiment. Youâd make a fine Templar.â
âWould they take me?â
âThe Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon will take any who hungers after Saracen blood.â
He did not, Aidan noticed, say any man. âYou of the Hospital, no doubt, are more discriminating.â
âLess zealous, perhaps. Our concern is not only with war but with its aftermath. We tend the sick and the wounded; we do what we may to bring the infidels to the light of the true faith.â
Aidan began to pace again. The Hospitaller followed, shorter by a little but long-legged enough, though he walked lame.
âA wound?â Aidan asked him.
He shrugged, deprecating it. âA small one, inconveniently placed. I mend.â
âThereâs been fighting, then?â
âThereâs always fighting. Syria has a new sultan. We pacted with him for a truce, but â â
âYou pacted with a Saracen sultan?â
Gilles laughed, not quite in mockery. âSo shocked, prince? Did you think it was all holy war without respite? The kings of Jerusalem themselves have done more than swear truce with their enemies; theyâve been known to enter into active alliances, pitting Saracen against Saracen and taking the side of the stronger.â
Aidan shook it off, enormity though it should have seemed to an innocent from the farthest west. âKings, yes. Kings do whatever they must. But the Church is the Church, and Saracens are unbelievers.â
âThey are also men, and they surround us. We do as we must. We hold the Holy Sepulcher. We will do anything â anything at all, short of mortal sin â to continue to hold it.â
Aidan nodded slowly. That, he could understand.
âAnd you,â said the Hospitaller. âHave you come for holiness, or for the fighting?â
âBoth,â Aidan said. âAnd for my kinsman who went before me.â
âYou loved him.â
That was presumptuous, from a stranger. âHe was my kin.â
There was a silence. Aidan paced in it, but slower now, calmer.
âMasyaf,â said Gilles, âabuts, and some would say is part of, a fief of the Hospitallers.â
Aidan whipped about.
Gilles backed a step, but he went on steadily enough. âIt stands near the demesne of our fortress of Krak. Its master has, on occasion, been persuaded to acknowledge our dominion.â
âWhat are you telling me?â
The Hospitaller had paled, as well he might. âThe Sheikh al-Jabal is not a vassal of our Order. He pays us no tribute, as the Templars have forced him to do, and thereby won his enmity. Yet there may be somewhat that we may do, to win reparation for this murder.â
âWhy? Are you responsible for it?â
âGod knows,â said Gilles, âthat we are not. Our way