Philip was aware that Jerusalem swarmed with violent men like Thomas who had found themselves without employment after they had captured the city from the Saracens. He guessed that the knight was offering to hire out the long sword.
“I have no need of mercenaries,” Philip said, speaking in English.
The massive head slowly lifted. Cunning lurked in the hard blue eyes.
“Perhaps not, sire. But have you need of someone who can lead you to the Prester?”
So that was this brute’s game. Philip fumed at the boldness of the man. Word of his mission and his willingness to pay for information had quickly circulated in the ancient city.
“It is no secret in Jerusalem that I seek Prester John,” Philip said, making no effort to hide the annoyance in his voice.
“But none of the others who have heard of your quest can show you the way.”
“I suppose you have a map that you wish to sell,” Philip scoffed.
“No map,” Thomas said. “But I can lead you to the Prester’s kingdom with a lodestone.”
Thomas slipped a mail glove off his hand, reached under his tunic and came out with a rough-cut emerald around a half-inch across cradled in the creases of his massive palm.
Philip took the emerald from the knight’s hand and studied the green stone in a shaft of light slanting through a small window. The uncut gem was of the highest quality.
“Where did you get this little bauble?” Philip said, acting as if he were only mildly curious.
“From a Greek merchant who acquired it in the Prester’s kingdom.”
Philip passed the emerald back.
“Get off your knee, Thomas son of Thomas. Sit on that stool and try not to break it.” He turned the hour glass over on his desk. “You have until the bottom is half full.”
Thomas eased his great bulk onto the creaking stool and told Philip how he had haggled over the emerald in the Constantinople bazaar. The gem merchant was vague about the source of the stone, saying only that it was east of Babylon. Intrigued, Thomas began to frequent other bazaars. He noticed emeralds of similarly unusual beauty and started a discrete inquiry as to their origin. He found a common thread. The handful of merchants who sold the gems had all been on caravans that traveled far to the east on a trade route known to be long and extremely hazardous. He went back to the Greek.
“And this merchant simply came out and told you he had reached the Kingdom of Prester John?” Philip said, not trying to hide his skepticism.
“No, sire. I had to persuade him.”
Philip glanced at the knight’s club-like hands. Thomas obviously had formidable powers of persuasion. The Greek said his supplier told him only that the gems came from a distant eastern kingdom ruled by a Christian. A handful of traders knew the way and they keep it secret.
Philip listened long after the sand had drained from the top of the hour glass. Thomas had a simple plan. Join a caravan. Identify the emerald merchants heading east of Babylon. When they neared their destination he would persuade the merchants to show the way to Prester John.
“We would travel together, you and I?”
Thomas nodded. “I have six loyal men who would follow me to Hell.”
“And what is the cost of this journey to Hades?”
“All expenses and a fair cut of future emerald trade.”
Philip’s hand went to the gold cross that hung from his neck. He knew it would be madness to join a group of untamed mercenaries on a dangerous journey to nowhere. On the other hand, he was desperate. The Pope would not accept an excuse.
He wrinkled his nose; he supposed he would get used to the man’s foul odor in time. “When can we leave?” he said.
“The caravan is assembling outside the city and will depart in a week.” Thomas hesitated. “I’ll need money for supplies and to buy a place in the caravan.”
Philip gave him a handful of coins from a leather purse. “Keep in mind that even the Pope’s purse has a bottom,” he warned.
Thomas handed him the emerald. “This will ensure my return.”
After Thomas left, Philip placed the emerald in a strong box. Before he closed the lid, he took out the folded letter inside and gazed at the Papal seal. Pope Alexander was right. God had answered his prayers by sending Thomas as His emissary. A faint smile crossed Philip’s lips. The Pope said that God moved in mysterious ways, but he hadn’t mentioned that the Almighty had a keen sense of humor.
Philip joined the caravan posing as a rich pilgrim traveling with his bodyguards. The arrangement aroused no suspicion. The caravans that plied the Asian trade routes were moving cities. Each with its own government, complete with bureaucrats and cooks. Private armies often accompanied merchants and traders.
Philip used Italian charm and gallons of wine to insinuate his way into this mix as the caravan plodded eastward. He identified a small group of gem traders and narrowed their number down to two close-mouthed merchants specializing in fine emeralds. Months passed. He gained the confidence of the gem merchants and every night sat with them around the campfire. He kept his ear cocked, never saying that he knew how to speak Greek. One night he overheard the two merchants hinting at their plans to slip away from the caravan.
Thomas and his men were waiting when the traders struck out on their own. One trader resisted and died. Philip was visibly upset at Thomas, but relented when the Crusader said the man’s death must have been God’s will because it persuaded the other merchant to lead the way.
After weeks of travel through remote and rugged country, the travelers broke through a mountain pass into a verdant land. They followed a stone-paved road, mingling with a growing number of merchants, traders and farmers. The road led to the turreted gates of a city as large as any in Europe. A magnificent palace overlooked the city from high on a hill.
The gem trader had papers from a previous visit and the city guards allowed him to pass. He quickly disappeared through the gates, grinning at the former captors as he left them behind. Philip told the guards that he had a letter for the king. The guards took the letter and threw the strangers into a dungeon. After languishing a few days, the prisoners were visited by a black-robed man.
Speaking in a strange Latin dialect, the robed man said he was the king’s minister and that he had read the Pope’s letter. He had them moved to cleaner, more spacious quarters. They were well-fed and given robes to wear. Their every need was attended to, but they were still prisoners. The men gambled. Philip passed the time keeping a journal. It was not a terrible existence, but they were overjoyed when the minister sent a message saying the king wanted to see Philip and Thomas.
Guards escorted the two men to the hill palace through streets lined with opulent mansions and bustling shops. Philip had expected a throne room filled with courtiers. Instead, he and Thomas were ushered into a small, simply furnished chamber.
A middle-aged man with close-cropped gray hair and beard sat behind a dark-wood table. Unlike the minister and the guards, whose features had a faint Asian cast, the man’s long handsome face was Caucasian. He wore no crown or opulent cloak, only a plain robe that differed from the others in its color, an imperial purple.
In a regal voice that was compelling, in spite of its softness, he told his guests to sit, and apologized for not seeing them sooner.
“I was away to another part of my great kingdom,” he said. He placed his hand on the letter from Alexander, which lay on the table, the papal seal broken, and gazed at Philip with deep-set eyes the color of amber. “Tell me about your Pope and your long journey.”
Philip related how Alexander had recruited his physician to carry the message to Prester John. The king listened intently, nodding occasionally. Only when Philip had finished his story did the king ask probing questions about European politics and religion. At the end of the interrogation, he snapped his fingers and the minister handed Philip a vellum scroll sealed in wax.