The Treasure_ A Novel - Iris Johansen [46]
“But it could be this grail that’s in the box in Tarik’s chamber?”
“Or what Nasim thinks is the true grail. He worships power. He would do anything to obtain a magical grail that would give the possessor Godlike powers.”
“He’s an evil, evil man. I cannot believe God would give him any more power than he has already.”
“But it’s not what you believe but what Nasim believes. To him, God is Allah, and Allah has always smiled on him.”
“It could not be. It has to be a troubadour’s tale, as you say.”
“Well, we cannot wake Tarik and ask him. He made it clear we’ll have to wait until morning.” He rose to his feet. “Go to sleep.”
Go to sleep when her mind was filled with coffers of gold and magical grails? “Will you?”
“Perhaps.” He leaned down, brushed a kiss on her forehead, and whispered, “I know a remedy that would make us both sleep deeply.”
She did not answer.
“No?” He sighed and then moved toward the door. “Then I fear our minds will get no more rest than our bodies this night.”
______
She was coming toward him, moving gracefully, rhythmically, her bare feet seeming to scarcely skim the stone floor.
Tarik waited.
She was almost there.
His heart was beating hard, he was sweating with anticipation.
She stopped before him. He could see the shimmering beauty of her dark eyes illuminating the impassive jackal face.
He took an eager step forward, reaching out to her.
She shook her head.
Agony shot through him. He could feel the pain twisting, tearing.
Why?
He could not see her mouth move but knew the word it formed.
Fool.
She was walking forward, past him.
No!
He had to follow her.
He couldn’t move. He was chained.
He watched, helpless, as she disappeared over the horizon.
Emptiness. Loneliness.
Come back.
But she would never come back.
Tears were running down Tarik’s cheeks when he opened his eyes.
He hadn’t had the dream in a long time, but he had known it would return. It always came back when his soul was in conflict. At other times he could block it, but not when the longing for freedom became this overpowering.
And was that longing so terrible? He had made his decision. Why was he hesitating when he had worked and planned for so long? Did he not deserve to be set free?
She would say he did.
She had called him a fool.
He turned over on his side and looked up at the tapestry Rosa had made for him.
Rosa had never called him a fool. Rosa had been kind and gentle and without a thorn. She had wanted only what was best for him. There had been neither torment nor crisis of conscience when she was by his side. He should be dreaming of Rosa.
But he never dreamed of Rosa.
When he dreamed, it was always of his love, his passion, his nemesis. The woman who moved with the exquisite grace of a dancer and who stared at him with scorn from that jackal’s face.
Selene and Kadar were sitting, waiting, when Tarik strode into the great hall the next morning.
“It’s almost noon,” Kadar said.
Tarik raised his brows. “Is this a sin? Selene made much of the fact of my advancing years. I decided a crippled old man needed his rest.”
“Or perhaps decided to torment us for pushing you to show us the manuscript,” Selene suggested.
“Were you in torment?” He smiled slyly as he dropped down in a chair and stretched out his legs before him. “What a pity.”
“Why does Nasim think you have the grail?” Kadar asked.
“Questions before I’ve even broken my fast?”
“Why?” Kadar repeated.
“There have been rumors about my pretty golden box for some time. You’re aware that Nasim knows everything that goes on in all of Christendom. When we met many years ago, he was curious about the treasure. Later, when he obtained a copy of Le Conte du Graal, he became convinced my golden coffer contained the grail.”
“Why?”
Tarik shrugged. “Perhaps because he wants it so desperately. He’s studied the ways of power all his life and thought this was a true path.”
“God would not give that monster power,” Selene said flatly.
“If the grail is of God’s making.”
“What do you mean?”
“You read de Troyes