The Treasure_ A Novel - Iris Johansen [92]
“Then she must have been a very docile and restrained woman.”
“Not too restrained, or the Pope would not have thought her worth keeping.” He paused. “Tarik says she gave him a son. It was the son who sold the villa to Tarik.”
His tone was odd, and she asked, “So?”
“His name was Vaden.”
Her eyes widened. “Vaden?” It was too bizarre. It could not be the same warrior who had been a Knight Templar with Ware. The enigmatic knight who had pursued and persecuted and, finally, saved them all. Yet she had heard that Vaden came from Rome and no one knew his background. “The son of the Pope?”
“It would explain why he was accepted into the Knights Templar.”
“It can’t be our Vaden. The coincidence is too great.”
“The description Tarik gave me is very close.” He gazed thoughtfully down into the mirrored waters of the pool. “And haven’t you noticed some people seem tied together throughout their lives? Their paths weave in and out, come together and part, to form a pattern.”
“Astonishing,” she murmured, still dwelling on the coincidence. “Is he still in Rome?”
“I have no idea. Maybe. Tarik said he had formed a small army and was selling his sword to the warring factions in this land.”
“Find out if he’s here.”
“Why?” His gaze shifted to her face. “Now what do you have in mind?”
“Vaden was a great warrior. He helped Ware once. Isn’t it possible we could get him to help us?”
Kadar threw back his head and laughed. “I should have known.”
“Why are you laughing? It’s a possibility.”
“I’m not laughing at your idea, just your single-mindedness. I bring you to look at roses and you think only of recruiting knights to ride under your banner.”
“Find out.”
He was still smiling. “I’ll find out.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. Now will you put such thoughts out of your mind?”
“I cannot.”
His smile faded. “I know. Try.” His gaze shifted back to the pool again. “I’ll give you something else to think about. What if their Eshe is the miracle they think it is?”
She shook her head.
“I know it’s unlikely, but—”
“Not unlikely—impossible.”
“In the Scriptures there are tales of long life.”
“Men chosen by God. I doubt if God would choose heathens from Egypt to receive such a blessing.”
“Who knows,” Kadar murmured.
“Are you beginning to believe Tarik’s tale?” she asked, surprised.
“I believe he believes it. And Tarik is no fool. I cannot speak for Layla. You know her better than I do.”
“Even a clever woman can be blinded by what she wants to see.”
“Very well. Then assume it’s merely an interesting dream. It does no harm to imagine what it would be like.” His brow furrowed. “I know few men who live much beyond forty years. Sixty is a great age. What if you could live beyond that? Would you want to do so?”
She thought about it. “The only one I know who is so old is Niall McKenzie. He’s two and sixty. His joints ache, his vision is dimming, he sits before the fire and thinks only of his youth.” She shook her head. “That is no life. Better to go out like the flame of a candle in the wind.”
“But if you could remain strong? Think of all the things you could learn.”
She could see why such a prospect was intriguing to Kadar. His curiosity about everything could never be satisfied. “That would be a joy.” She was silent a moment. “Would there not be a point when you could learn no more, when everything seemed the same?”
“If that time ever came, it would only pose another challenge.” He smiled. “And I doubt if you could ever learn everything in this world.”
“Unless everyone grew old with you, it would be a lonely life.” She shivered. “I would hate to see all the people I love die.”
His smile vanished. “And, if everyone grew very old, there would be far too many people to be fed. Famine breeds war.” His lips twisted. “And war would kill far more certainly than old age. Checkmate.”
Kadar had thought of wars, and she had thought of Ware and Thea and all the people at Montdhu she cared about. It was too sad. She would think no more about it.
She shifted her shoulders