Chance Encounter: Legacy of the Third Age

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Chapter 9: Blasphemy

Light shone through the bars of the tiny window in the door of his prison cell. The orange rays reflected dully off skin which gleamed with sweat and blood. Balian rested his head on the cold floor, resting his cheek against the rough stone. The place smelled of human waste and mildew. How far he had fallen. His scalp bled in various places; they had not been gentle with him when they had sawn off his hair, sometimes cutting into the skin. The remainder of his once thick curls stuck out in short clumps, matted with blood and dirt.

He closed his eyes; there was no point in dwelling on what could have been. In his mind, he could see his son, laughing as he skidded across a frozen pond. A ghost of a smile graced the man's lips and his entire being was suffused with love for his child. The smile faded away. He missed his son, although he was glad that Barisian would never see him like this.

"Remember me, Barisian," he whispered softly into the dark emptiness. One tear slipped from his eye and across the bridge of his nose, leaving a pale track in the grime on his face. If only he could see Barisian once more, just once; he wanted to be certain that his son was safe and that he would have a future, untainted by his father's 'heresy'.

He heard a key turn in the lock. The door to his cell opened. Balian narrowed his eyes as harsh light flooded in and lifted his head off the floor. "Come on," said the guard. "The Pope will see you now." He curled his lip in disgust at the battered prisoner. It seemed so improper to take this beaten man to see the Holy Father. "Give him a fresh tunic," he said. "Can't have him looking like something that the dog spat out." The other guards laughed, and someone tossed a tunic of undyed linen at him. His shackles were undone. He rubbed his raw wrists.

"Get a move on!" said the guard. He winced as he lifted his arms. His body ached from the beating which he had received at Paul's hands. The slightest movement caused him pain. As he stood up, his wounded leg buckled underneath him, and he fell to the floor again. Strong hands grabbed his arm and hoisted him to his feet. He cried out as the rough movement caused pain to shoot up and down his body. "Pathetic," said the guard, shackling his wrists again and dragging him out.

Pope Clement the Third sat on his papal throne, hunched over some documents which he clutched in his shaking hands. Ambrosius de Magio stood beside him, tall and erect, as if he was the leader of Christendom and not the decrepit old man who was beside him. The cardinal narrowed his eyes and smiled grimly at Balian as he was brought in, chained and beaten like a common criminal. The man glared back at the cardinal, unwilling to admit defeat, even though he knew that death was imminent. His guards forced him onto his knees before the Pope, not that he could have remained standing on his wounded leg.

Cardinal deacons, cardinal priests and cardinal bishops hailing from every corner of Christendom had gathered to witness the trial of one of the greatest heretics the world had ever seen. Murmurs rippled through the crowds as Balian was brought in. Ambrosius raised his hand and silenced them with that one move. Everyone knew who was in charge, and it was definitely not Clement.

"You are Balian of Ibelin?" croaked the old man.

"Yes," said Balian, staring at the Pope and showing no fear.

His trial had begun, and his ordeal, he felt, was coming to an end. He just hoped he could maintain his dignity and strength until the final moment.

For the first time in her life, Agnes realized just how painful it could be to wait and not know what could possibly happen. The odd company had found an inn, after lying and saying that they were pilgrims from the north. The girl had spoken for them after they had realized that the people of Rome either spoke one of the various Italian dialects or Latin, and Agnes was the only one who knew a language common to them all.

The rooms they had been allotted were small, with bare wooden floorboards and hard pallets. They were, however, relatively clean, something which Agnes was grateful for. "Milady, you should stop pacing," said Heloise, beating the blankets to get most of the dust out of them. "You'll wear yourself down, and that won't do any good at all."

"I can't just stay here and do nothing," she said.

"Master Legolas said that they would find out where they're keeping Lord Balian," said the maid. She still wasn't too certain about saving a heretic, but since Agnes seemed bent on rescuing Balian, she was not about to argue. Her mistress was possibly the most loyal follower of the Church and if she disagreed then surely she had her reasons. She was the most well-read person the maid knew.

"Where is everyone now?" said Agnes, stopping in her pacing.

"Well, Master Legolas has gone to explore the place, and I think Master Gimli has gone with him. Master William and his wife are taking care of young Master Barisian and trying to distract him, I think, and the rest have disappeared off to God knows where." The maid folded the blankets and set them down on the pallets. "Don't you think them all rather odd?" she said tentatively. "Where on earth did Lord Balian meet all these people? I can't help but think that he has been involved in some rather unholy business."

"Perhaps you should think less about the actions of your betters," said Agnes. "He is a good man; I have spoken to him, and if he carried the taint of the Devil then I would know." She seemed so certain that the maid immediately curtseyed and swallowed anything else that she was about to say on the matter.

The young noblewoman understood Heloise's uncertainties, but she could not be uncertain at the moment. She had come this far; it was too late to turn back, and she had no desire to do so. The girl snatched up her cloak from the back of a wooden chair. "I am going out for a walk," she said to her maid. "Tell the others not to worry." She had more than just a walk on her mind. To her, there was only one form of reliable justice; that was God, and his representative, the Pope.

Agnes stared at the towering pillars of the papal palace and tried to swallow her fear. Those magnificent marble columns had probably been taken from Roman temples as they had the characteristic acanthus leaves on the capitals, but instead of feeling awed at the artistry and the elegance, she felt as if these were the bars of a cage.

'You have to do this,' she told herself, taking a deep breath. 'A man's life depends on you.' She stepped forward and was immediately blocked by two guards wearing red and white livery.

"Not everyone can come in here," said one of the guards. "This is the Holy Father's residence, not a public forum."

"I come here to make a petition to His Holiness," said Agnes, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She drew herself up to her full height. "I am Agnes of Cormier, daughter of the Count of Cormier, in France. I come to plead with His Holiness and to beg him to grant my...my husband clemency."

The guards whispered amongst themselves for a moment, and then one of them went inside. "His Holiness is a busy man," said the one who seemed to be their captain. "But it is most likely that you will be able to see a cardinal bishop."

"Thank you, good sir," said Agnes. Inside, she could hardly withhold her elation. There was hope still.

Ambrosius rubbed his chin. "She says she comes to beg the Holy Father to grant her husband clemency?" he asked.

"Yes," said the man, bowing. "She hesitated, but there is no doubt that she said 'husband'."

The cardinal's eyes gleamed. "Well, well," he said. "We might just have exactly the thing we need to bargain with my lord of Ibelin. Send her in."

Silence reigned in the little room in the inn where the entire company had gathered. Jack kept on idly opening and shutting his compass, while Will leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. Achilles seemed to be particularly interested in the cracks in the wooden table. Cowering under Legolas' gaze was Heloise.

"She went for a walk, and you believed her?" demanded the elf.

"She had no reason to lie to me," said Heloise in a small voice. "Please, sir, she's never done this before. I had no idea..."

"It's obviously that you did not," said Legolas, "but your excuses are not going to help. What we need is a solid answer."

"There be no knowin' where she's gone," said Barbossa. "Rome be a big city still."

"Do you think she went to find Balian on her own?" asked Paris. "She is the only person who knows how to speak to these people, after all."

"That's what I fear," said Legolas. "She cannot possibly know the twisted darkness that resides in the hearts of men. If they could condemn an innocent man on the belief that he somehow violated their sacred laws, then they would not hesitate to accuse her of going against their deity as well, should she try and save his life. Negotiations don't work with these people, at least not those of the diplomatic type."

"What do we do then?" asked Achilles.

"We do what she should have done; we wait," said the elf through gritted teeth. His position was beginning to tax him and they could all see it. He seemed paler than usual, and his patience had been worn very thin indeed. The slightest provocation could make him lose his temper. The elf whom they all knew was not like that. His worry for the welfare of his friends and the responsibility of keeping them safe was a heavy burden.

"I hate waiting," grumbled Elizabeth. "It's better to strike first, and strike hard."

"Yes, Mistress Turner, but first, one must know where to strike."

Agnes had to fight to keep herself from shaking under the cold hard gaze of the cardinal. She curtseyed to him. "Your Eminence, I come to beg clemency for my husband," she said. She almost choked on the word husband, but it seemed more appropriate to say that she was pleading for her husband's life rather than for that of a man to whom she had almost been betrothed. Besides, she had followed him this far, had she not? It was almost as if they were married anyway.

"Yes, my man did mention it to me," said the cardinal most cordially. "Pray, what is his name?"

"Balian of Nièvre, Your Eminence," she said.

"And would he be otherwise known as Balian of Ibelin?"

Agnes almost jerked back. That name was the name of the man who had given Jerusalem to the infidels. Despite her knowing that he was a good man, the name still made her feel uneasy. "That I would not know, Your Eminence." Technically, she did not. Balian had not said anything, and until he decided to tell her, she would pretend that he was not Balian of Ibelin. It was easier to speak kindly of him when one did not think of him as being a traitor to Christendom.

"We shall take you down to see him; then perhaps you will know."

A man grabbed Agnes by the arm and dragged her to the door. "Let go!" she cried, trying to pry his fingers away from her arm. "You're hurting me!"

Ambrosius laughed as he rose slowly from his seat. "I think that my lord of Ibelin would like a visit from his young wife. It might even persuade him to tell me what I wish to know," he said.

'What have I done?' wondered Agnes as she was forcefully taken deep down into the bowels of the papal palace, through winding corridors lit only by smoky torches mounted in rusted metal brackets on the walls. Occasionally, she passed a cell which contained a miserable occupant. All of them were denying that they had betrayed Christ, and yet here they were, incarcerated because of what they believed. Were they wrong, or was the Church wrong?

Ambrosius spoke to one man who bowed and fumbled with a big ring of keys. He selected one and inserted into the lock of a heavy metal door. Agnes was pushed inside the cell. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she gasped. Lying on the floor was a man. His body was covered in dark mottled bruises. His dark hair had been shorn off and he was bloodied and beaten, but there was no mistaking it. She had found Balian.

Worry for him overrode her fear. She freed herself from the guard who held her arm in an iron grip and ran to the man she would have married if all this had not happened. "My lord?" she asked, reaching out with a shaking hand to touch him on the shoulder. He groaned and stirred.

"What..." he croaked. "A...Agnes? What are you doing here?" Alarm made him sit up. "Why are you here?"

Agnes bit her lip and bowed her head. "I came for you," she said.

He took her hand with both of his. "You shouldn't have," he said. "There was no need..."

"I had to know the truth about you," said Agnes. "I want to hear you say it. Perhaps I just wanted proof that I had not judged you wrongly and part of me hoped, and still hopes, that this whole business with Jerusalem is not true."

"Then I will have to disappoint you, because it is true. I defended Jerusalem and surrendered it."

"I know," said Agnes. "They told me everything, the entire truth, even though I did not want to believe it."

He narrowed his eyes at her. Why had she stressed the word 'they'?

"Green leaves," she whispered to him. Balian's eyes widened. Could it be...?

"Are you ready to talk now, my lord of Ibelin?" asked Ambrosius from the doorway of his cell. "Surely you do not want your little wife to suffer too." Balian turned to Agnes. Wife?

"I said that you were my husband," she whispered, not daring to look at him, partly out of embarrassment and partly out of fear. "It seemed more proper." He gave a small nod; the movement was so slight that only she saw it, but it gave her a great deal of comfort. He was not angry at her.

"I have told you before," said Balian to Ambrosius. "I know nothing of the Irminsul and even if I did, I would not tell you."

"You are one of the most stubborn men I have ever encountered in my life," said Ambrosius. "You do know what the penalty for heresy is, don't you? Death by burning. It's a painful way to go, or so I have been told. Why taste the fires of Hell before your time? I can spare you that."

Irminsul? What was the cardinal talking about? As the conversation between Balian and the cardinal progressed, Agnes became more and more confused. It seemed as if this was not about Jerusalem at all. Irminsul... Where had she heard it before? Was it not in a text about...Charlemagne?

"Charlemagne destroyed the Irminsul, didn't he?" she blurted out. The two men turned to look at her. "It happened four hundred years ago." Then she cowered beneath their gazes. The cardinal's one was of great amusement, while Balian's spoke of great pity.

"You know very little, don't you, my lady?" asked the cardinal. "Perhaps your husband will speak more of what happened during the past seven years, now that you are here. Now, Balian, I shall give you some time to consider this, but do not think that I have given up. I have every intention of finding out everything from you, and now, there is something else to consider, isn't there?"

He turned on his heel, and the door was slammed shut behind him.

"Why is the cardinal interested in a heathen object?" asked Agnes, turning to Balian.

"He thinks it is a powerful artefact of sorts, and so do I. I would never let him get his hands on it," said Balian. "When you mentioned green leaves to me, I presume you were trying to tell me that you have met my friends?"

"Yes," she said. "They're here. I came with them, and Barisian."

"They're all here?" It warmed Agnes' heart to hear the renewed hope in his voice. No doubt he had despaired of ever seeing his son again. She smiled, even though it was too dark for anyone to see.

"Yes, they're all here," she said. "Even Walnut."

"I thought Philippe would have taken that horse."

"He did, but all the rest had different ideas, and Captain Sparrow was most adamant that they had a legitimate claim to anything in Nièvre."

Balian laughed softly at the thought of his royal cousin dealing with the equivalent of pirate royalty, but his laughter quickly turned into painful coughs. He could taste blood in his mouth.

"My lord?" said Agnes, growing concerned. Her hands sought his, and he crushed her fingers in his powerful grip as he gasped and continued to cough. She could hear him retching. In the dim light, she was able to see that he was bringing up thick dark blood. "Christ! What have they done to you?"

"Nothing that I had not expected them to do," said Balian. His exhaustion was evident. "I'm sorry that you have to be here, even though I am glad for the company."

Agnes looked down at the floor, feeling awkward. Here they were, two strangers, and yet they were here, facing death and comforting each other. "A dying man finds comfort in having someone with him," continued Balian. "Do you think me selfish, Agnes?"

"I hardly know what to think," said the girl. "So much has happened since I set out for Nièvre. Never before in my life have I felt so much doubt. At first, I thought it was Philippe who had put you in this situation, but now it seems that most of the blame must fall on that cardinal's shoulders. Has the Pope seen you?"

"Yes, and he is eager to see me brought to justice. Men who surrender holy cities to Muslims generally do not gain His Holiness' sympathy, no matter how wretched they are."

Wretched he might be, but Agnes could not help feeling that even in this pitiable state, he had more nobility than any other nobleman she had ever known. She was proud of him for being so resilient. "Rest, my lord," she said. "You need to conserve your strength if we are to get through this." She quietly hummed a hymn to stave off the darkness and dread. She could only hope that the others would somehow find out about their predicament.

Once he had removed his kohl and hidden his hair under a pilgrim's cap, it was rather easy for Jack to mingle with the general Roman populace, due to the fact that they were all accustomed to seeing odd-looking pilgrims from every corner of Christendom.

Contrary to common knowledge, the pirate did understand Latin. It had been necessary to learn the language in order to impersonate Spanish clergymen, as he had done so on numerous occasions. Of course, he was more familiar with the vulgar terms than with any other sort of vocabulary, but he understood enough to pick out the words 'heretics', 'burning', and 'plaza'. The former two were favourites of Spanish clergymen.

Jack cursed under his breath when he heard the news, not that it was much, although it was enough to determine what was going to happen. So, Agnes was with Balian, and both the fools were going to be roasted alive. Now, there only remained the question of 'where'. Suppressing the urge to find a tavern which sold rum, he wandered the streets of Rome a little longer. The entire city was talking about it. The defender of Jerusalem himself was to be executed. This was going to go down in the annals of history, and they were all rather excited about watching it.

'It'll go down in history, all right,' thought Jack when he heard that it was to take place in ten days in the plaza outside the Cathedral of St. Paul. 'They'll always remember it as the day they saw Captain Jack Sparrow.'

Ten days. That was not a lot of time. "So, what are we going to do on the day?" asked Achilles. "It's a little difficult to rush in there and simply snatch them from under the nose of the Romans. There will be crowds watching this, and they will get in our way."

"Thank you for that wonderful observation," said Paris dryly. "You really have opened my eyes."

Achilles bit back the urge to throw an insult at the Trojan. He wanted to make peace with him, he really did, but Paris was making this very difficult for him. "What do you suggest then, Prince of Troy?" said the Greek. It was as polite as he could get at the moment. He crossed his arms and glared at the Trojan.

"We need something to take their attention away from the execution," said Paris.

"Whatever it is that we're going to do, it will have to be very spectacular indeed," said Will. "People getting burnt alive are very distracting."

"We can blow up their cathedral," said Anna-Maria. "That'll distract 'em."

"But how?" asked Legolas.

The pirates exchanged glances. "I guess we have to hand over our supplies," said Will, reluctantly pulling out his private bottle of absinthe.

"Will!" said Elizabeth. "I told you to stop drinking that poison!"

"I only have a little nip once in a while," said Will, putting up his hands defensively. "And now you see it's a good thing that I have it with me."

"What about you, Mrs. Turner?" said Barbossa. "What surprises have you got hidden up your sleeve?"

All eyes turned to Elizabeth. She bit her lip. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she said.

"I know you can be a walking arsenal," said Legolas. The hints of a smile were beginning to grace his lips. "So show us, if you please, Mistress Elizabeth."

"You're all manipulative enough to be part of the English court," said the woman as she took out her supply of explosives. Even Barbossa had to be impressed with how much she had hidden on her person. He added his own explosives to the growing pile.

Jack reluctantly handed over his gunpowder. "Just as well I know how to make it," he grumbled. "How am I goin' ta use me gun otherwise?"

Gimli cleared his throat as he looked at the growing pile of explosives on the table. "Well, lad," he said, glancing at Legolas. "Do you remember what Saruman did at Helm's Deep?"

"You mean with that explosion which brought down the wall?" asked Legolas. "Of course I do."

"While you were gallivanting off in Troy, I got bored and, uh, started playing around a little bit." With that, Gimli produced a leather pouch and added it to the pile of explosives. "It isn't much, but..."

"You are full of surprises, my friend," said Legolas, grinning. "Remind me never to get onto your bad side."

"If you need reminding, lad, then your head is really full of leaves."

"Not to interrupt the banter," said Barbossa, "but this ain't enough to blow up a cathedral."

"I'm pretty sure they have gunpowder here," said Will suddenly. "Balian mentioned fireworks, and Imad said that his people traded with the Far East and with the West, so it means if we can buy fireworks, we'll have more than enough."

"Good one, whelp!" said Jack, breaking out into a grin. He slapped Will on the back. "Now, how are we going to get our hands on them fireworks?"

Was it possible to feel more pain? Balian didn't know, and he didn't want to find out. He was certain that his left shoulder had been dislocated. Lacerations, both deep and shallow, covered his body. Blood seeped from his wounds, running down his skin in dark red rivulets. "Still unwilling to talk?" said Ambrosius. He shook his head. "I really do think that we need the help of my lady of Ibelin, or is it of Nièvre? She might be able to persuade you."

"You're a shame to Christendom!" shouted Balian, although the hoarseness of his voice detracted from the desired effect somewhat. At any rate, Ambrosius was not an easy man to intimidate. "Men like you caused Jerusalem to fall, and men like you will cause the fall of the Church!"

"Oh dear," said the cardinal. "Those are strong accusations, my good son."

Agnes was dragged in. Her eyes were wide with terror. She looked from Balian to Ambrosius. The girl clenched her hands into fists to keep herself from sobbing out loud and from shaking, but she was not particularly successful with the latter. Balian pulled at his bonds, trying to free himself so that he might go and protect her, but it was all fatuous. "Well?" said Ambrosius.

"I have told you before that I know nothing!" said Balian.

"It is most unbecoming for a lord like you to lie," said Ambrosius. He stepped up to Balian so that their faces were less than a foot away. "Now will you tell me?" he said quietly. He snapped his fingers. One of the men brought Agnes over to him. The cardinal grabbed her by the hair and yanked back her head to expose her throat. He put the blade of his dagger against her pale skin. The girl whimpered as the metal bit into her flesh, letting a thin trickle of blood run down her neck.

"Please," she whispered. She feared death, and at the same time, she hated herself for her weakness. Tears of terror ran down her face.

As soon as Ambrosius threatened her, Agnes saw the fight go out of Balian. He seemed to sag, and he lowered his eyes in defeat. "What exactly is it that you want to know?" he asked the cardinal.

"There," said Ambrosius. "This is much better. Now, tell me, where is the Irminsul, or rather, the Silmaril?"

"I would think that it's still in Middle Earth," said the bound man, looking away.

"And how would you get there?" asked Ambrosius. Yes, the Silmaril was within his grasp. Soon, all of Christendom and the heathen lands outside of it would bow to his power. How his prisoner reacted shocked him.

"You want to go to Middle Earth, Your Eminence?" said Balian. He threw back his head and laughed. "Go and get yourself shipwrecked. Perhaps you'll find yourself under the eaves of a dark forest full of murderous trees, or lying at the bottom of the ocean feeding fish, either or."

Paris was most thankful for Jack's skills. Only the pirate could have found that fireworks merchant from Sicily. Through some broken Latin and a lot of gesturing, as well as the display of gold, the pirate had managed to purchase all the merchandise, and at a rather good price, considering this was their friends' lives that they were talking about.

"Do you think this is enough to blow up a cathedral?" said Legolas, eying the pile of explosives on the floor of their biggest room.

"I'm positive that it will be enough," said Jack. "The only problem is getting the explosives into the cathedral so that we can actually blow it up, savvy?"

"I suppose you would have a plan for that, right?" said Paris. Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Why would you think that?" he asked.

"Because you're Captain Jack Sparrow!" cried the Trojan in exasperation.

"Now you're just not makin' any sense at all," said Jack. "To be sure, I have a great many virtues, but I don't have every answer in the world, savvy?"

Paris gaped at the man. Had Jack Sparrow just admitted that he was not perfect?

"Oh, it be simple enough," said Barbossa. "Ye just pretend to be a pilgrim goin' in ta pray, an' then ye put the explosives there, light the fuse, an' run."

"Most pilgrims don't carry a large bag which smells of sulphur with them," said Elizabeth. "Even I know that."

"Didn't Agnes say that the cathedral holds the bones of some holy men?" said Gimli.

"Saints Peter and Paul, to be exact," said Will.

"Well, that's easy then," said Anna-Maria. "Someone dresses as a leper, goes into the cathedral and pretends to pray for a cure before them bones of the saints. Then ya leave yer bag, shed yer bandages, declare that ye felt the touch o' God, light the fuse and run as if all o' the legions o' hell were on yer heels."

"That seems a bit blasphemous," said Will, but it works well enough for me."

"You're blowin' up a cathedral in bloody Rome!" said Jack. "Of course it's blasphemous!"

"I don't find it that blasphemous at all," said Elizabeth. All eyes turned to her. "I'm Protestant."

A/N: And I stop right before the exciting bit, as I tend to do :P. I hope you enjoyed the chapter.