When we moved to Atlit, I’d done a quick background check on its history. I was amazed to discover that the fortress had been one of the Crusaders’ most powerful strongholds in the Holy Land. In fact, it was the final bastion from which they sailed their last remaining ships. And I knew thatSaracenwas an ancient European term for a person of Muslim origin. Simone had told us about the period, sharing anecdotes with us from her new research.
Groups of tourists came to Atlit occasionally. They covered all the historic and prehistoric sites and received a crash history course from their tour guides, so it was not out of the ordinary to bump into passersby overflowing with knowledge of the place. That said, I’d never come across such loony tourists, much less ones who acted more at home here than me, looking as though they’d just escaped a period drama.
“How did you get here?” Thibaut asked in a sober tone. “Where are your companions and servants?” His black dog stood at attention beside him, growling.
I encouraged myself not to get spooked. Although Thibaut spoke in a somber tone, when I glanced at Jean, he seemed relaxed, and I could have sworn he was suppressing some kind of private joke. I decided to go with the flow.
“My servant is resting a short way from here,” I said. “He was most fatigued by our journey, and I permitted him to sleep under a tree whileI wandered around a little,” I added, eying Thibaut defiantly. I wondered what Halimi would think of these two. He’d probably want to interview them for the radio show he’d been hosting.
“Night is falling fast, my lady. Where do you intend to lodge?” Jean asked.
“We live around here,” I replied. Jean said nothing, but his eyes narrowed with suspicion for the first time since we’d met. It was a cautionary, even cruel look. I felt a sudden need to apologize, to explain that I wasn’t really from these parts at all, but from somewhere much farther away. I panicked. The dog lifted her head from my lap and went to sit beside her master. A spasm in my throat brought up the rich, brown, earthy taste of the mushrooms, and I calmed down. I put a hand to my heart and took deep breaths.
“I’m insanely high,” I crooned to myself. Jean rose to his feet in an instant.
“Pray point in the direction of your destination,” he asked.
“Okay,” I said.
Thibaut raised an eyebrow.
“I beg your pardon?” Jean said. “I do not understand that expression.”
“I said, ‘Okay.’” I was tired of this game. But Jean behaved with the utmost courtesy and supported my elbow as I got up off the ground. When I lost my balance, he held me by the waist. “Oh-ho,” said Thibaut from his spot under the tree.
I’m going to kill Dan, I thought to myself.That jerk was insane to suggest such a high dose.Jean scrutinized my pendant. “Why are you bedecked with a copper dinar?” He held the coin between two fingers and examined it carefully. “It looks like the coin I threw into the holy spring a few minutes ago.”
“And you asked for a wish and refused to disclose it to me,” Thibaut remarked from under the tree.Twang, twang, his fingers plucked the strings.
“That is the seal of the house of Ibelin of Beirut,” Jean said slowly. He surveyed me up, down, and up again, increasingly warily.
“I found it on the seashore,” I fumbled for the right words. The fanaticism of these two history buffs was beginning to feel a little dangerous. I grabbed the coin between my fingers and stared at it.
It looked new.
Engraved on one side of the coin was the same cross with the widened edges, encircled by an inscription. On the other side was a decorative gate of a stone tower. The coin shone. I swallowed hard. “I … I … I don’t understand …” My heart began beating wildly, and shapes drifted before my eyes.
“I barely understand a thing she utters.” Thibaut looked at me as though he were checking out a new car and then looked at Jean, who was holding me by the elbow. “Take care, my lad, that this fairy does not spirit you away to the otherworld.” Jean laughed in response—there was something youthful about his laugh—and he walked me out from under the canopy of the huge tree.
I meant to say something, but I choked instead.
At the site of the small fortress and broken rocks of Le Destroit now stood several single- and two-story buildings. The entire area up to the Carmel Hills was covered in fields and orchards. Here and there were small clusters of stone dwellings, probably hamlets or farms. There was no trace of cars or highways. Suddenly, I realized that one of the strange noises I had heard on the way, and had not managed to decipher, was the snorting of horses—tied to metal rings in stone walls, now grazing on grass. The horses were dressed in fine cloth decorated with noble insignia. The simpler cloth on Jean’s horse was checkered yellow and red; the other horse sported a textile embroidered with luminous threads in shades of blue, yellow, and silver—apparently the colors of Thibaut.Count of Champagne, King of Navarre, the words whispered in my brain. Spellbound, I turned my attention to the seashore.
Instead of the ruins of the Atlit fortress, with the white structures of the Israeli naval base, there rose a gigantic stone fortification with turrets and towers of the kind found in Italy or Spain. Above some of the turrets hung large pale flags. Close to the fortress, instead of coastal vegetation and salt pools, was a small town surrounded by walls. I heard what sounded like the pealing of church bells. Along the plain that lay between the fortress and the town, and between the range of hills, were orchards and groves, fields and gardens. All the new building sites, the bulldozers, the trucks and the roads, the houses of Atlit, the power lines, the makeshift shacks, and the caravans near the beach had disappeared.
I fell to the ground. It felt as if all the blood had drained from my body. Helpless, I watched a flock of flamingos on the southern edge of the town, preparing for flight.
“I’m going to faint,” I whimpered in Hebrew. Jean tensed up and knelt beside me. Brunette padded up to me and thrust her nose into my armpit. I took a long breath and inhaled air redolent with horse droppings, trampled vegetation, and the scent of the sea. My brain contracted, and then, all at once, I threw up. I took another gulp of air and threw up again. From the window of one of the buildings of Le Destroit, a head wearing a strange helmet appeared, looking out at us with concern.
“Are you sure all is well, my lord?” shouted the guard.
Jean glanced at him and shouted back, “All is well, my good man. We came across a pilgrim; she is much parched. Return to your duties. I commend your vigilance.” The man did not look convinced.
“As you wish, my lord,” and his head disappeared from sight.
Jean led me back to the spring and helped me drink some water and wash my face. “What’s going on?” I barely managed to get the words out. “Where’s Halimi?”
“Where is who?” Jean asked.
