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greater danger from bandits.”

    Thomas hardly noticed the passing of hours.
    It had been a new experience, to be sure, his first moments atop the great humped beast. The camel had been on its knees until expert hands guided Thomas into the small saddle atop the hump. Then the camel had awkwardly pushed itself up on splayed legs until Thomas sat high above the ground. Infrequently, the camel had turned its massive head and snorted foul breath as it attempted to regard its new rider. But the slave trader traveling alongside Thomas had whipped the camel’s neck upon each occasion, and now the camel contented itself with maintaining the pace of the caravan.
    And, for the first few miles, Thomas had marveled at the relative smoothness of this method of transportation. Except for the pressure of the litter, which he knew would leave him sore by the end of the day, he had the impression he was bobbing in a waterless sea. And to think, if what he had been told was true, these great beasts could go days without drinking.
    Thomas had idly wondered if it would be practical to take camels back to England, and that had led to renewed memories of Magnus. And those memories had then led to his usual doubts and questions.
    In the last few days, Katherine had answered much—if the answers were to be trusted. The knight, too, had helped.
    Even now, contemplating it for the thousandth time, Thomas still felt an odd mixture of thrill and relief at his role in this ancient, secret battle. His childhood, the mystery behind Magnus, the precious books of knowledge. The destiny given him by Sarah, his mother.
    The caravan snaked slowly forward beneath the hot sun, reminding him of his latest bit of acquired knowledge. Hawkwood had orchestrated Thomas’s takeover of Magnus by vanishing the sun and sending him Sir William. Of course, there were questions about who had also sent treacherous Isabelle. What was he to make of that? And aside from that, how had Hawkwood possessed the power among ruling men to arrange a hanging on the day and hour that an eclipse would occur?
    Both the knight and Katherine had said that the Immortals were unable to reveal themselves to Thomas because his true allegiance was uncertain. Their suspicion was simple but well founded—they feared that the Druids, in the years following Sarah’s death, had found Thomas and converted him. Sir William, Katherine, and the old man could not know, and thus, could not give him the answers he needed. How could he prove his worth?
    Both the knight and Katherine had hinted that the Druids might—through Thomas—find the one single secret they needed to end the centuries-old battle.
    In his confusion, Thomas groaned, loudly enough to draw attention from the rider nearby. So Thomas quickly patted his belly, as if the groan had resulted from a poorly digested breakfast.
    Then he returned to his thoughts. If I am not yet trusted, why reveal anything? Sir William had had months in Magnus, ample time to draw him aside in privacy. Katherine, too, in Magnus had had many opportunities to do the same. Why give me answers now and not then?
    Thomas groaned again and ignored any glances.
    Were the answers in the package entrusted to him? Not for the first time did he consider unsealing it.
    No. Thomas repeated the arguments he had given himself. Were Sir William and Katherine foes, they would have given him nothing that might benefit his journey. Were they friends, then unsealing the package would cost him their allegiance.
    Thomas closed his eyes briefly. Should I trust them? Enough strange events had occurred so he might full well believe they were Druids, determined to locate his treasure of priceless books.
    His only choice was to play this game to its end. And now the bait promised him was nothing less than the father he had long believed dead.

Nine
    T he caravan moved south along the flat road of the coastal plains. Far ahead, high, rounded hills, blue with distant haze, shimmered against