Wulfe could not believe his situation.
It was absurd that he should be compelled to wait on the command of another brother, and worse, that he should be dispatched from the Holy City when every blade was needed. An entire night had passed in idleness! He did not have the missive, which had been entrusted to the French knight, and he had no notion of what treasure they were to carry, much less where it was.
The sole advantage to the delay was that his steed was sufficiently rested. It was a significant detail, but for Wulfe, it was not enough.
He paced in the stables of the Jerusalem priory, filled with restless impatience. He had discovered the location of the stall where this French knight’s horse was stabled, and at least he could acknowledge that the man had a fine dappled destrier.
