Tuesday 17th June 1029


"My Brothers."

Guillaume regarded each of his seven companions, their faces lit by the dwindling flames of the campfire. Before that night he had known them only as Templar Knights; brothers-in-arms. But now, looking at them, it was as if he knew them completely.

They looked at him in the same way.

"My Brothers," he repeated, liking the tone of respect with which he naturally said the words. "This night holds great significance for me."

He said this as if realising it for the first time; but really, he had been thinking about it all the time.

"This day marks ten years since my life changed."

He looked at Symeon beside him, who looked back knowingly. He, too, had known all along.

"This day marks ten years since the day I was given a daughter."

Eloise.

He remembered her face: her small, round eyes; her jet-black hair. Ten years ago he had looked upon her for the very first time. Now, he thought sadly, she would look different. She would be somebody now, her own person, and it pained him to think that he did not know her. Part of him told himself that she did not need him; that no good could come of meeting him. Perhaps Luc had not told her she wasn't his child - perhaps she did not even know of Guillaume's existence. Perhaps the Guillaume she knew was simply Thephilos, the Patriarch of the Holy City, the same as any other person would.

But then he had remembered. He had remembered what it was like growing up without a father, what it was like to lose one. What if she did know about him, and someday it was her and her family being approached by a dark stranger and being told of his death? Could he really risk putting her through that?

He had not known his father, not really. And so he knew how dreadful it felt to lose one, even one who on the surface was just a stranger.

He could not put Eloise through that. She was his daughter.

And he had to see her.

"My Brothers," he said for the last time, "I have made my decision. I am to leave for Pisa at dawn tomorrow and shall sail west to France. I am going to see my family."

"What of us?" asked Lorenzo.

"You are all Templar Knights. You are not subordinate to me, nor are you to anyone. You included, Lorenzo. You may do as you wish."

He turned to Symeon.

"You, on the other hand..." he said, and his face broke out in a smile.

Nothing more needed to be said.