Crusade (42 page)

Garin looked on in surprise as a further ten men marched in behind this man. Five of them were Venetian city guards, recognizable by their uniform. The others were Templars. The last to enter were two banner bearers, holding aloft a broad standard, on which was painted a shield bearing a coat of arms Garin hadn’t seen before. Or, at least, he had seen both arms separately, but never together. One half of the shield was decorated with a gold cross in the center and four smaller crosses surrounding it on argent, the royal arms of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. The other half was made up of gold fleurs-de-lys on an azure background, the arms of France.

“Stand down,” said the man in the crimson cloak, looking at the captain.

Garin glanced out of the stairwell as he heard footsteps in the main corridor. A portly man with mousy-brown hair and a paunch appeared, flanked protectively by several advisors and palace guards. It was Lord Balian, Hugh’s representative in Acre.

Balian halted when he saw the intruders. His eyes locked on the banner, then on the man in crimson beneath it. “What is the meaning of this?” His usually soft voice was raised in anger. His gaze alighted on the stony-faced Templar Knights.

“You are the lord of Ibelin?” inquired the man in crimson.

“I am. This castle and this city are under my command. Who are you, who dares to trespass here and assault my men?”

“I am Roger de San Severino, Count of Marsico. I have come on behalf of his majesty, Charles d’Anjou, King of Sicily and Jerusalem. I am here to take your place as lawful bailli of this city and this state, until King Charles takes up his throne.”

Murmurs of shock and anger rippled through the guards and the advisors standing with Lord Balian. Bertrand looked black as thunder.

Roger de San Severino gestured to one of the men with him, who reached into a bag and pulled out a scroll. “I have here a statement signed by my lord, King Charles, the new pope, John XXI, and Maria of Antioch, relinquishing her rights to the throne.”

Balian shook his head. “Maria of Antioch was never the rightful heir to this kingdom. The High Court in Acre agreed that my lord, King Hugh of Cyprus, should take the throne over her. The rights that your lord has bought are obsolete.”

“That decision is obsolete,” retorted de San Severino, his haughty voice filling the corridor. “The pope in Rome overruled it. Stand aside and let me take control, or face the consequences.” He motioned to the Venetian guards and the Templars. “The Venetian consul supports this decision as does the Temple. They have pledged their allegiance to me as King Charles’s man and will help me achieve my rightful place by any means.”

Balian looked at the Templars. “Grand Master de Beaujeu would raise arms against me? Against the bailli of this city?”

De San Severino answered for them. “He would.”

Balian looked to his advisors. A few of them shook their heads. Bertrand and his company were staring rigidly at him, but Balian’s gaze moved over them, unseeing, and returned to de San Severino. “Then it would appear that I have no choice,” he said in a quiet voice. He took in the shock in the faces of the men around him. “What else can I do?” he asked helplessly. But none had an answer. “Stand down,” he ordered the guards faintly. “Obey your new master.”

Bertrand was the last to lower his sword. As Count Roger de San Severino moved in, his men disarming the captain and the rest of the palace guards, Bertrand’s gaze swept the stunned crowd and came to rest on Garin. He gave him a fierce look, before relinquishing his sword and marching off down the corridor, Amaury following. Garin watched them go, then slipped into the staircase and disappeared, before de San Severino’s men tried to disarm him.

Less than half an hour later, Count Roger’s banner bearers climbed the stairs to the roof of the palace’s highest tower, where the flag of King Hugh billowed from a pole. Between them they pulled the pole from its iron stand and laid it carelessly on the ground, where the flag trailed in a puddle. After they had hoisted Charles d’Anjou’s banner in its place, they headed back down through the tower, dragging Hugh’s limp flag behind them. The banner with the gold crosses and fleurs-de-lys fluttered proudly, defiantly above the city of Acre. Charles d’Anjou, the Temple’s greatest ally, now had Outremer in his grasp. The balance of power had shifted again.

THE TEMPLE, ACRE, 20 FEBRUARY A.D. 1277

Will watched as Guillaume de Beaujeu unrolled the map across the table. Zaccaria, standing to the grand master’s left, set a goblet on the parchment to stop it springing back.

“This is the only map Zaccaria has been able to locate which shows the environs of the Hijaz and the city of Mecca itself.” Guillaume pointed to the right-hand edge. “This is Ula, where you will meet with Kaysan at the mosque as arranged. You will leave your guide at the village and continue to Mecca with the Shias.”

Will glanced around the table as the grand master continued to speak. The faces of Zaccaria, Carlo, Alessandro and Francesco were somber, their gazes fixed on the map as Guillaume pointed out the landmarks. The only man not focused on what the grand master was saying was Robert de Paris. As Will locked eyes with him, Robert gave him an intent look. Will averted his gaze as Guillaume continued.

“From what we have been able to ascertain, the journey from Ula to Mecca may take as long as a fortnight, possibly longer. We cannot know how Kaysan plans to lead you into the city and under what disguise you will enter, but we have to hope that it will be effective enough to fool the Mamluk guards that are known to line this route. The month before the Saracens’ Great Pilgrimage has been chosen for the theft because the roads and the city itself will be quieter, with less trade and fewer pilgrims, many choosing to wait for the Hajj by that point. It will also serve to create a greater impact among their people, their pilgrimage ruined.” Guillaume’s voice thickened. He cleared his throat and reached for the goblet placed on the table in front of him. “But this also means that any company traveling these routes will be more conspicuous and may be subject to more thorough checks.”

As the grand master spoke, Will thought of the message winging its way down the coast. It should, he guessed, reach Cairo in a matter of days. Keeping the details secret, not willing to risk exposing them in a letter, he had written to reassure Kalawun that their plans were in motion and the theft would be prevented. But listening to the grand master, he felt his own private doubts begin to close in and his assurances now seemed hollow in the face of the trial they were about to endure.

Guillaume, however, didn’t seem to share the same misgivings. He finished speaking and looked at Zaccaria and Will. “But I have faith, brothers, in your abilities to overcome any difficulties that may arise.” He moved his finger to a large circle at the bottom left of the map, ringed with Arabic inscriptions. Will, reading them, saw they were praises to Allah. It was a depiction of the holy city of Mecca. A circle with a black dot at its center showed the Haram Mosque and the Ka‘ba.

“The Black Stone is embedded in the wall of the temple. As far as we know it is only held in place with a band of silver, so it shouldn’t prove too difficult to remove.”

“Will we have a container for it?” asked Will.

“On your journey to Ula you will once again be disguised as Christian merchants. This time you will carry supplies. You will have spices in panniers on your horses. One of these panniers will be large enough to contain it.” Guillaume studied each of them, his gaze lingering longest on Will. His eyes, Will noticed, were tired and flat. “Do you have any questions?” When no one spoke, Guillaume nodded. “Very well. You leave in five days. Until then, get as much rest as you can. You have a grueling journey ahead of you.”

Will, Zaccaria and the others bowed and moved toward the door.

“Men,” called Guillaume. The six knights turned and looked back at him. “You are aware of why you are doing this?”

Zaccaria glanced at Will, allowing him to answer for them.

Will met the grand master’s questioning gaze. “To save Christendom, my lord.”

“To save Christendom,” echoed Guillaume. “Remember that upon your journey, whatever you face. Remember your oaths to me, to the Temple.” The lines in his brow deepened. “May God be with you all. His blessings upon you.”

Will was the last to leave the solar. As he shut the door, he saw Robert in the passage ahead, hanging back.

The knight moved into step beside him. “We need to talk.”

Will nodded. “We’ll go to my chambers. It’s almost supper. It should be empty.”

Together, they moved through the preceptory grounds to the knights’ quarters. The dormitory Will shared with four knights, each of them commanders like himself, was on the top level and was larger than most of the other rooms in the domestic complex. It was, as Will had hoped, deserted.

Robert turned as he closed the door. “I cannot believe this is happening.
How
is this happening?”

Will watched him stride to the window. The knight planted his hands on the ledge. His usually humorous demeanor had vanished. In its place was a grave anxiety Will had never seen before. He felt an unwelcome sense of responsibility for putting his friend in this position and wondered whether he had done the right thing.

It had been his idea, his and Everard’s. Their plan would be difficult enough to accomplish as it was, with Zaccaria and the Sicilians looking over Will’s shoulder, harder still if he had to do it alone. Eventually, after much debate, they had brought Robert into it. After they explained to the stunned knight what the grand master was planning and that they proposed to stop it, it was up to Will to persuade de Beaujeu to let him join their company. It wasn’t difficult. Robert had been involved to some extent already, with the capture of Sclavo and the delivery of the message to Kaysan, and Will had told de Beaujeu he had known the knight since he was fourteen and there was no one he would trust more to watch his back.

“I still don’t understand why the grand master would do this,” continued Robert. “He has effectively just signed our death warrants.” He threw a hand toward the window. “A death warrant for every Christian in Outremer.”

“He believes it is the only way we can save ourselves now.” Will joined Robert at the window. “He knows the West won’t support a new Crusade unless they are given good reason. The old propaganda doesn’t work. The people need something more definite to rally around. De Beaujeu sees the taking of the Black Stone as retribution for the theft of the True Cross. He thinks the West will see this also.”

“Do you really think our leaders would launch a Crusade if we do this?”

Will sighed sharply. “I don’t know. Maybe. De Beaujeu, because of his position and his links to the French royal house, commands a great deal of support. I know he has been in talks with King Edward and, of course, there is Charles d’Anjou. Now he has taken control of Outremer, he may play a more active role in its liberation from the Mamluks.” As Robert hung his head and shook it, Will placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have involved you in this.”

Robert looked at him. “I’m just reeling a little, Will. You’ve had months to think this through. I’ve had three days.” He gave a short laugh. “One minute I’m minding my own business, my only worry whether to have the kid or the boar for supper. The next I’m being sent a thousand miles through hostile desert to steal the holiest relic imaginable from under the noses of our enemy in a city which Christians are forbidden to even set foot in.” He blew through his cheeks. “I think I’ll choose the kid.”

“I would have told you sooner, but Everard and I wanted to keep it to ourselves for as long as possible. The fewer people that know, the better.”

“I understand that, but the time for ambiguity is passed. I’m in this now, under the grand master’s orders no less. I need to know everything. You can start by telling me how on earth you and Everard came to be involved in this . . .” Robert paused. “This treason.” He shook his head as Will went to speak. “For that’s what it is. And it’ll be treason’s punishment for us if we’re caught betraying the grand master. I know I might buck the Rule here and there, maybe not say
all
my Paternosters, see a girl in the market and find myself thinking about her through a sermon, cut my cheese a little too thickly at supper. But I’ve never disobeyed a direct order from any of my superiors, no matter how much I disagreed with it. You’re going up against the grand master of the Temple and you’re asking me to go with you.”

“You know what the consequences will be if we don’t do this. You said it yourself. The death of every Christian in Outremer. I can’t tell you everything, at least not about how Everard and I became involved. Not yet. There isn’t time and it isn’t important right now. But I can tell you how we will stop it.”

“How?”

“With a copy of the Stone.”

Robert frowned questioningly. “Copy?”

“Since we learned of the proposed theft, Everard has studied every text, every drawing, every description possible both of the Ka‘ba and the Black Stone itself. Under the pretense that he is writing a treatise on holy relics, he has even spoken to Muslims who have been on the Hajj and who have seen it for themselves.” Will shrugged. “After that it was simply a question of finding a rock that fitted its rough dimensions. It isn’t that large so it won’t be too difficult for us to conceal on the journey. It’s been painted with pitch and lacquered to produce the right effect. Apparently, the real relic looks more like black glass than stone.”

Robert was looking incredulous. “A
fake
Stone?”

“We enter the Haram Mosque,” Will went on, “just as de Beaujeu intends. I will order Zaccaria and his men to keep watch whilst you and I go alone to the Ka‘ba. Here, we will pretend to perform the rituals of pilgrimage, which Everard has explained to me, during which time we will be expected to execute the theft. When we return to the others, they will think we have it. But, in truth, what we bring back to de Beaujeu will be no more holy than a lump of quartz from the beach.”