Crusade (43 page)

“So the Black Stone will never leave its place?”

“We won’t even touch it.”

Robert fell silent for a moment. “What happens when there is no war? Won’t the grand master know we tricked him?”

“How would he?” said Will. “Why would he even suspect it? He’ll have his Stone.”

“What’s to stop him using it to rally our troops as he intends?”

“He cannot very well brandish a relic of the Muslims to any great effect when, as far as they’re concerned, he has nothing of the sort. It may cause tensions to rise in the short term, yes, but as soon as the Muslims start saying the Stone hasn’t left Mecca, he’ll just end up looking foolish.”

“And that’s when he’ll come after us,” muttered Robert.

Will shook his head. “We brought him his Stone as ordered. It isn’t our fault it didn’t go according to plan. Perhaps the rulers at Mecca were too embarrassed to admit their relic was stolen from under them, we’ll say. Perhaps they kept it quiet? Covered it up?” He sighed roughly. “It’s the best plan we’ve been able to come up with and the one most likely to succeed.”

Robert gave a snort. “I’d hate to hear your worst.”

“We kill Zaccaria, Carlo, Alessandro and Francesco, and return empty-handed saying we were caught stealing it.”

Will spoke these words so coldly, so flatly and so seriously, that Robert could hardly believe that they had come from his friend. He stared at Will in silence and saw something in his eyes that surprised him, something determined, almost fervent. Will was deeply, personally involved in this, much more so than he had realized. It sobered him. “That’s not much of a second option.”

“No,” said Will, breaking eye contact with Robert, which dispelled the tension that had risen. “Believe me, Everard and I have been through it, over and over. The only way we can do this without resorting to murder, whilst not forfeiting our own lives or positions in the Temple, is to make everyone involved think that we did exactly as ordered.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” said Robert, turning his gaze to the darkening courtyard.

“No,” agreed Will. “But we have to try.”

Guillaume took his time rolling up the map, smoothing out the creases in the parchment. Outside, evening was encroaching, filling the room with shadows. The grand master didn’t bother to light any fresh candles. His eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and the flames in the hearth were bright enough to see by. Just before he folded up the last section of the map, his eyes caught the circle that was the city of Mecca. His gaze lingered on the black dot at its center, his mind plagued with a sense of foreboding.

It was a feeling that started months ago. But he had been too preoccupied to fully acknowledge it and had put his tiredness and unease down to the difficulties faced in the wake of King Hugh’s departure the previous summer: first the riots, then the news that Hugh had confiscated several Templar holdings on Cyprus in retaliation. But with Count Roger de San Severino now in place as bailli and Charles having made his claim on the throne, as yet unchallenged by Hugh’s supporters or the High Court, Guillaume thought his troubles would have eased. Instead they had grown worse, and with nothing but the plan for the Stone to focus his attention on he had finally come to realize the cause.

It was the theft itself.

In the beginning, his convictions were cast-iron. He was adamant that he was doing what was best for Christendom, unlike the Vitturis and the other merchants who were doing it for the benefit of their own pockets. He still believed in the righteousness of his cause. But something had changed. Doubt, at first buried, had begun to rise in him, moving to the surface like a sunken ship pulled up by a storm tide. With every month that passed in which he received no word from the West, it grew clearer, larger, until now it was before him, unmistakable and ugly. There was no message from King Edward with tidings of busy shipyards, or from the pope of legates sent to preach holy war in crowded market squares, or from Charles promising troops and arms, no word even from his own order, reporting on the fleet being built in La Rochelle. There was only silence and his own nagging thoughts. Without a Crusade, they could not hope to beat back a united Muslim force. Without a Crusade, they were doomed.

Guillaume forced his eyes from the map, rolled it brusquely in his hands and twisted a piece of twine around it to hold it shut. He crossed to the window and gripped the frame, feeling the evening breeze wash over him, cool and calming. Four days ago, Angelo Vitturi had come, wanting to know if everything was set. Guillaume had hidden his doubts from the Venetian. Now he had to hide them from himself, had to hold to his convictions. Had to trust to himself, to God. He had known this course of action to be a dangerous one, reckless even. But not to act would be just as dire. At least this way they had a chance. No word did not necessarily mean that the men who had promised to bring fresh aid to the Holy Land had reneged on their pledge. He had to have faith.

Guillaume turned from the window and looked at the great tapestry on the wall of his solar. His eyes lingered on the white silk Christ hanging from the cross, head down, hands and feet pierced.

“You faltered once,” murmured Guillaume. “You faltered and were saved.”

Dropping to his knees in front of the tapestry, Guillaume clasped his hands, pressing his palms together as firmly as he could, as if by doing so he could make his prayers that much stronger, that much surer. He stayed there for a long time, the darkness growing around him as the fire died down.

25

The Docks, Acre 25 FEBRUARY A.D. 1277

“You’re not really here, are you?”

Will’s thoughts were broken by the voice. He turned, surprised by the question, and saw the weary resignation in Elwen’s face.

They were sitting together on one of the stone benches outside the customs house, their eyes blinded by the stark morning sun. The water in the harbor was lucent green, the distant waves that broke against the western mole tipped with glittery gold. Around them, dockworkers and fishermen were going noisily about their daily business. But Will, all his attention focused inward, had hardly noticed them.

He took Elwen’s hand, clasping it firmly. “I
am
here, I promise. I’m just preoccupied.”

“Are you thinking about Arabia?”

Will missed the anxiety in Elwen’s tone. “The journey itself will be hard enough, without what we’ve got to do at the end of it.” His gaze became distant again and his brow creased. “There are so many things that could go wrong.”

“Don’t say that, Will,” she said in a quiet tone. “Please.”

Will looked at her. “Perhaps I shouldn’t speak of it at all.” He sounded sharper than he’d meant to.

“You cannot blame me for being worried,” said Elwen, removing her hand from his. “And as for speaking of it, you’ve hardly told me anything. Not recently.”

“Because when I do you always become upset, and I don’t want you involved in this.” He sought her eyes, and when she didn’t look at him, he put a finger to her cheek and moved her gently to face him. “You know where I’m going and why. You don’t need to know the details.”

Elwen looked across the water at the rows of ships swaying like old, drunk men. She hadn’t told Will, but in reality knowing a little was worse than knowing nothing at all. It was like trying to look out of a dirty window, tantalizing and frustrating her that she couldn’t see the whole picture.

Will sucked his lip, then stretched out his legs. “So,” he said, trying to sound light, “what are you going to be doing for the next few weeks? The Easter fair is coming up soon. I expect Andreas will be keeping you busy.”

Elwen gave a small nod.

Will hesitated, then steeled himself. “Do you think you’ll see Garin?”

Elwen felt a shock of blood rise to her cheeks, hot and prickling. She averted her face, pretending to watch a group of fishermen hauling a net full of fish from a boat, in an effort to hide the blush. “I’ve no idea,” she said airily, keeping her tone noncommittal. “If we happen to meet one another, then I suppose I might.”

“Or if he comes to the house?”

Elwen turned quickly, guiltily. “The house?”

“Catarina told me a while ago,” said Will quietly, noting the color that had risen in her cheeks and fearing it. “She was asking me who he was.”

Elwen’s heart was thudding so fiercely that she thought Will must be able to feel it. She uneasily recalled all the times Garin had sought her out. Only last week he had come, bringing her a book, a romance she had been wanting to read. She had forgotten mentioning it to him and the surprise was all the sweeter for his remembering. They stood on the step in the chilly shadow of the house, talking. He made her laugh and she found herself opening up to him in ways she rarely did with anyone else. It was because he knew about the Anima Templi and she could talk freely about her worries for Will with him. He understood and sympathized, made her feel less alone. At least this was what she had told herself.

Will was still looking at her.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be upset,” Elwen said, after a long pause. She shrugged crossly. “I’ve never invited him. What can I do if he seeks me out?”

“You could tell him to leave you alone.”

“No.” Elwen stood. “You don’t get to tell me who I can and cannot see when I have absolutely no say in your life. I’ll speak to whom I want, including Garin de Lyons.”

Will rose and moved in front of her. “He’s not a good person to be around, Elwen. I don’t trust him.”

“I do,” she replied simply.

“Why?” demanded Will. “I thought you hated him because of what he did to us in Paris. What has changed?”

“He has.” Elwen glared at him as he rolled his eyes. “Garin told me why he did what he did, Will. I don’t blame him. He’s been a good friend to me recently when ...” She stopped herself, but it was too late.

Will nodded bitterly. “When I haven’t.”

“Can we not do this,” Elwen murmured. “You’re going tomorrow.” She met his gaze. “I don’t want us to fight. Not now.”

“Neither do I,” said Will quietly. He took her hand again. “Let’s walk back.”

Elwen let herself be led across the dockside. She walked in a daze at Will’s side, both of them silent, distracted.

When Will had returned from Cairo the previous summer, he had bowed to her furious demands and admitted his deception. He had spoken openly about his work in the Temple and the reasons he had kept it from her, which, just as Garin said, had been for her own protection. He had explained why he had organized the murder of Sultan Baybars after the death of his father, and eventually, unable to stand his pain or guilt any longer, she had forgiven him.

For the next few months, things between them were better than they had been in years, perhaps ever. He visited her more frequently and was more attentive, bringing her gifts: wildflowers from the preceptory’s gardens; a pot of thick, amber honey from the stores, which they shared from each other’s fingers until they were almost sick with sweetness. In those last days of summer, Elwen felt a sense of belonging unlike anything she had ever experienced, a warm encircling of love that remained with her even when they were apart. But as autumn had drawn on and the year turned, that feeling had begun to fade.

In the past few months, the visits had become shorter and less frequent, and Will had grown more distracted. She told herself that his work for Everard and the Anima Templi was more important; that he needed to be focused on stopping what could end in a terrible war, and once that was done he would return to her. But she couldn’t fool herself, or deny the separation widening between them. She had come, finally and painfully, to the stark realization that she would always be second to his duty, that this danger or that crisis would be followed by something else that would take him away from her. She had pledged herself to him. But he had pledged himself to something greater. Will needed to be the champion. He needed to rescue the world in order to feel part of it. As long as she was safe and protected in Acre, he was comforted. He didn’t see that she needed saving too. Or, and this was a hard thing to admit, he did see it, but chose to ignore it because to save the world would mean approval from others. To save her would mean exclusion.

But instead of becoming angry or upset as he withdrew and grew more distant, she too had begun to drift.

The first sign of that drift had been a shock. It was just after the Christ Mass and Andreas was away buying silks in Damascus. Will had come to the warehouse. They had argued about something, she couldn’t recall what; then, forgiving each other, they had made love. There, as she lay beneath him, her back against the cold floor, an image of Garin entered Elwen’s mind. It was so unexpected she opened her eyes. The surprise must have registered on her face, for Will slowed and looked down at her searchingly. She smiled and cupped her hand to the back of his neck, bringing him down and kissing him until he found his rhythm again. But it had left her unsettled.

The next time she saw Garin, she had felt herself color and something had leapt in her stomach. She kept it like a secret, a pearl or a coin, a treasure in a box that only she had the key to. Now and then she opened that box and looked inside, and took pleasure in the looking. But she hadn’t thought anyone had noticed her private absorption. Least of all Will.

She glanced at him as he walked beside her, his eyes on the crowds. Did he know? Or was it simply, as he had said, that he didn’t trust Garin? Until now, she had absolved herself by calling her interest harmless curiosity, but faced with the possibility of discovery, her own defensiveness had shown her just how important that secret had become. She felt as though she had been torn in two. The man beside her, whose hand was warm and firm around hers, one half of her loved immeasurably. This half was crumpled and distraught at the thought of the danger he would soon be walking into, desperate to hold onto him, to stop him from going. The other half was cool and aloof, telling her he had made his choice and that she would never find what she wanted here, only more of this suffering. It was this half that had opened that box.