00 - Templar's Acre (29 page)

‘I see.’

‘Slavery has created unique problems for us,’ Sir Jacques said musingly. ‘Baibars once settled a peace on the Christians, suggesting a free exchange of all prisoners of their
wars – but of course the Templars and Hospitallers could not agree.’

‘No?’

‘For them to maintain their castles and lands, the Orders had need of craftsmen: masons, leather workers, smiths. So after every raid, they would learn the skills of their prisoners, and
those who could be used were kept as slaves for life. It was the only way to maintain the Orders. They couldn’t rely on enough workers arriving from Britanny or Guyenne.’

‘I am sorry to hear that. I would never hold any man as a slave.’

‘The Templars paid for it. Have you heard of Safed?’ Sir Jacques asked as they rode eastwards that first morning. ‘It was a Templar castle.’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘It was after the breakdown of the peace, some forty years ago, that Baibars tried to destroy Safed. He attacked it time and again, but could not break the resolve of the occupants. So he
took another tack. He made those inside understand that the Turcopoles would be welcomed, if they left. The Templars held them in a rigid discipline, but even beating them could not stop many from
climbing over the walls in the dead of night. Without them, there were only two hundred Templars left inside. Not enough to man the walls. And so they were forced to accept terms. The Sultan
offered them safe passage from the castle if they would only open the gates. So, reluctantly, the commander finally did so.’

‘And that earns them a place of pride?’ Baldwin questioned.

‘Yes, because as soon as his men took control of the castle, this same Baibars had the Templars gathered together. He made them a new offer. Those who submitted – you know that
“Islam” means “submission”? – would live. All those who refused would be executed the following morning. The Sultan left them the night to consider, and next morning,
he had the men lined up. The commander ordered his men not to forget their oaths and their faith, and for that the Sultan had him flayed alive before his men. Imagine: all those knights standing
and watching while their leader had the skin peeled from his body in front of them. And then they were asked, one by one, whether they would accept the Muslim faith. It is said that as each
refused, he was beheaded. And yet not one agreed to the terms. All remained firm in their faith. That is the sort of man a Templar is. Resolute, you see. Guillaume de Beaujeu is one of the mould of
Safed. It is in his blood to do all he can to protect the people here, and if necessary, he will die trying.’

‘I hope he will not need to,’ Baldwin said.

A little later, Baldwin found Roger at his side. ‘So, you like his story of death and glory at Safed?’ Roger asked.

‘I would prefer to think they had retained the Turcopoles in the castle and had not lost it and their lives,’ Baldwin told him.

‘Aye,’ Roger said ruminatively, studying the men in front of them. ‘But they’d think they’d won a glorious victory by dying as martyrs.’

‘I think winning is better than a glorious death and losing the battle,’ Baldwin said.

‘Me too,’ Roger said. The sand was rising from the hooves in front, and he snorted, hawking and spitting, then adding, ‘Stiff-backed hairy-arses, the lot of them. But good men
to have on your side in a fight.’

Baldwin smiled, confused. ‘But you are one too.’

‘Nay, only for a short time. Soon I’ll be free again, and I’ll buy my own ship and make a fortune bringing pilgrims here –
if
there is a “here” to
bring them to.’

At the city’s gate, Baldwin felt his failure overwhelm him. With the Templars he had visited two farms of Lady Maria’s, but there was no sign of Lucia in either.
All the long ride back, he had kept his face covered. Partly against the sand, but in truth more to hide his dejection.

‘Good day, my friend,’ he heard, and Sir Jacques trotted up to join him as he walked his horse back to the stable at Ivo’s. ‘If you do not object to the observation, you
appear less than content after our ride.’

‘I am desperate to find Lucia,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘But how can I? Lady Maria has hidden her away.’

‘That is the counsel of despair,’ Jacques said. ‘Continue to join reconnaissance parties, and you will find her. I have faith that you will. You must have it too.’

Baldwin nodded without conviction. It seemed ridiculous that he should hold such a heaviness in his heart. ‘I would see her again. I am sick for love of her. Without her I feel like a
flower missing the sunlight. I am nothing.’

Sir Jacques smiled sympathetically. ‘I understand.’

‘You cannot – you are a monk!’

‘Even monks were once men,’ Sir Jacques said mildly. ‘I loved deeply before I joined my Order. I was an enthusiastic hunter and gatherer of feminine hearts, if you can believe
that.’

‘What made you join your Order, then?’

Sir Jacques sighed, and Baldwin saw for the first time that behind his smile there was a great sadness. ‘I loved one woman with more devotion than I had been able to summon before,’
he said. ‘She was beautiful to me, a generous, warm woman, with the natural grace of her people.’

‘She was Muslim?’

‘No, a Christian, but of the Jewish race. Her name was Sarah, and I adored her. If I had been able to marry her, I would have.’

‘What happened?’

‘She fell prey to leprosy. It is not uncommon. I would have married her and tended to her, but it was not to be. When she became leprous, I lost her. She was declared dead, and left me to
join the Order as a nun. She was based here, in Acre. And when I heard she had done so, I chose my own path.’

‘I am sorry.’

‘I had thought that we would become wealthy. I saw myself as a baron to rival any in Guyenne, while she would be a glorious wife and mother to a brood of children who would be our constant
pride. A man begins life with so many plans and hopes, does he not?’

Baldwin felt his throat constrict at the tone of sad acceptance in the knight’s voice. ‘You do not forget her?’

‘How can a man forget the only woman he truly loved? I knew many before her, but not a single one since. I could not gain pleasure from any after her. So, I went to the Grand Master and
asked if I could join. And after I had been questioned as to my commitment, I was permitted to take the threefold vows and entered the Hospital.’

‘Have you regretted your choice?’

‘What a curious question, Master Baldwin. Why should I regret my vocation? I am a calmer, better man for my position. And one day, when I die, I will die here, in the Holy Land, not far
from my Sarah.’

‘She is still here?’

‘She died many years ago. Her body is buried in the Convent of the Nuns of Saint Lazarus in the old city.’

‘I do not know how I shall ever see my Lucia again. Perhaps I shall have the same fate as you.’

‘Master Baldwin, do not be disheartened. You are young, and so is she. There is always hope, until death. And then we go to a better place than this. So all is good. Still, I wonder . .
.’

Baldwin glanced at him, but the knight was peering into the middle distance with a speculative frown and would not speak of his thoughts. The most he would say was, ‘I have some friends. I
will speak with them.’

The day was hot, and the sun bore down upon them like a blast from a forge as Lucia stood in the field with the heavy shovel, digging up the sodden soil where it had blocked
the irrigation trenches and banking up the field. She had never been so close to wet soil before in her life. Just now, the thought of lying down in the cool earth was very appealing.

Her back was healed now, but not her mind. She had been raped by that foul Kurd, time after time, and she would never forget how it made her feel inside, as though her womb had been
shrivelled.

She thrust the wooden shovel into the soil. It had a metal blade fixed to the edge. Perhaps she could use it to escape? But that was foolish. There was nowhere to escape
to.

The work was mind-numbingly dull. Her hands were sore where they had been chafed by the wooden shaft, there were blisters on her palms, and the soles of her feet where they had been soaked with
the water, and now her back was beginning to complain. Not the scars from the whipping, but the muscles deep at either side of her spine, above her waist. They ached and complained, and she closed
her eyes as she stabbed once more at the ground.

A few yards away was another slave, legs wide, bending from the hips, as she picked at the weeds that infested this patch. God forbid that Lady Maria might see a single stray plant here in her
garden when she deigned to visit.

When she did, Lucia hoped she might have a stick ready for her too.

Baldwin was sitting with Ivo, when the knock came at the door. He was relieved to hear Jacques d’Ivry’s voice. It seemed to calm Ivo, too, as though he had been
expecting someone else.

‘Masters, it is a good morning, and I think a wonderful opportunity for a ride,’ the Leper Knight declared, pulling his gloves from his hands as he entered. He gladly accepted a
beaker of watered wine, and peered at Ivo and Baldwin over the rim with eyes that danced with happiness.

‘What are you talking about?’ Ivo demanded. He set his wax tablet on the floor and scowled up at his friend.

‘The sun is up, and I consider it possible that a short ride to north and east may provide our young companion with a profoundly desirable encounter.’

‘You mean you’ve found her?’ Baldwin said, standing quickly and gaping. ‘My Lucia?’

‘I may have, yes. A slave-trader told me he took a woman to Lady Maria’s manor towards Tiberias. I would not be surprised if we were to find your woman there.’

‘My friend! I don’t know what to say!’

‘Then it may be best to say nothing until we know that she actually is there, Master Baldwin,’ Sir Jacques said, recoiling from Baldwin’s enthusiasm.

‘Aye, yes,’ Baldwin agreed, trying to control his grin of delight.

‘How sure are you?’ Ivo asked.

‘The man said that there was only one woman and it was shortly after the riots. I trust our friend has not seen the woman since then? Then it is possible, if not probable.’

‘That road is not safe.’

‘No, Master Ivo. But if the young woman is there, it would be a kind act to rescue her.’

Baldwin’s face fell. ‘How can I do that? If she is being held, I have no right to take her. Even if I wanted to, it would be hard with one against a number of men.’

‘Perhaps you would not be alone,’ Jacques said with a smile that Baldwin could only think of as sly.

He had never seen such an expression on his friend’s face. ‘W-would you come with me?’ he stammered.

‘There is need of a patrol to the north,’ Jacques told him. ‘The Templars and Knights of Saint Lazarus will be leaving later. We should be glad of your company, Master
Baldwin.’

A short time after Jacques had left, Baldwin was ready to go out on patrol with him. He had pulled on a mail shirt and tunic, and with his sword belted over the top, he looked
almost like a squire in his own right.

Ivo was about to clout the lad over the shoulder in an unaccustomed display of affection, when he heard the sound of men at the door again. The moment Ivo clapped eyes on the messenger, he felt
his elation subside.

‘Who is this?’ Baldwin asked.

‘A messenger from Cairo,’ Ivo said. He beckoned the man to him, and took the proffered message.

‘What is it?’ Baldwin wanted to know next.

‘I must visit the Marshal,’ Ivo said heavily. ‘Ride fast and safe, and return quickly, lad.’

Ivo then took up his sword and made his way to the Temple, where he was soon brought before the Marshal. Geoffrey de Vendac was looking pale, Ivo thought.

Squat pillars supported the ceiling, and candles flickered and smoked from sconces set into pillars and walls of the Temple. The Marshal waved Ivo into his chamber, and when Ivo was seated, he
motioned to his servants to leave them.

‘I am glad you could come, old friend,’ he said, and cleared his throat. ‘We have heard more from Cairo.’

‘I guessed as much.’

‘There has been an attempt upon the life of the new Sultan. As you know, all too often a man’s blood is dissipated in his children. Our misfortune is that our foe has left another
capable leader behind.’

‘His son?’

‘Al-Malik al-Ashraf Salah al-Din Khalil ibn Qalawun,’ the Marshal agreed, rolling the lengthy name over his tongue like a man suspecting a poison in his wine. ‘Yes. When
Qalawun was dying, he called al-Ashraf Khalil to him and made him swear to continue the war against us. This the man agreed. During the time he took to have his father buried, we hoped we might get
another chance for negotiations.’

‘What happened?’

‘An Emir called Turuntai attempted to hasten the process of succession. He organised a plot to remove al-Ashraf Khalil, but the Sultan came to hear of it. Turuntai is dead, and the Sultan
more firmly installed on his throne than before. He has already issued commands to the army.’

‘They won’t attack yet,’ Ivo said. ‘It’s winter. They’ll not advance until spring.’

‘That’s right. Our spies tell us that there are sixty thousand horse and a hundred and forty thousand men-at-arms. Two hundred thousand, all told.’

‘That means nothing unless there are machines and miners.’

‘He has them. Thousands of miners, and over a hundred engines.’

‘Over a hundred?’ Ivo asked, shocked.

‘Some of the largest catapults ever created, Ivo.’

‘How many men are there here in the city?’ Ivo asked, calculating.

‘There are perhaps forty thousand souls all told. Of them, fewer than a thousand are knights, and perhaps there are sixteen thousand men-at-arms. The rest . . .’ He let his words
hang in the air for a moment, then continued: ‘There is no need for horses now. When the army of al-Ashraf Khalil descends upon us, they would serve only as food for the people of the
city.’

‘I understand.’