01 - Murder in the Holy City (36 page)

Geoffrey called for Helbye, and ordered him to prepare his men and Roger’s for immediate pursuit of Hugh’s cavalcade. The bailey erupted into activity once more, and several knights, intrigued by the second spurt of activity, came to see what was going on. Some were Bohemond’s men, and friends of Roger. When Roger explained what had happened, they shouted orders to their own men to make ready, for everyone knew a vacant throne would do Bohemond no good at all when he was not there to take it.

“I suppose we should talk to Maria before we go,” said Geoffrey, as he and Roger ran to their own chambers to don full armour and grab as many weapons as they could realistically carry. “She might be able to fill in some details about this vile business.”

“I left her in the care of Tom Wolfram and Ned Fletcher,” said Roger. “I had a feeling Hugh might try to visit her too, so I told them to let no one see her but me. You know Fletcher—he will take that quite literally, and Hugh will not get past him.”

Still buckling his padded surcoat over his chain mail, Geoffrey strode across the bailey, followed closely by Roger, to the low arch beyond which a narrow flight of steps led to the citadel prison. When he saw the gloomy opening and the rock-hewn walls, he was horribly reminded of the tunnels under the city, and almost turned back. But Roger pressing behind him, and the knowledge that the prison comprised three well-lit and reasonably large rooms, gave him the courage to enter.

The cells were relatively empty and totally silent. Geoffrey was wary. The cells were seldom silent. They were not only used for criminals from the city, but for soldiers who transgressed the Advocate’s few, but rigidly enforced, rules. There were some soldiers there now, standing together in a soundless huddle in the furthest cell.

“They left with the first cavalcade,” one called, peering at them through the bars on the door. “You might yet catch them if you hurry.”

“God’s teeth!” swore Geoffrey, staring in horror at the body of Ned Fletcher. He glanced into the cell and saw that Maria was dead too, her head twisted at an impossible angle and her pretty face marred by glassy eyes and gaping mouth. Around her neck glittered the cheap metal locket that Daimbert had given Roger, and that Roger had exchanged for a night of pleasure with the unfortunate Eveline.

Roger took a hissing breath and turned to the prisoners.

“You might still catch them,” urged one of them.

“Them?” asked Geoffrey, his shock turning to a cold anger. Ned Fletcher had been from his home manor of Goodrich, and he had grown fond of the sturdy, reliable soldier over the years.

“Sir Hugh and Tom Wolfram,” the prisoner replied. “He stabbed Ned, and then went in and broke that lass’s neck. She screamed at him to let her live, but he had no mercy!”

“Who was it?” demanded Geoffrey. “Which of them killed Ned?”

“Tom Wolfram!” chorused the soldiers in exasperation. One of them continued. “Then Sir Hugh came in, saw what Wolfram had done, and started going mad. He yelled and shouted at Wolfram that he was a fool. Then he and Wolfram were off.”

“This is my fault!” said Roger bitterly, turning to Geoffrey. “If I had thought more carefully, I would have guessed that Maria would never be safe here—although she did not seem overly concerned when I arrested her. She probably believed Hugh would rescue her. If I had been more cautious, she and Ned would still be alive!”

“I doubt it,” said Geoffrey with quiet fury, giving vent to his own anger and frustration. “Hugh is not the only traitor here it seems. Wolfram too is guilty. Maria was doomed the instant she stepped into the citadel.”

“Wolfram!” said Roger, his voice hoarse with the shock of it all. “And how has he come to be involved?”

“The same way as the others,” said Geoffrey angrily. “Seduced by the promise of rewards beyond his wildest dreams. Or perhaps I drove him to it by my insistence that he wear his chain mail! Who knows?” He slammed one mailed fist into the other. “But I should have guessed! It was Wolfram who told me to go to see Barlow when the lad was drunk. I thought then that you had seized the opportunity to kill Marius, but the incident afforded Wolfram the opportunity to buy time to tell Hugh that we were back. Perhaps it was even Hugh’s idea, so that I would begin to suspect you.”

“Sir Hugh was yelling at Tom Wolfram that the woman could still have been useful,” called the prisoner helpfully. “But Wolfram said it was because Maria had been captured that they were forced to act sooner than they wanted. What did he mean?”

“Can you ride?” asked Geoffrey. All but one of the soldiers nodded. “Then come with me, and you will find out.”

As Roger fumbled with the keys to release them, Geoffrey knelt next to Ned Fletcher and eased his twisted limbs into a more decent position. He took a last look at the man who had been with him since his youth, and stood abruptly, anger seething inside him. Roger followed him up the stairs and waylaid a monk to see about removing the bodies to the chapel.

“We will get Hugh for this, lad,” said Roger, pulling on his gauntlets. Geoffrey nodded wordlessly and surveyed the flurry of activity in the bailey. He had perhaps fifteen knights and about thirty soldiers, hurriedly rounded up from the camp within the citadel walls. Only those who could ride had been chosen, because the little cavalcade would never catch up with Hugh with foot soldiers trailing behind. Geoffrey nodded with satisfaction when he saw that his three best archers were among the numbers.

He strode over to his own horse, already saddled and with his spare sword and mace strapped to its sides. He yelled to Helbye to check that all the water bags were full, since he was not going to ride after Hugh only to be thwarted by the intense heat of the desert—even if the men could be made to go short, the horses could not if they were to be of any use. As he swung himself up into the saddle, Courrances and four of his Hospitallers rode through the gates. With them was d’Aumale.

Courrances surveyed the scene in astonishment. “Another foray into the desert?” he queried. “Two within a day, and with such a show of force?”

Roger said nothing, and Geoffrey wondered whether Courrances were a part of Hugh’s plan to kill the Advocate. But if the Advocate died, then Courrances would lose the power he had so carefully amassed. Geoffrey was debating how truthful to be, when d’Aumale spoke up.

“There have been a number of threats to the Advocate’s life,” he said. Courrances shot him a foul look, but d’Aumale went on. “He read me a letter from some monk outlining details of a plan to kill him. Is that what this is about?”

“D’Aumale!” shouted Geoffrey, exasperated. “Why did you not tell me this earlier? Much time might have been saved, and Ned Fletcher might not be dead!”

“Because I have only just been told you have been investigating these murders on behalf of the Advocate,” said d’Aumale with a disgusted look at Courrances. “Warner and I were under the impression you were doing Tancred’s bidding. And since, under the right circumstances, Tancred might benefit very greatly from the Advocate’s death, we did not think to confide in you! Had we known, we would most certainly have told you about this monk’s letter.”

“This monk was Sir Guido of Rimini,” said Geoffrey, exasperated. “He signed himself Brother Salvatori because he was planning to take the cowl.”

D’Aumale blanched and glowered at Courrances again. “Why did you not tell us sooner that Sir Geoffrey was working for the Advocate? We might have joined forces and averted all this!”

“Joining forces would not have been wise,” came Courances’s oily voice. “And you should not be speaking with him now. Geoffrey Mappestone
is
Tancred’s man. How do you know it is not Tancred’s agents who are plotting to kill the Advocate, so that Tancred might be ruler of Jerusalem? Or Bohemond,” he added with a glance at Roger.

Roger bristled. “Lord Bohemond would not stoop to such depths,” he declared, although everyone, including Roger, knew perfectly well that he would. Bohemond stood to gain more than anyone from the Advocate’s demise. And Tancred would benefit too, and the Patriarch, and possibly even the Advocate’s brother Baldwin, away in the Kingdom of Edessa.

“I imagined the Greeks were behind it all,” continued d’Aumale urgently, ignoring Courrances. “Meanwhile, Courrances believed it was a Saracen plot; Warner, who is in the hospital with a fever, thought the plot had to be Bohemond’s or Tancred’s. And then, who should begin asking questions and be seen in curious places—but you two and Sir Hugh.”

“Hugh was never with us,” said Roger. “Geoffrey and me went alone.”

“I saw Sir Hugh several times in the Greek Quarter,” said Courrances. His face became sharp. “He has gone, hasn’t he—to Jaffa? He is on his way to murder the Advocate!”

“The evidence is far from clear,” said Geoffrey, wanting time to think it out. Helbye gave a shout to say that all was ready. Geoffrey took the reins and wheeled his horse round to face the gates, raising his arm to order his men to prepare to leave.

“Wait!” said Courrances. “We are coming with you!”

The four Hospitallers and d’Aumale, like Courrances, were already fully armoured. They prepared to follow.

“Not a chance,” said Geoffrey, pulling on the reins to control his restless horse. “We do not want to be found in compromising positions with dead whores in brothels, or killed in burning stables.”

Courrances blanched. “I was mistaken.”

“You were indeed,” said Geoffrey, standing in his stirrups to cast a professional eye over his troops as they arranged themselves in a thin column, two abreast.

“I drew a conclusion based on the evidence presented. I was wrong to have accepted it so readily,” said Courrances, lunging and grabbing Geoffrey’s surcoat. “Several days ago, while you were in the desert, Hugh told me that he was concerned that you were involved in something that might prove detrimental to the Advocate. He told me you were working in league with the Patriarch. I made enquiries and found it to be true—both you and Roger are in the pay of the Patriarch. Hugh was plausible—acting as a grieving friend who was deeply shocked at a betrayal of loyalties. I took him at face value and arranged the business at Abdul’s when he told me you were planning to go there. As it turned out, the entire thing was a fiasco, and d’Aumale could have been killed when he was knocked down by one of the horses you let out, which was racing down the street. I have apologised to him, and now I apologise to you. But Hugh duped me every bit as much as he did you.”

“Not quite,” muttered Geoffrey bitterly. “And was it you who left the dagger and pig’s heart in my chamber?”

Courrances nodded. “I had to make you feel as though it was in your own interests to investigate the murders for me. Had you declined to take up the case, I had planned to leave similar items in the rooms of Roger and Hugh. But you agreed—far more readily than I had expected—so readily, in fact, that I became suspicious, and began to entertain the notion that
you
were the killer. After all, no one was murdered in the two weeks you were out on desert patrol. Then the minute you step back in the city, John was killed. And then Hugh came, and told me his reasons for suspecting you …”

His voice trailed off. “But a pig’s heart?” said Roger, with a shake of his great head.

Courrances shrugged and then gave a rare smile. “To begin with, I thought all this was the work of Moslem fanatics. I left a pig’s heart to point you in their direction, since the pig is considered unclean by them.” He saw Geoffrey’s bemused expression. “Too obscure, I see.”

Geoffrey’s men were ready, and the horses, sensing the excitement, were restless and prancing. The bailey was filled with low clouds of dust kicked up by their hooves, and already Geoffrey was beginning to bake inside his armour. He donned his metal helmet, with the long nosepiece, and signalled for the men to begin filing out.

“We must come with you!” Courrances insisted, watching the mounted soldiers ride past. “I saw Hugh’s force when it left earlier. He has at least twice the men that you have. You need us!”

Geoffrey made a quick decision; it was in Courrances’s interest to save the Advocate, and the Hospitaller was right in that Hugh probably had a considerably larger force than had Geoffrey. The addition of Courrances, his Hospitallers, and d’Aumale would provide much-needed reinforcements to his small army.

“Come on, then!” he yelled, clinging with his knees as his horse reared, impatient with the delay.

Roger looked at him aghast. “What are you doing? We do not want Hospitallers with us!”

“First, it is better to have Courrances where we can see him,” said Geoffrey in a low voice, watching the warrior-monk run to his own mount and give terse orders to his men. “And second, we are going to need all the help we can get. If Hugh succeeds, Bohemond will be held responsible whether Hugh is acting on his orders or not. And I suspect he is not, because Bohemond is too far away to take advantage of an empty throne if Hugh strikes now. If Hugh murders the Advocate, we will need to combine all our forces to prevent the city from plunging into civil war. And if we fight among ourselves, the Saracens will be on us in an instant. Believe me, Roger, we need Courrances just as much as he needs us.”