Crusade (20 page)

“You are mad!” spat Hugh. “Would
you
step down from your position if I asked you to?”

“If it were for the good of Outremer, then yes,” said Guillaume easily. His tone intensified. “I would do anything to bring God’s land back to us.”

Hugh shook his head adamantly. “You think Charles cares what happens here? He got his own brother killed when he advised him to invade Tunis rather than come to Palestine, where he was needed.”

“King Louis died of a fever.”

“Charles has never got his hands dirty. He is more interested in adding Byzantium to his empire than winning back territory in Outremer. You will be on your own if you rely on him.” Hugh touched his hand to his chest. “I will fight with you if you pledge your fealty to me.” His voice softened. “Stand with me, Guillaume, and we will take back the Holy Land together. Speak to the pope; help me call off this sale of rights, and let Charles aid us where he will.” Hugh held out his jeweled hand for the grand master to kiss. “Come now.”

Guillaume regarded the king for a long moment. “Your concern is for your crown,” he said finally. “Not the Holy Land.”

Hugh’s outstretched hand wavered then fell. This time, no subtle words could allay his rage. “How dare you!” he spat. “You are a fool, de Beaujeu. A holy fool! I will keep my throne with or without your help, and when Charles is forced back to Sicily with his tail between his legs, you need not look for aid or friendship from me.” He raised his hand again, his finger directed at Guillaume. “We are now enemies, you and I.”

Once at the gates, Hugh didn’t bother to collect his horse, but strode past his waiting men and headed out of the preceptory before the sergeants could open the door for him.

Guy hastened to follow after ordering the guards to bring their mounts. “My liege!”

Hugh halted abruptly and turned.

Guy was startled by the violence in his eyes. “My liege?” he repeated tentatively.

“I want you to write to King Edward of England.”

“I already did, months ago.” Guy’s voice was wary.

“Then write to him again,” snapped Hugh. “Why hasn’t he replied, for God’s sake?”

“I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”

“King Edward is Charles d’Anjou’s nephew and a close friend of the pope,” said Hugh, ignoring the question. “Maybe we will have more luck with him.” He went to turn away, then whipped around, fist clenched. “We have to do something, Guy. I will not lose my throne to that
bastard
and his puppet knights!”

THE GENOESE QUARTER, ACRE, 12 MARCH A.D. 1276

Will grabbed Angelo’s arm as the guard sprawled to the ground in front of the gates, clutching his chest. “What the hell are you doing? We’re here to arrest Soranzo, not kill his men!”

Angelo pulled his arm from Will’s grip as the four Sicilian knights, led by Zaccaria, rounded up the other three guards. “He came at me with a sword,” he replied coldly. “What was I supposed to do? ... Sir Knight?” he added, after a mocking pause.

Will checked the guard’s wound. It was only superficial, but he knew it probably felt a great deal worse than it was. “He’s going to be fine,” he told the guard’s comrades. Straightening, he gestured to one of them. “Help him up.” The man, who had been disarmed by Zaccaria, came forward warily and pulled the groaning guard to his feet.

Angelo began to walk toward the house that rose up in front of them. Torchlight flickered in the upper windows, and Will saw a shadow move quickly across one of them. “I’ll go first.”

Angelo hesitated, then gestured to the house with an unfriendly smile. “Be my guest.”

As he approached the door, Will heard a baby crying in a room upstairs. He didn’t like this. The guards seemed to be expecting them; the palazzo’s gates barred, their weapons drawn.

When he had returned to the preceptory with Sclavo, the grand master had been oddly indecisive, wanting to wait rather than send him to arrest Soranzo immediately. After interrogating Sclavo, he dismissed Will, who, before leaving the dungeon, asked de Beaujeu about the reward, neglecting to mention that Luca had been the brother of his attacker. The grand master distractedly told him that the funds would be available by morning. Planning to send Simon to deliver the money to Luca, Will returned to his quarters and was reading a translation Everard had asked him to look at weeks ago, when he had been summoned to the yard. There he found de Beaujeu’s four personal guards and a man of about his age waiting with horses. Zaccaria introduced the stranger, explaining that Will had been put in charge of escorting him to the Genoese palazzo, where the Venetian would interrogate Guido Soranzo, a former business associate. Will was puzzled by this. For the grand master to call upon an associate of Soranzo’s, he must have known the Genoese in the first instance, although he had given no indication of this when Will had relayed his report.

That puzzlement had since turned to unease. He couldn’t understand why the grand master would send a merchant to question Soranzo, whatever their past relationship, when he could easily call upon Angelo’s aid after the Genoese was locked in one of the cells. Will didn’t trust the Venetian. There was something personal about this assignment for him. Something Will hadn’t been told. Now, as he pushed open the doors of the palazzo, he felt a growing sense of danger, not only from the dark house before him, but from the black-cloaked Venetian behind him, who had cut down that guard before Will had been able to reach for his sword.

Beyond the door, a passage stretched into shadow, the only light a flickering glow that spilled down a set of stone steps off to the right. Gripping his falchion, Will moved in, his boots loud on the tiles. He looked up, hearing the creak of floorboards above, and headed for the stairs.

“Commander Campbell.”

Will turned at the hushed voice to see Zaccaria.

The Sicilian’s eyes gleamed in the half-light. “What do you plan to do with the guards?”

Will glanced back to see Francesco and Alessandro, two of the Sicilian knights, in the doorway training swords on the palazzo’s guards, the wounded one holding a bloodstained rag to his chest. He realized it would be foolish to bring the guards inside; they might alert the rest of the house. He cursed himself for overlooking this and felt uncomfortable under Zaccaria’s calm gaze. The Sicilian, who was at least ten years his senior, was beneath him in rank, yet probably closer to the grand master than anyone and would no doubt give a full report of Will’s command as soon as he returned. Will was used to thinking for himself. He hadn’t realized how complicated things could become when you had to organize everyone else as well. He pointed to Alessandro and Francesco. “Remain here with the guards,” he murmured. “Keep watch in case Soranzo tries to escape.” As they moved into position, Will climbed the stairs, Zaccaria, Angelo and Carlo, the fourth Sicilian, close behind.

At the top was a long corridor, lit by torches, the flames shifting, erratic.

There were three doors set into the right-hand wall and four on the left, with one at the end of the corridor. All were shut. Will moved slowly to the first, then halted, hearing the baby’s cry again. It was muffled, but Will thought it had come from farther down, possibly the second on the right. He turned to Zaccaria and motioned. The Sicilian nodded, and together they approached the door, weapons ready. As Will shoved open the door, there were screams from inside the room, where twelve or so people were clustered behind two terrified guards. There were three men who looked like servants, four women, six children, and, clutched tightly in the arms of a plump woman in an embroidered cloak, a baby. The two guards had swords drawn, but made no move.

“It’s all right,” Will told them. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

“What do you want?” demanded the plump woman, her voice shrill with fear.

“We need to speak with Guido Soranzo,” said Will, lowering his sword, his gaze on the skittish guards.

“He’s not here,” she said in a rush, but her eyes flicked away from Will as she said it and he knew she was lying.

Will was about to ask her again, when Angelo’s voice snapped out behind him.

“Where is Guido? Tell me before I come in there and rip out your tongue.”

The woman flinched, and one of the children grabbed her cloak and began to cry. Will was about to order Angelo back, when he heard a loud clatter and a yell from farther down the passage. Angelo sprinted for the last door.

“Guard them!” Will ordered Zaccaria, racing after the Venetian.

“Help me!” came a strangled cry from inside the room.

“Open the door, Guido,” barked Angelo. Swearing, he stepped back and gave it a mighty kick. The latch shattered and the door burst open. Angelo entered, flicking his long sword, with its rock crystal pommel, out in front of him.

As Will stepped in, he thought that the room, a bedchamber, was empty and was surprised to hear another yell, until he realized it was coming from the window. Beneath the ledge was a box which had smashed open, spilling a few glittery trinkets. On the ledge itself were two meaty hands, clinging desperately to the smooth stone. Dropping his sword, Will ran to the window and just managed to grab one of them as they began to slide off the ledge.

“God in Heaven, save me!” came a wail from below.

“Help me,” gasped Will at Angelo, as the sweaty hand began to slip through his.

Angelo, having paused to sheathe his own sword, came forward. Between them, they managed to haul up a panting, sweating man, who slithered over the ledge into a heap at their feet.

Angelo glanced contemptuously out of the window to the stone courtyard, two stories below. “Did you suddenly imagine you could fly, Guido?” He kicked at the merchant. “Get up.”

“Please, Angelo,” begged Guido, holding up his hands and staring at the young Venetian. “Please don’t hurt my family.”

“No one will be hurt if you tell us what we want to know,” said Will, retrieving his falchion.

Angelo rounded on Will. “I will take it from here, Commander Campbell.”

“I am in charge,” said Will, disliking the arrogant Venetian more and more.

“And your grand master charged you with escorting me here to question this man,” responded Angelo tautly. “You have played your part. Now let me do mine.”

Will heard a polite cough from the doorway and saw Zaccaria standing there.

“Might I have a word, Commander?”

Zaccaria pulled the door to as Will headed out. “The grand master told us that Vitturi has full authority within this house, Commander. He will expect his orders to be carried out exactly.”

Will heard no criticism in the Sicilian’s words, only frankness. “He’s a liability.”

Angelo’s voice rose through the wood. “Answer me, you wretch!”

Zaccaria glanced at the door. “That he might be. But it is not for us to question or condemn. We must only obey. Must we not, sir?”

Will nodded after a pause. “Are the family secure?” He could see Carlo standing outside the room where the women and children were huddled.

“We’ve disarmed the guards and calmed them as much as we can.”

“Go and wait for me there,” Will told him.

Zaccaria looked as if he might say something further, then seemed to think better of it and inclined his head. “Yes, Commander.”

Will stood outside the bedchamber and waited. The minutes crawled by, the night silence broken only by the baby’s crying and the voice of Angelo behind the door. The Venetian was speaking in a low tone, and Will could only hear snatches of the conversation.

“Did you tell anyone?” The question was repeated several times.

Will heard Guido’s voice.

“It was the contract! I swear! I wanted the shipping contract! That’s all!”

There was a hissed response to this.

Will wanted to go closer, but Zaccaria was watching him, and even though he was the ranking officer he knew that any interruption of the task at hand would be reported to Guillaume. He didn’t relish the thought of losing his commandership as soon as he had been granted it. He heard shouting again, then a harsh cry, followed by a scream.

The door was yanked open and Angelo appeared, holding one hand to his cheek, where a red line had been scored. The blade of his sword was bloody. Beyond, Will could see Guido on the floor, clutching his hand, his face screwed up in pain.

“The bastard had a dagger,” said Angelo, brushing past Will and striding down the passage into the room where Guido’s family waited. There was a wail and Angelo reappeared dragging a young boy.

“What are you doing?” demanded Will, as Angelo marched the screaming child down the passage.

“I told him what the consequences would be if he didn’t talk.”

“No,” said Will flatly, planting himself in front of the Venetian. “I’m not going to let you hurt a child to force Soranzo to talk. I don’t give a damn what the grand master ordered.”

“Move aside, Commander,” growled Angelo, brandishing the struggling boy.

Just then, the two unarmed guards barreled out of the room where the family was gathered. Several servants came rushing out to help them, and Zaccaria shouted at Will. Cursing, Will ran to aid his men, leaving Angelo to haul the boy into the room where Guido was still prostrate on the floor. Will ducked in past Zaccaria, who had pinned one of the guards against the wall, and tackled the other. Together, he and Carlo got the man to the ground. There was a scream from down the passage. Will whipped around in time to see Angelo stab down at Guido with his sword. “No!” he shouted, running back to the bedchamber.

The scream was continuing, one strident note like a trumpet sounding an alarm. Will thought it was coming from Guido, until he entered and saw the boy had been thrown to the floor and was staring at his father, lips peeled back. The sound was coming from him.

Angelo turned to Will. “It is done. I got what I came for.” Will went to push past him, but Angelo caught his arm. “I said it is done, Commander.”

Zaccaria was shouting again. Guido’s wife, on hearing that scream, had launched herself at the Sicilian. She was a big woman, and the knight, who was still holding the guard against the wall, couldn’t restrain her.