Crusade (35 page)

“I came to the harem palace moments after you left,” said Baybars. “Nizam told me your daughter choked on her food.”

Kalawun shook his head. “It was him. I found Baraka out and made your son admit who helped him. I uncovered this traitor. Khadir was an Assassin, Baybars. He knows how to use poisons. It was him.”

Khadir was rolling around on the floor, choking and retching.

“And he will be punished for his part in that plan,” said Baybars firmly, “but not for something he did not do.”

“I want the food checked. Every last scrap of it. I want it checked.”

“And it will be. But even if poison is found, and I do not believe it will be, it would be more likely to have come from within the harem. Aisha was the first wife of my son, the bride of the heir to the kingdom. Women, in my experience, can be as hungry for power as men and sometimes more ruthless in the pursuit of it. It would not be the first murder within those walls.” Kalawun was starting to shake, high keening sounds building in the back of his throat. Baybars put his other arm around the trembling commander and held him. “I am sorry, my friend,” he murmured. “Truly I am. We have both lost a daughter today. The kingdom will mourn her.”

At those last words, the dam inside Kalawun broke and his grief engulfed him in a rushing, tumbling torrent. Khadir crawled limply to the wall, where he hunched, bitterly savoring every one of the commander’s wrenching sobs.

Baraka Khan walked unsteadily into the night, dazedly passing the harem guards. The wind had picked up and blew hot and dusty around him, drying the sweat on his face. An image of Aisha lying stiff on the bed jumped into his mind: her pallid, twisted face and her tongue poking hideously from between her teeth. Baraka paused by one of the palm trees that bordered the courtyard, pressing his hand against the solid, rough bark. He retched, doubled over and vomited. His eyes watered as he retched again. Then, slowly, he straightened and walked on. Now he was purged, he felt better.

20

The Street of St. Anne, Acre 27 MAY A.D. 1276

“ Well, find me someone who does know where he is. I’ll not give you money for nothing.” Garin gritted his teeth as the young servant scuttled across the street and back through the preceptory’s gates.

He leaned against the wall of the shop behind him and tried to rein in his anger. It was more than two hours past the time that Will had promised to meet him in the tavern. Now King Hugh had signed the document promising to let Edward use Cyprus as a base for a holy war and to deliver a substantial sum of money—half now and half when Edward had spoken to the pope had been his condition—Garin was almost ready to return to England. He just needed to collect the gold from Everard, and then his business here would finally be done.

He looked up as the small door in the preceptory’s massive gates opened again and tutted irritably as he saw a familiar, barrel-chested figure striding across the road toward him. There was no sign of the servant.

Simon’s broad face was set with anger. “What do you want?”

With massive effort, Garin managed to force a smile. “Simon.”

“Save the horseshit. I’m not here to make conversation with you. Leave the servants alone. They’re not yours to command and they aren’t allowed to accept bribes. That boy would’ve been beaten if you’d paid him and he’d been found out.”

“I’m sorry,” said Garin contritely, “I forgot. Well, maybe you can help. Will was supposed to meet me this afternoon, but he hasn’t, and as he was well aware of the importance of our engagement, I can only assume something very serious must have delayed him. Perhaps you could tell me where I might find him?”

Simon stepped closer to Garin. “Will might have forgotten what you did to him back in Paris, but I haven’t. You’re a dog and if I had my way you’d have been put down years ago. There’s no good in you, and all your pretty smiles won’t fool me otherwise. I see through you. Whatever you want with Will, you’ll not get it. I’ll make certain of it.”

Garin’s smile faded. “I think that’s up to Will, don’t you?” he murmured. “You’re not his nursemaid, Tanner, nor his commander. You’re a lowborn stable hand. You should leave the big decisions to men of rank and keep to what you know best. Shit and straw.”

“I’ll keep to mine if you keep to yours. And at the last look that was ale and whores.” Turning, Simon headed back across the street.

“You’re not the only one in the Temple,” called Garin, stalking after him. “I’ll pay a dozen servants if I have to. I’m not leaving until I see Will.”

“You’ll have a long wait then,” retorted Simon, glancing back before he reached the gates. “Commander Campbell is away on business. And will be for weeks, months maybe.” He paused before opening the door. “Whatever it is you were after, you can forget it. Will’s gone. Go back to England. You’re not wanted here.” With that, Simon entered the preceptory and shut the gate.

Garin stood in the street, trembling with rage. As he turned to move off, a young woman clutching a basket filled with fruit got in his way and he pushed her roughly aside. She stumbled with a cry, dropping her basket, sending the fruit spilling. A man shouted at Garin and jogged over to help her, but Garin was already walking away. He kept going for several minutes, before swerving abruptly into a narrow pathway between two bakers’ shops. With a harsh cry, he slammed his fist into the wall. The skin across his knuckles tore and pain shot through him, but he punched it again, a second time, almost relishing the agony. He put his palms flat against the wall and rested his head on it. After a few moments, he pushed himself upright. If Simon wouldn’t speak to him, there was one other who might.

THE TEMPLE, ACRE, 27 MAY A.D. 1276

“Enter,” called Everard tiredly at a rap at the door. He set down his quill on his chronicle. His memory wasn’t what it used to be, and he had come to fear that if he didn’t write things down he would forget them. He wouldn’t have the others questioning his judgment. He had made enough mistakes.

The seneschal strode in. “What have you done, Everard?”

Everard looked up with a frown.

“Brother Thomas has just told me everything.” The seneschal’s brow was knotted. “Why didn’t you wait for me? I should have been part of this.”

“You weren’t here, my friend,” replied Everard matter-of-factly. “I had to make the decision. There was no time to lose.”

“So you sent Campbell to Cairo on his own? Into the lion’s den, where God only knows what trouble he’ll get into? Are you forgetting, Everard, that he betrayed us once before? I never would have sanctioned such a move had I been here.”

“Campbell has dealt with Kalawun in the past. The two met face-to-face when he delivered the peace treaty to Baybars. De Beaujeu has been informed that he is securing a valuable treatise in Syria that will greatly benefit the Temple, so his absence will not arouse suspicions. If not for him, Brother, we wouldn’t know that any of this was happening.”

“From what Brother Thomas told me, Campbell might not have informed us at all if not for the fact that he couldn’t decipher the message and needed you to do it for him.”

“But he did tell us,” replied Everard wearily, “and now we know. We must put our differences aside. This overshadows all else. Nothing can matter except that we stop it.”

The seneschal said nothing for a moment, then pulled up a stool and sat. “Sclavo is dead,” he said gruffly. “It happened shortly after he was brought in.”

“What? Why did none of us hear of this?”

“There was little to report. All the attention had shifted to Soranzo by that point and no one cared about some petty criminal.”

“How did he die?”

“It isn’t known. He collapsed after breaking his fast one morning. The physician said his heart had given out.”

“Poisoned?” asked Everard quickly.

“At the time, I did not think it suspicious, but from what Brother Thomas has told me it would seem that maybe there was a reason for his death. Maybe someone did not want him talking. Why did you wish to speak with him anyway?”

“He dealt with Soranzo, who knew the grand master was involved in the proposed theft of the Black Stone. It is possible he knew more about the plot itself. I had hoped to interrogate him.”

“I think we should concentrate on the grand master,” responded the seneschal after a pause. “He is obviously at the center of this.”

“We do not know for certain that de Beaujeu knows of the plan, Brother. The message from Kaysan doesn’t seem to be addressing him.”

“Soranzo told Campbell that the grand master would burn because of the Stone; de Beaujeu gave Campbell the scroll and told him to meet this Kaysan, and this scroll apparently speaks of Western knights who will enter Mecca with these Shias and steal it. I would, in truth, be very surprised if he didn’t know anything of it.”

“I agree, but we must have more facts before we can proceed.”

“What about this man, Angelo Vitturi? Could he have been involved? It was unorthodox that the grand master should send a merchant to interrogate Soranzo. Perhaps we should look into him, his business here in the city, his connections with de Beaujeu?”

“Not yet. Not until we know more. If he is involved, then I do not wish to alert him to the fact that we know anything. For the moment, we would appear to have time on our side. From what the scroll says, the theft will not occur until during the month of Muharram, which would put it sometime during April next year.” He clasped his hands on the table. “I am convinced that will give us enough chance to act.”

The seneschal shook his head. “We had better hope so, Everard. Or God help us all.”

THE VENETIAN MARKET, ACRE, 27 MAY A.D. 1276

Elwen closed the blue door behind her and moved listlessly into the street. She had a leather bag over her shoulder with the ledgers in that Andreas had asked her to bring to the warehouse. A young man and woman passed her, their arms linked. The man bent down and whispered something and the woman laughed. As the woman locked eyes with her, Elwen averted her gaze, realizing she had been staring. She continued walking, head down.

The brief euphoria she had experienced last night with Will had faded quickly. It followed the same pattern it always had. They made love and he left. There were no languid, tender moments, no comfortable silences or shared laughter, just frantic passion, soon spent, and a feeling of emptiness that lingered long after he slipped from her. He had been honest with her this time; had let her in for once, and that at least was something, but even so, nothing had really changed. She felt as though she had been fooled.

Elwen was roused from her thoughts by someone calling her name. For a moment, she thought it was Will, and she turned, hopeful and uplifted. But there was no sign of him, only a tall, blond-haired man who smiled as he approached her.

“Elwen,” he said again.

She stared at him, then recognition dawned. “Garin,” she murmured.

“How are you? It’s been ... how long?”

Elwen’s initial shock quickly turned to hostility. “What are you doing here?”

Garin looked surprised. “Will didn’t tell you I was in Acre?”

“No. What do you want?”

“I wanted to see you actually.”

Elwen looked around. “How did you know where I would be?”

“Will told me where you lived,” Garin replied offhand. “I saw you come out.”

“I’m busy,” said Elwen, moving off, confused and unsettled as to why Will had given this information to him.

“I do not wish to keep you,” said Garin, following her. “I just want to know where Will is. He promised to meet me earlier, but he never showed up.”

“He promises a great many things.”

Garin caught the anger in her words. “But you know where he is?”

“No.”

Garin heard the lie in her voice. “Elwen, this is important. Please. I know we’ve never been good friends, but you do know me. Surely you can tell me this?”

Elwen came to a halt. “Yes, I know you,” she said frigidly. “I know you lured Will to that brothel in Paris with a message you pretended was from me. I know you watched as he was bound and beaten, and then forced him to tell you what you wanted to know by saying you had captured me and would hurt me if he didn’t comply. I know you drugged him and tied him to a bed, and let that woman—” Elwen stopped abruptly. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Did he tell you why?” Garin demanded, before she could walk away. “Did he tell you that I was being threatened by someone? That this man, Rook, made me do these things with the promise that if I didn’t he would kill my mother. And before he did that, that he would
rape
her?” He emphasized that word to provoke her womanly fear of such an act and was satisfied with the appalled look that flashed across Elwen’s face. “I didn’t leave him in bed with anyone, Elwen,” he continued quietly. “What happened with the woman was a mistake. I thought I was saving his life by drugging him. Rook wanted to kill him.” Garin ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I truly am. I wish I could change it.”

Elwen winced as she caught sight of his torn and bloodied knuckles. “What did you do?”

Garin glanced at his hand and tried to hide it behind his back. “It’s nothing.” He shrugged, then laughed self-consciously. “I punched a wall.”

Elwen went to say something, then shook her head. “I have to go.”

“Listen, I was about to buy myself a drink. Why don’t you join me?” Garin pointed down the street. “There’s a tavern just over there.”

Now it was Elwen’s turn to laugh, in astonishment. “Even if I wanted to drink with you, which I don’t, do you honestly think it would be seemly for a woman like myself to share wine in some common tavern with a man?”

“This coming from a woman who once stowed away on board a Templar ship?” Garin shot back.

Elwen smiled slightly at the memory, then looked away. “That was a long time ago.” She started walking again.

Garin went after her, his mind locking desperately on one last idea. He had to know if Will really was gone or if Simon had been lying to him. “Just tell me one thing,” he implored. “Does Will’s absence have anything to do with Everard and the Anima Templi?” He fought back an urge to grin as a frown creased her brow.