Crusade (51 page)

Angelo jammed his fingers into Guillaume’s wrists, pressing desperately into the flesh. He struggled and gasped, writhing on the desk as the grand master, his face white and contorted, continued to strangle him. Through his dimming gaze Angelo saw a stain growing on Guillaume’s mantle, red as the cross on his chest. The grand master’s eyes flickered. He reeled, almost falling onto Angelo. In the swoon, his grip loosened, and Angelo managed to prise his hands off and slide out from under him. He lurched away, choking, as Guillaume clutched the desk and stumbled round it, pressing his hand to his side, where the redness was spreading. Angelo, breathing harshly, looked around for the dagger. He saw it lying on the tiles and went for it. He spun, hearing a rasping sound, and saw that the grand master had found and drawn a sword. Guillaume’s face was ashen and sweat had made a filmy sheen of his skin, but despite his obvious agony, his expression was grimly resolved as he staggered toward him. Angelo took a brief measure of the situation; then, slipping the dagger back into his sleeve, he reached for the door and opened it. As the door slammed shut, Guillaume felt another faint overcome him, and he dropped the sword and fell to his knees, streams of sickening pain coursing through him. He thought that he was dying and pushed a prayer through his clenched teeth. But shortly the dizziness passed and his vision began to clear. Now the pain was a rod of iron, a single, solid block. Forcing himself to his knees, he grasped the corner of his desk and hauled himself up, groaning as the wound in his side seared and throbbed. He made it to the door and wrenched it open.

“Zaccaria!” he shouted, his voice sounding frail in his ears.

After a moment, two knights appeared through one of the doors leading off along the stone passage. “He isn’t here, my lord,” said one, walking toward him. “He left to escort someone to the gates, barely minutes ago.”

“God damn it,” breathed Guillaume.

“My lord ... ?” The knight stopped, his eyes falling to Guillaume’s side, and the dark red stain. His mouth opened in shock. “Fetch the physicians,” he barked at his companion, stepping toward the grand master.

“No,” said Guillaume gruffly. “First, make sure the man Zaccaria is with does not leave this preceptory.
Go!
” he roared, when the knight didn’t move.

The knight turned on his heel and sprinted down the passage.

“You,” breathed the grand master to the one who remained, “find William Campbell. I want him arrested.” He clutched the door tightly, holding himself upright. “Then fetch me the infirmarer.”

Simon stood in the center of the courtyard, staring around him. The horse he had saddled, a swift piebald gelding, nudged him in the back and snorted. Simon stroked its nose absently. “Where is he then?” he murmured, turning in a slow circle. There were several knights over by the officials’ building and a few sergeants, practice swords in hands, heading across the yard in the direction of the training ground. But no sign of Will.

After a moment, Simon walked toward the gate, leading the gelding behind him. He had been delayed, the stable master insisting that he prepare two horses for the marshal, and he guessed that Will must have grown impatient and left. But if he had only been gone a few minutes, Simon could probably catch him up. It seemed daft that he should walk all the way to Elwen’s house when there was a perfectly good horse saddled and ready. Simon was setting off across the yard, when a sergeant came jogging over. It was Paul, one of the guards whose post was at the gates.

He hailed Simon. “Have you seen Commander Campbell?”

“I was looking for him myself. I thought he might have left the preceptory.” Simon glanced past Paul, toward the main gate. “You haven’t seen him?”

Paul shook his head. “No. But Richard and I have only just come on duty. There’s a man here wanting to talk to him. Says it’s urgent.”

“Who is it?”

“Won’t give a name. Says Commander Campbell will know what it’s about and he should come immediately.”

Simon frowned indecisively; then puffing a sigh through his cheeks, he walked the horse to a hobbling post. “You go and ask the guards who were on the shift before you if they saw the commander leave,” he said to Paul, slinging the reins over the post. “I’ll see what this man wants.”

Paul looked a little unsure. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not certain you should be getting involved in the commander’s business.”

“He’s my friend, Paul. He won’t mind. If it’s that important, he’ll most likely thank me for it.”

“On your head be it,” said Paul, heading for the guardhouse.

Simon made his way to the gate tower, nodded to Paul’s comrade, Richard, who was standing guard, then stepped through the door cut into the massive gates. He came out on the street and pulled the door closed behind him, scanning the people moving past. His eyes drifted over the buildings on the other side of the street and came to rest on a lone man, swaddled in a gray burnous, his face partially hidden by the cowl. He was the only person in the street who didn’t look as if he were passing through on some business or other. The figure was staring at him, but made no move to cross the street. Simon went cautiously over, avoiding two men pushing a handcart filled with the velvet globes of peaches.

“Good day,” he called tentatively, approaching the man. “Are you waiting for Commander Campbell?”

The man didn’t move. “I am.”

Although he spoke Latin, Simon recognized his accent as Arabic. “Can I give him a message?”

“I talk with him, very importantly. Where is him?”

“I think he’s gone into the city,” said Simon, speaking slowly so the man could understand him. “But if you tell me why you wish to speak with him, I can tell him when he returns.”

The man frowned as he listened to Simon’s words. “Where in city?”

“I . . .” Simon faltered. The man’s unwavering stare was making him nervous. Perhaps Paul was right; this wasn’t his business. “You should wait here,” he said, taking a step back. “Commander Campbell will return soon I’m sure.”

The man’s hand shot out and grasped Simon’s arm, hard.
“Where?”
he hissed.

Simon tried to pull away, but the man, although much slighter of build, was incredibly strong and held him tightly. “Hey! Let go of me!”

The man pursed his lips and whistled. Instantly, two other figures, dressed in the same drab cloaks, emerged from the mouth of an alley a few paces away.

Simon didn’t even notice. He was standing stock-still, all his attention focused on the vicious-looking dagger that the man holding him had drawn, which was now pointed toward his stomach.

“You take us to Campbell, or we killing you,” murmured the man.

His legs shaking uncontrollably, his bladder bloated with fear, Simon let himself be led by the three figures down the alley, where they met a fourth man who was waiting with horses.

31

The Temple, Acre 14 JUNE A.D. 1277

“I’m not convinced it will work,” said Will, placing his empty goblet on the table.

“You agreed,” said Everard sharply. “You just said you would talk to him.”

Will glanced round. “I said I would try. But I have to be careful. The mission failed and I was in charge. The grand master isn’t particularly pleased with me at present. The last thing I should be doing is arousing his suspicions and making him think that I was in any way responsible for the failure. When I attempted before to ask him who he was working with, he brushed the issue aside, clearly unwilling to talk about it. Now the whole thing is ended, I think it will look strange me trying to find out things that are no longer relevant.”

“What are you saying?”

Will flicked aside the heavy drape that covered the window, letting light rush into the solar. “I’m saying I’ll talk to him, but that I don’t think we should place all our hopes on finding information on those involved through de Beaujeu himself.” He caught sight of a stocky figure in black in the courtyard below, leading a horse by its reins. It was Simon. He sighed roughly, realizing that he had been delayed far too long. “Everard, I have to go. We’ll talk more later. Summon the Brethren. I will see what I can do to convince the Grand Master to ...”

His words disappeared as the door banged open and a knight entered. His gaze fixed straight on Will. “He’s here!” he shouted over his shoulder.

Everard rose and Will stared at the intruder in confusion as footsteps came pounding down the passage and two more knights burst in, swords in their hands.

“What is the meaning of this?” questioned the priest, his washed-out eyes animated with anger.

“Commander Campbell,” said the first knight. “You are to come with us at once.”

“Where?”

“To the cells. You are under arrest.”

“What charge do you lay on him?” demanded Everard, but there was a note of alarm in his voice.

“We are here on the orders of Grand Master de Beaujeu,” said the knight, ignoring the priest and heading to Will. “Put down your sword.”

Will hesitated, looking from Everard to the grim-faced knights; then he drew his falchion, slowly. The armed knights tensed. But Will laid the sword on Everard’s table and let them come forward and take him. He caught Everard’s frightened gaze as they marched him from the solar. “Don’t worry,” he murmured.

Four hours later, Will was sitting slumped against the wall in one of the cells beneath the treasury tower, listening to the waves pounding the rocks outside. It had been with a horrible sense of familiarity that he had been led down into the prison, memories of his visits to Garin years earlier returning to haunt him, reminding him how terrible a fate it had seemed; how cramped the cells were; how the air seemed heavier in the dank darkness, harder to breathe. His mind reeled with the implications of his arrest. The knights had given no reason for it, but only one conclusion kept returning to him. The grand master knew. Somehow, he knew. After a while, Will had started to become maddened by the waiting, by the constant muffled rush and thump of the waves, by the thoughts in his head, unanswered, going round and round, tormenting him.

Hearing the sound of voices in the passage, Will looked up. Footsteps came closer and he rose to his feet, blood shooting back into his cramped legs. There was a clinking of keys, the rattle and clack of a bolt being drawn back. The cell door opened. Torchlight blasted into his eyes and he raised an arm to cover his face. Squinting out, Will saw Guillaume de Beaujeu ducking awkwardly through the low entrance behind a guard who inserted the crackling torch into a bracket on the wall and then left. The cell was small enough with just Will inside; with the grand master’s huge frame now filling it, it seemed to shrink even further. Will blinked, trying to let his eyes settle. The first thing he noticed was how different the grand master appeared to how he had looked just hours earlier when Will had given his report. His skin was gray, and his usually composed expression had been replaced by one of pain. He had a stick in one hand, which he was leaning heavily on, and as he shifted his weight to his other foot, he flinched. Will was shocked by the transformation, wondering if some sickness had come upon him. “My lord,” he began, then fell silent as Guillaume leveled him with a damning stare.

“Did you do it?” Guillaume’s voice was husky, with pain or emotion Will wasn’t sure.

“My lord, if I may ask, why am I here?”

“Did you betray me?” murmured the grand master. “Did you meet with Amir Kalawun and warn him of our plan?” His face changed when Will didn’t respond, rage causing color to leap into his waxy cheeks.
“Did you?”

Will let out a small breath, and with it a word. “Yes.”

Guillaume looked taken aback, as if he hadn’t been expecting this response or, at any rate, the swiftness of it. But his fury quickly returned. “Explain yourself.”

Will looked at the floor. He felt the stone wall at his back and the vibration of the sea shuddering through him. He wavered, wondering how he could admit to the head of the Temple that he had disobeyed his orders and, worse, had actively worked against him.
You face a traitor’s death,
a voice whispered warningly inside him. But he was exhausted from his journey, exhausted by the lies and the questions, the uncertainty and secrecy. Touching the wall with his fingertips as if its substantiality would somehow imbue him with the strength he needed, he raised his head and met the grand master’s stare. “I believed that if we took the Stone we would be destroyed: the Temple, Acre.” He spread his hands. “Every one of us. I couldn’t see how we could hope to withstand the Muslims’ fury over such an act. I felt it would be the end of us.”

“You felt?” said Guillaume, his voice shaking with pent-up violence. He took a step toward Will, whipping up the stick and brandishing it. “I do not care what you felt! You are a knight! A commander, yes, but under me, subject to my wishes, my orders. Whether you thought them right or wrong you should have obeyed them. Without question. Without
fail
!” Guillaume paused to draw breath, but he wasn’t finished. “I was elected by the council of thirteen to this position. I took a vow to lead this order, to do what is best for us, for Christendom. And to this end, my word is law.”

“I took a vow also, my lord,” said Will, anger jolting unexpectedly through him, making his own voice rise. “I pledged obedience to you and to all those above me at my inception, but I also swore an oath to keep safe the Kingdom of Jerusalem. In doing what you asked, I had to break one of those vows.” His words rang in the tiny chamber. “The only choice I had was which.”

Guillaume stared at Will in what looked like shock. His lips parted and his eyes glittered in the torch flames.

“I did what I believed was right, my lord,” continued Will, quieter now. “And I thought that perhaps you . . .” He faltered, then steeled himself. “I thought you weren’t acting entirely under your own volition. You told me there were others involved in this. I guessed they weren’t from our order.”

Guillaume’s free hand drifted to his side and he looked pained again. He took a few paces back and leaned against the damp wall opposite Will. “No, they weren’t,” he muttered. “How did you meet with Amir Kalawun?” he said suddenly. “Why would he even speak with you?”