Crusade (62 page)

His eyes were closed and he was starting to drift when he heard the laughter again, this time closer. He opened his eyes, too late, as a shock of water splashed across his neck and chest. He sat up with a gasp and saw a grinning face and a flash of gold that was gone in an instant.

“Right,” he said, pushing himself to his feet.

His attacker shrieked, half in fear, half in triumph. Picking up her skirts, her long legs took her racing away across the sand, diamond glints of water dripping from her hands.

Will caught her at the shore. Grabbing her around the waist, he hauled her screaming into the air. Throwing her over his shoulder, he waded into the foaming water, soaking his linen hose.

“No!
Don’t!
”

“Did you say something?” He waded forward, the water sloshing up to his knees. The rushing hiss of the green waves was loud around them.

“I’m sorry!” shouted his attacker, yelling now, helpless with laughter.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Father!”

Will chuckled and headed for the shore, where he swung his daughter down into the shallows. She was breathing rapidly, her face flushed. She slapped his arm and grinned. Together, they walked back up the beach, hands entwined.

“Can we do this again soon, Father?”

Will glanced at his daughter and smiled. “I’m sure we can.”

Her hand squeezed tighter and she stopped abruptly. “I wish we could do more.”

Will halted too. Only a short while ago, it seemed, he would have crouched down to talk to her. Now though, she was already at his chest in height, and growing fast. Instead, he put a finger to her pointed chin and tipped it gently up until her eyes were fixed on his. They were navy blue, the color of a stormy spring sea. “You understand why, don’t you, Rose?”

“Because of the Temple,” she said quietly, her eyes flicking away.

“I would see you every single day if I could,” Will murmured. “But I can’t.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “What I can promise is to try and make each day we spend together as perfect as this one.”

“Do you swear?” Rose asked him, her eyes narrowing seriously.

Now Will did lower himself. Dropping to one knee, he put a hand over his heart. “I swear.”

A smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. “I accept your oath.”

“Will.”

Will and Rose turned at the call to see Elwen a short distance up the beach by their clothes and the basket of food they had brought. With one hand she shielded her eyes from the sun; the other was pointing toward the cypress trees. Will saw a rider dressed in white, moving down onto the dunes. There was a flash of red on the man’s chest, and Will felt his breath catch in his throat as he saw the splayed cross. He stood, then realized that he knew the rider. Relieved, he took Rose’s hand and jogged to Elwen as the Templar made a beeline for them.

“It’s all right,” Will called. “It’s only Robert.”

Elwen rolled her eyes as he approached. “I can see that.” Her skirts were damp from where she had been jumping the waves with her daughter, and they swished heavily around her ankles. She cast a tall, graceful silhouette in the sunlight. Elwen’s beauty, when she was younger, had a purity and softness to it. Now it had power. At forty-one, her face was fuller, stronger, the lines more assured, more defined, and her hair was a darker, richer shade of gold. “Look at you both. You’re wet through.”

“It’s Father’s fault,” said Rose immediately.

“It usually is,” replied Elwen.

Robert dismounted and led his horse toward them. “Afternoon,” he called, nodding to Elwen and flashing a grin at Rose, who blushed furiously and turned away, intently studying something in the sand at her feet.

“Is something wrong?” Will asked, heading to meet him.

“No. But the grand master is looking for you. I thought I’d better warn you in case someone else came searching for you on his behalf.” He glanced at Elwen and Rose.

“Thank you,” said Will gratefully.

“Thank Simon. He told me where I’d find you.” Robert scanned the beach. “Beautiful, isn’t it? I don’t know why I don’t come down here myself.” He looked back at Will. “Oh, that’s right, because you work me too damn hard.”

“I can work you a lot harder if I’ve a mind to. Give me a moment.” Will walked back to where Elwen was struggling to get Rose into a cap.

She looked sideways at him, ignoring the protests of her daughter. “What’s the matter?”

“I have to get back. I’m sorry.”

Elwen shook her head. “Don’t be. It’s been a lovely day.” She nodded south to where the clouds were building. “It looks like it might storm soon anyway. Rose, please!” she said, scraping Rose’s gold hair back from her face, sticky with sea salt.

“It itches!” complained Rose.

“I seem to remember you very rarely wore yours,” Will told Elwen.

Rose shot Elwen a defiant look.

“Thank you very much,” murmured Elwen to Will. She sighed and looked at her daughter. “All right, you can keep it off until we’re at the city.” Rose skipped triumphantly up the beach, her long hair flying, whilst Elwen gathered the supplies and Will shook sand from his surcoat and mantle. “When will we see you again?” Elwen asked him, as they headed toward Robert, leaving the glittering sea behind them.

“Soon.”

Elwen said nothing for a few moments, then she smiled. “Catarina came to the house yesterday with her new baby. Rose spent the whole day pretending to be her mother.” Elwen was laughing. “I wish you could have seen her. She was so solemn!”

Will glanced at her, hearing something sad in her laugh. “You don’t ever wish that we’d had more?” He stopped when she didn’t answer. “Do you?”

“No,” replied Elwen, after a pause. She raised a cool hand to his cheek. “No,” she repeated, firmer now. “Having you and Rose in my life is enough for me. More than enough.”

The four of them walked together along a dusty track between the cypress trees, Robert leading his horse, until they reached Acre’s vast walls. Once through Patriarch’s Gate, they separated, Elwen and Rose heading for the Venetian quarter, Will and Robert veering toward the Temple.

After kissing his wife and daughter good-bye, Will shrugged on his mantle and surcoat. “Any idea why de Beaujeu wants to see me?” he asked Robert, his manner now businesslike.

Robert shook his head. “But I do know the Venetian consul was at the preceptory this morning, meeting with the grand master.”

Will frowned speculatively. “Was anyone else in the meeting?”

“The seneschal was with de Beaujeu in his chambers, but he was dismissed when the consul arrived. That was how I heard. He was quite annoyed.”

“No doubt,” said Will, smiling wryly. The seneschal certainly hadn’t mellowed with age. If anything he had grown more cantankerous than ever, but although Will didn’t like to admit it, he had found the rigid old man to be an invaluable aid, especially in the early years of his leadership over the Anima Templi.

In time, even the seneschal hadn’t been able to deny the reasons why Everard had picked Will to be his replacement. Not only did he have a personal relationship with Kalawun, an alliance which had truly borne fruit now Kalawun was sultan, but as a commander he worked closely with Guillaume de Beaujeu, who, whilst still unaware of the existence of the secret circle within his midst, relied on Will heavily. The other members of the Brethren liked his easy yet earnest style of leadership, and two new additions to their number, after the deaths of two of the older knights, had proved popular. The first was Robert de Paris, and the second, elected five years ago, Hugues de Pairaud, Will and Robert’s childhood comrade, the visitor of the order, who had spent a year in the Holy Land before returning to Paris.

In the decade since Everard had passed on, there had been few great changes or difficulties facing either the Soul of the Temple or Outremer itself. But there had been many little problems, some of which might have threatened to swell into much larger troubles had it not been for the ceaseless peacekeeping mission undertaken by the Brethren. That said, the air of calm that generally pervaded the Crusader capital these days wasn’t solely due to the efforts of the Anima Templi. Three years ago, Charles d’Anjou had died, never having taken up his seat in Acre, which Count Roger had held until Charles had called him back to Sicily, where he faced a rising rebellion against his rule. The king had passed on, leaving his progeny in the middle of a bloody struggle, and in their search for a replacement, the High Court in Acre had looked instead to Henry II, the heir of Hugh of Cyprus. The fourteen-year-old king had arrived in Acre two years earlier, where he had been received with great joy, which had grown even greater when the youth sailed back to Cyprus after his coronation, leaving a capable bailli in his place and Acre’s resident rulers free to do as they pleased.

“Your girls are looking well.”

Will looked at Robert.

The knight shook his head. “I cannot believe how fast Rose is growing.”

“Hmmm,” muttered Will darkly. “Too fast.”

“What?” said Robert, laughing at the pointed stare Will gave him.

“You know what.”

Up ahead, a small company of men appeared from a side street, walking purposefully. Most of them wore the plain, simple garments of servants, but one, who strode before them, was clad in an elegant black cloak, ornately embroidered. He wore a cowl over his head, but as he glanced down the street, Will caught a flash of metal and realized that the man was wearing a mask. It was fitted close to his skull, with black slits for eyes and mouth.

“I cannot help it if your daughter has an eye for me,” Robert was saying. He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “What can I say?”

“I think nothing would be best,” said Will, distracted momentarily by the man in black. Masks were not uncommon and were often used to conceal the disfigurements of diseases such as leprosy, but he had only ever seen them made of cloth or leather. This one was fashioned out of silver. It was almost beautiful, if eerily expressionless.

“Shall I inform the seneschal that you’re meeting with the grand master?”

As the masked man and his entourage crossed the street and moved on, Will looked at Robert. “No, I’ll tell him myself. I have a few matters I need to discuss with him anyway.”

“He really does respect you, you know.”

“He keeps it well hidden,” replied Will gruffly, although he smiled to himself as they walked the streets toward the Temple.

Once in the preceptory, he went straight to the grand master’s palace, but was told that the master was in the gardens, inspecting the season’s harvest. Will found him walking between rows of date palms and peach trees in the torpid shade of the preceptory’s orchard, where huge black bees droned sluggishly around the fruit. There were sergeants in the orchards, gathering peaches in woven baskets.

The grand master saw Will approaching and greeted him with a brisk nod. “Ah, Commander.” The years had been kind to Guillaume, and despite the gray in his hair, he still looked hale and spry. His eyes were a brilliant shade of turquoise against his sun-browned skin. He tossed Will a peach. “Better than last season, don’t you think?”

Will tested the gold-flushed fruit in his hand. It was soft and warm like skin. “It has been a good year.”

Guillaume strode out from under the shade of the branches and into the sunlight, his mantle sweeping the grass. “Walk with me.” Will stepped in beside him, and together they moved out of the orchard, heading for the vegetable plots and storehouses. “Tell me what you know of the situation in Tripoli,” said Guillaume, as they moved alongside rows of fragrant herbs.

Will glanced at him, wondering where this conversation was headed. He thought for a moment. “I know there has been a problem over the rule of the county since its lord, Bohemond, died last year.” When Guillaume didn’t respond, Will continued, sensing the grand master’s expectancy. “Bohemond was succeeded by his sister, Lucia, who arrived from Apulia several months ago to take up her position, but was refused. After Bohemond died, the nobles and merchant families of the County of Tripoli chose to reject his line in favor of a new commune with an elected bailli that would govern itself autonomous of sovereign power.”

Guillaume nodded. “As it stands, this issue might have been resolvable with the appropriate diplomatic interventions, only the Commune of Tripoli, in their infinite wisdom, decided to solicit the Genoese doge for protection, in case Princess Lucia decided to fight her corner. The doge sent a representative with five war galleys to their aid, but what the fools in the commune were not expecting was that the Genoese might have their own agenda. In return for protection, the doge’s representative demanded that the republic be entitled to a greater proportion of the city than that which they already owned. More streets, more housing, larger space in the markets and the harbor.” Guillaume’s voice was dour.

Will knew most of this, but kept quiet, seeing that the grand master wanted to talk.

“Myself and the grand masters of the Knights of St. John and the Teutonics have attempted to persuade the commune to acknowledge Lucia as their ruler. The Venetians are particularly affected by Genoa’s demands and personally asked for my support, but the commune refused to listen to our counsel.” Guillaume looked at Will. “This is a serious situation, one that must be handled with care and consideration. We know, all too well, how easy it is to spark a conflagration between our communities.”

Will nodded. Tripoli, which lay one hundred miles north of Acre, was the second largest city still held by the Franks, making it of vital importance to merchants and citizens alike.

“The Venetian consul came to see me today,” continued Guillaume. “There have been a number of proposals put forward by the Venetian community, both here and in Tripoli. The consul has invited me to a meeting next week where it is hoped a course of action can be decided upon.” Guillaume paused by a bush of strong-smelling coriander and pulled off a couple of dry leaves. He rolled them between his thumb and forefinger and sniffed. “I would like you to join me, Commander.”

THE VENETIAN QUARTER, ACRE, 25 OCTOBER A.D. 1288