The Spymaster's Protection (22 page)

Lucien stiffened visibly upon hearing Gabrielle called such a
name. “I have offered her protection, as has Brother Giles de Chancery. The
patriarch granted her sanctuary with the Order of St. John. Her husband….”

“Has nothing to do with these attacks on her!” de Ridefort
insisted, his face red with anger. “I have told you it is Lady Silvia—
possibly. It could also be that you have spread this rumor to discredit Reynald
and justify a liaison with his wife. You have no business being here with her,
in a room next to hers, no less. You have violated your vows, brother!”

“I am not here to conduct a liaison with the lady. She came
with friends to visit Lady Eschiva, and I am giving her my protection, my
escort.”

“By God, that is rot, de Aubric!” de Ridefort shouted at
Lucien, then slapped him across the cheek. “The woman is an adulterous whore
and you will send her back to her husband immediately.”

Lucien stood his ground and took a second blow from his
superior, but a mocking grin accompanied the challenging look he sent the Grand
Master. “Gabrielle de Châtillon is a good and virtuous woman who has been
sorely abused by her husband. I will not send her home to be murdered so that
he can marry his mistress. He will be free of her soon enough when the pope
annuls his marriage to her. And need I remind you,
Master
,” he said,
using the term disparagingly, “that it is against our Rule to raise your hand
to a fellow brother.”

De Ridefort raised his hand once more, but this time Lucien
met it with an iron grip.

“You half-breed Moor bastard! I will see you punished for
this! This time you have trespassed too far. I am putting you under an edict of
loss of habit. You will not be allowed to go into battle with us on the morrow.
You will remain here, under house arrest. When we return, you will accompany us
to Jerusalem in irons, there to suffer loss of you armor, horses, and habit.
You will do penance all the days of the week for as long as I deem appropriate.
You will fast three days a week, work with the slaves, and eat off the ground.
Corporal punishment will be delivered each week before your brothers for a year
and a day or until I choose to show mercy. All rank, position, and privilege
will be taken from you, Lucien de Aubric.”

Lucien simply shook his head, unsurprised that de Ridefort had
chosen to find him guilty of offense and pass judgment here in Lord Raymond’s
bailey. The penance he had imposed did not dispel him from the Order, but it
was the next harshest one. It was meant to be a severe humiliation. It stripped
the brother of all honor, all position, and all respect in the Order. Never
again could that brother hold office or be trusted by his brethren to do
anything important.

Though Lucien was not sure which violation of rule he was
deemed guilty of, he imagined, in the end, it was his independence that the
Grand Master hated most. And while Lucien knew that the rank and file Templar
would be severely punished for the freedom he exercised, he did not know any
other way to do the job assigned him by Master de Torroja, who had, afterall,
set up the structure of the position. Since his election as Grand Master, de
Ridefort had complained, but never bothered to alter those parameters; no doubt
because the information Lucien supplied him and the royal house with was too
valuable and had been too useful. He did not believe it would do any good,
though, to remind the man of all of this. The Grand Master’s mind was too set,
as Lucien’s was. Still, he needed to argue one point and inform him of another.

“You have not decreed this through a tribunal, de Ridefort, and
I no longer recognize your authority over me, for I relinquish my vows as a
Templar. You are a fool to prevent my work for the Order at this crucial time.
Horse, habit, and armor you may have back this very night. But my work and my
networks are invaluable, and I will not let you take them from the kingdom as
we prepare for war. I have work to do, and I intend to be about it. Do not
waste valuable resources trying to restrain me. Already you will squander good
men on the morrow in a suicide mission. This I sadly cannot stop, but know that
what you do tomorrow will seriously cripple our chances of winning this war.
I’m sure the sultan will be most pleased with the men you will allow him to
slay.”

“Do you dare call me a traitor?”

“I do not.”

It had simply been an angry barb, one better left unsaid,
Lucien admonished himself. Seeing no point in arguing further, Lucien turned
and walked toward the keep. Behind him, he heard the Grand Master bellowing at
him. He knew he would send two brothers to demand he be incarcerated, but
Raymond would never allow it. Of that, Lucien was certain. Nor did he fear any
reprisal from any other quarter. The kingdom would soon be too busy simply
trying to muster its forces for war. King Guy would never be as unwise as de
Ridefort to sacrifice the information Lucien was able to provide him.

It wasn’t arrogance, though, that prompted the certainty of
his fate. It was alliances formed over the years that were based on mutual
benefit and, sometimes, even friendship. And unlike his brethren, Lucien had
never made the emotional and religious commitment to the Order that many had.
He did not fear excommunication. His faith in God was not subject to the Rule
of the Order. His self-esteem was not dependent on the Order, either. He would not
suffer the humiliation many suffered upon loss of habit. He would regret the
loss of friendships from men like Conrad, who would no longer be allowed to
speak to him, but that was all. Well, he thought ruefully, losing his armor and
horse would be a difficult penalty, but he would replace them somehow.

Truth be told, his deepest loyalties were not even based in
the Order any longer. Those had died upon the death of his friend and mentor,
Arnold de Torroja. De Ridefort had never earned his respect. It actually felt
good to walk away from service to such an unprincipled man.

The allegiance he held most important was to his fellow
Christian citizens in the kingdom and to a higher heavenly authority, but he
often wondered about the other part of himself, the half-breed Arab de Ridefort
had referred to him as. Did he owe his mother’s people anything?

As he stood on the lower steps to Raymond’s great square keep,
he looked up to the third floor. Lady Gabrielle’s window shutters were closed,
but she could have witnessed the scene in the courtyard, he supposed. de
Ridefort was certainly bellowing loud enough to wake the dead. Thinking of her
reminded him that in the past few weeks, his loyalty had shifted to include the
beautiful, blue-eyed woman he had rescued in the desert.

She was the real reason he would not let de Ridefort take him
back to Jerusalem. He had promised her his protection, and he meant to keep
that promise.

It was a terrible time for him to want her as much as he did,
but what did the heart know of timelines? Lucien was suddenly struck by the
words that had defined his dilemma. And, by the Virgin, it was
his heart
and not just his body involved here!

“Brother Lucien!”

He turned at the sound of his name being called out from
behind. It was Brother Conrad. Master de Ridefort had disappeared. Lucien
stopped and waited for his friend to catch up to him.

“Lucien, it is all over the barracks what happened between you
and the Grand Master,” his German friend announced, alarm clearly evident on
his fair face. “Is it true? Has de Ridefort put you under the edict of loss of
habit? Are you under arrest?”

Lucien nodded an affirmation. “He did, but I am leaving the
Order. Come with me, and I will turn my habit, armor, and horse over to you.”

“Aw, Lucien. I warned you de Châtillon’s wife would bring you
nothing but trouble.”

“She has nothing to do with my decision. It has been a long
time in coming. I have been discontent since Master de Torroja’s death. I did
not enter the Order out of an act of faith, like you, my friend. I entered
because I had nowhere else to go.”

“And now you do?”

“Not necessarily, but I am ready to find my own way, my own
place.”

“And will that include Lady de Châtillon?”

“To be honest, it might, but it does not at this moment. I
will not abandon my duties to the kingdom. And de Ridefort is not going to make
me submit to his plans for me. He will have to arrest me, and I do not think
that will happen.”

“At the moment, he is busy arranging messages to the garrison
at Caco and Nazareth. He has ordered all of us, Templar and Hospitaller, alike,
to prepare to move after matins.”

Lucien had expected nothing less. de Ridefort had only pushed
up the time of departure from dawn to midnight. “You must take great care,
Conrad. This, in my opinion, is a suicide mission. I saw over six hundred
Saracen troops across the lake. I do not know how many al-Afdal will send on
the morrow in this
envoy
to Acre, but de Ridefort will not be dissuaded
from this foolish attack. The man is not thinking of the bigger picture; only
of his petty zealotry and desires.”

“I am bound to follow his orders, Lucien,” Conrad confessed
unhappily.

“I know, my friend.” Lucien threw an arm around the broad
shoulders of his longtime friend and gave him a one-armed hug. “I will offer
prayers for your safety tomorrow.” He very much feared that on the morrow, he
would lose this man and Giles de Chancery in a senseless raid that would
ultimately serve no one’s purpose but Saladin’s. “Now, come with me to my
room.”

When Lucien and Conrad entered the great hall of Count
Raymond’s keep, they were immediately greeted by Brother Giles and the baron.
Lucien smiled grimly, seeing from their expressions that the two men had
already heard what had occurred outside.

“It is all over the yard,” the Hospitaller stated, echoing
Conrad’s earlier comment.

“Has the Grand Master truly stripped you of habit and
subjected you to house arrest?”

“He has,” Brother Conrad responded, visibly angered by the
impromptu judgment.

“Well, you’ll not be under arrest in
my
house!” Count
Raymond announced loudly enough for the entire hall to hear, though no one
remained in the room, except them. “And I will gladly re-supply you with horse
and armor, Lucien. I would be honored to take you into my service.”

Lucien was deeply touched by Count Raymond’s offer and the
concerned support of all three of his friends, but he would not be the source
of further friction among them and the Order. “I have told the Grand Master
that I renounce my vows as a Templar. And I would be glad to pay you for horse
and armor, Lord Raymond, for I intend to continue my duties to the crown and
kingdom, at least until this crisis is over. I will simply do them now as a
free lance.” Lucien looked to Brothers Giles and Conrad. “I will not be allowed
to ride with you tomorrow, but if either of you can turn the grand masters
aside from this foolhardy raid, I implore you to do so. Engaging the Saracens
now serves no purpose, and their numbers are too great against what troops de
Ridefort might be able to raise on such short notice.”

Count Raymond’s aging face continued to be furrowed with
anger. “I will go to talk to Gérard to see what I can do to convince the fool
to leave al-Afdal’s envoy alone.”

“You may try, my lord,” Lucien responded with a hopeless shake
of his head. “But he will not listen to you.”

“I must try,” the count argued resolutely. “And you and I must
ride out in the morning to see if we can stop this, Lucien.”

Lucien dropped his head in a gesture of brief accord, then turned
toward the stairs. “I am tired and have yet to do a couple of things. I will
meet you here, in the hall, at dawn, my lord.” Turning, he gestured to his
friend. “Conrad, come upstairs with me and I will give you my Templar gear.”

The count halted him with a hand on his forearm. “I will have
weapons and armor sent up to you this evening. And you will not pay for
anything, my friend. I owe you too much to accept your coin, Sir de Aubric.”

Lucien acknowledged the count’s generosity with a weary, but
grateful smile.
Sir
de Aubric. Despite all that had happened tonight,
the secular designation sounded good.

+++

After Conrad left, Lucien sank down on the edge of the bed in
his room and braced his elbows on his knees. Staring at the patterns in the
Persian carpet thrown over the stone floor, he raked both hands through his
hair wearily.

It had been a long day. He’d covered many dusty miles, only to
return to his superior’s foolhardy, reckless wrath. A man of more even
temperament and prudent judgment would have seen the insanity of confronting a
small army with a handful of men. It was a cause of great pride to all Templars
that their bravery was renowned even among the Saracens, but the ill-considered,
rash attack de Ridefort planned was not bravery, in Lucien’s estimation. It was
suicidal!

Even now he could hear them preparing to leave for Caco, then
Nazareth. The courtyard had been bustling with activity all evening. For
Lucien, it was a replay of Jacob’s Ford all over again; valiant men being sent
blindly into a situation that would, in all likelihood, end in most of their
deaths because it was poorly planned and motivated by one man’s unholy pride
and blind zealotry.

Lucien dropped his head into his hands, sick at heart that he
could not stop the slaughter that seemed so likely to occur but a few hours
hence.

He did not hear the door to Gabrielle’s room open. Nor did he
see her entrance into his chamber. It was not until he heard her voice that he
lifted his head.

“Lucien, what is happening outside?”

Dressed for bed, she stood in the doorway that connected their
rooms, looking hesitant to enter. He caught a glimpse of the white muslin gown
beneath her robe, and smiled. It was the one he had purchased for her at the
bazaar today on his way through town.