01 - Murder in the Holy City

by Simon Beaufort

  “Quiet!”

  It did not sound like Akira’s voice, and Akira went obligingly silent. Geoffrey leaned against the wall, trying to bring his breathing under control, and heard the scrape of stone on wood. Someone was moving the rocks from the door! He wanted to cry out in relief, but how could he know it was not Armand coming to finish him off quietly under cover of darkness? But that was ridiculous! Armand had no need to do anything so risky, when all he had to do was wait patiently for a few days.

  The sound came again, accompanied by a grunt in a familiar voice. Roger! Geoffrey pressed further back against the wall, wondering what was happening now. He was unarmed, having been made to drop his dagger and sword in Akira’s shop; there was no way he could best Roger in an unarmed fight at any time, but especially now when his limbs felt like jelly and he was gasping for breath like a landed fish.

  Then the door was thrown open, and the sweet, warm air of Armand’s garden wafted into the tunnel. Geoffrey saw Roger’s great bulk silhouetted against the pre-dawn sky, and tensed himself.

  “Geoff? Are you there, lad? It is me, Roger!” He took a step inside. “Geoffrey!” he called urgently.

  “I’m here,” came Akira’s ingratiating voice from near Roger’s knees.

  “Where is Geoffrey?” demanded Roger, reaching down and hauling Akira to his feet with a fistful of his grimy tunic. “If you have done anything to him, I will kill you!”

  “There he is!” came another familiar voice, accompanied by a pointing finger. Melisende! Geoffrey saw Roger peer into the darkness, and then felt his arm grabbed as he was dragged outside.

  Geoffrey was unresisting, wondering what was to happen next.

  “Here you are, lad,” said Roger, thrusting a water bag at him. “Now, take some deep breaths. Are you all right? If that foul butcher has harmed you, I will tear him into little pieces …”

  “I didn’t do nothing to him!” protested Akira. “He’s scarcely said a word to me the whole time we’ve been here, regardless of the fact that I’ve been telling him everything about me!”

  “I am sure he has been right entertained,” said Roger dryly.

  “You are making too much noise!” whispered Melisende urgently. She turned to Geoffrey. “Drink some water. You will feel better in a moment.”

  “We do not have much time,” said Roger, glancing up at the sky. “Geoff? Look lively! We have work to do!”

  Geoffrey sipped at the water, staring up at the speckle of stars in the lightening sky, wondering if he were dreaming. He took a deep breath, then another, and felt the strength returning to his limbs. This process was speeded along by a sudden and unexpected thump on the back by Roger, which brought tears to his eyes.

  “Come on, lad, pull yourself together!” hissed Roger urgently.

  “I don’t understand,” said Geoffrey, confused. “Why are you not off with Hugh?”

  “How else would we have escaped?” whispered Roger. “I thought they meant to run us through there and then, and my sole object was to get a sword to protect us. Did you not understand the message I shouted to you?”

  “See you in hell?” queried Geoffrey, his mind working sluggishly.

  “Yes!” said Roger. “I thought you would work that out, you being so learned and all. You told me once that your vision of hell was being lost in deep airless tunnels. So, I shouted that I would see you in one, to let you know I would come for you. You did not understand?” He looked crestfallen.

  “It was rather obscure,” said Geoffrey, weakly. He supposed he might have grasped Roger’s hidden message had he been anywhere but a cave, since he found caves were the last places in which he could think clearly.

  “Well, I could not exactly shout ‘Hang on, lad, I will be back for you later,’ could I?” said Roger, somewhat belligerently. “I intended to come before now, but it has been chaotic at the citadel. Hugh has had all his men mount up and head out—he says for a desert patrol, but he means to kill the Advocate. He has scarcely let me out of his sight, since I think he was suspicious of the way I abandoned you at Akira’s. But as they rode out, I was able to slip away. I really did come as soon as I could,” he said gently, patting Geoffrey’s arm in a rough gesture of affection.

  Geoffrey looked into Roger’s blunt, honest features peering down at him in concern, and wondered how he could have been so utterly wrong about his friends. Melisende stood to one side, watching him anxiously. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes and took another deep breath.

  “But how did you know to come here?” he asked, gesturing at the garden.

  “Hugh levered the ring-pull out of the trapdoor in Akira’s shop,” said Roger, grudgingly admiring. “Cunning devil knew that no one would ever prise that great block of stone up without it. But while I was waiting for you to come back to Mistress Melisende’s home yesterday, Maria and I had a long time for chatting. She told me that Hugh and Adam had hauled Pius’s body along some tunnel to dump it in Akira’s house, while she went to open the trapdoor in the cellar. But she refused to tell me where the tunnel came out. As soon as I could get away from Hugh, I went to see if Mistress Melisende here might know.”

  Melisende gave a shrug. “Fortunately, Maria had mentioned it to me once, when she told me some story of how she had escaped from the cellar after Akira had locked her in. I came with Sir Roger to make sure he found the right garden.” She smiled at Geoffrey, who forced himself to smile back.

  “That Maria!” began Akira, with a shake of his greasy head. “But we shouldn’t hang around here. That Armand don’t like Akira in his garden.”

  “Armand has gone with the rest,” said Roger, “but you are right—we have no time to waste. Follow me.”

  Geoffrey, Melisende, and Akira fell in behind Roger, who led them around the edge of the garden to a tree next to the wall. He scaled it quickly and prepared to drop over the other side.

  “Here! Wait a minute,” squeaked the butcher. “Akira can’t get up that!”

  While Geoffrey pushed from underneath and Roger heaved from above, Akira disappeared over the wall in a cacophony of curses and groans. Melisende was up the tree like a monkey, hauling up her skirts to reveal strong, white legs. Geoffrey followed them over and saw he was in the street next to the one where Akira had his shop.

  “Is this as far as that tunnel went?” asked Geoffrey in bewilderment. “It felt as though we were virtually outside the city walls.”

  “I told you it wasn’t far,” said Akira with a sloppy sniff. “And I told you it could be miles, depending on how you takes to that sort of thing. You took to it worse than anyone I’ve ever brought there—you probably expected to come out in Normandy!”

  He gave a guttural chuckle and scuttled away into the night. After a moment, he came back.

  “Where shall I go?” he asked, helplessly. “That Maria is still at large, and that Adam might come back to get me.”

  “Maria is locked up at the citadel, and Adam has gone with Hugh,” said Roger. “You will be safe at home, Akira.”

  Akira gave him a grin revealing some impressively worn teeth. “Akira likes you,” he said to the large knight. “You ever need a nice bit o’ lean meat, you know where to come.”

  He slithered away into the darkness a second time.

  “Well, he likes me. That is a relief,” said Roger, watching the hunched shape disappear down the shadowy street.

  “You had better send word to Uncle Daimbert,” said Geoffrey to Melisende. “Tell him that Hugh plans to kill the Advocate, and that we will try to stop him.”

  “Are you sure that is the best course of action?” asked Melisende. “It might be better for the city to have a change in leadership. Everyone is discontented with the Advocate because he is so weak, and as long as he is in power, the city remains vulnerable to attack from the Saracens. Think about how the Crusaders slaughtered the Arabs when the city fell. If the Saracens attacked us now, there would be no quarter for any Christian in Jerusalem—man, woman, or child.”


  That was certainly true, thought Geoffrey. The shock and outrage at the bloody massacre of innocent Arab citizens by Christians a year before would be avenged ruthlessly by the Saracens. If the city fell, there would not be a Christian left alive to tell the story.

  “Your friend—Sir Hugh—is not to be trusted, obviously, but he is right on this count,” Melisende continued. “We need a strong leader to rule.”

  “But Hugh is talking about murder,” objected Geoffrey. “And he says he will put Bohemond on the throne, but Bohemond is away in the north—he is not here to take advantage of the vacant crown. Neither is your uncle, who is also away from Jerusalem. Nor even is Tancred. The Saracens will not hesitate to attack the city if they know it does not have a leader. The murder of the Advocate could well bring about the very massacre you hope to avoid.”

  She studied him intently, a slight frown on her face, and then shrugged. “You could be right,” she said eventually. She gave him a wry grin. “As usual. Uncle left for Haifa yesterday morning. I will send word to him and to Tancred too. But in the meantime, will you hunt this Hugh down?” Geoffrey nodded. “Then be careful.” She leaned toward him, gave him a furtive kiss on the cheek, and was gone into the night, heading for the Patriarch’s Palace.

  “You are in with a chance there, lad,” said Roger, beginning to stride toward the citadel. Geoffrey fell into step next to him, his strength and composure returning in leaps and bounds.

  “That is twice you have saved my life in as many days,” he said to the burly Englishman.

  “You have done the same for me in the past,” said Roger comfortably.

  “Oh God!” said Geoffrey as they walked. “What a mess! I doubted you. And I could not have been more wrong.”

  “Aye, lad,” said Roger. “I sensed something was up when we went to Abdul’s together. But even with doubts about my innocence, you still got me out of that mess with Eveline. I bear you no ill feelings for suspecting me of being the killer.”

  Roger’s easy forgiveness made Geoffrey cringe with guilt.

  “That business with Eveline was probably Hugh’s doing, too,” said Roger, when Geoffrey did not reply.

  “No,” said Geoffrey. “That had to be Courrances. He had probably come to believe that one, or all, of us three was responsible for the murders, and he wanted us out of the way. He planned that you should be found fast asleep with a dead whore by your side, while I was to be killed during the riot. Had Hugh been with us, doubtless there would have been something arranged for him too. But I know you. You do not usually fall asleep on your whores—especially after paying for them. As we left the room through the window, some wine spilled on my sleeve, and there was some kind of white powder in it. I am fairly sure it was drugged, which also explains why you were sick and pathetic when we dealt with Eveline’s body. And it was peculiar that a fight should break out so unexpectedly. The knights in the lower room were quiet when we arrived. I think it was started deliberately by Courrances and d’Aumale.”

  “I saw d’Aumale at Abdul’s Pleasure Palace,” said Roger, “but not Courrances.”

  “Yes, you did,” said Geoffrey. “Running to lock me in the burning stable.”

  “But how could they know we would be there?” asked Roger. “It is not as if we have a regular visiting time. How could they plan so quickly?”

  “Because Hugh probably told Courrances what we were doing,” said Geoffrey. “And he could have worked it out anyway. We knew Warner and d’Aumale were at Abdul’s the night Marius was killed, because Warner admitted as much to us in the chapel. Courrances would guess we would want to check their alibis and so would pay a visit to Abdul.”

  “But why did Courrances want us out of the way all of a sudden?”

  “Because he, like us, has concluded that the person behind these killings was a knight at the citadel. Not an Arab, as he kept insisting. Not the Greeks. Not the Jews. I have no idea what his evidence might be, but he must have narrowed down his list of suspects to you and me. And perhaps to Hugh too. I suppose he considered the murder of Marius in my chamber to be the most vital clue, and went from there.”

  “When I was waiting for you at Melisende’s house, I did a lot of thinking,” said Roger. “I just assumed the business at Abdul’s Pleasure Palace was Hugh’s doing. It was obvious you were getting close, and then he would have no choice but to get you out of the way. And me too.”

  “And we told him our findings every step of the way,” said Geoffrey bitterly. “As long as we kept talking to him, he knew he had nothing to fear. He would probably far rather we were investigating, telling him exactly what we had discovered, than any of the Patriarch’s scribes.”

  They walked in silence for a while, Geoffrey still breathing deeply, forcing the memory of Akira’s tunnel from his mind.

  “Now that Hugh has fled,” said Geoffrey, thinking about the slender Norman’s emptied chest, “the Advocate will be safe as long as he remains in the citadel. Even all Hugh’s soldiers will not be able to attack him successfully if he stays within the castle walls. So, why are we rushing to apprehend Hugh now?”

  “But the Advocate is not in the citadel!” said Roger, turning to look at him in sudden concern. “He left for Jaffa while you were out chasing Saracens. And Hugh means to kill him as he and his retinue travel back to Jerusalem.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  At the citadel, all was in chaos after the hurried departure of Hugh and his men. Geoffrey winced when he recalled how Hugh had drilled his soldiers rigorously, while most of the knights let sword drill and archery practice slip. Hugh had apparently decided to take the fate of the Holy Land into his own hands months before the murders had occurred. And Geoffrey’s investigation had forced him into action before he was ready, since it would have been better for him to have had Bohemond waiting in the wings, rather than far away in Antioch. But it had probably taken little organisation: his troops were ready, and the empty chest in his room suggested he had been packed and ready to act for some time.

  Geoffrey called for Helbye, and ordered him to prepare his men and Roger’s for immediate pursuit of Hugh’s cavalcade. The bailey erupted into activity once more, and several knights, intrigued by the second spurt of activity, came to see what was going on. Some were Bohemond’s men, and friends of Roger. When Roger explained what had happened, they shouted orders to their own men to make ready, for everyone knew a vacant throne would do Bohemond no good at all when he was not there to take it.

  “I suppose we should talk to Maria before we go,” said Geoffrey, as he and Roger ran to their own chambers to don full armour and grab as many weapons as they could realistically carry. “She might be able to fill in some details about this vile business.”

  “I left her in the care of Tom Wolfram and Ned Fletcher,” said Roger. “I had a feeling Hugh might try to visit her too, so I told them to let no one see her but me. You know Fletcher—he will take that quite literally, and Hugh will not get past him.”

  Still buckling his padded surcoat over his chain mail, Geoffrey strode across the bailey, followed closely by Roger, to the low arch beyond which a narrow flight of steps led to the citadel prison. When he saw the gloomy opening and the rock-hewn walls, he was horribly reminded of the tunnels under the city, and almost turned back. But Roger pressing behind him, and the knowledge that the prison comprised three well-lit and reasonably large rooms, gave him the courage to enter.

  The cells were relatively empty and totally silent. Geoffrey was wary. The cells were seldom silent. They were not only used for criminals from the city, but for soldiers who transgressed the Advocate’s few, but rigidly enforced, rules. There were some soldiers there now, standing together in a soundless huddle in the furthest cell.

  “They left with the first cavalcade,” one called, peering at them through the bars on the door. “You might yet catch them if you hurry.”

  “God’s teeth!” swore Geoffrey, staring in horror at the body of Ned Fletcher. He glanced into the cell
and saw that Maria was dead too, her head twisted at an impossible angle and her pretty face marred by glassy eyes and gaping mouth. Around her neck glittered the cheap metal locket that Daimbert had given Roger, and that Roger had exchanged for a night of pleasure with the unfortunate Eveline.

  Roger took a hissing breath and turned to the prisoners.

  “You might still catch them,” urged one of them.

  “Them?” asked Geoffrey, his shock turning to a cold anger. Ned Fletcher had been from his home manor of Goodrich, and he had grown fond of the sturdy, reliable soldier over the years.

  “Sir Hugh and Tom Wolfram,” the prisoner replied. “He stabbed Ned, and then went in and broke that lass’s neck. She screamed at him to let her live, but he had no mercy!”

  “Who was it?” demanded Geoffrey. “Which of them killed Ned?”

  “Tom Wolfram!” chorused the soldiers in exasperation. One of them continued. “Then Sir Hugh came in, saw what Wolfram had done, and started going mad. He yelled and shouted at Wolfram that he was a fool. Then he and Wolfram were off.”

  “This is my fault!” said Roger bitterly, turning to Geoffrey. “If I had thought more carefully, I would have guessed that Maria would never be safe here—although she did not seem overly concerned when I arrested her. She probably believed Hugh would rescue her. If I had been more cautious, she and Ned would still be alive!”

  “I doubt it,” said Geoffrey with quiet fury, giving vent to his own anger and frustration. “Hugh is not the only traitor here it seems. Wolfram too is guilty. Maria was doomed the instant she stepped into the citadel.”

  “Wolfram!” said Roger, his voice hoarse with the shock of it all. “And how has he come to be involved?”

  “The same way as the others,” said Geoffrey angrily. “Seduced by the promise of rewards beyond his wildest dreams. Or perhaps I drove him to it by my insistence that he wear his chain mail! Who knows?” He slammed one mailed fist into the other. “But I should have guessed! It was Wolfram who told me to go to see Barlow when the lad was drunk. I thought then that you had seized the opportunity to kill Marius, but the incident afforded Wolfram the opportunity to buy time to tell Hugh that we were back. Perhaps it was even Hugh’s idea, so that I would begin to suspect you.”