The Spymaster's Protection

by S A Monk

  “Several years, and I usually travel with a caravan or a group of pilgrims."

  "By the Cross! You must have a guardian angel on your shoulder!" He simply could not fathom how her husband could leave her so unprotected. It was even more baffling how she had managed to survive such harrowing treks across these bandit-ridden roads. "If your husband will not protect you, what of your father, mi'lady?"

  "He has long forgotten I exist."

  "Who is he?"

  "Armand Chaumont."

  "Ah, Reynald's seneschal and castellan at Montreal."

  "Aye. Have you met him?" Gabrielle sincerely hoped he did not consider either her father or her husband friends.

  The Templars were indebted to Reynald from his years as Prince of Antioch, for he had given them a castle he had captured in Alexandretta. Master de Ridefort, the current Grand Master, was a close friend of Reynald and her father. They had all conspired to put Queen Sibylla and her husband, Guy Lusignan, on the throne in Jerusalem after the death of King Baldwin and his young nephew last year.

  "I have met him. Baldwin, the Leper King, distrusted him immensely, if you will forgive me for saying so. Queen Sibylla and King Guy feel differently, but that is undoubtedly no surprise to you or your house."

  With relief, Gabrielle heard the disdain in his voice for her father and husband. "I have absolutely no interest in the political intrigues of our precarious kingdom. I do know that Saladin is growing in strength, while we bicker and fight over who should rule. Sadly, we have very poor choices since Baldwin the IV died."

  Lucien stared at her appreciatively. "For someone who has absolutely no interest in court intrigue, you at least know who the players are."

  "How could I not? My husband is being called a kingmaker. I live in Jerusalem now, not at Kerak. And I am at court frequently. Queen Sibylla is a generous patron of the orphanage."

  "An interesting woman," he commented, thoroughly intrigued by the unusual woman beside him.

  "Mayhap the men in this kingdom should have let her rule on her own. I have heard she wanted to marry Guy of Lusignan, but few women have any true choices in marriage."

  "Maybe princesses do. She and her mother certainly badgered Baldwin for many months to get his permission to marry Lord Lusignan."

  Gabrielle gave him an icy look. "Well, most noblewomen are sold into marriage, sometimes one after another, from the age of fourteen."

  "Is that how old you were, mi'lady?" Lucien asked gently, knowing he should not care.

  "Aye."

  God's blood! Lucien thought. Reynald would have been two score and five, thirty years older than this young woman! The practice of arranged and bartered marriage had never seemed so abhorrent to Lucien as it did now. Undoubtedly, her father had gained a great deal from the arrangement. Lucien knew he had been minister to King Amalric, and had been gifted with the small fief of Transjordan and the castle of Kerak before Amalric's death. Since Reynald had married this heiress, he had more than tripled the fief, for it was now one of the biggest and most strategic in Palestine. Lord Chaumont was a wealthy and even more powerful man now than he had been a decade and a half ago.

  "You are very straightforward about your feelings, lady. That is uncommon."

  "And unwelcomed, no doubt."

  "Not at all. It is most pleasing to me. Lies and subterfuge compose my life. I have grown weary of them."

  Gabrielle stared at him, surprised and intrigued. She wondered what he did for the Order, but decided not to ask, as she barely knew him. "Well, I doubt you should be conversing with me, frère," she finally concluded. "Your brothers seem a bit perplexed by it." Her eyes shifted to where his men stood near their horses, eating and drinking, but watching them as well. "Templars are forbidden from fraternizing with women, are they not? Are we not too sinful and tempting for any of you to even be near?"

  Lucien responded with a bark of laughter. "So I am constantly reminded, though it is a practice more suited to words than deeds."

  Gabrielle frowned, and he elaborated.

  "We are more soldiers than monks. We are not all cloistered away in moldy, secluded monasteries. We cannot completely distance ourselves from women. Though we are to have no regular discourse with them, it happens occasionally.”

  She wondered if he was a Templar true to all of his monastic vows. While she had lived at Kerak with Reynald, she’d met many who were not men of good and holy repute. She felt compelled to find out more about this one.

  “How long have you been in Outremer, Brother Lucien?"

  “For over a decade, maybe too long," he replied with a weary note in his voice. "I, too, was an orphan. Both of my parents died when our keep was razed by my mother's people. I was taken in by a Templar friend of my father's. I grew to adulthood in one of their preceptories in Iberia."

  "You mention your mother's people," she ventured. "Are you not a Frank?"

  "My father was French. My mother was a Berber Moor from Morocco. They met when he went to Spain to aid the Iberian king’s reconquest. After he and a contingent of Templars took my mother's brother's holding, he married her and stayed to be appointed baron there."

  She sniffed. "So your mother was a spoil of war?"

  "Maybe at first, but my father loved her dearly, and died at her side, defending the home they had recreated together."

  Gabrielle dropped her head in embarrassment, unable to hold his piercingly dark stare. "I am sorry. I had no right to assume…."

  "’Tis of no consequence," he interrupted. "Where do you come from, lady?"

  "I was born in Antioch," she volunteered with a smile, in an attempt to seek absolution for her rudeness. "My father came over with King Louis VII on the Second Crusade. He married my mother, who was born of a French crusader family resettled in Antioch. He and Reynald actually took up the cross together in France. My mother died when I was ten, after we had moved into the castle at Kerak.”

  Lucien stared at her for a long time, then pushed to his feet. "I suppose we should be on our way, else we will not make Jerusalem by nightfall."

  Gabrielle let him help her to her feet and smiled warmly at him. "Thank you for the meal and the conversation, Brother Lucien. Both were most enjoyable.”

  “It has been my pleasure.” His dark eyes followed her as she rounded up the children who were playing near the wagon, deciding that despite the scowling glances from his brothers, he had thoroughly enjoyed his encounter with Reynald de Châtillon’s wife.

  CHAPTER 3

  They rode into Jerusalem through David's Gate since it was nearly a straight path to the headquarters of the Hospitallers. Past the mighty Tower of David, they traveled along the crowded streets of the great city, carving a path through the throngs of people filling them.

  Gabrielle was grateful for the canvas top of the wagon that hid her and the children from prying eyes. If her husband learned of her conspicuity, riding through the city with a wagonload of orphaned children, surrounded most visibly by the white cloaked Knights of the Temple, he would be immensely displeased. Her undertakings were of no concern to him, as long as she refrained from embarrassing him.

  Her infamous husband's rules applied to everyone but himself. He had long ago set her aside for his mistress. And while she cared not a whit about the arrangement, and was, in fact, relieved to be released from her husband's heavy-handed attentions and lascivious appetites, she was frequently reminded of his embarrassing conduct by some of the tongue-waggers at court.

  Still, she always tried to conduct her activities as inconspicuously as possible.

  The Jerusalem commandery of the Knights of the Hospital of Saint John was a sprawling quadrant of buildings. The Church of the Holy Sepulcher stood at the north end of the square, while to the south, the monks' religious house had absorbed the monastery of Saint Anne. The entire complex had been built on the site of the monastery of Saint John the Baptist.

  It included a great hall that was so enormous, it could hold two thousand pilgrims and
several hundred knights. Across from that, was the large orphanage that was run by the brothers and the sisters of Saint John the Baptist. The hospital stood next to it.

  It was operated on an astounding scale, providing every comfort and luxury for the patients it cared for. The Hospitallers believed every man, woman, and child was the Savior, and that it was their Christian duty to serve them as such. They took in everyone who needed care, regardless of race, creed, or gender. The brothers and sisters who served there believed the sick only got better when they were well fed and cared for.

  The infirmary was always crowded, and in need of caring hands. Gabrielle frequently volunteered her time there, as well as at the orphanage. Pilgrims were always welcome at the hospice. The serving brothers of the Hospital worked alongside their Benedictine counterparts in both the hospice and the orphanage.

  The order was split between those who served in the hospital and those who served militarily, but there were some military brothers who did both. Their rules were much more relaxed than the Templars, but they still answered to the same vows, including the promise to protect the Holy Land.

  Both were viewed as the only stable standing armies in Outremer, and both swore their first and foremost allegiance to the Pope. Gabrielle was able to move freely among the brothers of the Hospital. The only area off limits to her was their personal living quarters and dining hall. Otherwise, she had unhindered access to their church, hospice, hospital, and orphanage. Once the wagon came to a halt in their immense, open courtyard, she climbed down out of it, and was immediately greeted by her friend of five years, Brother Giles de Chancery. Though he was a knight and a soldier, he frequently worked with the infirm and homeless.

  She gave the tall lanky monk a warm smile as he rushed up to take her hands in both of his. "Lady Gabrielle! How very good to see you have arrived safely," he exclaimed. "I see you have brought us more needy little ones," he noted as he lifted each of the six children down with a happy chuckle. "But what have you done now? Enlisted the support of our haughty white-robed brothers?" His keen brown eyes swept the assortment of Templars, some mounted, some dismounting.

  "No, Brother Giles," she laughed. "They came upon us as we were being attacked by bandits. I was traveling with a caravan of newly arrived pilgrims and merchants. They had not enlisted an armed guard, so we were most fortunate to be rescued by these kind Templars."

  Brother Giles was an openly friendly man, with a ready smile for nearly everyone. His sandy colored hair and beard complimented a fair skinned face, reddened by years in the desert, but not tanned by it.

  As Brother Lucien came around to the back of the wagon, the Englishman grinned and slapped his thigh. "By the Holy Lance! Brother Lucien! Ne'er would I thought to see you driving a wagon full of orphaned tots!" he laughed uproariously. "However did you get involved with our intrepid Lady de Châtillon?"

  "By happenstance, actually, Brother Giles." Lucien greeted the man he had known for many years with a good-natured slap on the shoulder. "It is as the lady said. We were out on a routine patrol and came across her caravan being attacked. There had been no reports of bandits raiding along the cursed road, so we were taken a bit by surprise."

  "I believe God may have answered my prayer for a guardian angel," Gabrielle responded with an appreciative look at Brother Lucien. "If not for him, I believe the children and I would be dead.”

  "Then we owe him a great debt of gratitude," Brother Giles announced, waving a hand toward the orphanage. "These children would feel a huge void in their lives if not for our lady."

  "So I am beginning to understand," Lucien replied, assessing Gabrielle with open admiration. "I do not approve of her traveling these roads without escort, though. There may come a day when God's angels are busy and unavailable to come to her aid."

  "So we are trying to convince her," the Hospitaller concurred.

  Gabrielle tossed her friend a mutinous look, then turned her attention to the children. "I believe I shall get the children settled in. Thank you very much for aiding us, frère, and God bless you and keep you safe."

  "Mi'lady, should we not escort you to your home after you have settled the children in?" Lucien inquired as she turned to walk away.

  "We will see her safely home when she is finished here," Brother Giles interceded. "May I offer you some refreshments after your dusty journey, Brothers?"

  Lucien looked to his brothers and saw that they appeared eager to depart. He shook his head negatively. "We must get to our own headquarters here to seek food and lodgings for the night. If we hurry, we may be on time for evening meal. Good eve, Brother Giles. I shall endeavor to drop by for a visit in the next few days." He stared after Gabrielle’s departing figure and added a bit disappointedly, "Tell the lady good-bye for me."

  "Most certainly."

  "She was injured in the attack," Lucien informed his black and white cloaked friend. "You probably should have one of your physicians look at her shoulder. She received treatment at your hospice in Jericho. Oh, and this is your wagon. Your brethren in Jericho loaned it to us."

  Brother Giles de Chancery nodded as Lucien swung up onto the big black Arabian horse his Templar brothers had led into the city. If his eyes had not deceived him, he had seen a spark of interest between Lady de Châtillon and Lucien de Aubric. Considering the lady's troubled life, the Hospitaller wondered where that might lead. Certainly, she could use a guardian angel a bit more temporal than those found in God's heavenly domain.

  +++

  Gabrielle stood in front of a silk merchant's stall at one of the busiest marketplaces in Jerusalem the following week, in a dilemma over which color fabric to purchase. Turning to her personal friend and household steward, she held up each length of cloth to ask his opinion. His attention was directed elsewhere, though, and she followed his line of vision. Two Templars were coming down the lane toward them. Their tall broad shouldered bodies were clothed all in white, and neither wore any head covering. Because of it, Gabrielle immediately recognized Brother Lucien de Aubric and his companion from the other day.

  They were an impressive sight in their billowing white mantles. Amidst the earth-tone colors that surrounded them, they stood out markedly. The crimson crosses over their hearts were brilliant against their white surcoats. The polished iron spurs on their leather boots caught the sunlight, glinting like sparks at their feet. Templar broadswords hugged their hips, sheathed in undecorated leather scabbards.

  People quickly moved out of their path, looking relieved once they had passed. Their command of the street was unmistakable. Though she had seen many Templars over the years, even she was impressed by their presence. She decided some of that was due to the singularly handsome figure Lucien de Aubric cut.

  It had been a week since she had bid him goodbye at the orphanage, but he had never really left her thoughts. Gabrielle was unnerved by the excitement that raced through her as the two monks approached.

  In no time at all, their long-legged strides brought them directly up to her. But, to her surprise, Brother de Aubric did not seem to recognize her. He squinted at her for a moment, then turned his attention to the Arab beside her.

  Gabrielle decided her veil prevented him from recognizing her. She was dressed in the manner of Muslim women. Her head and face were covered, leaving only her eyes visible.

  "Hazir, it is good to see you again," he greeted her steward with a glad grin. "How are those grandchildren of yours?"

  "Much too active for an old man," Hazir laughed in response.

  "Have you met my brother-in-arms, Frère Conrad de Morgarten?" de Aubric asked, narrowing his eyes on Gabrielle even as he spoke. "He is from the Rhineland."

  "I have not," Hazir replied. "Good day to you, frère."

  The German Templar returned the elderly servant’s greeting, while Brother Lucien continued to stare unabashedly at Gabrielle. She saw the exact moment he recognized her, for his mouth curled into a smile that was full of warmth and pleasure, making her heartbeat a
ccelerate even more.

  "Lady de Châtillon," he said with a slight bow of his head. "I'm sorry I did not recognize you initially."

  She had no suitable reply except to greet him in return.

  "How is your shoulder?"

  His lingering scrutiny played havoc with Gabrielle's composure. "It is healing nicely," she informed him, nervously fingering the two lengths of silk in her hands.

  "Either would make a lovely gown," Lucien offered, dropping his intense dark-eyed gaze to her hands.

  Heat rose to her cheeks. "Oh, they are not for me. I am placing one of the girls at the orphanage with a merchant family, and I want her to be able go to them proudly, in a new shalwar and veil. How is it you know Hazir?" she asked in bemusement.

  Hazir replied for his friend. "Brother de Aubric intervened for one of my grandsons with the local magistrate some time ago. He was most helpful in preventing my misguided grandson from being charged with a crime he did not commit."

  "And how is Jabr?" Lucien inquired.

  "He is much wiser in choosing his friends now."

  Lucien bowed his head, relieved that Hazir had not elaborated on the other reason for their long-time friendship. The elderly Arab had frequently provided him with valuable and useful information, but it was not necessary that either his fellow Templar or the lady know of this.

  "So, Lady de Châtillon, you do more than simply rescue children in need? You find them homes, also?" he asked the woman before him, fascinated by the way her long, sooty, black lashes lowered over her sapphire colored blue eyes.

  "I try to," she answered, unnerved by his open admiration.

  She had received precious little of it in the years since her mother's death. To her cold, manipulating father and predatory husband, she was nothing, often less than nothing. Never had any of them seen her as anything more than a receptacle for their baser needs.

  This man, though, had treated her with genuine concern and respect since she had met him. To her amazement, she felt an unexpected crack in the protective wall she had built around her lonely heart.