The Spymaster's Protection

by S A Monk

  “It is too late to rescind, and I am bound by….” Count Raymond began.

  “Your thrice cursed treaty!” de Ridefort finished for the red-faced lord.“Stay here. Let them pass tomorrow, and avoid trouble before we are ready, Gérard,” Raymond insisted. Under the circumstances, Lucien felt it was the best advice.

  The Templar Grand Master protested by shoving out of his chair. “I will not sit by and let the enemy pass beneath my nose and your damned walls! At first light, des Moulins and I will ride out of here to Nazareth and gather what forces we can. The enemy is here and we will meet him. God wills it!”

  Turning to the red-robed cleric at the table, he added, “Be ready at prime, Your Grace. You may stay in Nazareth, if you like.”

  “We should wait for Lord Balian,” the Hospitaller Grand Master advised, obviously uncomfortable by his peer’s decision. “We have not concluded our business with Count Raymond, or negotiated the king’s terms.”

  “What is this, des Moulins?” de Ridefort sneered, laughing scornfully. “You love your precious blond head too much to want to lose it? The enemy is before us and we will meet him with God’s holy sword, by the Cross, man!”

  Lucien wanted to roll his eyes at the dramatics. Was there ever any doubt in his mind that Gérard de Ridefort would conclude this situation in any other way? For the love of God, what would his blind enthusiasm for Saracen blood cost them in men on the morrow?

  “Master de Ridefort, this assault may be too costly to bear at the moment, especially in the face of imminent war with Saladin,” he tried to reason, knowing his argument to be futile, but needing to voice it, nevertheless. “The kingdom needs every fighting man it can raise now.”

  “It is a reconnaissance unit, is it not, de Aubric?” de Ridefort demanded.

  “It is more than that, I believe. There are many men encamped on your borders, Count. My scouts and I have seen nearly six hundred.” He hated having to reveal such information, but maybe the greater numbers would discourage his superior. “I cannot tell how many plan to cross your land tomorrow, Raymond, but you are all aware that Saladin is putting together an army of thousands, to the east, north, and south of here. These numbers across Lake Tiberius cannot be anything but alarming.”

  “Then I will send a message to the Marshal, James de Mailly, at our Caco garrison for reinforcements. He can have them here by morning. From here, we will still go to Nazareth to enlist troops from the royal garrison there.”

  “This is madness!” Count Raymond slammed his fist on the table, knocking over several goblets of wine. “If I had known you would endanger us all with an untimely and unprovoked attack on the Muslims before we are ready, I would have denied you entrance into my town.”

  “Your town?” de Ridefort thundered. “You do well to remember you hold Tiberius and Tripoli for your liege lord, King Guy of Jerusalem. You are already considered a traitor by many of us, by God! Continue with this coddling of the enemy, and I swear to you, you will hold nothing, Lord Raymond.”

  With that threat, Gérard de Ridefort pushed out of his chair and strode away from the table. At the far end, he turned and motioned for Lucien to follow him. “I wish to talk to you, Brother de Aubric! Come with me while I arrange for messengers to Caco and Nazareth. I also intend to find you new quarters in the barracks.”

  Summoned, Lucien could do nothing but follow.

  Outside, night had fully fallen. The bailey was lit with torches, and there were many men about, fighting men, not servants or villiens. Raymond had increased his guards, and they were diligently on patrol. Lucien suspected Raymond wasn’t happy about having to honor his ill begotten truce by allowing armed Saracens across his land. He obviously anticipated at least the possibility of trouble. His garrison and the town were both on high alert tonight. Lucien had noted that the moment he had ridden back through both gates.

  “So, why are you here, Brother Lucien?” the Grand Master demanded as they crossed the yard to the barracks.

  If he was a true believer, he would not resent his superior asking him this question. The Rule of the Templars said that a brother was bound to obey his Grand Master in all things. Obedience. It held the same weight as chastity and poverty.

  There were several reasons why he was here, and he had cleared none of them with de Ridefort before he embarked on this journey. That, in itself, was a grave violation of the Rule. He decided to be less than fully truthful again, yet another violation.

  “I came to talk to Lord Raymond. It is in all our best interests that he mend his differences with King Guy. He controls hundreds of men here, and he has been one of the most influential barons in the kingdom for many years now.”

  De Ridefort scoffed audibly at that assessment, then halted and turned to his knight. “And who gave you the authority to decide anything for yourself?” he demanded in a loud, angry voice. “You may be the Chief Intelligence Officer for the Order, but you clear these decisions through me, man!”

  “I have worked alone in the field for years,” Lucien defended himself. “My work does not always allow me to clear everything through you.”

  “Well, that is going to change, de Aubric!” the Grand Master thundered. “Not even our Marshals make decisions without consulting me. You may be an officer, but you will not be independent of me!”

  Lucien had little to argue about. By the Rule, Master de Ridefort was correct. But in the field, an intelligence officer could not always make daily or even regular reports. The situation was often too fluid to have every decision approved and checked. de Torroja had understood this. De Ridefort had not. They had not seen eye-to-eye since they had begun working together. This Grand Master was too insecure, too inexperienced in the Order, too arrogant to trust anyone else’s judgment. And no amount of arguing was going to get him to see reason on this issue.

  The fact of the matter was, he was blind to the threat of civil war at a time when it could destroy the kingdom. If Raymond did not come around, and instead used his influence to split the Christian army and the barons, they would never be able to defend themselves against the sultan. Lucien wasn’t exactly sure why de Ridefort could not see the danger. He was either too stupid or too blindly egotistical. He concluded it was a little of both. If he was only interested in what was good for the kingdom, they would not even be having this argument.

  Lucien waited for the Grand Master to continue or halt his diatribe. There was little else he could do. He had known this was coming from the moment he’d seen de Ridefort in the hall tonight.

  He was standing before Lucien with his legs braced apart, of equal height to Lucien, fury and disgust bristling from every inch of his large, over-sized frame. His eyes were boring into his lieutenant. “I think you came here because of de Châtillon’s harlot!”

  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.”

  CHAPTER 11

  When Lucien and Conrad entered the great hall of Count Raymond’s k
eep, 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.”