Crusade

by Robyn Young

  The seneschal shook his head. “We had better hope so, Everard. Or God help us all.”

  THE VENETIAN MARKET, ACRE, 27 MAY A.D. 1276

  Elwen closed the blue door behind her and moved listlessly into the street. She had a leather bag over her shoulder with the ledgers in that Andreas had asked her to bring to the warehouse. A young man and woman passed her, their arms linked. The man bent down and whispered something and the woman laughed. As the woman locked eyes with her, Elwen averted her gaze, realizing she had been staring. She continued walking, head down.

  The brief euphoria she had experienced last night with Will had faded quickly. It followed the same pattern it always had. They made love and he left. There were no languid, tender moments, no comfortable silences or shared laughter, just frantic passion, soon spent, and a feeling of emptiness that lingered long after he slipped from her. He had been honest with her this time; had let her in for once, and that at least was something, but even so, nothing had really changed. She felt as though she had been fooled.

  Elwen was roused from her thoughts by someone calling her name. For a moment, she thought it was Will, and she turned, hopeful and uplifted. But there was no sign of him, only a tall, blond-haired man who smiled as he approached her.

  “Elwen,” he said again.

  She stared at him, then recognition dawned. “Garin,” she murmured.

  “How are you? It’s been ... how long?”

  Elwen’s initial shock quickly turned to hostility. “What are you doing here?”

  Garin looked surprised. “Will didn’t tell you I was in Acre?”

  “No. What do you want?”

  “I wanted to see you actually.”

  Elwen looked around. “How did you know where I would be?”

  “Will told me where you lived,” Garin replied offhand. “I saw you come out.”

  “I’m busy,” said Elwen, moving off, confused and unsettled as to why Will had given this information to him.

  “I do not wish to keep you,” said Garin, following her. “I just want to know where Will is. He promised to meet me earlier, but he never showed up.”

  “He promises a great many things.”

  Garin caught the anger in her words. “But you know where he is?”

  “No.”

  Garin heard the lie in her voice. “Elwen, this is important. Please. I know we’ve never been good friends, but you do know me. Surely you can tell me this?”

  Elwen came to a halt. “Yes, I know you,” she said frigidly. “I know you lured Will to that brothel in Paris with a message you pretended was from me. I know you watched as he was bound and beaten, and then forced him to tell you what you wanted to know by saying you had captured me and would hurt me if he didn’t comply. I know you drugged him and tied him to a bed, and let that woman—” Elwen stopped abruptly. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Did he tell you why?” Garin demanded, before she could walk away. “Did he tell you that I was being threatened by someone? That this man, Rook, made me do these things with the promise that if I didn’t he would kill my mother. And before he did that, that he would rape her?” He emphasized that word to provoke her womanly fear of such an act and was satisfied with the appalled look that flashed across Elwen’s face. “I didn’t leave him in bed with anyone, Elwen,” he continued quietly. “What happened with the woman was a mistake. I thought I was saving his life by drugging him. Rook wanted to kill him.” Garin ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I truly am. I wish I could change it.”

  Elwen winced as she caught sight of his torn and bloodied knuckles. “What did you do?”

  Garin glanced at his hand and tried to hide it behind his back. “It’s nothing.” He shrugged, then laughed self-consciously. “I punched a wall.”

  Elwen went to say something, then shook her head. “I have to go.”

  “Listen, I was about to buy myself a drink. Why don’t you join me?” Garin pointed down the street. “There’s a tavern just over there.”

  Now it was Elwen’s turn to laugh, in astonishment. “Even if I wanted to drink with you, which I don’t, do you honestly think it would be seemly for a woman like myself to share wine in some common tavern with a man?”

  “This coming from a woman who once stowed away on board a Templar ship?” Garin shot back.

  Elwen smiled slightly at the memory, then looked away. “That was a long time ago.” She started walking again.

  Garin went after her, his mind locking desperately on one last idea. He had to know if Will really was gone or if Simon had been lying to him. “Just tell me one thing,” he implored. “Does Will’s absence have anything to do with Everard and the Anima Templi?” He fought back an urge to grin as a frown creased her brow.

  “The what?”

  “Oh,” he said quickly, “nothing.” Garin backed away. “Look, if Will comes back anytime soon, just tell him to find me.”

  “Wait,” said Elwen. “Explain what you said.”

  Garin came to a stop. “All right. But not in the street. And you didn’t hear this from me.” He gestured to the tavern. “In there.”

  He opened the door for her as they reached the building. Elwen halted, looking up and down the street, terrified that someone she knew would see her. But Garin was at her back, ushering her inside, and so she stepped quickly, nervously over the threshold. Elwen kept her head down as Garin motioned her to a table.

  He bought two cups of wine before returning to sit with her. “Drink this,” he said, pushing a cup across the table.

  She took several sips. “Talk to me.”

  Elwen was silent as he leaned across the table and told her in hushed tones of a secret organization within the Temple, known as the Anima Templi. The Soul of the Temple had been established almost a century ago, and many men had pledged themselves to its cause. At its heart it was dedicated to the reconciliation of Muslims, Christians and Jews, and formed relationships with men from different backgrounds and faiths to further this idealistic cause, all the while in secrecy, without the knowledge of the members’ brothers in the Temple. He told her how Will’s father had been a member, as had his own uncle, Jacques, who had been killed in France along with Elwen’s uncle, Owein, in an attack by mercenaries years before. He told her how Will had been initiated into this group back in Paris by Everard, their head, and how he now worked against his own masters, breaking the oaths he took when he became a knight—to fulfill the Brethren’s ultimate aim. And he told her how Will, after the death of his father, had gone behind even Everard’s back to pay the Order of Assassins to murder Baybars in retribution for James’s execution.

  By the time he had finished, Elwen’s face was taut and pale. She sat back, knocking over her wine. She hardly noticed. She tried to conjure an image of Will, but what came was clouded and obscure. She knew that he and Everard were involved in something. But this? This was more than she could comprehend. This changed him as a person, as the man she thought she knew. He had paid to have someone murdered. How could he have kept that from her? And if he lied so easily, every day, to his masters and his friends in the Temple, how easy must it be for him to lie to her? All those promises that he loved her; were they real, or did he just want a faithful whore for free? Was that why he wouldn’t marry her? You don’t know him, said a voice inside. You never have.

  “I cannot believe he hasn’t told you any of this,” said Garin.

  “Was it all a lie?” she asked him numbly. “Were the things he said about the Stone and the war just made up? Did he tell me those things so I wouldn’t leave him?”

  “Stone?”

  “The Black Stone of Mecca,” Elwen snapped at him. “He said the grand master is involved in a plot to steal it, that it’s the holiest relic of the Saracens and that if it is stolen there will be war. Do you know about it?” she demanded.

  “I ...”

  “He said he was the only one who could stop it,” Elwen cut across him, “that he was going to warn a
contact in the Mamluks in Cairo and save us all.” She laughed bitterly. “Just how much of a fool have I been? I need to know.” Her face hardened. “Was any of it true? Any of it at all?” She rose. “Or did he just say it so that I would ...” But she couldn’t finish. She felt sick.

  “I don’t know,” said Garin distractedly. He glanced up at her. “I know he has to lie sometimes to cover things he is doing, although I cannot offer you an answer about this. But I guess I now know why he didn’t meet me.”

  Elwen went to speak, then shook her head and pulled off the table her leather bag with Andreas’s ledgers in it. It caught the fallen cup, which rolled off and shattered on the stone floor.

  Garin watched as she fled the tavern. He drained the rest of his wine as a servant girl came to gather up the broken pieces of the cup, his mind picking over Elwen’s words like a crow with a carcass.

  21

  The Royal Palace, Acre 27 MAY A.D. 1276

  It was late in the evening when Garin returned to the royal palace. He had spent several hours in the tavern after Elwen had left, then several more walking off the alcohol he had consumed, until his thoughts, moving in slow, determined circles, had finally come to a point of clarity. He found King Hugh alone in the throne room, checking through a pile of papers on the desk where his clerk would usually sit. One of the servants admitted him.

  “Well?” said Hugh, glancing at Garin as he approached, then turning his attention back to the papers. “Is it done, your other business? Guy has found you a place on a ship that is due to leave for England in two days.”

  “I’m afraid I could not meet the man I went to see.”

  Hugh’s eyes narrowed. He set down the sheets. “What?”

  “My business has not finished here.”

  Anger built in the young king’s face. “I have had enough of your excuses. I signed that damn document and I demand that you return to Edward with it at once. De Beaujeu has begun a campaign of hatred against me, and my subjects no longer show me the respect I deserve,” Hugh’s voice snapped out. “He may not have my throne yet, but d’Anjou’s minions work swiftly to secure support for him. I am running out of time.” He threw some of the papers on the floor and stalked to his throne, where he sat, his head in his hand. “I cannot do this alone, by God! Why are they all against me? What did I do to deserve their betrayal?”

  “I might be able to help, Your Majesty.”

  Hugh looked at Garin as if he had forgotten he was there. He waved a tired hand. “Begone.”

  “I have discovered that one of your enemies is involved in something that you may be able to turn to your advantage.”

  “Just go.”

  Garin moved closer to the throne. “De Beaujeu is planning to steal the Black Stone of Mecca.”

  Hugh dropped his hand to the throne’s arm and pushed himself up. “What did you say?”

  “The Black Stone of Mecca. It is apparently a relic that the Saracen’s—”

  “I know what it is,” said Hugh swiftly. “Tell me where you heard this.”

  “The man I was going to meet today has gone to Cairo to warn the Mamluks of this plan. That’s why I couldn’t see him.”

  “This man? He is a Saracen?”

  “No, he’s a Templar. His identity isn’t relevant at the moment,” Garin continued, seeing Hugh’s confusion. “All you need to know is that he has allies within the Mamluk Army. My guess is he will attempt to stop this from happening.”

  “As well he should,” said Hugh, “for such an act could devastate us all.” He rose from his throne. “Why would de Beaujeu do this? It makes no sense. He must know we could not hold back a determined Saracen force.”

  “I don’t know. But I believe this could benefit you.”

  Hugh was shaking his head, not listening. “I have nowhere near enough men to fight a war; even if all my vassals from Cyprus were to come to our aid, it would not be enough. Baybars would have thousands, hundreds of thousands. And if they would not all fight for the man, they would certainly fight for his cause. We would be devastated. The Saracens would erase us from this Earth.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Garin. Hugh looked at him. “What if de Beaujeu stole the Stone, Your Majesty, then we, in turn, took it from him and offered it back to Baybars?” Hugh was frowning, but his dark eyes followed Garin, who began to pace. Garin’s face was animated, his hands moving as he talked. He had worked this through during the long afternoon, going over and over it, until his mind was feverish. “We find out more about this plan, when it will occur and who will be involved. We take the Stone for ourselves and we tell Baybars that we have saved the Muslims’ relic and are willing to bring it safely to him in return for certain favors.”

  “What favors?”

  “Whatever we want. Your throne, for instance?”

  Hugh was quiet for some moments. “Baybars could intervene in this matter,” he said slowly. “But it does not mean that d’Anjou will listen to him.”

  “He might if Baybars threatened to destroy us all, which, as you say, the sultan would if the Stone was stolen. D’Anjou would not want to rule over a kingdom in ruins. It would be in his best interests to comply. And it is not simply your throne we could save,” continued Garin, when Hugh didn’t speak. “How would it be if you were the king who took back Jerusalem?” As Hugh’s hands tightened on the arms of his throne, Garin nodded, noting his interest. “We would tell Baybars that we wanted the Holy City in return for the Stone. Your throne, my lord, would once again stand in its rightful place. I would imagine your subjects would quickly be shown the error of their judgment were that to happen. I doubt even d’Anjou would dare to challenge you if you secured Jerusalem. And the pope?” Garin’s smile widened. “I expect you wouldn’t be able to prise his grateful lips from your hand long enough for him to congratulate you.”

  Hugh’s expression was intent. But he shook his head. “Baybars could come anyway. He could take the Stone for himself and kill us all. He would be capable of it.”

  “Baybars isn’t a fool, my lord. It would take time, money and effort to capture Acre. And we could destroy the Stone before he did. It would be much simpler and safer for him to give in to our demands. I’m sure the Saracens would attempt to take back Jerusalem in time, but our chances of holding the city are much greater than our chances of retaking it. Then, my Lord Edward could return to these shores at the head of an army and begin a new Crusade against the infidel, with your help, from out of the gates of the Holy City itself. It would be like the First Crusade. Men would flock to your banners. No more tributes, my lord,” said Garin. “No more bowing to the infidels’ demands.”

  As Hugh took in these words, Garin watched him. He had to see what an audacious plan this was. What did it matter that Will was a commander in the Temple? He, Garin, was going to save Jerusalem. The troubadours would sing songs about him. His name would go down in history. And Edward? Well, there would be no more broken promises, no more dingy towers, no more veiled threats. Edward would give him that lordship and that grand estate if he made this happen. He was certain of it.

  Hugh was speaking. “How would it work?”

  Garin looked up, distracted from his thoughts. “First, we need to find out more. The details.”

  “And how will we do this?”

  “I think I’ve found someone who will be able to help us. I’m just going to have to work on her a little more.”

  The doors opened and a figure hurried toward the throne. It was Guy. “My lord,” he said in greeting, casting a suspicious look at Garin.

  “Do we no longer knock, Guy?” demanded Hugh.

  “It is important, my lord.” Guy looked again at Garin, who stared back.

  “Go on,” said Hugh impatiently. “Speak.”

  Guy faltered, then focused on the king. “I have received news, my lord, from one of the men we sent to watch de Beaujeu. There was a meeting yesterday, held between the grand master of the Temple and several of your vassals. Our man man
aged to find out about it and had one of the servants present tell him what transpired. De Beaujeu has arranged to buy La Fauconnerie from its lord. They did the deal yesterday. The Temple now owns the village.”

  “What?”

  “When the lord asked de Beaujeu whether or not he had gained your permission for the sale, the property being in your domain and under your control, the grand master said that he had consent from the true king, Charles d’Anjou.” Guy was incensed. “They are mocking you, my lord. All of them! You must act at once. Demand that the passing over of the village be stopped, until your permission is granted or denied. Or demand severe punishment for their insolence if they refuse.” With effort, Guy got his anger under control. “I beseech you, my lord, do this at once, or you will lose the respect of those who still support you. They want a strong leader. They need to see that you are better than d’Anjou, that they should continue to support you whatever venom the Templars’ master whispers in their ears on behalf of his cousin.”

  Hugh rose from the throne and stepped down the dais. He went to the desk, where papers were still scattered on the floor. “I try my best,” he murmured, planting his hands on the table. “I read their pleas and requests and act upon them swiftly. I administer justice fairly and do my best for the city and my people.” He picked up several sheets. “What more do they want from me? Do they want a tyrant on their throne?” His hands whitened as he crushed the papers in his fists. “Then let them have one!” he roared, grasping the edge of the heavy table and pulling it over, sending scrolls, quills and ink pots flying. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I will not stay where I am not wanted. I will not rule where I am ridiculed.” He drew his gold robe tighter and strode toward the doors. “You will pack my belongings, Guy. We leave for Cyprus. I will return to my people. They have been without their king for too long.” He paused. “But the Templars will no longer be welcome in my lands. De Beaujeu thinks to steal my property?” He let out a bark of bitter laughter. “We shall see how he feels when I take his. The Templars in Cyprus will be driven out, their estates burned to the ground, their livestock destroyed. Gone,” he said in a flat tone.