“Twenty-thousand!? Where are they now?”
“About three days’ march from Jerusalem, Your Majesty, and they appear to have ships sailing down the coast from Acre.”
“It can only be an invasion, but why?”
“I still don’t know, Your Majesty.” Amalric smiled to himself; the young King was falling into the carefully prepared trap.
“They’re coming by land and by sea?” Baldwin rose from his pile of cushions and strode to the map of his Kingdom that hung as a wall tapestry. “Where are they?” He indicated for Amalric to show the Templar positions.
“Three days from Jerusalem places them about here, Your Majesty.” Amalric indicated a patch of ground to the north of a large image of Jerusalem. “The ships are about here.” He indicated a spot on the coast running parallel to the Templar land force.
“But, they have no Grand Master? Odo de Saint Armand is still in Saracen custody. Do we know if he’s dead?”
“Still unknown, Your Majesty.”
The word from Cairo was that Odo was still alive and rotting away in a Saracen dungeon.
“What of the Templar Preceptory in the city?”
“Deserted, Your Majesty,” Amalric lied again. “Everything stripped out and abandoned.”
The large Templar Preceptory was, in reality, packed with hundreds of soldiers waiting to join their comrades hiding out in the Jerusalem Hills.
“Curious, very curious…” Baldwin puzzled staring at the map once more.
“Your Majesty, we must prepare for the eventuality that this force is hostile to us.”
“Of course, My Lord Constable. Gather together whatever forces you can muster. We must be ready for whatever they intend.”
“If I may suggest, Your Majesty.” Amalric drew a breath and prepared to deliver his trump card. “That we start to assemble the army and prepare for a siege of the city?”
“No, My Lord Constable. We cannot abandon the people outside the gates. We must face these Templars down.”
“Then which of their forces do we challenge?”
“We must obviously face them both down, until we know which is the main force and which the distraction.”
“They have twenty-thousand by land and nearly six hundred ships, Your Majesty,” Amalric lied once more.
“The fleet is far too big to be a diversion, so, we must gather our forces to meet them at the coast.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, but, what of this land force?”
“You’re right, My Lord Constable, they could do a lot of damage and they must not be allowed to unite with their ships.”
“Should we send men to stop them, Your Majesty?”
“No, it would be unwise to split the army.”
For a moment, Amalric’s heart sank into his boots. He had no intention of being with the King’s forces on the seashore when Arnold of Torroja swept into Jerusalem.
“Perhaps a small force, just to keep them at bay, Your Majesty?”
“Who would lead them, My Lord Constable?”
“I would consider it an honour to defend the city until Your Majesty had been victorious on the coast and we could drive them off together,” Amalric said bullishly, praying that the King would accept the plan.
For long moments, Baldwin considered the suggestion as Amalric silently urged the young King to divide the army.
“Very well, My Lord Constable, but a holding action until we can join you.”
“As Your Majesty pleases.” Amalric almost wept with relief and delight, but kept his bearing rigidly formal.
“How many men will you take?”
“Perhaps, ten or fifteen thousand, from the garrison.” Amalric pretended to consider, knowing that he had close to fifteen thousand of his own men already hidden in the hills and in the city.
“Yes, fifteen should be enough.”
“As Your Majesty commands.” Amalric bowed formally once more, his heart leaping with joy.
“Very well, send out the messengers and gather the army.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Amalric smiled softly in the gloom as he backed out of the Royal Presence.
With the King returning to scrutinise the wall tapestry map, Amalric turned and walked rapidly to the door. Then, with the hinges squeaking behind him and the heavy door firmly closed, Amalric closed his eyes.
And, let out a huge sigh of relief.
Chapter 26
The Castle of Ibelin, May 15th
The great brooding towers of Ibelin Castle had witnessed many amazing sights in their time. However, the appearance of a Universal Alliance three-section Troop Transport was not one that anyone who lived in the massive squat fortifications would have been able to claim even under the influence of drink or exposure to too much sun. The reptilian snub nose trailed by the three ‘carrier’ compartments bolted onto the two powerful Thrust Engines was a sight no one in Ibelin had even managed to consider dreaming of.
On the huge stone battlements, Jacques of Ibelin watched the strange ship drop slowly from the sky and land with perfect precision just beyond the walls of the Citadel. For a moment, the broad shouldered, thick-set warlord set his mind to prepare for an attack. However, when two figures in pale-blue overall uniforms emerged from the front section of the ship, he knew that they were friends. And with that recognition, his mood changed instantly. Dashing down the heavy stone stairway from the high battlements, Jacques shouted orders for the servants to prepare a fitting welcome for the strangers from the sky.
Down in the courtyard, young Marc and his older brother Clement were practicing with sword and shield along with the sixty men-at-arms who garrisoned the castle. In the weeks since Senior Medical Officer Radkor had straightened out the damaged arm and shoulder of Marc of Ibelin, the young knight had worked hard to rebuild his strength and level of skill. Still swinging the heavy broadsword against his brother’s shield, Marc was distracted by the scampering figure of his father barrelling down the massive stone stairway towards the main gate. Stopping mid-swing, Marc raised his Crusader helmet to perch on the back of his sweat-soaked head to watch his agitated father.
Clement, just as mystified, lowered the shield he was holding in two hands, shrugged to his equally bemused brother and set off to follow his father. With his two sons in tow, Jacques of Ibelin reached the main gate and ordered the drawbridge lowered. Through the lattice of the portcullis, Clement and Marc quickly realised why their father was so agitated and excited. The two pale-blue clad figures were instantly recognisable as the Physician and the Admiral from the High Council Courtyard in Jerusalem.
With a whoop of delight, young Marc raised his sword in salute to the two figures approaching the Castle. With a broad smile, Ullit Radkor responded with a wave as he trudged onto the drawbridge carrying his medical hold all.
“My Lords, welcome to my humble abode.” Jacques waved expansively with a broad beaming smile as he ushered his guests into the great cavernous gateway of Ibelin castle.
“Well then, Sir Marc,” Radkor asked the young knight, “how’s that arm of yours?”
“It’s as weak as water,” Clement teased his younger brother with a playful punch to the shoulder. “He couldn’t lift a feather with it.”
“I can beat you into the ground with it,” the smiling Marc responded with a playful cuff to the head, which Clement dodged.
“Come on, boys!” Jacques restored some fatherly decorum to the proceedings. “We have guests in our house.”
“Yes, father,” Clement said sheepishly, aiming another playful, underhand punch at his brother, who dodged aside to avoid the blow.
“Now, go and change,” Jacques ordered, dismissing the two young men, who trotted back into the Castle.
“May I offer you some refreshment, My Lords?” Jacques asked, leading the two visitors into the courtyard where the men-at-arms were still training.
“That would be most welcome, My Lord Jacques,” Billy spoke for the first time.
“So, what brings you t
o our god-forsaken patch of wilderness?” the Lord of Ibelin asked, leading the two strangers through the pairs of soldiers who practiced their drills with sword and shield under the morning sun.
“I would like to check up on young Marc’s arm,” Radkor began, “and the First Admiral seeks your wisdom and guidance.”
“Is this true, My Lord Admiral?”
“Yes, My Lord Jacques, I have need of your wisdom on a delicate political matter.”
“Ho ho, My Lord Admiral, it is best to avoid matters political in Jerusalem these days.”
“My Lord Jacques, I have no wish to be embroiled in intrigues; however, this situation has been thrust upon us.”
“Speak no more until we are inside.” Jacques held up his hand to quieten Billy.
With a nod, Billy followed Jacques and Radkor into the Hall.
The Great Hall of Ibelin was spacious, and bright from the windows lodged high in the walls. Shafts of light streamed from the windows, illuminating the feasting table, which dominated the floor. The huge table, surrounded by impressively decorated chairs, was bare except for a few silver platters of fruit and jugs of water.
“Sit, My Lords,” Jacques indicated, and took his seat at the head of the table in front of the huge fireplace as Billy and Radkor took seats on the side of the table.
“Father, may we join you?” Clement asked as he and his brother appeared in the doorway that led from the interior of the castle.
“Come in, my boys!” Jacques exclaimed proudly to the two young men who had changed from their armour into simple breeches and shirts. “I now have two fine strong young warriors thanks to your skills, My Lord Physician.”
“My Lord, you flatter me.”
“Nonsense, the finest Saracen surgeons could not heal my Marc’s arm. I am forever in your debt.”
“I thank you, Lord Jacques, for your kind words, but, if I may, I would like to see just how that arm is progressing?”
“Of course. Marc, let the Physician check your arm. Clement, here, sit by me.” The gruff Lord of Ibelin kicked one of the chairs free from the table for his eldest son.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Radkor said, lifting his hold-all.
“So, My Lord Admiral,” Jacques said once when Radkor and Marc had left. “What of this intrigue of yours?”
“Are you sure it is safe, with your son...”
“Clement is my first born. When I find my grave, he will be Lord of Ibelin. He must learn of these matters.”
“Very well, My Lord Jacques. Yesterday, four armed men came to Muscigny and attempted to kill me.”
“That is serious, My Lord Admiral. Do you know who wishes you dead?”
“My Lord Jacques, the men were sent by someone named Raymond of Pallon, whom I have never met or would not recognise.”
“Pallon is a creature of Marcroi,” Clement announced, recognising the name.
“Who is in turn sworn to Saligny,” Jacques mused. “I take it that you don’t know the Lord of Saligny?”
“I wouldn’t know him if I fell over him in the courtyard, My Lord.”
“Most curious, Saligny has some very powerful connections at court.”
“Yes, I believe he is nephew to the Constable, Amalric of Lusignan?”
“He is indeed,” Clement confirmed.
“I have never met the Constable,” Billy said.
“Then somehow you must have offended him,” Jacques speculated.
“My Lord, I don’t know the man and have never said a bad word about him.”
“Then perhaps you have done something?” Clement asked.
“The only thing we have done at court is heal the King.”
“Lord Amalric would have no argument with you for that, surely?” Clement asked.
“Perhaps,” Jacques said cryptically. “Amalric has risen in rank through his courage in battle, his family connections and his ability to plot and scheme.”
“Would Amalric plot against the King?” Billy asked.
For a moment, the tension in the great hall rose considerably as Lord Jacques considered his answer.
“To suggest such a thing would be treason.”
“Well, there is a force of twenty-thousand Templars marching from Acre as we speak...”
“What!?” Lord Jacques exclaimed, almost jumping from his seat. “Twenty-thousand!? Have you informed the King of this!?”
“No, My Lord Jacques, but when we have finished our discussion here, we will be heading to Jerusalem.”
“So, you have your suspicions, My Lord Admiral?”
“Yes, My Lord. We interrogated the men who tried to kill me and discovered that the Templars are marching on Jerusalem and plan to kill every Jew and Muslim in the city.”
“They would have to do it over the King’s dead body! And, mine!”
“That is the extent of the reliable information that I have; the rest would be conjecture and guess work.”
“The Templars have no love for the King, and if they are marching on Jerusalem to kill the un-believers, then they must plan to depose the King.”
“But, is someone working against the King from within the Palace?”
“If the King was killed,” Clement said, “then his nephew, young Baldwin, would become King, and he is too young to rule.”
“There would have to be a Regent until he came of age,” Jacques mused, “and Lord Amalric, with control of the Army, would be a strong contender.”
“Surely, Lord Amalric would never betray the King?” Clement asked his father.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Jacques considered his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “But, I will tell you this in strictest confidence, My Lord Admiral, that almost a month ago I received an invitation from Lord Amalric to a meeting in Jerusalem.”
“Is this unusual?” Billy asked.
“Not really. As a division commander in the Army of Jerusalem, Lord Amalric often summons the commanders to meet with him.”
“But, this invitation was somehow different.”
“Lord Amalric wanted to meet in the Catacombs in Jerusalem, not in the Palace or on his own lands.”
“And, THAT is unusual?” Billy asked.
“No, Lord Amalric sometimes meets in the Catacombs, but only when he doesn’t want people to overhear what he’s discussing.”
“I take it you didn’t attend, Lord Jacques?”
“No, I did not! Catacomb meetings usually mean trouble.”
“And, you did not report it to the King?”
“The King would never believe me, Amalric is too powerful.”
“So, who would be the others to attend such a meeting?”
“If it was the Army division commanders, there would be Bernard of Chatillon, Giles of Tripoli, Alain of Bezain, and, Robert of Chattigny.”
“Uncle Robert!?” Clement exclaimed, unable to believe that his late mother’s kindly brother might be involved.
“Only if it is Army commanders, Clement,” Jacques tried to soothe his son. “They are the division commanders and also major landowners in the Kingdom.”
“And, they command large numbers of their own fighting men?”
“These men provide over two thirds of the Army of Jerusalem.”
“Then, if they turned against the King, Baldwin would fall?”
“Most certainly.”
“I think I might have a little talk with these men.”
“You’ll find them a lot less hospitable than I, My Lord Admiral.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble with them, if they’re planning to march with Amalric, then most likely they’ll already be in Jerusalem.”
“All except Lord Giles, who has lands far to the north of Acre. Are there any men from Tripoli County with the Templars?”
“No, it would appear to be only Templars.”
“Yes, very shrewd, Giles has almost seventeen thousand men. Keeping them away from Jerusalem weakens the King as much as it strengthens his enemies without Giles even
taking the field.”
“And, he can deny any involvement in the plot if it goes wrong,” Clement added.
“You have a devious and cunning mind, my son! We must speak of this no more” Jacques said as Radkor and Marc reappeared.
“I think we can declare a clean bill of health on that arm!” Radkor announced, returning with young Marc. With a smile, he sat down at the table to discuss matters more entertaining.
Chapter 27
The Templar Preceptory, Jerusalem
Alain of Bezain was not what anyone would ever describe as a pious man. He said his prayers when he had to, trusted his life to God in battle and made sure that he slept with a dagger beneath his pillow. So far, these simple rules had kept Alain alive and prosperous. However, in the spartan austerity of the gloomily-lit Knight’s Cell in the Templar Preceptory, Alain was feeling just a little on edge. Alain of Bezain was not a man who liked waiting. He was a man of action, often described as impulsive and hot-headed by those who were grateful for his temper and aggressiveness in battle. But, the waiting was something that Alain hated.
Prowling incessantly around the small cell that was dominated by the simple cot with the flea-ridden straw mattress, Alain wanted to be out there in action where, he could swing his sword and kill his enemies. Muttering to himself, Alain strode back and forth across the cell, his heavy-shod boots scuffing and scraping on the dirt floor. This was a dangerous expedition for Alain and the other division commanders who had hung their lives and fortunes on the plans of Amalric of Lusignan. There were so many things that could go wrong that would leave him at the mercy of King Baldwin’s executioner. But it was too late now, he considered as he continued to pace anxiously.
Looking up from the floor, Alain caught sight of the crucifix hanging above the bed. The figure of Christ hung from the cross jabbed at the remaining shreds of Alain’s conscience. Crossing himself, Alain convinced himself that he was doing God’s work. The Templars had the blessing of His Holiness the Pope, therefore, his multitude of forthcoming sins would be forgiven. The leper had to be removed, Alain told himself. It was best for the Kingdom that Baldwin was deposed and the Kingdom cleansed of all the non-Christians. They were little more than traitors-in-waiting, Alain considered as he conveniently suppressed the thought of all the booty and plunder he would stand to acquire in the savage blood-letting.
The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) Page 18