“No, Your Majesty,” Billy replied, sitting cross-legged, “where I come from we know of the courage and chivalry of Saladin.”
Saladin, the seasoned veteran soldier, had quickly recognised a kindred spirit in the red-haired intruder in the strange blue garment, and realised that if this was an assassin, he would have been dead long ago. The flying vessel spoke of a technology far in advance of anything he possessed, and the trick with the light was something even the court magicians couldn’t manage.
“So, how may we help you?” Saladin asked. “Do you bring a message from Baldwin?”
“No, Your Majesty, I bring a message from me and an opportunity to bring home your nephew held by the Christians.”
“My nephew?” Saladin said calmly, knowing that the young man was held in the dungeon of the Palace at Jerusalem. “You bring me an offer for my nephew from Baldwin?”
“Erm, not quite, Your Majesty. I wish to trade with you for Templar Grand Master Odo of Saint Armand.”
“Impossible!” Saladin snorted. “I would not trade even my nephew for that spawn of evil!”
“You might wish to reconsider that position, Your Majesty.”
“Why? You don’t even have the boy! He’s in the deepest dungeon Baldwin has, and Baldwin will never let him go, let alone for a Templar.”
“Let us say, His Majesty in Jerusalem is being ‘persuaded’ that this trade has some value for him and his Kingdom, and, it would show good faith to you.”
“Fantasy! And, daydreams!” the Sultan blustered, waving dismissively at Billy.
“Well, if Your Majesty insists.” Billy shrugged reluctantly, rising to his feet. “But when that Templar force marching from Acre reaches Jerusalem and slaughters every Muslim in the city who doesn’t convert, I’m sure your people will be most understanding when they find out that you could have prevented it.”
“Wait!” the Sultan yelled. “What do you know of these Templars from Acre?”
“Well, Your Majesty I know that they are part of plot to overthrow Baldwin for allowing Muslims and Jews to worship in Jerusalem...”
“You mean that they do not serve Baldwin?”
“No, Your Majesty, the Templars and some very powerful nobles want Baldwin removed, and a new, pure Christian Kingdom established.”
“It starts to make sense now,” Saladin mumbled to himself as his mind worked the permutations and the host of implications of what he was being told, “and, who leads this plot against Baldwin?”
“What appears to be a renegade senior Templar from Europe and some very powerful noblemen in the Jerusalem court, Your Majesty.”
“Which noblemen?”
“We believe that the most senior is Amalric of Lusignan.”
“The High Constable? No, he’s Baldwin’s most loyal man.”
“Even loyalty can be twisted for a Crown, Your Majesty. With Baldwin dead, who would rule Jerusalem?”
“His nephew.”
“A young boy, Your Majesty, and who would be Regent whilst the boy is still of tender years?”
“There might be a dozen powerful men in Jerusalem who could become Regent.”
“And, who has the loyalty of the Christian Army, Your Majesty?”
“The High Constable,” acknowledged the Sultan.
“The Templars have no love for Baldwin, formerly cursed by God, and Amalric would happily take the throne with Templar support.”
“So, they do not plan to invade Egypt?”
“They will eventually invade Egypt and Syria, Your Majesty. With all the Muslims in Jerusalem slaughtered, you would be deposed for not protecting them and your empire would fall into civil war...”
“Easy prey for the Crusaders.”
“Exactly, Your Majesty.”
“And, how do you propose to stop this massacre?”
“As we speak, my Physician and my Head of Security are in Jerusalem outlining the plot to King Baldwin, who will no doubt root out the traitors in his midst.”
“And, these Templars?”
“That’s why we need the Grand Master, Your Majesty. Templar Grand Masters are elected for life. Every member of the order is sworn to obey the Grand Master,”
“And, you believe that this creature will stop the massacre in Jerusalem?”
“I believe that Grand Master Odo will have had ample time to reflect on his circumstances in your dungeon, Your Majesty.”
“What if he refuses to help?”
“Then I’ll personally bring him back to rot in your dungeon again.”
“Will you also stop the massacre of Muslims?”
“If needs be, Your Majesty, but King Baldwin will not stand idly by and watch his subjects being butchered.”
“A Christian King would not defend Muslims.”
“Yet, he allows them to worship freely.”
“He allows them to worship in Jerusalem because he fears me!”
“If he feared you, Your Majesty, your people would already be dead and both of your countries ruined by war!” Billy brutally slammed the argument closed. “Baldwin allows them to worship because it is the right thing to do!”
For a moment, Saladin’s eyes flashed with anger and outrage. The ruler of Egypt and Syria was not used to being challenged. Yet, deep down, he knew that the stranger was right. Saladin knew that he would have allowed Christians and Jews to worship in Jerusalem had he been King because it was the right thing to do. Looking into the eyes of the red-haired stranger, Saladin saw the utter conviction in Billy’s face. A great truth had been spoken, and the Sultan was wise enough to recognise it.
“You speak wisely, my friend, how do you know that Baldwin will release my nephew?”
“Baldwin is a reasonable and intelligent man; he is also a King who understands the realities of ruling a Kingdom, and that compromise is often better than war.”
“You have faith in this King in Jerusalem, do you not?”
“I have enough faith in him, plus, if he does refuse, I can simply take your nephew the same way I travelled from the courtyard to here.”
“You would simply take this Templar animal from me as well wouldn’t you?”
“Of course, Your Majesty, I would defy you if I thought it would save those innocent people in Jerusalem.”
“What if Baldwin does not fight to protect them? Would you fight for them?”
“If all else failed, Your Majesty, I have armed, flying ships that would chop all of those Templars into dog food.”
For a moment, Saladin looked at Billy’s face and saw honesty and sincerity. At that moment, the Sultan trusted the stranger and knew that the people of Jerusalem would be safe.
“Then, it appears I have no alternative other than to grant your request,” the Sultan said, smiling. “I will write a release order for him to your custody.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty, I can collect him later today.”
“That must truly be a wondrous ship that you have, my friend.” The Sultan began to scribble on a blank piece of parchment.
“It is indeed, Your Majesty. Perhaps, when this is all over, you would care to take a trip in her?”
“Now, that would be most stimulating!” Saladin’s eyes shone with expectation as he continued to write.
“It would be my honour and pleasure, Your Majesty.” Billy bowed politely with a smile.
“I would also like to meet this King Baldwin that you have so much faith in,” Saladin announced as he finished the release order.
“Personally, I’ve never met him, Your Majesty, but my Physician places a great deal of trust in him, and my Physician is nobody’s fool.”
“Your Physician who cured him of the leprosy?” Saladin questioned, handing over the order.
“Yes, Your Majesty,”
“Could you arrange such a meeting with Baldwin?”
“I shall certainly see what I can do, Your Majesty.” Billy rose to his feet and bowed politely to the Sultan. “I shall collect the Templar later today, then release
your nephew from Jerusalem. I believe that my Physician will want to make sure that your nephew is in good health and deal with any injuries he has, so he may wish to keep him in our Hospital Deck until tomorrow.”
“If your Physician can heal crippled arms and cure leprosy, then I would expect nothing less of him for the care of my nephew.”
“Your Majesty.” Billy bowed once more, slightly puzzled as to how Saladin knew about the crippled arm of Marc of Ibelin being cured.
“One more thing, Admiral?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“How do you do that dazzling light thing?”
“That’s a secret, Your Majesty.” Billy smiled with a cheeky wink, and issued the thought-command to the teleporter via his PES.
Then, he vanished in a blinding flash of light.
Chapter 30
The Royal Palace, Jerusalem
“Come on, get up My Lord Constable,” the familiar voice pierced through the slumbers of Amalric of Lusignan.
It had been an entirely comfortable dream, where Amalric had claimed the throne with the heads of his enemies strewn across the High Council floor before him. Now, however, someone had destroyed that most beautiful and delicious moment of triumph. Rolling over, onto his side, Amalric hoped that whoever had ruined his dream would now go away and leave him to recapture his triumphant fantasy.
“Come on, get up!” the voice said, shaking him roughly by the shoulders.
“What is it?”
“We have to get out of here, My Lord Amalric,” the Templar knight said, grabbing the few items of clothing that were not armour or weaponry that Amalric habitually carried with him.
“What’s going on?”
“Alain of Bezain has betrayed us to the King,” the Templar announced, throwing more clothing at the servant who scampered around the room retrieving his master’s armour.
“What!?” an astonished Amalric announced in disbelief.
“The men you sent to kill the Outlander Admiral failed and have led them to Alain of Bezain, he’s told the King everything. We have to get out of Jerusalem.”
“What?” the confused and astonished Amalric questioned again, rising to his feet from the low cot he kept in his solitary bed chamber in the Palace. “How did they reach Bezain?”
It made no sense to Amalric how men sent by his own nephew could implicate Alain of Bezain in the plot.
“I don’t know! Now get a move on, My Lord, Baldwin is already arresting the other division commanders. We may have only moments before the Royal Bodyguard start knocking on your door.”
“We have to get out to the hills, and my men…”
“Don’t you understand, My Lord Constable!? It’s too late for that! The other division commanders are already taken. There’s no one to lead the soldiers in the hills. Bezain’s men won’t follow you.”
“But, my men would, there are still enough of them…” Amalric protested, throwing the mail shirt over his shoulder and grabbing his shield.
“The roads out of the city are already blocked. The Preceptory is under guard, and the only way out of Jerusalem is through the catacombs.”
“My men would never…” Amalric protested, bundling up his chain mail armour and fastening it with a belt.
“It’s over, My Lord Constable, can’t you understand!?” the Templar snarled, grabbing the front of Amalric’s shirt. “We have to run and join Grand Commander Arnold’s forces at Muscigny!”
Stunned to silence, Amalric of Lusignan nodded quietly. The dream that saw him on the throne of Jerusalem only a few moments before now hung precariously by the slenderest of threads.
“How do we reach Arnold?” Amalric asked as he slung his armour-bundle over his shoulder.
“I keep a small boat in one of the coastal fishing villages. That’ll do, get out!” he ordered Amalric’s servant, pushing him towards the door. “If we can reach the coast, we should be able to reach our fleet and join Grand Commander Arnold.”
“Come on, move!” Amalric pushed his servant out through the doorway and rushed out in the corridor himself, followed by the Templar.
Amalric of Lusignan, Constable of Jerusalem, was fleeing for his life with the shirt on his back and the sword in his hand. There was going to be no glorious march from Muscigny to Jerusalem to claim the throne. It would just be an inglorious scamper to the coast and a boat trip to safety. Cursing his back luck, Amalric pushed his servant onwards as he hurried through the Palace corridors before someone recognised him. And, as he ran, Amalric added an especial curse.
To the Outlanders who had robbed him of this throne.
Chapter 31
The Palace Dungeon, Cairo.
The loud crunching of the heavy bolt being drawn across the cell door roused Odo of Saint Armand from his fitful slumbers. The squealing of tortured wood from the huge bolt that hadn’t moved in over a year confirmed to the dazed and confused Odo that it was not the smaller feeding hatch at the base of the huge wooden door that was being dragged painfully open.
Sitting up from the corner where he habitually slept, Odo licked his lips nervously in anticipation of what awaited him beyond the door. It had been over a year since the Saracens had grown tired of torturing him, and Odo said a silent prayer hoping that he would be spared from a return to the rack and the irons. Again, the huge bolt squealed in protest as it was dragged from its comfortable moorings. The seasons of dryness and wet had warped the wood of the bolt in its fixtures; and now, having been rudely awakened, it squealed and crunched its displeasure.
With a heavy thud, the bolt finally gave up the ghost and was dragged clear of the door frame. Then, with three massive efforts from the jailers, the door itself was heaved open, with a heavy grating sound, sufficiently for someone to enter the cell. The first to enter was Kasim, the vicious little man with the clubbed foot. His cunning rat-like face was fixed in a nervous grin as he hobbled down the worn stone stairway from the door to the dungeon floor.
“He’s still alive!” the hobbling jailer, with the heavy stick, called out to whoever was still behind the door.
Again, the base of the heavy door crunched against the ground as it was heaved further open by the other, less nimble jailers. On the sixth heave, the door finally swung open, squealing painfully on its rusted hinges. In the doorway, Odo saw the Head Jailer and two figures in pale-blue uniforms. One of the figures looked decidedly strange to Odo, having olive skin and only one nostril to its face. However, having seen some savage battle injuries, Odo did not feel unduly troubled by the sight. The other blue-clad figure was undoubtedly European with his fair skin and red hair. From the uniforms, Odo speculated that they were not Templars.
“On your feet!” the club-footed jailer ordered, dragging the still confused Odo from his sleeping corner to stand up in the centre of the cell.
The three dignitaries stepped carefully down the damp-slicked stone staircase as a shamefaced Odo of Saint Armand pulled the ragged remains of his Templar surcoat over his emaciated body to hide his nakedness. Silently, Odo watched the newcomers for any clue as to his likely fate, as the strangers slowly approached his position. But, however hard he tried to read their faces, he found no clues as to their intentions.
“Grand Master Odo of Saint Armand?” the red-haired one, who seemed to be in command of the situation asked.
“I am Odo of Saint Armand.”
“I am First Admiral Caudwell, and this is a Medical Officer who will now examine you. You have nothing to fear.”
With a shrug, the emaciated figure with the long, lank straggly hair and beard submitted to whatever the strange looking Physician was about to do.
The Thexxian Medical Officer stepped forward and swept the Med-Scanner over the filthy scrap of humanity that stood defiantly in the middle of the filth and squalor of a Saracen dungeon cell.
“Badly malnourished, underweight, de-hydrated, parasite infested and the early signs of blood poisoning, sir” the Medial Officer pronounced, and tapped the ragg
ed figure on the shoulder with the Dispenser. “Some antibiotic to deal with the blood poisoning.”
“Very well,” Billy replied and turned to the jailers. “Thank you, gentlemen, could you please leave us for a moment? We’ll call for you when we have finished.” Billy dismissed the Head Jailer and the nasty looking one with the clubbed-foot.
“Well, Odo of Saint Armand,” Billy said when the jailers were out of earshot, “it would appear that you have become useful to us.”
“And, how would that be, My Lord Admiral?”
“It would appear that one of your underlings has plans to depose King Baldwin of Jerusalem.”
“I know nothing of such a plot.”
“Oh, we know that, we need you to stop them.”
“And, why should I wish to do that?”
“Because, Grand Master, that is the price of your freedom.”
“Freedom?” Odo said sharply, his eyes suddenly flickering with excitement. “What trick is this, Admiral? The Saracens would never set me free.”
“No trick,” Billy replied handing over the release order from Saladin. “A release signed by the Sultan himself.”
With filthy hands and battered fingernails, the Templar carefully read the parchment.
“Why would Lord Saladin set me free? I am his worst enemy.”
“Because, I have offered to exchange you for his nephew.”
“No, Baldwin would never treat for me.”
“You don’t seem to quite understand with who and what you’re dealing with here, do you?” Billy smiled and issued the thought-command to the teleporter in the Transport that hovered several hundred metres above the Palace.
Instantly, all three figures vanished in a flash of blinding white light. A moment later, the dazzled and astonished figure of Odo of Saint Armand re-appeared in the confines of the centre section of the Transport. Taken by surprise, and weak from the privations of the Saracen dungeon, Odo collapsed onto the pristine white deck behind the table and chairs that filled the centre of the compartment.
The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) Page 20