Vampire Crusader (The Immortal Knight Chronicles Book 1)

by Dan Davis

  “I am honoured by your confidence in me, my lord.” The king still did not understand the depths of William’s evil.

  When you are done, you will join me in England then I shall find you a new… a suitable estate. You could hold William’s lands. It should probably be yours anyway, I am sure and perhaps I could make it official. What would you say to that, Richard? Duffield Castle and all the rest.”

  I had an inkling that Richard was one of those men who would promise things he did not mean, especially to strong young men he held in high esteem. There were always rumours that he was a secret sodomite. And perhaps he was but he seemed to me to simply be full of passion, not lust. His enthusiasm consumed him and he esteemed soldiers very highly indeed, so long as they were useful.

  Perhaps he truly did believe I knew how to cheat death. Either way, there was no chance he would pass over greater lords to grant the likes of me such a vast estate.

  “Thank you, my lord,” I said. “That is very generous of you.”

  “With the invincible Richard of Ashbury at my side, I shall conquer all who stand against me, shall I not?” Everything that man said was spoken with such absolute confidence that I could never be sure when he was speaking with sincerity or in jest.

  “You shall, lord.” I muttered.

  He left for England the next day.

  I never saw him again.

  While I was lying dead myself I had missed Alice’s burial. She had been taken to a family crypt in Jaffa. Her cousins told my servants in no uncertain terms that my body could be tossed down a well in the desert for all they cared. And thank God her family were ungenerous bastards or I might have woken in a coffin, inside a lead box locked in a crypt. Her family in Jaffa shut their doors to me. As well as losing Alice they had lost Jocelyn, who could have become a lord. And they had lost sweet little Emma who would have made a good marriage to further the family’s wealth and renown.

  After setting my house in order, I rode to Acre to meet with Henry de Champagne. A king by marriage only, he never referred to himself as King of Jerusalem in part because we had lost the city after Hattin.

  The king, Richard had told me, would help me hunt William. He would put all the power of Outremer at my disposal. I knew I would need gold and silver for bribes to discover where he was hiding and guides to take me there. And I would need at least a dozen good knights with horses and remounts, fully equipped and supplied.

  ***

  “I cannot provide you with men,” Henry of Champagne said over his shoulder while his armourer measured his limbs with string.

  We were at his palace in Acre. It was still a new home for him so his knights and attendants were everywhere on hand to ensure he made it his own. The palace was beautiful but I had been shown through up to the top of it where the king had his apartments. The queen was nowhere to be seen and she was rarely spoken of. Once, she had been powerful and beautiful. But I am sure that for Henry she was nothing more than a tool to make him king.

  Henry stood in the good light pouring in from the huge open sides of the room, most of which opened onto balconies and so the sea wind could flow in from three sides of the room and keep the royal person cool while in the city below the people roasted and gasped in the airless streets. Beyond the windows the sea was so blue it hurt my eyes.

  A long table ran the length of the wall, covered in the armourer’s measuring tools and many examples of his fine work. Next to me lay rows of helmets polished to such a gleam that I could see my distorted reflection in them.

  It was an informal audience. That meant I had been forced to wait for days in the city before Henry allowed me inside, then made me wait all morning on a bench outside his chambers and then when I was hurried inside he hardly acknowledged my existence.

  No doubt he felt duty bound to see me, as his uncle had insisted. Henry owed his kingly position entirely to Richard’s political manoeuvring and, so rumour said, a paid assassination. But our joint benefactor had sailed for Europe and Henry was too busy picking out his new royal armour to bother overly much with me.

  “I understand, my lord,” I said. What else could I say? He was my liege lord.

  “Well, I’m not giving you money, either,” he muttered. He was not much older than me but he was a big, burly man and filled with royal authority. “How much longer will this take?” This was directed at the arthritic armourer who was mumbling measurements to his assistants.

  “Almost done, my lord king, but perfection takes time, you understand. Your armour will be impenetrable only so long as the fit is perfection itself. No weapon shall harm you, I swear it. You shall be invulnerable upon the battlefield, impervious to blade or—”

  “Yes, yes, just get on with it,” Henry said, then glanced over his shoulder at me again. “So if you do not want men or money, what in God’s name do you want?”

  In fact, I did want men and money and had fully expected plenty of both. I resisted the urge to shove King Henry out of his God damned window.

  “Information, my lord,” I said, resigning myself to lower expectations. “Introduction to men who know lands where William is rumoured to be hiding. Having spoken to many people while I awaited this audience, I suspect he is hiding beyond Outremer. Possibly in an abandoned fortress somewhere in the desert. If that is in fact where he is I shall also need to approach the Saracens who control the land near there. You, my lord king, could perhaps request peaceful passage through those lands.”

  “Yes, yes, of course he is. It sounds like a lot of bother to go through, does it not?” Henry said, without looking me in the eye. “I think we should let the Saracens kill him. We know that he’s gone to ground half way to Damascus. He won’t last long up there with those heathens roaming about. He will be dead before the year is out, mark my words. Probably best to forget about William and be on your way.”

  I fought down my urge to grab one of the helmets from the table and smash his idiot face in. I kept my voice level. “Are you saying that you know that is where William is?”

  He hesitated then wafted away my question. “I am saying that you need take no action for William to be killed. He shall not live to see Christmas, I have no doubt.”

  “I must perform the task with my own hand,” I said, stiffly. “I swore an oath, my lord. It must be fulfilled.”

  “Yes, yes, your famous oath. Is there anyone in Outremer who has not heard of it? Dear me, what a chivalrous man you are.”

  I ground my teeth, lest I sink them into his face.

  At least he had the good grace to appear embarrassed when he turned around and saw the look in my eyes. Embarrassed or fearful, perhaps. “That is to say, I heard what he did to your wife, of course. A terrible thing. An unholy thing. I had the honour of meeting her merely twice but she struck me as a remarkable lady.”

  “She was, my lord.”

  “Still, she’s in a better place now, I don’t doubt,” Henry muttered.

  I looked out to sea while the armourer finished his measuring and bowed and made further promises that Henry waved away.

  A servant brought Henry wine and the king walked to the open window that looked out to that brilliant blue sea beyond. Wine was not offered to me.

  “I wish I could help you,” Henry said without looking at me. “But if I send my knights into Saladin’s lands so soon after the peace treaty is signed then I could start another war.”

  “I have no quarrel with any Saracen,” I said.

  Henry glanced over at me and chuckled. “Do not let God hear you say such a thing.”

  “I fought to regain the Kingdom of Jerusalem, sire,” I said. I was willing to act humble if it meant getting what I needed. “I would never do anything to endanger the peace. But the treaty does allow travel by pilgrims and traders, does it not? I would pretend to be a merchant looking to buy spices, perhaps.”

  He turned and leaned on the railing that ran across the window. It creaked under his weight.

  “You do not have the disposition r
equired for deceit,” he said. “And you could never pass for a merchant.”

  I did not know whether to be offended or feel complimented so I said nothing.

  “So,” the king said. “Tell me truthfully. If I tell you that I will not only provide you with no support but that I expressly forbid you to travel into Saracen land, what would you do?”

  I took a deep breath and said nothing.

  “You would go anyway,” Henry said. “You would disobey your king for the sake of your oath.”

  It was pointless to object.

  “So you leave me with a decision to make, Richard,” Henry said, talking down to me as if he had gained wisdom along with his kingdom, though he and I were of an age. “Should I throw you in gaol now, before you can start a war?”

  He watched my face carefully for a reaction. “I would pray that you not do so, my lord,” I managed to say.

  “If I took such an action against most of my knights then his family and friends would pressure me to release him. After all, you have committed no crime. But you, I am sad to say, have no friends or family.”

  He was goading me but I did not know why. “I have friends,” I said.

  Henry sighed. “You are a difficult man to know, Richard. I think most men are afraid of you.”

  “Of me?” I was shocked.

  “Many of us have seen you fight,” Henry said. “And some men are afraid that you will be like William.”

  “What in God’s name do you mean? Why would any man think that?”

  Henry looked alarmed and held up his hands. “Of course I know you are a decent man. But you make others nervous.”

  “What is your point?” I said. “My lord.”

  Henry let out a breath and leaned on the window railing again. “If I was a ruthless king then I would lock you up until William gets himself killed.” He left the words hanging between us before continuing. “I wonder what dear Uncle Richard would do in my position.”

  I reckoned that if he thought it would serve his interests Richard would have me quietly killed. “He would give me men and pray God grant strength to my arm, my lord.”

  Henry looked uncomfortable and he hesitated for a long while. “The Archbishop of Tyre has an Egyptian priest. This Egyptian has been in the city for some days now. He claims to know where William is hiding.”

  It took a moment for me to respond. “Why not tell me this immediately?” I said, my irritation no doubt apparent for he threw me a warning look. “My lord.” I was ready to walk out and find the priest myself.

  But Henry smiled and turned back to the view. Ships bobbed in the harbour, bringing wealth from everywhere in the world into Henry’s kingdom. No wonder he could not stop looking at it.

  “I have no way of knowing this Egyptian’s true intent,” he said. “Perhaps he is telling the truth and William is preying upon locals and travellers but if that is so, why do the Saracens not clear William out of his refuge?”

  “What does this Egyptian priest say to that?”

  “He says that Saladin wants the Franks to deal with the Frankish demon,” Henry scoffed. “The Archbishop tells me he pressed the old man and he admitted that the Saracens are wary of him. Can you credit such a thing, Richard? Saladin afraid of William de Ferrers and a handful of outlawed knights and bandits? Absurd.”

  I could well believe it so I said nothing.

  Henry held out his cup for more wine. “But what if Saladin is baiting a trap for us? Perhaps, Saladin has been waiting for King Richard to sail home and now he wishes to provoke me into sending my knights into Saracen lands and so breach the peace.”

  “But if you send me out there with just a man or two then you could always deny you had knowledge of my actions,” I said.

  Henry drank his wine. “If you are captured by the enemy in such circumstances I would be unable to pay your ransom.”

  I actually laughed, surprising everyone in the room including myself. “I do not expect I will be held for ransom, my lord.”

  “I suppose not,” he allowed. “Draw up a letter for the Archbishop,” Henry said to one of his servants. “Hand the Egyptian priest over to Richard of Ashbury and send them on their way into Palestine. Have the Archbishop pay for their supplies and horses and so on. And draw up a letter from me instructing Richard here to escort the priest back to Damascus. Make it very short and have the Latin translated into Arabic and added underneath. That way, Richard, if you are captured it looks better for me and for the kingdom.”

  “I understand. And thank you, my lord,” I said and I meant it.

  “I pray God gives strength to your arm,” Henry the King of Jerusalem said. “Truly, Richard. I will pray for you.”

  ***

  “An unholy mess,” the Archbishop of Tyre said to me as he led me through his palace in Acre. One of his men escorted us. “Your Earl William has put us in rather a difficult situation.”

  The Archbishop had the Coptic priest locked away in a room on the third floor of the tower of the Archbishop’s Palace and I walked through those cool corridors and up the stairs. There were old, cracked pictures painted upon many of the walls that showed many figures frozen in action that must have once been brightly coloured but had now faded.

  “Yes, Archbishop,” I replied, not sure what he wanted me to say.

  “Preying upon honest pilgrims and travellers,” the Archbishop said. “Something must be done.”

  He was an old man and he was not tall or broad and yet he possessed a great moral authority and he walked briskly. He had been the Archbishop for a long time. I knew his name was Joscius but no one would have ever called him anything other than Archbishop.

  “Yes, Archbishop.”

  “I would rather not be involved in this,” he said to me, conspiratorially. “But I feel a certain responsibility for the situation.”

  I could not imagine why he would feel such a thing. “Yes, Archbishop.”

  “So it would be a welcome relief if you could help us. I would be rid of this priest,” the Archbishop explained. “And you can take him off my hands.”

  “I will take him as my guide with a glad heart,” I said. “But if you have wanted to rid of him, my lord Archbishop, why have you kept him locked up?”

  “I told you why,” the Archbishop said, his voice flailing me. “Something must done about Earl William.”

  “William must die,” I said, nodding.

  The Archbishop sighed. “I wish it were not so.” He stopped outside a heavy door. “But I fear you are correct,” he said, peering up at me. “In here.”

  He invited me to peer through the viewing slot. It was not a gaol cell but a comfortable room. There was a bed and a table and a high, slit window showing a streak of brilliant blue. The priest lay upon the bed, evidently sleeping and shrouded in a sheet.

  “You tortured him?” I asked the Archbishop before we went in.

  He frowned. “Of course not. We simply asked him some questions.”

  “You trust his answers?”

  The Archbishop sighed. “My men have made enquiries. He is known in these parts. They tell me that for a long time he was a hermit in the Sinai and a few years ago he left the desert and travelled through Outremer, administering to the local Christians. His touch was said to be holy and he lived on charity. He tells me he has been in Damascus, living happily enough under the Saracens and seeing to the poor Christian souls there. Did you know there are thousands of them there? My men found someone who knew him and brought the fellow here. He confirmed this was Antonius of the Sinai.”

  “So, forgive me, Archbishop but why lock him up?”

  The Archbishop gave me a long look. “Perhaps the desert addled his brains. He certainly looks as shrivelled as a dried date. But he argues with himself when alone.”

  I shrugged. “Just because he is mad, does not mean he is a liar.”

  “Indeed not. But I am uncertain of his trustworthiness. And you should be too. Shall we go in?”

  It was fairly c
lean. Even the nightsoil bucket was empty.

  “My Lord Archbishop,” the little old man said as he sat up. He had very dark skin, wrinkled and tough and shiny like the bark of an ancient tree. When his startlingly blue eyes flicked over my face I saw a glint of surprise in them.

  “Antonius, this is Richard of Ashbury,” the Archbishop said. “He has come to ask you some questions.”

  “More questions? Why do you Franks always have so many questions?” Antonius asked, his French heavily accented but otherwise faultless.

  “Where is William?” I asked.

  “I told the Archbishop’s men,” he said, looking to the Archbishop. The Archbishop said nothing and shuffled away toward the narrow window. “But I would very much enjoy telling you all over again.”

  “So where is he?”

  “The hills of Golan,” the priest said. “North of the Sea of Galilee.”

  “Where exactly?” I said.

  He looked surprised. “I do not know where they are hiding. No one knows. The Saracens know simply the rough area where men disappear.”

  “Why do the Saracens not hunt him down? Their access to Jaffa from Damascus is almost cut off by William’s raids on the merchants. Surely they want to end him? They certainly have the means.”

  Antonius shrugged his little sparrow shoulders. “They sent men. But the demons melt into the hills and cannot be found. And also, Lord William is a Christian baron of Tripoli. Perhaps if the Saracens were to kill him, your king Henry would see this as a betrayal of the treaty and use it as an excuse to start a war? Perhaps, some in Damascus say, the Baron William is there with the support of the king?”

  The Archbishop spun around. “That is a lie. We do not condone this monster’s actions. We want peace. We want trade and we want pilgrimage to Jerusalem. William is an outlaw.”

  The little priest spread his hands. “It is not I that says this. I tell you merely why perhaps Saladin does not wish to solve the Frank’s problem.”