A week after our return, Himbert caught up with me coming from the chapel after Sext. I knew by his look that something was in the wind, and I was completely bored. Five days in the commandery following the Rule was enough. My monkish chores were wearing on my nerves. "You are to arm yourself, dress in your best mail, and meet me in the yard within the hour. We are being sent to a meeting with the countess."
I shook my head. "The countess, is it? Something wrong with her Hospitallers?"
"De Flor just arrived from Ayas. The Genoese are sending Zaccaria and five galleys to take control of the city."
I thought about that a moment. "That's, what, roughly five hundred men? Not nearly enough to capture this city. So obviously Embriaco is planning a coup d'etat with Genoese support. How many men does he control?"
Himbert shook his head. "That, among other things, is what we are going to find out. Go get dressed."
I left Himbert at once and when I returned, I was dressed for war. I was mailed from crown to toe, coif and chausses included. My greatsword was in a scabbard on my back. I carried a shield on my left arm and in my belt were both my dagger and something new, a war hammer. I had been learning its use after finding one in the armory several weeks back. In close quarters, it was absolutely devastating. Himbert grinned, "Well, I must say you look ready for a fight."
"Hospitallers," I grunted. "Whenever I meet the Poor Knights of St. John, someone always gets hurt."
"Indeed, well perhaps they are convinced by now of your prowess at arms," he sniggered.
I ignored him and instead took the proffered reins of a palfrey that one of our squires had brought for me to mount. "I'll remember that the next time you are at odds and sore pressed for help."
Himbert gave one of his rare laughs and mounted his animal as well. We left the Temple and made our way through the streets to the Commandery of St. John. There was an undercurrent of unease in the citizenry that was hard to explain that day. Perhaps rumors of the arrival of the Genoese fleet had them at odds. There was fear that another War of St. Sabbas could erupt at any moment, and no one wanted that. Two sergeants armed with spears barred our entrance and so we had to wait to be announced. Himbert and I stayed mounted and conversed quietly for a small time by the gate. I was surprised when I heard the booming voice of Matthew de Clermont as he boiled through the commandery's cloister, trailed by two knights and two sergeants. "As Christ is my witness, is there no one in this midden heap who has enough sense to pour piss out of a boot?"
He rounded the corner and crossed the yard to the gate, continuing to yell. "Dolts! Do you not know who these men are? Why would you make knights wait like common servants for admittance?"
The two sergeants paled and stared straight ahead without blinking as the Marshal of the Hospital descended on them. "Well?" he demanded, looking from one to the other, hands on hips, his face purpling.
"We were told not to admit the Templars, lord, unless it had been cleared by the Commander," stammered one of the sergeants.
"Who told you that, sergeant?" hissed de Clermont. He was a big man. His short cropped dark hair was speckled with grey, as was his beard, but his eyes were fierce and shockingly blue. He towered over the two men-at-arms, his black cloaked figure almost blocking the gateway.
"Brother Fitzmaurice, lord."
"Of course it was," snarled de Claremont, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He looked up finally and smiled at my companion. "My apologies, Himbert. Apparently there are some in this Order who do not know the chain of command." He then turned in my direction. "And you, brother, must be Ronan MacAlasdair. I would have you know you are welcome here, but before you leave, we must talk, for there are those in my Order who are not so disposed as myself."
I inclined my head. "It would be an honor, lord."
The marshal shoved one of the sergeants out of the way and waved us through. Once we were in the courtyard, squires came and took our horses. We followed de Claremont and his entourage along through the cloister and into the main hall of the Hospitaller commandery. We were surprised to find not only the Countess Lucia and her retinue but also representatives from the Commune of Tripoli and the Republic of Venice. I saw that de Gaudin had preceded us and was in quiet conversation with the Hospitaller Prior of Tripoli, Brother Ernesto de Escobar. The only one who was not there was Bartholomew Embriaco.
De Gaudin, as Commander of the Lands of Antioch and Tripoli, outranked Himbert, and I so it was he who began the conference by indicating to Marshal de Claremont that we were ready. De Claremont approached the Countess as she sat on a high backed chair, on a raised dais, set at the end of the hall. Behind Lucia, her teenage son, Philippe de Toucy stood armed and armored, as did all the knights in the hall. He looked uncomfortable, a courtier unused to the realities of gambeson and mail. There were other knights as well, men loyal to one faction or another. There was also Bishop Paul, who had grown old but still staunchly loyal to his friend, William de Beaujeu.
"My lady, the Commune still will not recognize your claim to Tripoli. As it was explained to me, they feel their rights as both citizens and trading partners would be better served by the Republic of Genoa. Admiral Zaccaria is en route to accept the Commune's offer to become a colony of Genoa with a Podesta appointed by the Doge. It seems we are at an impasse."
Lucia was silent a moment collecting her thoughts. Well into her middle-age at the time, she was still thin and fit. Her wimple covered her hair but did not hide the light in her sea green eyes. She tapped one finger on the arm of her chair in agitation but otherwise remained calm. "Marshal de Clermont, please allow Seigneur Doria to approach."
The marshal stepped back while a small, dark man dressed in fine linens and silks stepped forward and bowed to the countess. "Madam?"
Lucia did not waste time. "You say that your rights were violated under the rule of my family, in particular my brother Bohemond. Is this not so?"
"It was, my lady," he replied, somewhat nervously.
"Perhaps this was the case. I cannot say, for I was not here for most of his rule. I will tell you this, and I make this offer in the presence of these witnesses so that none can say that it was not so. I will recognize all of the rights and privileges you and the Commune have set forth as a condition of my acceptance as your ruler. You may draw this up in a formal document, if you will, that I will gladly sign. What say you, sirrah?"
I looked upon the countess with new eyes. She was politically shrewd. She had cut the legs from underneath the Genoese by recognizing the rights of Tripoli's citizens without the strings of a Genoese podesta attached. Seigneur Doria was speechless for a moment. "My lady, I will have to convene the Commune and put your proposal to a vote. I do not have the power to make such an agreement myself."
Lucia smiled, like a cat that had just eaten a tasty bird. "Please do so. At once, messier, there are those here besides myself who would wish this situation resolved."
Doria bowed and then left, as though hell itself were on his heels. The Venetian bailli from Acre, Peatro Basilio, seeing his chance, stepped forward and asked to approach. "Countess, let me be the first of my government to assure you that Venice will be glad to offer support in any conflict between yourself and the Republic of Genoa."
Lucia smiled, "Conflict? I think, messier, you are perhaps mistaken. At this time, I know of no conflict with Genoa. However, if there were to be trouble, we would naturally welcome your aid and support."
Basilio acknowledged her dismissal with a slight bow of his head as he stepped back. Neatly done, I thought. Lucia saw several other dignitaries before dismissing everyone in the hall but the members of the two military orders. I was standing behind Himbert and de Gaudin when I noticed Fitzmaurice approach the countess's son and whisper something in his ear. Philippe nodded and then sometime soon after, I felt his eyes on me. I acted as though nothing was amiss and listened as Lucia asked, "Well, my lords, do you think they will take my offer?"
Marshal de Clermont shrugged. "I think t
hat depends on Embriaco. How much influence does he have over the Commune?"
"Agreed," said Himbert. "It also depends on how much the Commune actually trusts the Genoese to act in their best interests."
"Is there a way to find this out before the arrival of Zaccaria?" asked the countess.
De Gaudin looked at Himbert and then replied, "Possibly, my lady."
The countess smiled. "Don't worry, Tibald. I would not ask you to reveal your source." She turned to the Marshal. "Matthew, I assume you have a way as well?"
The marshal merely nodded. "I should hope our sources would be reliable, my lady."
"It is settled then, but we must hurry. Zaccaria can' t be far off. The sooner we find out how the Commune stands the better. Perhaps it will give me a way to deal with the Genoese as well."
There was nothing left for us to do but work our sources. We excused ourselves from the countess's presence and left the hall. Marshal de Claremont caught up with the three of us as we walked along the cloister heading for the courtyard of the commandery. "Brother MacAlasdair, might I have a word?"
I stopped and waved Commander de Gaudin and Himbert on. As I waited, de Claremont ordered his escort to wait and approached me by himself. "My lord?" I asked.
De Claremont was a big man, taller than myself, and wide. Though gray, his back was still straight and his grip firm and he was every inch a warrior monk. "It would be safe to say that you have a number of enemies within this Order, yes?"
"Yes, lord, although I will say that it was not intentionally done on my part."
The marshal shook his head. "Marin de Montcalm is a fool and so are all those who are poisoned by his words. Brother Robert Fitzhugh, Marin's second when you took his hand, is my nephew. I know the whole story, what really transpired. For reasons of my own, I have left de Montcalm and Fitzmaurice to their own ends. They do not have the blessing of the Order of St. John, and I would have you know that. Even so, you must be careful, for they will not let what lies between you rest."
"You are aware of the incident at Puy du Connetable?" I asked.
"No," he said ominously. "Was it recent?"
I smiled. "The men I brought from Acre were stopped on the road outside the fortress. Fitzmaurice turned out the garrison to block our passage. I was challenged by Philippe de Rouen. He is now at peace, either in heaven or in hell, I cannot say which."
"Rouen, eh, my... but you are a killer," said de Claremont, looking at me with a new respect. "Philippe was not much of a monk, but there were few better in a melee." He clutched my shoulder with one of his great paws. "You realize that as your reputation grows there will be many who will be there to test it. As a monk, you will be hard pressed at times to avoid many of these challengers."
I shrugged. "Honestly, lord, I am not much of a monk. God has not called me as he has others whom I know."
"Ah, there is something that is in short supply in the Levant, a truthful man." He shook me gently and said, "Let few know it. It will be seen as a weakness and not a virtue."
I shook his hand and then caught up with my companions as they waited for me in the yard.
De Gaudin held back until I mounted before asking, "What is so important that the Marshal of the Hospitallers needed a word with you?"
"We shared information about a rat, my lord commander, a very big rat," I grinned.
De Gaudin was not pleased with my answer. I could tell he felt he was uninformed and that his rank was being overlooked by Master de Beaujeu and most certainly by Himbert and me. "Need I remind you, brother, I am the Commander of Tripoli and Antioch, and I am within my rights. I asked you a question."
"Aye, so you did and you do outrank me," I replied rather slowly as I eased my mount beside his. "Ach nach cac chiallaionn go dom!"
De Gaudin heard the venom in my words but had no Geailge. Himbert snorted and leaned in from the other side. "I believe he said something about shite and those words having no meaning to him." He patted the Commander on the back and asked me, "Did I get it right?"
My smile said it all. De Gaudin went white with outrage as I continued, "Na scriu liom fear beag no go mbainfidh scoilt do scornach I agus a fhagann tu do na preachain!" I put my face close to his so that no one else could hear. "I'll translate the last of it. I said don't fuck with me wee man, or I'll slit your throat and leave you to feed the crows. And I meant every word. I am not here at your pleasure. De Beaujeu sent me to do a job and I will. And you will either follow or get the fuck out of the way. If you doubt it, ask him," I said pointing to Himbert. "Or better yet, send de Beaujeu a message. In the mean time, if I wish to share anything, I will, if not, don't ask." To emphasize my words, I leaned from my saddle and stuck my finger in the Commander's chest. "I have had enough of you, my lord."
To be honest, I don't know what angered me, but it was time the Commander understood his place. I rarely used my position or influence as Master de Beaujeu's mailed fist, yet there were times when it was necessary. I also knew that I had made an enemy. At the time, I did not realize how dangerous he truly was. I kicked my animal into a trot and rode through the gates into the city without waiting for the other two. Behind me I could hear Himbert. "There are times, Tibald, when you can be as subtle as salt in an open wound. If you wanted to know, you should have waited and asked me."
"And you would have said, 'It is not for you to know'."
"Indeed. There you have it."
Within the hour I found Helvis at St. Mary's of the Tower. She was in her usual place as the daily mass was ending. I slipped in and stood in the back of the nave in the shadows and waited. The priest gave his final benediction, "Massa finita. Vade in pace Domini."
"Gratias Deo," I whispered. I then stepped further into the shadows and watched her as she waited for the church to clear before walking over to a shrine of the Virgin Mother located in the right corner of the apse. She dismissed her maids and then knelt in prayer after first lighting a candle. I waited until all were gone before I approached her. "Ave Maria gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulierbus, et benedictus fructus ventras tui, Iesus."
Without looking up she said, "I am surprised you know the words, barbarian that you are."
"Careful, my lady, or this barbarian may take you right here in this church."
Helvis crossed herself and then stood, facing me. "You take a great risk, my escort is just outside."
I smiled. "Perhaps, yet I am thinking you are worth it."
She smiled as well and said, "Tomorrow, Bartholomew rides to his holdings in Jubail. Meet me at the fountain outside the Church of St. John right after Vespers. You know this place?"
"It is the church located close to the gates of the citadel."
She nodded, "I will be alone. We will not have much time."
"It will have to do," I said taking her hand. "Go. I will wait until you are well away before I attempt to leave."
And so I waited. By then darkness was beginning to fall, and the wind coming off the water brought with it from the harbor the reek of salt and dead fish. I left the church as nearby merchants closed shop and vendors cleared the street. My palfrey was tied to a post near a courtyard that opened to the back of the church. As I untied her, I thought I detected movement to my right. Casually, as though I had all the time in the world, I bent and checked the animal's fetlock. Something was not right. There are times as a warrior when all the senses scream danger, and this was one of those times. Still, I saw nothing.
In my mind, I plotted my route back to the Templar commandery in an effort to determine where I would be attacked. My horse became skittish as it sensed my nervousness. I patted her neck and crooned to her in Gaelic to calm her. Once mounted, I eased into the street and took my time. My greatsword was in its scabbard on my saddle and I loosened it while seeming to adjust my cloak. I turned down the Street of Olives and saw that it narrowed toward the far end and then curved to the left up a slight incline. I could not see past the curve, and with no one else to be seen, I thou
ght this was where they would make their move. There would be more than one, possibly several, and they would strike as I made the turn.
As I got older, such a situation would have been cause enough for me to turn back and find another way. I was young, however, and my pride would not let me walk away from a fight. Drawing my blade, I kicked my horse into a canter and headed down the street, gaining momentum. When I made the turn, I spotted my adversaries at once, roughly twenty yards to my front near the top of the incline. There were five of them dressed as Bedouins in dark robes, their faces covered by the folds of their keffiyehs. Three were armed with swords and bucklers, two with spears, and it was those whom I feared most because they could unhorse me if they knew what they were doing. They spread out and blocked the street and were smart enough to await me so as to slow the charge of my horse.
I was on a palfrey, and she was not trained for war, so as I closed, I was sure she would shy and not charge home. There was no time to do anything but rowel back my spurs and bring my sword up. The animal, unused to such treatment, leapt forward, its iron shoes struck sparks from the cobbled street.
I aimed the mare for two of the men on the left and at the last instant shouldered her into the warrior in the middle. God is sometimes good, for the man was not ready, and the animal hit him square and sent him several feet backward in the air only to land on his back in a tumble of limbs and robes. His companion was not so easily fooled and speared my horse as it went by but not before my sword tip plunged down through the top of his shoulder, just above his collarbone, lancing him in the lung.
The spear had gone into my mare just behind her shoulder, and she collapsed almost at once. I kicked my feet out of the stirrups as she pitched forward and tucked my head and rolled as I was flung out of the saddle. The impact on the cobbled street drove the breath from me, but I fought to my feet and turned immediately. My remaining attackers, armed with bucklers and swords, spread out, seeking to find a way behind me. To say I had trained for this moment my entire life would not be an exaggeration. There was no conscious thought. There was simply action and reaction.
Galloglass Book One the Templar Page 12