Galloglass Book One the Templar Read online

  Fighting with daggers while armored is an interesting exercise. A slash means nothing; a thrust can be terminal. De Rouen was an experienced warrior, and when he came at me, he did so using his left arm to hide the blade in his right hand. In combat, simple is often better. I awaited the thrust I knew was coming.

  De Rouen stepped toward me and drove his dagger up toward my gut. I parried with my own blade and just as in sword play, I kept my dagger in contact with his oncoming blade. His momentum brought him close, and I simply turned my hand outward slightly and then thrust underneath his arm. My dagger pierced his mail and punched into his side just below his ribs. The look on his face was one of complete shock. I could see through the eye slits of his helm as his eyes widened while I clutched him close and drove the dagger deeper, working it back and forth to do as much damage as possible. I shoved him away from me only to watch him stagger backward and go to his knees.

  Sheathing my weapon, I went over and picked up my sword. De Rouen fell like a great tree and was still. This time I did not bother with him. I whistled for my horse, and Dagda came at once. While I was mounting, Fitzmaurice broke from the ranks of his Hospitallers and approached me, keeping his hands well away from his sword.

  "It seems, MacAlisdair, you are like a cat with nine lives."

  I took off my helm and hung it from its saddle hook. The air about me was incredibly refreshing. "You would do well, Fitzmaurice, to stay away from Marin de Montcalm and his intrigues. If I see you away from your brothers, best you have steel in your hand. I will not forget your part in this."

  "Bold talk from Himbert's pup. We will meet again, Templar, never fear."

  I gave him a smile and walked my horse through the other Hospitallers blocking the road. None barred my way, and in minutes I was through them and trotting up the track into the valley. Himbert had sent the column on and had waited for me with Marcus, my Turcopole.

  When I reached them, Himbert was grinning rather largely. "De Rouen proved to be rather troublesome?"

  "Damn near killed me, Himbert. Good thing I know how to use a dagger."

  "I saw. Some men just won't stay dead will they? Perhaps you should spend more time in prayer and contemplation?" he said, tongue in cheek.

  "Perhaps you should have prepared me better for close combat." I replied, not rising to the bait.

  He shrugged, "Inscrutabilia sunt judicia Dei."

  "So you have told me."

  "It is one thing to hear, another to have listened."

  I scowled at him and he laughed. Physically, I was not hurt, but my pride was another matter. I resolved to take Himbert's advice. A little prayer would not hurt, but I made sure he never saw me participate any more than was required. I kept reminding myself I was no monk, but after almost two years in the Temple, my life had certainly changed. I just refused to believe it.

  Seven

  We rode on to Tripoli unmolested. The rains held off and the weather remained mild. The last part of our journey was actually pleasant. Before it was destroyed, the city of Tripoli sat on a walled peninsula that also encompassed a profitable port. The port facilitated the city's silk trade along with the commerce of its nearby orchards and fields. The landward side was protected by a dry moat and several towers. Castle St. Gilles sat close by, atop a rocky outcrop that overlooked the urban sprawl that extended outward from the city's landward gates. The castle, named for its builder Raymond St. Gilles, was the administrative center of the county and the seat of the kingdom's rulers, including the Embriacos. Inside the walled city itself, all three of the military orders had commanderies that were small fortresses, much like in Acre. The Hospitaller commandery was the largest, as Tripoli had been one of their Order's most important allies since its capture by Crusaders in 1109.

  Our arrival did not go unnoticed. The next afternoon an envoy arrived from Castle St. Gilles with an invitation for Himbert and the city's Templar commander to attend the mayor in his castle. Himbert found me in one of the commandery's courtyards, working a series of complicated attacks with my greatsword on the pell, a wooden post used to strengthen one's striking ability.

  Himbert eyed my sweat soaked gambeson and asked, "Tell me, when was the last time you bathed?"

  "Is it not against our rule to bathe?" I responded.

  Himbert scowled at me. "This is the Levant. It is not England nor is it France. There is no injunction against bathing, only exposing one's body to another member of the order. You will find the commandery has its own bathhouse. I'll have the draper issue you some fresh clothing. In the mean time, have one of the squires show you where it can be found. You smell like a boar in rut."

  "I don't understand."

  "If I am not mistaken, women still care about a man's appearance. I am sure Embriaco's wife will be close by. He enjoys showing her off."

  Now I understood, and I hurried to do Himbert's bidding. Late that afternoon, I met with Himbert, Commander Peter de Moncado, Templar Commander of Tripoli, and Master Thibaud de Gaudin, Commander of Lands of Tripoli, Antioch, and Jerusalem, before we rode into the streets of Tripoli through its main gates and up the winding approach to Castle St. Gilles. The castle was impressive, its only weakness being not enough men to man its walls and towers. This was common throughout the Levant. There were never enough men to fill the castles we held. It was also why the Holy Land was a good place to be a mercenary. There was never a lack of work.

  The castle's balli met us in the courtyard and escorted us to one of the corner towers that served as the residence of the Embriaco's. Master de Gaudin and Master de Moncado were familiar with the Embriaco's and greeted Bartholomew cordially when we entered the tower's main hall.

  Bartholomew Embriaco was of average height, darkly handsome, with a touch of gray in both his hair and beard. He dressed in fine linen much like an Arab, and I envied him for it as I stood and sweated in my mail. His manner was cultured, something that comes easily to those who are raised in wealth. The Mayor of Tripoli introduced himself to Himbert and then faced me. As Tripoli had been conquered by French Crusaders almost two-hundred years before, he addressed me in Occitan, "And you, brother, what is your name, and how come you to this esteemed company?"

  I bowed slightly and said, "My name, lord, is Brother Ronan MacAlasdair. I am a poor knight, newly come to the Levant, here merely to serve Brother Himbert and Masters de Gaudin and Moncado."

  "Indeed," he replied watching me closely. "Your service appears to be more than that. Quite the opposite if I were to guess. I was told you are the one who is de Beaujeu's new Turcopole. That it was you, in fact, who led the Templar column that just arrived, the same one who ran into a disagreement with the Hospital at Puy du Connetable."

  Again I bowed slightly. "You are remarkably well informed, lord."

  He turned from me and spoke to Himbert, his face hardening. "Let us be frank. What is it that De Beaujeu wants? You are his agent, yes?"

  I knew the look. When Himbert was agitated his face went very still, almost mask-like. He was caught off-guard. Embriaco knew we were here about his dealings with the Genoese and wanted us to know it. He was obviously confident in his position. That meant he was counting on help from Genoa in the form of men and ships. Himbert nodded. "If by that you are implying that I have the ear of our Master, then yes."

  Embriaco's eyes flashed in anger. "Do not take me for a fool, brother. If you are here, de Beaujeu wants something. Out with it!"

  "My lord, perhaps our guests would care for some wine?"

  Embriaco stilled at once. All of us turned our attention to the woman who now entered the hall in the company of two servants, carrying a large ewer and several silver goblets. To this day I still remember the first time I laid eyes on Helvis Embriaco. To say she was beautiful is inadequate, yet I don't think I'm capable of describing her well enough to do her justice. Helvis was in her mid twenties and already the mother of three, yet she had born them well. The silks she wore that day showed off her figure and brought attention to
her firm breasts, flat stomach, and wide hips. Perhaps if I were an Italian, I would have been better equipped to describe her. Thinking back, the two things I noticed most were her eyes, blue as winter ice, and her hair, black as a raven's wing. She wore a thin veil, in the eastern fashion that did nothing to hide her facial features. I was taken at once, and knew I was in trouble.

  Bartholomew watched his wife's approach with obvious pride. Helvis directed the servants with a small gesture of her hand and then curtseyed to Masters de Gaudin and Moncado who bowed slightly in return. "Master de Gaudin, please introduce me to your brother knights."

  De Gaudin reddened somewhat. After all, the Rule was specific in its prohibition of women. Yet one thing I had learned in my short time in the Levant was that rules were nothing compared to the acquisition of power. And power came in many forms. Information was power, just as surely as gold and armies. We were here to acquire information, and so the Rule would be somewhat ignored. "My lady," he pointed to his right, "this is Brother Himbert Blanke and Brother Ronan MacAlisdair. Of course, you know Master de Moncado."

  Helvis smiled at Moncado and then directed her gaze at Himbert and paused briefly before speaking. Later, as I came to know her, I realized it was a habit of hers, a way of identifying and cataloguing individuals as potential enemies, allies, or lovers. "Brother Himbert, we have heard of you, have we not, husband?"

  "Indeed, we have," growled Embriaco.

  "It is said that you are the embodiment of the Temple, an extension of your Master's will. In fact, to know you is to know de Beaujeu himself?"

  "My lady, I am merely a humble servant of the Temple. It is true that Master de Beaujeu has used me on occasion to express his will and by extension that of the Temple. My importance, however, has probably been greatly exaggerated."

  "I doubt that, but let us not quibble." She turned from him and locked eyes with me, and I felt as though I had been struck by lightning. The Italians call it colpo di fulmine , love at first sight, but I can assure it was not love but lust, a much more dangerous intoxicant.

  "And you, brother. What role do you play in this?"

  I shook my head and smiled, "My lady, I am here to escort Masters de Gaudin and Moncado and Brother Himbert and see to their needs, nothing more."

  She shook her head slowly, "I doubt that, brother. I am certain that you are not what you appear." She smiled, white teeth flashing behind her gossamer veil. "In fact, I intend to make a point of finding out who you are and why you are here. What think you, Bartholomew?"

  Embriaco looked at me, his eyes hard with anger. "If De Beaujeu thinks to intimidate me, I can assure you it will not work. The Temple is not the only group with power in the Levant."

  "There has been no threat here, Bartholomew," said Himbert. "It is you, in fact, who have invited us to your hall as guests. But let us be frank. The Temple is worried that your attempts to control Tripoli by making alliances with Genoa will upset the truce between Genoa and Venice and ultimately with Sultan Qalawun."

  Embriaco shook his head. "And who should I turn to? Count Bohemond's death left us little choice. He had no issue. The city will not tolerate his sister Lucia and her lackey, the Bishop of Tartus. Nor are the dowager Princess Sibylla and her Armenians any better. A republic is the only answer, one that can deal with both the Mamluks and Acre."

  "Not one dominated by Genoa," replied de Gaudin. "Have you so quickly forgotten the War of St. Sabbas?"

  "Dominate? Bah, and I say protect. Two sides of the same coin, I think. Besides, there were no innocents in that war."

  "And no winners either," said Himbert pointedly. "I think you play too dangerous a game, Bartholomew."

  Bartholomew Embriaco paused a moment, reaching for a goblet of wine from one of the servants, then came to the heart of it. "I am an Embriaco. I cannot be the Count of Tripoli, but I can be the Mayor or better yet, Doge. I intend that it will be so."

  Himbert, de Gaudin and Moncado were hanging on Bartholomew Embriaco's every word. They continued their discussion while I, on the other hand, was busily inspecting the curve of his wife's neck and the obvious thrust of her breasts against the silks of her bodice. Helvis turned and offered me a cup of chilled wine from the flagon brought by the servants. I hardly tasted it, but our fingers touched briefly in the exchange and again it was as though I had been hit by lightning. She smiled then and asked, "Brother, is this the first time you have been to Tripoli?"

  "Yes, my lady. I have been posted to the commandery of Acre for the last two years," I replied rather stiffly.

  "You really must see the Church of St. Mary of the Tower while you are here. It is splendid."

  "Perhaps one day when my duties are not so overwhelming I will be able to view it. The Blessed Mother holds a special place in my devotionals."

  "And mine," she replied while looking me boldly in the eyes. There are times in a man's life when, in an instant, he understands fate. I knew at once that I would be meeting her there at the church. It was simply a matter of when.

  "Come, brother. Our meeting here is over," said Himbert taking my arm. "We must return to the commandery by None."

  I smiled at Helvis and bowed my head. Embriaco watched as we took our leave. He was arrogant. He had the support of the city's commune and was sure of his position and authority, backed as it was by the power of the Genoese and their fleet. Though new to the game of intrigue, I thought that there was more to this than Genoese support. He was much too confidant. My instincts would prove to be right, though I did not know it at the time. I simply left with an uneasy feeling, marking it down to my anticipated meeting with Embriaco's wife.

  Our horses were waiting for us in the courtyard of the castle and within moments we were mounted and descending from the fortress. We took our time, and I admit I was not paying any attention to either Himbert or Tibald as they debated Embriaco's new found courage. My mind was firmly enthralled with the vision I had of Helvis, naked and waiting for me. As we entered the gates of the city, I was greeted by two of my Turcopoles. They had been waiting for our return from Castle St. Gilles for the better part of an hour. I recognized Marcus at once. He was sweat stained and filthy from days of hard riding. He had obviously come to find me upon his arrival in Tripoli.

  I motioned to Himbert to halt and then pointed to where my men waited in the shadow of the open gates. "Trouble?" he asked.

  "Probably. Go on ahead. I'll wait to hear what they have to say."

  Himbert prodded his mount onward and de Gaudin and Moncado followed. I went to my men and dismounted while they did the same. "You have something?"

  "Perhaps," said Marcus, his face taut with fatigue. "We followed the Saracen trail out of Botron. It tracked west and then north. I figured they were heading for Damascus."

  "And?"

  Marcus grinned. "They turned east, after avoiding the Hospitallers at Puy du Connetable and made for here."

  "You are sure of this?"

  "We lost their tracks five miles west of the city. Where else would they be going?"

  I stood there and let that sink in. Where indeed? They obviously were meeting someone in Tripoli, but who? "How many men, Marcus?"

  "There were fifty at Botron. When they turned west, not more than five."

  "The others?"

  "Various small villages along the way."

  "Clever," I said. I handed a gold byzant to each of them. "You have done well. Let us see if we can find where these Saracens have gone to ground."

  Both men grinned and bowed. I sent them back to the commandery with orders not to tell what they had found. I climbed onto my mount and followed, taking my time. The walled city of Tripoli was not as large as Acre, but it was every bit as mysterious and interesting. Like any city in the Levant, it was full of exotic smells, a cacophony of languages, unusual animals, travelers from across the known world, and beautiful women. Its souks and bazaars were full of trade goods, fruit and produce, and high quality, fine silk cloth. Tripoli was wealthy, and its
wealth was built on trade with both east and west.

  I waited, patting my horse's neck, letting my men dip out of sight. My mind was lost in thought as I worked my way through the crowd on a street that led to the harbor. The Saracens had to have a contact here in Tripoli, and they had to be here for a reason. The question then became who had the most to gain by dealing with Saracens?

  I admit, I never saw the man until he lunged at me from out of a shadowed alleyway. I was riding Dagda, and thank God he had been trained well. As the man darted toward me, the animal saw him coming and reared, lashing out with his iron shod hooves and forcing my attacker to duck away. I fought to keep my seat while Dagda whirled and lashed out again, this time with his rear hooves. My attacker almost lost his head as my horse's hooves crashed into a nearby wall striking sparks and sending shards of brick flying everywhere. People in the crowded street were screaming and scattering as my stallion whirled again.

  My attacker wore a keffiyah with his face covered. I could see he was armed with a dagger as I reached for the axe I had looped to my saddle for close combat. My sword was not practicable in this situation. It was strapped to my saddle and would have been unwieldy in the close confines of the street. The man came in again but thought better of it when Dagda wheeled and faced him while I pulled free my axe. He looked to his right and darted toward another alley.

  I spurred my horse forward in an attempt to reach him before he slithered away. Dagda's eyes were wild and rolling as he exploded forward. The Saracen slipped to my left, making it difficult for me to strike him. Instead, I tried to ride him down.

  He dove behind a melon cart as Dagda thundered past. By the time I got him turned, my attacker was gone and I was angry. I fought to control my stallion the rest of the way back to the commandery. He was as nervous as I was and tried to bite two passersby as we trotted the rest of the way home.