Galloglass Book One the Templar Page 11

  Himbert met me in the courtyard as I dismounted. "Is something wrong?"

  I suppose the look on my face reflected my mood. I handed the reins of my destrier to a groom. Still nervous, the animal tried to bite the man's face off, only a quick swat from my gauntleted hand saved him. "If a Saracen trying to dagger me in the street counts, then yes," I replied.

  "And your men?"

  "More bad news I'm afraid. The Saracens who killed Nicodemus at Botron were on their way here. Marcus tracked them to within five miles of the city."

  Himbert nodded and then motioned for me to follow him. The bell was ringing for Nones as I followed Himbert to chapel. I took my place in the back as I was still in my mail and followed the ritual of the mass. Himbert did the same, and it wasn't until Mass was over that he spoke. We were on our way to our quarters when he asked, "Would Embriaco be foolish enough to negotiate with the Mamluks?"

  "Why would he do that?" I asked, completely confused.

  "If he is supported by the Genoese, would they not want the ability to trade exclusively with Alexandria?"

  My mind was still not coming to terms with Himbert's reasoning. "I suppose."

  "As it stands now, the Mamluks trade with all of the Italian States and Cyprus. The Military Orders benefit from this trade as it makes the ports in the Levant wealthy. We also ship goods from those ports back to Europe at a tidy profit. How much profit would there be if Sultan Qualawun traded only with the Genoese?"

  "None. It would benefit the Genoese and no one else. They would strangle Egypt's trade with the west as well."

  Himbert grinned at me. "You are correct. Now we need to know if this Mamluk connection is as we suspect, through Bartholomew."

  "Why the attempt on my life," I asked. "What was to be gained by that?"

  Himbert shrugged. "Someone fears your connection to our master? They assume you are here to enforce de Beaujeu's orders."

  "Such a person would have to be Embriaco, would it not? Only he knows of that connection."

  Himbert stopped before the door to my cell. "Think on this. Meet with his wife. I saw the look that passed between you. At the same time, I will send word to our informants to be on the lookout for Saracens newly arrived in the city. Perhaps we can find out exactly what Bartholomew is up to before it is too late."

  I retired to my cell, coming out for Vespers and then once again returning to my cot for the evening. Morning found me ensconced in the routine of the commandery. I attended Mattens and then went to the yard to practice first on the pell and then, once I was warm, with blunted weapons. Both Rolf and Henri were there, and their contrasting styles provided me with a tremendous challenge. Henri was bull-like in his attacks, his sword and shield weapons to be used in equal measure. I considered myself a strong man, yet Henri was impossible to match force with force. The only way to defeat him was through deception and timing. Rolf, on the other hand, was exceptionally fast and skilled at binding one's blade with his own until the proper moment to strike. In a dual of blade on blade such as I had with Marin, I do not doubt he would have killed me. After several bouts, I finished with disarming techniques with both a weapon and unarmed. One never knew when he would face a dagger with nothing but his hands to protect himself.

  Upon my leaving the yard, I ran into Himbert, who was waiting for me in one of the nearby cloisters. He motioned for me to stay, so I waited for those brothers who were on their way to eat to pass. "You are interrupting my breakfast, brother."

  Himbert responded by asking, "Do you know what day it is?"

  I shrugged and scratched my armpit where my gambeson chaffed. "Should I?"

  "Indeed. It is the Feast of the Presentation of Mary."

  I shook my head, my mind blank.

  "Dolt!" hissed Himbert. "Helvis Embriaco will attend Mass at the Church of St. Mary's of the Tower. So will you. She will be attended by her maids and a guard. You have thirty minutes to change your clothes, clean yourself, and create an excuse to talk with her. I will have a horse ready in the courtyard. Go and be charming."

  It took me less than twenty. I was standing just inside the nave of the Church of St. Mary's of the Tower when I felt a slight pressure to my right. Helvis Embriaco was at my elbow, her maids beside her. We celebrated Mass together that day, among other things. And it was then that I learned Bartholomew had betrayed us to the Mamluks.

  Eight

  Cairo / Palace of the Sultan

  Winter / 1288

  News of Embriaco's treachery reached Master de Beaujeu the next day when Master de Gaudin sent a message by carrier pigeon to Acre. Within the week, Roger de Flor arrived with his galley. Himbert and I took ship at once on the orders of de Beaujeu and were sent to Alexandria. Two weeks went by before we were allowed to travel up the Nile to Cairo. The citadel of the Sultan sat upon a limestone bluff overlooking the city. Originally built by Saladin, the massive walls of the fortress were girded with several towers and enclosed the seat of the Mamluk Sultinate. Divided into a Northern and Southern Enclosure by a thick interior wall, the citadel held the palace of the sultan, a mosque, barracks, stables, and quarters for numerous government officials along with buildings designed for the various functions of government.

  We took lodging on the outskirts of the city at an inn with a reputation for catering to wealthy merchants. Two days after our arrival, an escort of Mamluk cavalry collected us from the inn and brought us to the citadel by a circuitous route where we waited for the better part of the day before we were ushered into the presence of Qalawun, Sultan of Egypt.

  The palace of Qalawun was located inside the citadel in the Southern Enclosure. For a guest to reach it, one first had to enter the walled city through the Northern Enclosure at the Bab Al-Qarafa. This was to show off the power of the Mamluks by taking one by their barracks and parade grounds where cavalry drilled constantly and archers filled the sky with flights of arrows at distant butts. Ornately decorated buildings for Qalawun's officers and ministers along with various fountains and gardens surrounded the outer grounds. We were then passed through the Bab Al-Qullah and into the Southern Enclosure. This was the heart of the Sultan's Empire. His palace and mosque occupied perhaps a third of the grounds. The rest was taken up with various buildings to house the Sultan's servants and slaves along with everything necessary to run this small city. Kitchens, bakeries, and storehouses lined the inside walls, much of them hidden by trees and gardens placed strategically to provide the Sultan with the illusion of privacy.

  To reach the audience room, we were taken through an intricately tiled courtyard with a huge fountain and then down a long portico that led to a vaulted atrium with verses of the Koran in silver giltwork across its ceiling. The door was guarded by two massive Nubian eunuchs who opened them silently as we arrived.

  Atop a raised dais, on a throne of polished teak inlaid with ivory, sat the Sultan of Egypt, Sayf-ad-Din Qalawun. Flanked on either side by his sons, Salah-ad-Din Kalil and Nasir-ad-Din Muhammad, he watched our approach through the hooded eyes of a hawk. Emirs of various standing stood at attention at the foot of the platform, and all eyes were on us.

  We stopped our approach roughly twenty feet from the throne and waited. Our presence was announced by a Circassian Mamluk who called to us first in Arabic and then in Latin. Qalawun waved him to silence with a flick of his wrist and stared at us both a moment before asking, "Do you speak the language of the Prophet?"

  "Yes, lord, though my ability is greater than that of my companion," responded Himbert at once, in understandable, if unaccented, Arabic.

  Qalawun nodded and again paused several seconds before speaking. "Why have you come here? Your master takes a grave risk sending you to my court. There are those in this room who, as I speak, are plotting ways to drive a dagger into your hearts and survive my wrath. I am the only thing that stands between you and death."

  Himbert inclined his head and acknowledged the obvious. "Lord, we have come to you with the Temple's concerns for the Commune of Trip
oli."

  "What have I to do with that city? Is it not under the protection of the Kingdom of Jerusalem and by extension, The Templars?"

  "That is true, lord, but there are those within the city who would hand it over to the Genoese, who even now seek to control all trade between Egypt and the West. Such an outcome would be disastrous for all concerned."

  Qalawun was a Kipchak Turk, bought as a young man for a thousand gold dinars by Sultan Al-Malik As-Salih to be trained and to serve as one of his household warriors. To be a Mamluk was to be a slave. Yet slaves could elevate themselves by ability and cunning in Mamluk society, and Qalawun was both. He rose rapidly through the ranks of Mamluk warriors to become an Emir and the hard right hand of the next Sultan, Baibars al-Bunduqdari. In the subsequent power struggle that erupted upon Baibars' death, Qalawun murdered his way to the top. He was intelligent and could be completely ruthless when necessary. "You mean for the Temple and its trade with Egypt, do you not?"

  "Not just us, lord, but any western nation along with the ports of the Levant. If Genoa controls the trade, Genoa sets the prices. Competition is best for all concerned, is this not so?"

  "Only, if Genoa cannot be controlled." He smiled then and it was not pleasant to see. "You realize Templar, that the same argument was presented to me by Admiral Spinola not two weeks ago? That it is, in fact, the Temple that seeks to monopolize all trade between Egypt and the West? Why should I believe any of you?"

  I touched Himbert's arm and indicated I wished to speak. He frowned and shook his head but the Sultan held up his hand for silence. Qalawun studied me a moment behind those hooded eyes of his. One of his sons leaned over and murmured something in his ear, and he nodded almost imperceptibly. He said something in Turkic to his interpreter who in turn spoke to me in Latin. "The Sultan would hear your response and knows your command of our language may not be up to the task."

  "Thank you, lord. You are correct. Latin would be much easier," I said while watching Qalawun's face. Behind him, the Sultan's interpreter repeated my words in Turkic. "The answer you seek is simple. The Temple does not have the resources to acquire the vast amount of shipping that it would require to control the trade between Alexandria and the West. You must know that we are already struggling to arm, equip, and protect what we already have. This is something that is common knowledge, particularly by someone such as yourself."

  "Simple," responded Qalawun in Turkic. "Would that any of this were simple." He shifted on his throne. "Tell your master that there will be no treaty with Genoa concerning Tripoli. In fact, I will look upon Genoese control of that city as a violation of the existing peace that was made between The County of Tripoli and the Sultanate of Egypt. That should ease his mind."

  I watched Qalawun's coal dark eyes the entire time he spoke and could discern nothing of his intent. "I am sure, lord, Master de Beaujeu will be relieved to hear that."

  "As you say," he smiled. It was like watching an adder with a rat. "Tell me, young Templar, what is your relationship with your Master?"

  I knew at once that I was treading on ominous ground. To be caught in a lie would prove to be fatal. Calmly, I looked him in the eye and said, "Like all my brothers, lord, I am a servant of Master de Beaujeu and God."

  "You are, I think, closer to him than that. We know who Brother Himbert is. He has been seen at the side of the last two Master's of the Temple. You, we do not know. So tell me, why were you sent with the one beside you? Are you an assassin?"

  The court went silent. All eyes were on me. I saw several of Qalawun's Emirs grip the handles of their swords, waiting for word to draw. "I will be the first to tell you, lord, that yes, I have killed men in the service of my master. Who in this room has not?"

  "That is not what I asked," he said, brushing my answer aside.

  "No, it is not." I never once looked away from the Sultan. I believe had I done so, I would have been struck down as I stood. "I have killed on the orders of William de Beaujeu, Master of the Temple. I have never daggered anyone in the dark nor used poison nor any other means of foul murder. I am the physical embodiment of William de Beaujeu's will and by extension that of the Temple as are all those who have taken the vows of our Order."

  Qalawun smiled then. "A good answer, Templar. You have not lied and yet you have let me know that if de Beaujeu had so ordered it, you would have attempted my death." He turned back to Himbert then and said, "Go to your master. Tell him what has been discussed. We will not break the peace."

  We were dismissed, and I was glad to be quit of the palace of Qalawun. Mamluks escorted us back to the inn where we were met by Roger de Flor. We ordered food and found a small table in the common room in a corner where we could watch the comings and goings of all who entered. A servant brought us a large ewer of Egyptian beer and three cups. The beer was surprisingly good, but the news Roger brought was not. "A Venetian trader out of Acre just docked. I thought you would want to know that the Countess Lucia has arrived in Acre. As of five days ago, she was being escorted to Tripoli's frontier by a large party of Hospitallers commanded by their Marshal, Matthew de Clermont."

  "Roger, you are sure of this?" asked Himbert.

  "As sure as the prick between my legs," he grinned. "The captain of that trader has been bringing me information for years."

  "We are leaving in the morning. The question is, Acre or Tripoli?" asked Himbert while rubbing his temples.

  I drained my cup and shoved it toward Roger, who had control of the ewer. "Whatever you need to tell de Beaujeu can be done by letter. We should go to Tripoli. There is no telling what Embriaco will do in response to the arrival of the Countess. Not to mention Qalawun."

  Himbert looked at me sideways and then nodded. "When did you become so smart?"

  I drained my cup and smiled. "From watching you, Himbert, for the last three years of my life, thank you."

  Himbert reached out and took the ewer from de Flor. "Give me that." Himbert then proceeded to fill his cup to the brim, drain it, and then do the same once again. Roger and I were stunned. The older monk looked at us and grinned. "Can a man not have a drink?"

  That started a rather long night of tall tales and considerable consumption. It ended with the three of us roaring drunk and passed out in our room.

  Being the youngest, I awoke first with the coming of dawn and went to the stables to check our horses and make water. My head felt like someone had put a pot helm on it and then slapped me repeatedly with the flat of a sword across my brow. I found a watering trough in the corner of the yard and dunked my head beneath the surface. The cool water caused an explosion of white lights behind my eyes, and I gasped as my head cleared the surface.

  "Tell me, do all Franj smell like goats or is that something that is common only with Templars?"

  I swept the water from my eyes with one hand and looked up to find a Mamluk Emir staring down at me with evident distaste. He was mounted on a magnificent Arabian mare, its bridle and saddle ornamented with bright red ribbons and silver disks, inlaid with gold and copper so as to flash in the sun. He was dressed in fine Damascene mail, and I could make out the ivory handle of his saber as it rested lightly on his hip. No Turk this one, I thought, as I shaded my eyes from the morning sun. Swarthy, with a well-manicured beard. I also realized he had spoken to me in French. I realized then, as well, what a sight I must have been, as my linen undershirt was soiled, and my breeches were filthy from what I just remembered had been a marathon wrestling match with de Flor in the inn's courtyard. "Please forgive me my appearance, messier. I had a rather long night."

  He smiled, his even white teeth flashing in his wind darkened face. "The indiscretions of youth it appears. We of the Faithful have restrictions about such things, but I am told there are many who seem to ignore the Prophet's teachings on this. In this I think we are not so different."

  "No, I suppose not."

  "You are Brother Ronan MacAlasdair, personal servant of Guillaume de Beaujeu?"

  I bowed my head slight
ly and said, "I am he. How can I be of service?"

  "I am Badr al-Din Bektash al-Fakhri and I am here to escort you and your party back to Alexandria." He turned in his saddle and pointed to a squadron of Mamluk cavalry just beyond the gates of the inn. Servants who moved about the inn's yard must have known his rank, for they all stopped and salaamed deeply before continuing their chores. "While my men wait, I would urge you to gather your friends and belongings as quickly as possible. I have orders that your departure is not to be delayed. Also, before I bring my men in, I would tell you this. Qalawun is not to be trusted. He will use any Genoese interference as an excuse to break the truce and take Tripoli just as he did Latakia. Be sure to tell de Beaujeu this and be sure to tell him who it was who told you. Your master owes me much." He waved me back toward the inn in stunned silence. The Templar spy network had once again provided invaluable information. It was now up to us to ensure that it reached the ears of Master de Beaujeu.

  I roused my companions and we left Cairo within the hour. Our late night revel had been hard on all of us, and the heat of our surroundings, not to mention the sour taste of beer in our mouths, made the journey one of miserable silence. Five days later, I found myself once again in Tripoli and again in the middle of turmoil.

  Nine

  Tripoli

  Spring / 1288

  We reached Tripoli five days after Countess Lucia had herself escorted to the Hospitaller Commandery inside the city, not far from the harbor. There had been a small skirmish between supporters of Embriaco and Lucia's escort just north of the Hospitaller outpost at Puy du Connetable, the results of which had been inconclusive. Unable to stop her advance, Embriaco retreated to the safety of Castle St. Giles. From her base inside the Hospitaller Commandery, the countess had then reached out to the Commune concerning her claim as her brother's heir to the County. Surprisingly, there were those who were willing to listen. Somehow, Embriaco had lost the support of many of the Commune's members. Either through arrogance or stupidity, it was hard to say, it had become increasingly obvious that Embriaco's hold on Tripoli was slipping.