Galloglass Book One the Templar Read online

  Henri took my place in the hours before dawn. I was still uneasy but thought it was simply me being overly cautious. I should have listened to my instincts. I awoke with a blade at my throat.

  Hashashin. There were fifteen of them and their leader grinned at me through his beard. "In the name Allah, He who is most wise and compassionate, truly there is justice in this world."

  "And how is that?" I answered in Arabic.

  "So, the infidel has learned to speak the language of the Prophet. It will do thee no good. Soon thy head will sit atop a pike overlooking the gate of Masyaf."

  I looked about and noted my companions were bound and in similar straits. Henri looked at me and shrugged, "I never heard them. They were on me before I could do anything."

  My captor continued to smile. "It was bad enough that thou hast killed so many of our brethren, but to insult us by sending their heads to Masyaf? Surely thou did not think such a thing would go unanswered?"

  "Whosoever chooses to follow guidance, follows it for his own good; whosoever goes astray, goes astray to his own loss."

  "Oho, the kafir would dare to quote the words of the Prophet!"

  If he only knew it was one of the few verses I remembered, he might not have been so impressed. As it was, the Ismali sat back and then stood. He motioned for his men to bind my hands behind my back. Which they did. He then called for another of his men to approach. This one was large and wide and from his belt hung a falchion. He smiled at me and it was not pleasant.

  "This is Nu'man al-Din and I am Abdul Haqq. Dost thou know what our names mean in our tongue, Franjz?" asked my captor.

  "Blood of the Faith and Servant of the Truth."

  "Good. So you know how appropriate this is that we shall be the ones who take your head."

  "Thou hast what thou want. Let the others go that they may say justice was performed by the Ismali's and not vengeance."

  He shook his head. "Whosoever holds fast to God, he has been guided onto the Straight Path." He put his hands on his hips and laughed. "So thou seest, kafir, I too can quote verses from the Qu'ran. Tell me, dost thou know the Shahada?"

  "I do."

  "Then if thou art a believer, I would say it. Thy time on this earth is growing short."

  I did not say the Shahada, but I did pray. When faced with certain death, there are few who profess no belief in God. I was certainly not an apostate, a sinner most definitely. In Latin I began my act of contrition, "O Deus, valde pacnitet me quod tibi displicui, et detester omnia peccata mea, propter iudicia tua iusta, sed praesertim quia offendi te..."

  The sound of an arrow striking home caught me completely off guard. Nu'man al-Din fell past me clawing at a shaft that had pierced his throat and jutted forth from the opposite side of his neck.

  Abdul Haqq went for his sword as two more arrows struck home, knocking him off his feet. I stared amazed at the arrows protruding from his chest. Looking up, my heart sank, for my saviors were more than twenty Mamluk horse archers. They left the five of us alone but shot down the Ismali's as though they were chasing hares. When they were finished, I stood on unsteady legs, thinking to meet my fate on my feet. A Mamluk officer walked his horse before me and stopped. Undoing the aventail on his helm, he uncovered his face and grinned at me. "How soon thou forgets, Ronan MacAlasdair."

  Badr al-Din Bektash al-Fakhri, my informant and savior, I hoped. In Arabic I replied, "I have not forgotten thee. Let us say that I am surprised and immensely relieved to find thee here."

  "Indeed. I should say the Ismali's had thee at a distinct disadvantage."

  I shrugged. "Was the Prophet not forced to flee Mecca? Proof that anyone can have a bad day."

  Al-Fakhri threw back his head and laughed. "By the Beard of the Prophet thou art bold. It is a shame thou art an unbeliever. I could grow to like thee." He dismounted and pulled his dagger, turning me about. Two quick slashes and I was free, shaking my hands to force the blood back into them. In moments my men were free as well.

  "Thou art fortunate, Templar, that we came when we did."

  "As art thou, for Master de Beaujeu's gift of gratitude would have been wasted on the Hashashin."

  "My lord, the Hashashin is still alive," called Dominic.

  Al-Fakhri followed me as I walked to where Abdul Haqq lay. His eyes were open. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, and I could tell by the pallor of his skin he was not long for this world. I squatted beside him and waited for his eyes to focus on me. "Thou art dying, Abdul, thou knows this?"

  The Ismali smiled with effort. "Yes, kafir, soon I will be in Paradise."

  I nodded. "Thy journey can be quick and merciful or long and painful. Ultimately this is up to thee. I am not an evil man. I wouldst rather thy passing be quick."

  He coughed more blood. "What is it thou wishes, kafir?"

  "Who told thee I would be here? This is not something the Ismali learned on their own."

  "The information was delivered by one of thy brothers. Does that surprise thee, Malik al-Muat?"

  "Do not believe him, MacAlasdair. His whole life, indeed his very faith, is based on lies," hissed al-Fakhri.

  Abdul grinned and shuddered. It was obvious the pain in his chest was growing. "This from a Shiite," he replied. "What I tell thee is no lie. A Templar gave us the information as to thy plans and where to look for thou. I do not know his name, only that the information came from Acre and that they wanted thou dead."

  "Thou dost not look surprised, MacAlasdair. What does this say of thine Order?"

  I looked at al-Fakhri. "It is no different than the intrigue of thine own court. Does Qalawun know thou hast negotiated with the Temple?"

  He smiled. "Verily, thou art a pillar of wisdom."

  I drew my dagger. Abdul clasped my hand. "Truly thou art aptly named. Death follows thee like a cloud. Make my journey swift for I have told thee all I know."

  I placed my dagger below his breastbone and then drove it up under his ribs to pierce his heart. He shuddered once and was still. I cleaned my blade and then pointed to one of our spare horses. "Master de Beaujeu has sent gifts. Thou wilt find them on that horse. He hopes that our arrangement will continue to be profitable for both parties."

  Al-Fakhri smiled and motioned for me to follow him to the horse. As we were walking, he said, "Dost thou understand the meaning of Malik al-Muat?"

  "I do."

  "Yet I am afraid thou dost not know its implications. Neither good nor evil, thou art considered an implacable jinn or spirit of destruction. It is quite a title to have been given by the Ismali. Hast thou killed so much to warrant this?"

  It was an interesting question. As young as I was, however, I thought it silly, for I did not think much of those I killed. It would be some time before that would occur. I merely shrugged my shoulders. "Those I have killed seemed to have deserved it at the time. It is not something I dwell on."

  The emir tugged on the straps of the saddle bags and peered inside. He opened one of the cloth bags, and I saw the glint of bezants. "This will certainly do." He turned and signaled for one of his men to bring his horse.

  After he mounted, I said, "I owe thee my life. It is a debt I will not forget."

  "See that thou dost not. Kismet, fate has a way of working in a circle."

  "Allah Maak, Go with God," I said as he waved his men forward.

  Al-Fakhri salaamed from his saddle, "Hatta naltaqi thaniyatan, until we meet again!"

  Four days later I found myself once again in Master de Beaujeu's quarters, describing my escape from the Hasashin. "What is most disturbing, my lord, is that before Abdul Haqq died, he told me that I had been betrayed by a Templar. The money and information came from here, in Acre."

  De Beaujeu turned from looking out his tower window and placed his hands on the table in front of him. Leaning forward, I could see he was working to control himself from a rare fit of temper. "How do you know he was not lying? Did he give you a name?"

  "There is no way to know for sure, lord,
and unfortunately he was not given a name."

  "I suppose I should not be shocked that one of our own would betray a member of the Order. After all, is that not what we count on when we seek information concerning the Mamluks?"

  I turned to Himbert and said, "I am not sure the Order was betrayed so much as I was. The intention was to have me killed. The Hashashin knew nothing about the contents of the saddlebags."

  Himbert turned to Master de Beaujeu and said, "Ultimately, that means either Marin de Montecalm or one of his supporters discovered that Ronan had been sent to that location for a meeting with al-Fakhri. They obviously did not know the purpose of the meeting, only that it was to take place."

  "That can be solved. I will speak to Master de Villiers. Perhaps we can arrange for Brother de Montecalm to be sent to the London Hospital on the next galley out of Acre. Better yet, let us send him farther. How does the Dubb-linn commandery sound?"

  Himbert and I both laughed. "Perfect, my lord," I responded.

  "There are still his supporters, Fitzmaurice and Blikize, not to mention someone within our own ranks," stated Himbert matter-of-factly as he took a small knife and pared his nails.

  "Himbert, I can tell by the tone of your voice you think you know who this is?" asked de Beaujeu.

  "It is either our seneschal, Henri de Poitiers, or our esteemed treasurer, Tibaud de Gaudin," he replied with obvious distaste.

  "You know this for certain?"

  "Knowing and proving are two different things, my lord. I know that Fitzmaurice is a cousin of de Poitiers, as was Philip de Rouen whom Ronan killed. I discovered this only after learning of de Rouen's connection to Fitzmaurice. As you know, blood often outweighs the bonds of church and brotherhood. There is also a case to be made for de Gaudin, as he was privy to much of our conversation concerning Ronan's mission."

  "You realize both men are well thought of within the Order. There are those who would support either one for Grand Master should I die or be killed."

  "Then do us all a favor, my lord. Don't die any time soon," responded Himbert.

  De Beaujeu cleared his throat and then smiled. It was such a rare thing that I had to laugh, which made Himbert laugh as well. De Beaujeu shook his head. "This is unseemly."

  "I apologize, my lord," I responded while still smiling.

  He waved me away. "Is there not something you could be doing? Go practice with that pole you call a sword."

  I did as commanded. I spent a great deal of time over the next several weeks in weapons training. I was fascinated with the war hammer and worked hard to master its use. Additionally, I spent the rest of that summer running patrols south and west into Mamluk territory with my Turcopoles. Along the way I picked up the compound bow that horse archers in the Levant used and began to practice. On my feet I could hit a target as well as anyone. On the back of a horse, I was basically hopeless. It was a skill I learned to appreciate but never master.

  There were constant rumors that summer that Qalawun planned on taking Tripoli. Our spies in Egypt gave us nothing substantial until August. Finally, when word did come, it was provided by al-Fakhri. The Mamluks were mobilizing outside Cairo. Supply depots were being built from Egypt to Damascus to provide food for the army. Emirs such as al-Fakhri and Afif al-Din al-Turantay were to raise troops in their territories as well. And Qalawun would lead the assault.

  Master de Beaujeu took a wait and see approach. He was afraid to mobilize our meager resources until we were sure the Mamluks were on the march. Word was sent to Countess Lucia of the possibility of an attack on Tripoli, and the Masters of the other Orders were informed as well. More weeks passed and then word reached us of the death of Qalawun's heir, Malik Salih. He had contracted a flux of the bowels, although there were rumors of poison. Qalawun called off the invasion to the great relief of the cities of Outremer. I remember thinking that Qalawun would settle the order of succession quickly and once again be at our throats. I was not wrong.

  Twelve

  Acre / Tripoli

  Winter/Spring 1288-1289

  I was in the practice yard fighting both Henri and Rolf at the same time when Himbert appeared like a wandering spirit. I could tell by the scowl on his face that something was amiss. I was using a blunted, standard length Templar's sword and shield and had just bulled into Henri with my shield while striking him low behind his left calf when Himbert called to us to halt. Henri cursed me and Rolf rang a sword blow off my helm when I pulled up at the sound of Himbert's voice. Dizzy, I stepped back and shook my head.

  "Put up your toys and come with me," he called.

  "That usually means bad news," said Rolf while grounding his blade.

  "Damn it, Ronan, quit hitting me in the legs," snarled Henri as he hobbled backward.

  "Quit leaving them where I can reach them," I said as I pulled off my helm. Looking up, Himbert was turning to go. "Where do you want me?" I called.

  "The Commandery's great hall. Don't bother to change, just come on."

  Without another word I handed my equipment to Rolf and Henri and then followed. I made my way from the practice yard and through the cloisters to the hall. The door was already opened with two sergeants, armed and armored, quietly standing guard when I arrived. Once inside I was surprised to find the entire Templar hierarchy of Acre in attendance. Marshal de Vendac and Under Marshal de Severy, along with Commander of the Lands of Jerusalem, Tripoli, and Antioch Thibaud de Gaudin, who also served as our treasurer, and our seneschal, Henri de Poitiers, who had made the trip up the coast from our castle at Atlit, were there. Our Draper, Petro Tucci, came in at the same time as Himbert and me. To my right stood Prince Amalric, brother of Herny II, King of Jerusalem and Cyprus. And finally, much to my surprise, directly behind Amalric stood Captain Jean de Grailly, Commander of the French Regiment of Acre.

  Amalric had just arrived from Cyprus and was obviously there to represent the interests of the king. The fact that even de Grailly was present meant that whatever had happened was monumentally important. As I looked about, the retinues of both Grand Master de Villiers and Grand Master von Schwanden arrived as well. And this confirmed my thoughts. Himbert motioned for me to take my place behind master de Beaujeu and to his right.

  "My lords," announced de Poitiers, "if you would take your places on the benches provided, we will begin this meeting."

  Those assembled did as requested while their retinues stood behind them, lining the walls of the hall. Master de Beaujeu began as soon as they were seated. "Word has just arrived from our sources in Cairo. The sultan has named Hosam al-Din Turuntay vice-sultan but has refused to confirm his son al-Asraf Kahlil as his heir. He is taking Kahlil with him and has left his capital with an army headed east. His ultimate destination is Tripoli."

  The hall broke into a chorus of shouts and denials at the impossibility of such a move. After all, there was a treaty in place protecting the County of Tripoli, and surely the Mamluks would not destroy such a vital source of trade with Egypt. Master de Beaujeu raised his hands for quiet. When the noise abated, he said, "The information has been confirmed by others as well. Master de Villiers?"

  The Grand Master of the Hospital stood. "My lords, we have received word as well. Qalawun should be in Damascus by March. Envoys have been sent to his Emirs in Syria to begin mobilizing their forces along with gathering the necessary material for war machines. The Sultan intends to break the truce."

  Almaric stood up. Tall, broad, with a deep chest and tree trunks for legs, he looked every bit the warrior prince in his mail. "What is it you propose, Master de Beaujeu?"

  "Our first problem is convincing the Commune of Tripoli and Countess Lucia that this threat is indeed real. We sent an envoy to the countess at once. She rejected our offer of aid, saying that there was no proof and no need to be alarmed. Her response and that of her counselors was, 'The Egyptians needed the trade of Tripoli to prosper.'"

  Master von Schwanden laughed, hard and dry. "Hah, we know that Qalawun is not concerned about
profit. His son al-Ashraf Kahlil is pushing him toward jihad. There is disaffection amongst his officer corps. There are many who believe he has not done enough to drive the Franjz into the sea now that the Mongol threat has passed. The taking of Tripoli will go far in appeasing that faction."

  Amalric looked to Master de Beaujeu. "Can we defend Tripoli?

  "Do we have a choice?" came the reply. The reality was sobering. The loss of the County of Tripoli would leave Acre isolated, its possessions the last Crusader held territory in the Levant. All there knew the answer. "Master de Villiers, could you inform our Genoese representatives of the current situation? I am sure they will want to know. Likewise, I will send word to the Venetians. We also need to decide what forces we will send to help Tripoli's defenses. We must not let ourselves appear weak in the process. The Sultan could just as easily strike toward Acre."

  Captain de Grailly stepped forward. He was a small man, though well built with salt and pepper hair and a clean shaven face. He had been the King of England's seneschal for the Duchy of Gascony and had been dismissed for misappropriation of funds. It was a controversial dismissal as the king had, in fact, owed him for wages not paid in the commission of his duties. Rather than retire, he returned to Acre where he had formerly been employed as the kingdom's seneschal after accompanying Edward I there on Crusade in 1270. Despite his dismissal by Edward, he was well liked and respected in Acre. "Master de Beaujeu, I will accompany a regiment of the French garrison to Tripoli myself, placing myself and my men at your command."

  De Beaujeu smiled. "That is gracious of you, Lord de Grailley." Turning to Amalric he asked, "And you, Prince Amalric, what of you and your Cypriots?"

  Amalric did not hesitate. "We will help, of course. First, my lord, I must return to Cyprus and inform my brother, the king, of these events. I will return to Tripoli with the requested reinforcements."

  De Beaujeu bowed his head in thanks. The meeting then broke up into separate discussions between the parties as to the probability of an actual Mamluk assault. De Beaujeu called me aside. "Ronan, I have a job for you."