Galloglass Book One the Templar Read online

  "Of course, my lord, how may I help you?"

  "Marshal de Vendac will command the reinforcements that I am sending to Tripoli. You will accompany him and command the Turcopoles. You will be his strong right arm as you are mine. I am also sending our treasurer, that you may keep an eye on him. Your previous report was disturbing. Therefore, I want you to bring me proof of his corruption, if it exists."

  "Yes, lord," I responded. "But what of de Poitiers?"

  "I have the means to keep an eye on him as well. Don't you worry." He then clapped his hand on my shoulder. "Two more things. First, I had a conversation with Master de Villiers. Brother de Montcalm has since been posted to the Hospital Commandery of Dubb-linn. He takes his leave tomorrow. Also, you will, of course, continue to spy on Embriaco. He is a window into Genoese intent."

  I smiled not so much at being unburdened of de Montcalm but at the thought of Helvis. It had been quite some time, and I expected my return would be interesting at the very least. DeBeaujeu watched my face and then laughed. "Go to the chapel and find Fra Donetti. Confess your sins, for you are certainly no monk, Brother Ronan."

  I took my leave of Master de Beaujeu and left the hall with Himbert. I told him of my impending mission. He shook his head at the mention of de Gaudin. "He has been a rat for as long as I have known him. Be very careful. Do not let him know you suspect he was behind your betrayal."

  "We have talked of this before. What is his connection to de Montcalm?" I asked.

  "There may not be a connection other than Montcalm had heard of de Gaudin's ambition and thought he was the man to go to in order to strike at a Templar, particularly one that is close to Master de Beaujeu. If what Master de Beaujeu said is true and de Gaudin has set his sights on becoming the Grand Master, then anything that makes de Beaujeu weak increases Tibaud's position and standing within the Order."

  "Perhaps I should arrange for our treasurer to have an accident?"

  Himbert shook his head. "I doubt it would be possible. He is very careful. Let me repeat this, I do not want him becoming suspicious. However, in the heat of combat, anything can happen. Let us hope that he meets God on the walls of Tripoli."

  God will have nothing to do with it, I thought. I should have known better. God was not likely to hear my prayers. I was not exactly a candidate for sainthood. I smiled and clapped Himbert on the back. "Come let us break the news to our men that some will be making the voyage to Tripoli."

  That night, after first meeting with my Turcopoles, de Flor and I went into Montmusard and made for the Inn of Two Sisters. It had been some time since I had drunk anything but watered wine, and I was thirsty. I was also fishing for information. De Flor was a great companion for this kind of outing as long as we managed not to get roaring drunk. Before we left the commandery, we both dumped our mantles and our mail, wearing instead plain linen tunics over top our gambesons and woolen breeches. Brown hooded cloaks completed our disguises.

  Upon our arrival we entered and found a table in the corner of the greatroom. I ordered ale and was pleased that what was brought was actually drinkable. Roger was always a great store of information, and if he liked you, he would share it. "Tell me, what are de Gaudin's chances of becoming Grand Master?"

  He sipped his ale and then sat back. "So, what have you heard?"

  "Nothing much, only that he is ambitious and that Himbert calls him a rat."

  "Very appropriate, though he is not alone. Did you know that upon the death of Berard, our last Grand Master, the election came down to three men, de Gaudin, de Poitiers, and de Beaujeu?"

  I shook my head.

  "In fact, de Gaudin withdrew his name at the last, leaving the election between de Poitiers and de Beaujeu. It was said that he did this for de Beaujeu because our master had none of the taint associated with the loss of Antioch. De Gaudin, you see, was at Baghras when it was betrayed to the Sultan Babyars."

  "That is interesting. Could it be that de Gaudin and de Beaujeu are in fact allies? Their conflict is perhaps a ruse?" I thought on this a bit before asking, "Then where does de Poitiers' support come from? Why was the election close?"

  "The lands outside the Levant. He has cousins and influence at the papal court. He is also related to Joan, Countess of Blois and most importantly, he was a childhood friend of Philip la Belle and as such has the ear of the King of France."

  "But, would de Poitiers sell our secrets to the Mamluks in an attempt to become the Grand Master?"

  "If I were a betting man," he grinned.

  I was picking up our pitcher of ale when a serving wench dropped herself into my lap. Arms around my neck, she kissed me hard on the mouth and then whispered, "There are men here to kill thee, lord."

  I laughed and kissed her back and as I nuzzled her neck, I realized it was Alamh. She was the same wench who had helped me before when I had killed the Italian mercenaries for Master de Beaujeu. "Thou wouldst help me once again?" I replied in Arabic.

  She grinned and pressed herself against me. "So, thou dost remember Alamh?"

  With one of her breasts practically in my mouth, I replied, "Woman, thou art hard to forget."

  She laughed at that and then leaned over the table, giving Roger a perfect view of her nipples. "Tell thy friend that there are four Genoese waiting for thee to leave. They may have more outside. I have never seen them before this night. I watched them come in not long after thou."

  De Flor tossed her a silver coin and said, "Take that love, for thy time. I too speak the tongue of the Prophet as well. Worry not, for these fools have already attained Paradise. They are simply tardy in their arrival. Go and bring us some food and another pitcher. I doubt they'll start anything in here."

  Alamh caught the coin and deftly made it disappear. She rubbed her breasts across me once more and then jumped up and headed for the kitchens. De Flor grinned at me like a child who had just stolen the baker's bread. "Damn it, MacAlasdair, you can't go anywhere without people trying to kill you. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you have a worse reputation than me."

  I sat back and scanned the room while sipping my ale. I spotted the Italians in the far corner. They could see both of us and any attempt we made for the door. "I don't think it's possible to have a worse reputation than you. Himbert scowls every time he hears that you and I have been together."

  "For good reason. Himbert knows how alike the two of us are."

  I raised an eyebrow at that. "How so?"

  "The Temple is a means to an end. A place to bide one's time until fortune takes us on to something else. I am not burdened with a commitment to God as so many of our brethren are. Are you?"

  "Roger, it may surprise you to know that I very much believe in both God and the Temple's mission to protect the Levant and one day recapture Jerusalem. What I am not committed to is being a monk."

  "Are you committed enough to spend your life here in Acre?"

  I drank my ale and said, "No. I never promised anyone I would stay longer than my term of outlawry. Himbert especially knows this. When ten years have passed, I will return to Islay. There is much to be settled. I will have my day of reckoning."

  "Is it vengeance you seek then?"

  I sat a moment and thought about that. Had Roger asked me that same question just six months ago, I would have said yes, absolutely. Instead I replied, "Justice. I seek justice."

  "You realize you are not the first to be born on the wrong side of the blanket? There are those who would say your father owes you nothing. When you return, you will do so as a knight. They will say that was gift enough. It doesn't matter that you earned it. They were not here to see it."

  I thought about that. Much of what de Flor said was true. I pushed that to the back of my mind. Nodding, I pointed to the Genoese with my cup and said, "You are probably right. In the meantime, what do we do about them?"

  Roger grinned as he spied Alamh bringing two capons, a loaf of dark bread, and another pitcher of ale. "First we eat. Then we set those bastards up for a fa
ll. I would love to know who hired them, wouldn't you?"

  I nodded as Alamh set our meal on the table before us. "Thou art an angel sent by Allah to guide my way to Paradise," I told her.

  She leaned over so that I could not miss her breasts and said, "Thou hast only to spend one night with me to glimpse Paradise, my lord."

  De Flor tore a leg off one of the capons and pointed it at me. "She would not have to tell me that more than once, MacAlasdair. If you don't take her up on that, you're a fool."

  "Business before pleasure. You forget about our friends."

  "I forget nothing. You see that rather large individual sitting near the hearth with a group of sailors, tossing dice?"

  I tore a hunk of bread from the loaf and turned to see where he was looking. "The one with the eye patch? Aye, what of it?"

  "That is Alfred of Dover. An Englishman, God forgive him. But one who owes me several favors. When we have finished, I will speak to him. Our Italian friends will have wished that I did not."

  I grinned and tore into my bird, noting for the first time how well it tasted. Sometime later, De Flor stood and sauntered over to the men and tossed a coin to Alfred for a throw of the dice. Minutes later he returned and gathered his cloak. "Alfred captains a crew of Frisians and Danes who ply the waters between the Levant and England with an occasional run north to Gotland and the trading center at Visby. Like any good crew they are not above an occasional foray into piracy. They are quite handy in a fight. Watch and see."

  Amused, I picked up my ale and waited for the show. Moments later I was not disappointed as one of Alfred's men walked over to a serving wench and snatched a ewer of ale from her hands. In the process, he spilled quite a bit on one of the Italians sitting nearby. Words were quickly exchanged and then an explosion of violence as the sailor slammed the clay pitcher over the top of the Italian's head. The ensuing brawl engulfed most of the room. Roger and I ducked out through the kitchens, followed by Alamh. After assuring her I would come back, I followed De Flor out into an alley that ran from the base of the outer wall toward the front of the inn. We circled around and waited in the yard of the inn for several minutes. I could hear thuds and crashes coming from inside, along with the occasional curse and scream. Roger made sure the yard was empty of any enemies.

  Finally, the door burst open and Alfred of Dover appeared, dragging one of the Italians by his collar. The Englishman was grinning from ear to ear through his beard. His opponent was barely conscious. I could see a large goose egg behind one ear, and his right eye was already puffy and well on its way to swelling shut. Roger went to the watering trough and picked up a leather pail. He came back and dumped the contents on the Italian, rousing him. Alfred stepped on his chest and pinned him to the ground as I pulled my dagger from my boot.

  "These men have a question or two for ye," he said in reasonable Italian, surprising the hell out of me.

  The man shifted his eyes from Alfred's foot to the blade in my hand to Roger's grinning face. "Parlez vous Francais?"

  He shook his head no. I nodded and tried again. "Latine?"

  "Sic."

  "Good," I responded squatting down. I placed the tip of my dagger beneath his left eye and ever so slightly, pricked his skin. "You know who I am?"

  Again he shook his head. "Non."

  I pushed a little harder, and a great drop of blood welled up. "You lie. I have no patience for liars." I told him. "This can be quick or this could take all night. I assure you, friend, your death will take hours. I will skin you from your finger tips to your toes and everywhere in between. But before that happens, I am going to start with your eyes."

  He looked at Alfred who simply grinned while Roger squatted down and said, "Oh he's a mean one, he is, when riled. Better to tell than to suffer like that, especially over money."

  "Who sent you to kill me?" I asked.

  He swallowed hard. I pushed the dagger in a little deeper and he began in a rush. "A Templar came to us in the Bull and Goat, a tavern down by the docks. He asked if any of us knew the Templar who carried the longsword strapped to his back, the one the Arabs called Malik al-Muat."

  "How do you know he was a Templar?" I asked.

  "Lord, I have been in Acre for five years. I know a Templar when I see one, no matter that he wore plain clothes and a dark cloak. His Latin was accented. You could tell his native tongue was the langue d'oil. His close cropped hair and full, untrimmed beard marked him as well. He could no more hide what he was than if he had he been wearing his white mantle. I told him I knew you from the docks and from seeing you in the company of Brother De Flor. He laughed and said that one of your own wished you dead. He did not tell me who, and I did not ask. He said that when it was done there would by fifty gold byzants to split among the four of us. He gave two Byzants to each of us to show he was in earnest."

  I took the dagger away from the Italian's eye. "What do you think?" I asked De Flor.

  "I think you have a problem. One that could get you killed unless you confront it."

  I looked to Alfred and asked, "What of the others?"

  "Alive, but in no shape to talk."

  I pointed my dagger toward the street as I addressed the mercenary. "Go. If I see your face again, we will cross blades and you will most certainly die."

  The Italian backed away from me, scooting his bottom across the dirt of the yard until he was far enough to stand and run. As he hurried from the yard, I asked, "I wonder what Templar would want pay fifty byzants to see me dead?"

  "A better question to ask is who would gain by your death and who in the Temple has access to that kind of money?" returned Roger.

  "Anyone who is trying to replace Master de Beaujeu," I answered while returning my dagger to my boot.

  De Flor grinned. "The possibilities are endless, but the odds say either de Gaudin or de Poitiers."

  I grunted in agreement and returned to the inn with Roger and Alfred. We drank some very good ale that night, and in the morning when I left Alamh, I was a well-satisfied young man. I returned to my cell before Matins and when the bell rang for mass, I took my place beside Himbert as usual. As I slid in beside him he took one look at me and hissed, "You stink of ale and women."

  "Woman, just one," I replied while crossing myself as the priest began the opening of the mass. "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."

  "Amen," we replied as one.

  "Dominus vobiscum pacem."

  "Et etiam cum vobis," went the response. I looked at Himbert out of the corner of my eye and could tell he was not happy with me. I suppose he really thought I would want to be a monk, and when I returned to my old ways, as I always did, he became disappointed in not only me but in himself. Himbert truly was a man of God. He was firm in his belief, and he kept his vows. He was also fiercely loyal to the Order and Master de Beaujeu. He was a man to be much admired, and as I grew older, I realized that the man I eventually became was greatly shaped by his influence. But there were just some things that he could never break me from, namely women.

  "At least tell me that you learned something useful," he whispered.

  I smiled and recited the Gloria. When we were finished, I said, "Indeed. There is a Templar who is willing to pay fifty gold byzants for my death."

  Himbert blanched and shook his head. "Say no more. See me in the stables when mass is over before we take breakfast."

  I complied. With the service complete, I went to check on my horses. This was part of the daily routine of any Templar and not something unusual. The grooms had already exercised Dagda and were rubbing him down when I arrived. He was in an unusually good humor and pushed his great head into my shoulder to be petted. I laughed at the wild-eyed look the groom gave me. "Careful, lord. He did the same thing to me and then bit me."

  I simply shook my head, motioned the boy away, and then scratched Dagda's ears, all the while speaking to him in Gaelic. I had picked up a brush and was working on his crest when Himbert arrived. Without taking my hands from my h
orse, I said, "Labhair Gaeilge, go bhealach nach mbeidh se abhar ma ta duine ag eisteacht. Speak Gaelic, that way it won't matter if someone is listening."

  "Beidh me ach tu a bheith ag labhairt go mall, ta me amach an chleachtais. I will, but you will have to speak slowly. I am out of practice."

  "Last night I discovered that a Templar paid some Italian mercenaries two gold byzants a piece with the promise of fifty more if they would kill me."

  Himbert moved to the front of my stallion so as not to spook him. "A Templar, you say. Are you sure?"

  I shrugged and continued to comb. "I questioned one of them. He was sure it was a Templar, but he did not know his name."

  Himbert leaned on the wall of the stall and crossed his arms, his brow creased in thought. "Could this be linked to your feud with de Montcalm?"

  "There is always that possibility. De Montcalm is well connected, yet I don't think even he has the resources to spend fifty byzants. There is power behind such money."

  "Indeed," said Himbert. "Even you realize such a thing. I am always amazed at how worldly the Levant makes a man."

  I threw the comb I was holding, missing Himbert's head by inches and making Dagda shy and roll his eyes while stomping his hooves. "Less sarcasm and more thought."

  "If I had to guess, I would say it was de Gaudin. His position as treasurer gives him access to resources that others do not have. He is ambitious. He has made no secret of his desire to succeed Master de Beaujeu. The only thing we don't know is just how ambitious he is. Is he a traitor or simply a liar and a murderer? "

  "I don't think so. I think it is de Poitiers. If Tibald had wanted to be Grand Master that badly, he would not have withdrawn his name when de Beaujeu was elected, if for no other reason than pride." I shook my head. "No it makes more sense if it is our seneschal. He has access to funds, just like de Gaudin. The fact that he spends much of his time at Atlit simply deflects suspicion. If I am gone, it will be much easier for de Beaujeu to have an accident and for de Poitiers to win the next election."

  Himbert wagged his finger in thought. "De Poitiers figures you are too loyal to be bought. If de Beaujeu were to die under suspicious circumstances, you would be a thorn in his side. Therefore you must go first."