Galloglass Book One the Templar Read online

  "And what of you, would he not consider you a threat as well?" I asked.

  Himbert thought about that. "He assumes I can be counted on to follow orders. They will ship me to Alba or Erie. You on the other hand, are famous for doing whatever the hell you want within the limits of de Beaujeu's tether. Lose de Beaujeu, and there is no telling how you will react. Better not to take any chances."

  I moved out from beside Dagda and asked, "What now?"

  "I inform Master de Beaujeu to beware, that our earlier suspicions of de Gaudin are most likely untrue. That, in fact, the real threat is de Poitiers. You continue to keep an eye on our seneschal, and we both let things settle and assume some small semblance of normalcy. I expect you will be sent back to Tripoli soon. Our spies came in during the night to report movement along the frontier. Qalawun has left Egypt at the head of his army."

  "Can we hold Tripoli?" I asked, switching my train of thought.

  "Inscrutabilia sunt judicia Dei..." Himbert passed a hand over his close cropped scalp. "I truly don't know. You saw their walls. Parts of them are in disrepair as are some of their towers. I think it will depend on what kind of effort Qalawun puts forth to take it."

  I grunted in response. It was not what I wanted to hear. "Well, I am off to the practice yard and from there to the armory. I intend to be ready when we receive the order to go."

  "I am scheduled to meet with the master shortly. Go with God, Ronan. I fear we will be relying on His Grace very soon."

  I watched Himbert leave and then checked Dagda's hooves before leaving the stable. The practice yard was not crowded when I arrived, and I spent the rest of that morning working on binding techniques and disarms using my longsword. Later, I sparred with Rolf, my longsword against his sword and dagger. Such contests were always entertaining and illuminating. I don't think I ever left a practice session with Rolf where I did not learn something. Afterward, I grappled in armor with Henri. We fought with daggers and again worked on disarming and finishing techniques. When I finished, I was exhausted, yet I made my way to the armory where I checked my hauberk, chausses, and helm for rust or damage. While there, I was fitted for a new style gambeson that held steel plates front and back and was designed to be worn under my hauberk for added protection. I worked like that the rest of the week, concentrating on various weapons and then checking arms and equipment each successive day. When the order came to sail to Tripoli, I was ready.

  We left on a day that was perfect for sailing. Small white clouds scudded along the horizon pushed by a stiff breeze coming from the southwest. The sun was warm but not hot. I boarded de Flor's ship with Marshal de Vendac and Master de Gaudin along with their sergeants, squires, and attendants. My rank as Turcopolier allowed me a squire and a sergeant brother as an attendant as well, yet I had asked for neither. Because of the nature of my business with the master, I thought it better that no one knew of my comings and goings besides Master de Beaujeu and Himbert. I carried my gear aboard and stowed it like any other man-at-arms, much to the surprise of the other officers.

  De Gaudin watched my every move. I believe he was worried that I would confront him. He had nothing to fear. If my instincts were correct, it was Henri de Poitiers that should be worried. Instead I ignored him unless it was necessary to speak, and when I did it was with the utmost courtesy.

  There was a small commotion on the dock as the last of our brethren were loaded aboard. Looking down from the forecastle, I watched as a gaggle of priests made their way to the gangplank of the ship. They were not dressed in the green mantles of Templar priests but rather wore the black of Dominicans. Domini Canes , Hounds of the Lord, their Order was the enforcement arm of the Papal Inquisition, and they were boarding my ship.

  I watched as Roger worked his way forward and met them as they boarded. Scrambling down from my position, I moved closer to hear what was being said. Roger spread his feet and placed his hands on his hips, and I knew then something was wrong.

  "I know of no such Templar," I heard him say.

  The Dominican he was talking to was tall and thin as a rail. His head was tonsured, the hair neatly barbered. High, sunken cheekbones highlighted the harsh plains of his face. Olive skinned with a long, aquiline nose, he would have been considered handsome until one saw his eyes—large and dark and lifeless. It was as though one was staring into the eyes of a shark. When he gazed at a man, he peered into the darkest recesses of the soul, seeking secrets only he could find. He saw me approach but turned his attention to Roger. "Brother de Flor, you are master of this ship. I am well aware of you. You are many things, a rogue, possibly an apostate, but an able seaman just the same. You are also not stupid. I know that you are aware of everything on this galley, including its cargo. You are not my concern today. Therefore, I will ask you once more. Where is the Templar, Ronan MacAlasdair?"

  I stepped from behind Roger and looked up into the face of a zealot. His features registered neither shock nor surprise. He examined me as though I were a tender cut of meat, something to be thoroughly inspected before one purchased it. "I am Brother Ronan MacAlasdair, Turcopole of Grand Master Guillaume de Beaujeu, and who are you?"

  The Dominican held out a hand while one of his minions produced a parchment impressed with the Papal Seal and then placed it in his outstretched palm. With one, long neatly trimmed nail, he slit the wax of the seal and opened the parchment. Satisfied with what was there, he handed it to another of his companions who opened it and then began to read out loud. "By order of his holiness Pope Nicholas IV, I herby decree that Fra Damianus Marsatus is the instrument of my will and by extension the visible manifestation of the Papal Courts whose sole purpose is the confrontation and extermination of heresy within the Church and its Orders. He is charged with convening such courts in the Kingdom of Jerusalem to that end and shall be granted such rights and privileges as will make said inquisition expedient and successful."

  "I hereby charge you, Brother Ronan MacAlasdair, with the crimes of heresy, fornication, and adultery. You will surrender yourself to me and accompany me to the priory of the Knights of St. John of the Hospital where you will be held until such time as we deem proper to try you for your offenses before God."

  Fra Marsatus was like a huge boar hound that one meets for the first time. All muscle and fang, one dares not let him scent fear. I put my hands on my hips and slowly shook my head. "I am afraid, father, that I cannot do that. You have no jurisdiction concerning the Temple. Only the Pope himself can order such an arrest as we are exempt from all matters civil and ecclesiastical."

  "You waste the pontiff's time. It is a simple matter for me to send for the proper documentation."

  "Then I humbly submit, father, that you will have to do so. I will not leave this ship until it docks in Tripoli."

  Fra Marsatus placed a hand on my arm as though he would guide me in the right direction. "Father, believe me when I say this, you are not the man to compel me to leave by force. I will kill you where you stand and lose no sleep over your death."

  The Dominican let his hand fall to his side. He tilted his head slightly as if studying an insect, never before seen. His dead eyes came to life and he responded. "I believe you would, Brother MacAlasdair. Go then to Tripoli. When you return, I assure you I will have the appropriate signature." He bowed his head, then gathered his following and left.

  "I'll be damned, MacAlasdair," said de Flor admiringly while scratching his cods. "You sure can pick a fight."

  Marshal de Vendac had worked his way forward and came up behind me as the Dominicans left the dock. "Dominicans. Who were they here for?"

  "Me, my lord," I answered turning to face him.

  "And they left?" he asked, somewhat surprised.

  "No jurisdiction. They had no papal signature, and I would not submit myself without one."

  He grinned at that. "They will be back, you know."

  "If he wants to arrest me in a city besieged by Mamluks, he is welcome to try. In the meantime, I will send word to M
aster de Beaujeu so that he is aware of this. He is not without influence in these matters." As I turned to go, I was met by de Gaudin. The look on his face told me he was already aware of my troubles. "Is there something I can help you with, Lord Commander?"

  He shook his head. "No, I simply thought I would offer you my support in what looks to be difficult times to come."

  "No offense, my lord, but that will be a cold day in hell." I replied, still not trusting our treasurer.

  De Gaudin's eyes flashed in anger, yet he had enough sense and control to merely nod and walk away.

  Marshal de Vendac watched as De Gaudin stalked away and then asked, "Is there something you want to tell me before we reach Tripoli?"

  I watched the commander's back as he made his way aft and something clicked. The attempts on my life, now the Inquisition. Could it have been de Gaudin all along? And if so was it his way of striking indirectly at de Beaujeu so as to weaken him for a more devastating attack? And yet all my instincts were telling me the connection between Fitzmaurice and de Poitiers was the real threat. I turned to Marshal de Vendac and smiled. "Other than we do not like each other, my lord?"

  "One does not have to be Thomas Aquinas to reason that out, MacAlasdair," he grumped. "The Inquisition arriving as we are about to put to sea is too coincidental, as is Commander de Gaudin's gloating face. There is more to this than simple dislike."

  "You are correct, lord. But I have no proof of my suspicions, so I will keep them to myself."

  "Much can happen in a city besieged. Call on me if you are in need. De Beaujeu trusts you with his life. I think that speaks for itself."

  I bowed my head in acknowledgement of his praise. "Thank you, lord, I will not forget."

  He put his hand on my shoulder. "Come. You have been to Tripoli recently and know the state of its defenses. We need to talk of this and its defenders. I foresee problems if what I have heard is true."

  I went forward with the marshal, and for the next several hours I let him pick my brain about the city we were entrusted to hold against the Mamluks. Over the next two days as we sailed north, I answered every question Marshal de Vendac asked to the best of my ability. There were times when I was amazed by the thoroughness of his questions and my own ability to answer them. By the time we reached Tripoli, Marshal de Vendac had been thoroughly briefed. His largest concern would remain unanswered until sometime after our arrival, namely the number and disposition of our forces compared to those of the sultan. We knew that we would be outnumbered but hoped that the quality of our forces would be enough to offset their numerical advantage. In retrospect it was wishful thinking, but this was my first major battle and a siege on top of that. I had nothing to base my outlook on other than pure optimism. I also did not realize that the marshal was hiding his concerns from me rather well. He was privy to information that I was not yet aware of, namely the state of the cities walls. Years of neglect had weakened them in many places. I already knew some of the towers were in disrepair, a condition that would have to be addressed at once.

  There was little time to spare. We were summoned to the palace of Countess Lucia upon our arrival. Reinforcements from Acre's Hospitaller commandery had arrived before us, yet the city's Commune was reluctant to admit there was a threat. It was not until word reached Tripoli upon the day of our arrival that Sultan Qalawun had left Damascus and was in the Baqa'a Valley that the city truly believed it was in danger. Fortunately more reinforcements were on the way from Acre and Cyprus and were due to arrive within days. Lucia met with us in the hall of her residence within the city. The decision to abandon Embriaco's Castle St. Gilles had just been made. Because Tripoli was surrounded on three sides by water and had to defend only one landward wall, it was thought that it would be better to concentrate all forces within the city. Marshal de Vendac agreed and offered all our aid to the countess.

  "Can we hold this city, Marshal?"

  "That, my lady, is in the hands of God. All I can assure you of is our utmost effort to hold Tripoli and defeat the Mamluks."

  Embriaco took a step forward. "How easy it is for the Orders to talk about God's will when it is not their possessions that will ultimately fall into the hands of Qalawun."

  "Truly what a small man you are," responded Marshal de Vendac. "I will stand shoulder to shoulder with you, Embriaco, and I can assure you it will not be me that gives way to the Mamluk. If we cared nothing for this city, we would not be here. We would have abandoned you to your fate long ago."

  The countess slapped her palm on the arm of her chair. "Bartholomew! I will hear no more of this. It serves no purpose. We are here to discuss our defenses, not make more problems."

  Marshal de Clermont said, "My lady, our immediate concern is the Tower of the Bishop and the Tower of the Hospitallers. Both are in poor shape. Our engineers are working as we speak to shore them up. I just had word that Captain de Grailley has arrived from Acre with the French Regiment. We also have word that Prince Almaric will be here shortly with a contingent from Cyprus."

  De Vendac nodded. "We are helping stockpile arrows and rocks at various points along the wall. In addition we have engineers checking and repairing ballistae and catapults. We have also brought a mangonel from Acre and are in the process of putting it together."

  "Marshal de Clermont, I would ask you to dispose of our forces along the wall. I leave to your judgment who should be assigned what portion to defend. I trust your expertise in such matters."

  De Claremont inclined his head. "My lady, I shall do all that I can."

  Lucia stood and signaled for her attendants. "Gentleman, I leave the details for you to work out. If I am needed, I will respond at once." She left us for her quarters and for the next five hours, the defenses of the city were planned out in great detail. As I was leaving, Peter de Moncada, the Templar Commander of Tripoli, pulled me to the side. I had met Brother Peter on several occasions during my numerous trips to Tripoli.

  "MacAlasdair, how many Turcopoles did you bring with you?"

  "A company, along with a company of sergeants. Thirty knights. It was all de Beaujeu would risk."

  Moncada ran his hair through his close cropped, grey hair. "Truthfully, I expected much less. I see you brought de Gaudin as well."

  I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. "Brother Tibauld volunteered."

  The commander snorted. "He must have thought this was a good way to increase his standing in the Order. You can't become Grand Master with a smear on your honor."

  I knew Moncado was referring to de Gaudin's surrender years before during the siege of Chastel Blanc. "His appearance here means he still has hope of becoming Grand Master."

  "He will be sure to be seen defending the walls, you can be certain of it. How long he remains will be the question," replied the commander.

  Smiling, I clapped him on the shoulder. "Go with God, commander."

  Moncada nodded as I left his side to slip away. Once outside the hall, I had a groom bring me my horse and then rode back to the commandery, not waiting for Marshal de Vendac or Commander Moncada. I had not ridden far and was turning toward the harbor when I heard the sound of hooves behind me. Glancing back, I recognized de Gaudin and two of his sergeants. I turned aside to let him pass and was surprised when he pulled rein and stopped. It must have been late because I could hear the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer down in the Moslem quarter.

  De Gaudin waived his escort on and then crossed his hands and rested them on the pommel of his saddle. "You know, you would do well to make peace with me. Master de Beaujeu is old. He will not live forever."

  I admit, I was surprised. I did not expect this. "I did not know we were at war, Commander."

  He smiled at that. "Then let us say our relationship has been somewhat stormy. I regret that. I realize now what Master de Beaujeu noticed long ago."

  I swatted a fly on my horse's neck, crushing it with my leather gauntlets. "And what was that, lord?"

  "That you are useful. You have
a brain. You are not a barbarian although you can certainly act that way when you have a mind to."

  Not knowing where this was going, I did not comment. "Forgive me, lord, your point?"

  "Should Master de Beaujeu die, I can make your obligation, your sentence if you will, go away. You can return to wherever it is that you came from with the blessing of the Temple rather than its enmity."

  "Assuming that you become our next Grand Master, lord."

  De Gaudin's face was a mask reflecting neither pleasure nor anger. "You are correct."

  I reflected on that a moment. I saw de Gaudin smile though there was nothing friendly in his eyes. "I will take what you say to heart, lord. I admit the life of a monk is most difficult. To be free of it is something I dream of."

  "Good. I think you will find it is better to be my friend than my enemy."

  "Indeed. Let us see if we survive this siege, lord. Plenty of time after that, eh?"

  "True enough. God keep you then, brother," De Gaudin nodded in satisfaction. He turned his mount and trotted forward to catch up with his men. In my head I could hear my grandfather, Angus Mor, "Beware a silken smile, lad, for it conceals cold steel and murder."

  I rode back to the commandery and went to the barracks after giving up my horse to the grooms who were waiting on me. I said nothing of De Gaudin's offer, preferring to keep that to myself. Besides, it was something I would share with Himbert or Master de Beaujeu and no one else.

  The next week was one of endless repairs. The work on the walls and towers was continuous, the stockpiling of food and war materials frantic. The weather had turned warm, and each evening brought the welcome respite of a cool wind from the sea. My duties kept me from seeking Helvis and to be frank, I was usually so tired that I would not have been able to do her justice. When not on the walls, I was in the yard of the commandery or with my men training. It was there in the training yard that I met an Italian, Brother Adolfo di Bergamo, who like myself carried a longsword as his preferred weapon. Di Bergamo was older than I, probably in his late thirties, with the grace and body of an aesthetic. High cheekbones and an aquiline nose that dominated his face, coupled with the most piercing blue eyes I had ever seen gave him the look of a saint. Such looks can be deceiving. He was absolutely lethal, and it was he who introduced me to a style of swordsmanship that I came to use for the rest of my life.