Brethren: An Epic Adventure of the Knights Templar (51 page)

Simon was in the doorway of the potter’s workshop when he saw Will and Lambert go down. Robert and the other knights and sergeants, who hadn’t had time to saddle more horses, had rushed to the shelter of the buildings when the first Mamluks came cantering through the streets. They had shouted at the people who were trying to flee the area to do the same. Some had listened and piled into towers, or pressed themselves against walls. Others, in blind panic, had kept on running. They had been cut down by the first soldiers, skulls and backs cleaved by the swords, and trampled by those who followed. Robert had drawn his sword and was standing in front of Simon. One Mamluk rider had taken a swipe at them, but most were ignoring the scattered knights and citizens to push farther into the city. Cries of
Allahu akbar
rose above the din of hooves and screams of inhabitants.

Simon, watching dumbstruck as the way ahead filled with Mamluks, shouted when he saw Will thrown from the saddle. He pushed past Robert and ran out into the street. Robert yelled a warning as two riders bore down on the groom. Simon dropped to his knees and covered his head with his hands and the swords of the riders lashed the air where he had been, missing his head by inches. Robert darted out when they had passed and dragged him back into the doorway. Simon fought against him, shouting Will’s name.

“You can’t help him!” Robert was startled by the groom’s violence. He slammed Simon against the doorframe. “You’ll be cut down like a sapling, you idiot!”

“He can’t die!” cried Simon, trying to shove Robert away. His brown eyes were wide and wild. Tears were coursing down his cheeks. “It’s my fault he’s here!
It’s my fault!
”

The Mamluks were still thundering past them. Screams, near and distant, rose on the air, along with the first plumes of smoke as soldiers tossed torches onto rooftops.

“What the hell are you talking about?” shouted Robert to Simon.

“Elwen wouldn’t have left if she’d known about the drug. I lied so she would leave him. I lied to end them. He’d have lost his mantle if he’d married her! But I never meant for us to come here!” Simon choked the words through his sobs. “I knew he’d never…But I…!” He struck Robert’s chest with his fists, but he had no more strength. “I loved him longer than
she
did!”

Robert stared at Simon, bewildered, as behind them there came a shout from the street.

Simon lifted his head, recognizing the voice. Through his tears, he saw a blurred white rider coming toward them. His vision cleared and he realized that there were two knights astride the horse. Garin, his sword bloodied, was at the front and Will was seated behind. Robert shouted in surprise and joy. With them was one of the two knights who had ridden out from their company and ten Teutonic Knights in their white tunics with black crosses, several of whom were wounded. The street was now empty of Mamluk riders, except for a few lying dead amongst the bodies of the citizens who had tried to flee.

“Lambert?” asked Robert, taking the reins as Garin drew the horse to a stop.

“Dead,” replied Garin, vaulting from the saddle.

The Teutonics were dismounting, some helping their injured comrades. A few of the Templars in Lambert’s company, who had remained with Robert, joined them.

“They came to our aid,” said Garin, nodding over his shoulder to the German knights.

“Where are the Mamluks?” said Robert, staring down the now eerily quiet street.

“The cavalry have gone on into the main city,” replied one of the Teutonics, coming over. “We don’t have much time. They will soon take the gates and the rest of the army will enter. We can do nothing.”

“What are you saying?” said Will, slipping down from the saddle. “That we surrender?”

“I don’t believe the Saracens would accept it if we did. We were on the hillside a little way from here. It’s not a battle; it’s a massacre. They are butchering everyone they find.” The Teutonic wiped blood from a cut on his head that was dripping into his eye. His hand, Will noticed, was trembling.

“We should try and get to the preceptory,” suggested Robert, “or the citadel.”

“It’s too late for that,” replied the Teutonic. He pointed up the street toward the fields where the Mamluks had first come through; the only way left to the citadel from their side of the city. Hundreds of Mamluk infantry were now pushing through the hole in the wall and streaming down the hillside. “We’ll never make it.”

“What do we do?” said one of the sergeants, terrified.

“We run,” replied the Teutonic.

“He’s right,” agreed Garin, “we have no chance if we stay. We’ll take one of the tunnels.”

“That’s where we’re headed,” replied the Teutonic. “There’s one not far from here. It leads under the walls and comes out in a cave below the slopes of Silpius. We can make it if we take the battlements. We’ll wait inside the tunnel until nightfall, then escape through the valley.”

“Or we could go north,” said another sergeant, “to Baghras, or…”

“Baybars sent troops that way,” Robert cut across him.

“Let’s go!” called one of the Teutonics, slapping the horses away with the flat of his sword.

“Come if you’re coming,” said the knight to Will, Garin and Robert. Joining his brothers, he sprinted for the walls.

“If we leave, there’ll be no one to help these people,” said Will to Robert. “We can’t run.”

“What else can we do?” responded Robert sharply. “Wake up,” he said, prodding Simon who was standing stunned against the doorframe. “Come on!” he called to the others.

Swords drawn, they moved into the street behind the Teutonics who had disappeared inside the tower opposite. A sergeant handed Simon a hammer, which he took numbly.

“Do you want to live, Will?” shouted Robert. He pointed his sword in the direction of the fast-approaching mob of Mamluk soldiers. “Time to decide!”

Will looked from Robert to the bloodied sword in his hand. At Safed, his father and the knights had chosen death. But Will knew he would find no rest in a grave. He felt unfinished. Everard, Owein, his father, the Temple, the Anima Templi—all of them had pushed him in one direction or another. But he was tired of being told what to fight for, what rule to live by, when he had seen how those rules changed from one man, or group to another and how oaths and promises could be broken without consequence. Peace or war, forgiveness or revenge, whichever he chose would mean nothing unless he chose it for himself. And he wanted to choose. He wanted to live.

“Come on!” Robert shouted to him.

Will began to run.

The city, which had taken the first Crusaders seven months to capture from the Turks, had fallen to Baybars after just four days. Citizens barricaded themselves in their homes, hiding children in cellars and under beds. Others, seeing the plumes of smoke as buildings began to burn, fled their houses for the citadel. Only a handful made it through the lines of troops. A few managed to reach St. Peter’s Grotto, a cave in the mountainside where the first Christians had worshipped in secret and, later, hidden from persecution. Inside, they huddled together: priests, soldiers, farmers, merchants, prostitutes and infants, breath and sweat filling the darkness, as the city gates fell, one by one, and the Mamluks poured in. Baybars had ordered the gates to be closed behind them to prevent anyone from escaping.

Knights and city guards abandoned their posts as hope and courage left them. Some tried to surrender, but the Mamluks had their orders and everyone found outside was put to the sword. Children, orphaned or forgotten, cried on doorsteps as cavalry came thundering up the street, blades dripping. Muslims who had lived alongside their Christian neighbors for generations begged in Arabic to be spared, but the marauding soldiers were deaf to any pleas. Maddened by battle, stained in the blood of friends and enemies, ears ringing with war cries, the Mamluks took hold of Antioch. And they broke it.

After the initial slaughter and the streets had been emptied of the living, the soldiers stormed the churches and palaces, butchering priests and servants, ransacking rooms for treasures, pissing on altars, tearing down crucifixes, burning the Gospels. And amidst the fire and the killing there was rape and there was torture. In St. Peter’s Cathedral the tombs of the Patriarchs were opened and the bodies tossed out. Heavy gold rings and jewels clattered to the floor with bones that crumbled, or were crushed to dust beneath the heels of soldiers. An archdeacon, sheltering in the catacombs, was cuffed to the floor as Mamluks pushed past him to get to another tomb. He clung to the leg of one of the warriors, pleading for the bones of his father to be spared the defilement. The soldiers laughed as they dragged the decayed corpse from the tomb and scattered it about the chamber. One soldier then beat the archdeacon to death with his father’s rotted skull.

In the center of the dying city, Baybars had taken over a large Roman villa as his base. As he was bending over a fountain in the courtyard, which was littered with bodies that his men were dragging into a pile, one of his governors came to him. Baybars’s sword arm was aching and his thigh was stinging where a Templar had grazed him with a sword point. The air was filled with smoke, his throat was parched.

The governor waited for Baybars to finish washing before he spoke. “The Christians in the citadel have surrendered, my lord.”

“Tell them we accept. They are to lay down arms and let us in.”

The governor bowed. “Do we let them go free, my lord?”

“No,” said Baybars, cupping his hand in the fountain and drinking. “All those left alive in the city will be enslaved. Tomorrow the men can take their pick of them and the rest we will sell.” He looked down as his foot stepped on something. It was a small doll made of cloth. Baybars bent to pick it up, wondering if Baraka might like it. “And the treasure?” he asked the governor.

“We have taken so much I expect it will have to be handed out by the cartload,” replied the governor.

Baybars turned the doll over in his large hand. He supposed it was more of a girl’s toy. As he thought this, he caught sight of a child’s body among the pile of corpses. Her black hair was matted with blood. She looked a little younger than his son. Baybars saw that the governor was staring at him. “What?”

“I just said, my lord,” began the governor cautiously, “that the treasure will be almost too much to carry, but that I’m sure we will manage.”

“Good.” Baybars seemed to shake himself. “We’ll distribute it and the slaves among the men tomorrow.”

As the governor bowed and left, Khadir came scurrying over. The soothsayer had blood on his gray robes. “Master,” he said, sinking to the dust and touching Baybars’s knee. “I want a slave.”

Baybars took hold of the soothsayer’s chin and lifted his face. “Where is this threat you foresaw?” He gestured to the burning city. “It seems you were wrong.”

Khadir’s milky eyes glinted in the sunlight that appeared through the tatters of smoke. “The future gives itself up unwilling, master,” he said sullenly.

Baybars paused, then tossed him the doll. “Here then. Have yourself a slave.”

Khadir pounced on the doll like a cat with a mouse. He sat back, cradling it in his hands, and made cooing noises as he lifted it to his face to sniff.

Baybars beckoned to one of the Bahri who was standing guard outside the villa’s main entrance. “Bring me a scribe and bring me Mansel. The constable can deliver a message for us. I think Prince Bohemond will want to know the fate of his city.” The warrior disappeared into the villa and Baybars gestured to the men by the pile of corpses. “Burn those bodies,” he snapped, “before the flies come.”

S
imon was in the stable yard, refilling the horse troughs with fresh water, when he saw Will. The groom set down his pail and wiped his hands on his tunic. His heart was thudding painfully fast and all he wanted to do was slip inside the stables until Will had gone. But he couldn’t do that today.

Will looked around as Simon called to him. He smiled and half raised his hand, but not before Simon had seen a fleeting look of irritation cross his face. Simon felt a stabbing sensation in his stomach. The feeling was familiar; he had been getting it each time he saw Will since they were boys in New Temple, but it wasn’t so pleasant now, tinged, as it was, with fear.

“What is it?” said Will, as Simon crossed the yard to him.

“How are you?” Simon kept his smile going. “I haven’t seen you for a few days. Not since we got back.”

“I’m fine.” Will glanced up at the sun, which was low in the sky. It had been another hot day and the air was close. The smell of dung and hay from the stables was warm, pungent. “Did you want something?”

His tone wasn’t unfriendly, but the words—so formal—caused another pang to shoot through Simon. “Everard passed by here earlier, looking for you. He asked me to tell you to go and see him.”

“I will.” Will turned to leave.

“He said it was important,” said Simon despairingly at Will’s back.

“I’m sure it can wait a few hours.”

Simon bit his lip. “Why? Where are you going? It’s almost Vespers.”

“I’ve got things to do.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“No.”

Simon watched Will head off.

Things hadn’t been right between them for a while, but it was worse since Antioch. He had a fear of why that might be, but Robert had assured him otherwise.

They had all been affected by the battle and by the journey that followed, but whereas most of the men who had fled Antioch had become more uplifted the closer they came to Acre, Will had grown more and more subdued. Their ragged company had stumbled south through the rocky plains, the sky behind them still tinged with smoke during the day and the darkness creeping thick around them after dusk. On several nights, between the cries of the wounded and the murmurs of men trying to comfort their comrades, Simon had heard Will talking in his sleep. Elwen, he could have sworn he heard Will saying, softly like a sigh.

Elwen.

That name was a stone around Simon’s neck, heavy with guilt and fear and envy. He went to pick up his pail, then straightened. “You know what you have to do,” he muttered to himself. “Just do it and be done with it!”

Asking one of his fellow sergeants to finish his chores for him, Simon went to see Robert, after stopping by the officials’ building.

Robert was in his quarters, washing his hands for Vespers. He frowned as he opened the door and saw Simon holding a quill and parchment. “What is it?” he asked, as the groom moved past him into the chamber.

“Have you spoken to Will?” questioned Simon, looking about to check that the room was empty.

“I saw him earlier,” said Robert, closing the door.

“No,” said Simon, turning to face him, “I mean about…” He hung his head, then forced himself to raise it. There was no use pretending now; the thing he had kept hidden all these years had already been loosed from its cage. He would just have to hope that his near-death confession to Robert didn’t come back and bite him. “About what I said in Antioch.”

“Oh!” said Robert, looking uncomfortable. “I gave you my word that I wouldn’t.”

“He’s been so short with me.”

“It’s to be expected. Will has lost a lot over the past few years. His father, Elwen, then Garin’s betrayal. He needs time to come to terms with it.”

“I reckon he needs more than that.” Simon hesitated, then held out the parchment and quill to Robert. “Which is why I need you to do something for me.”

ST. MARY’S CHURCH, ACRE, JUNE
15, 1268
AD

Will headed through the Pisan Quarter, along the Street of the Three Magi. Birds spiraled into the rose-pink sky, flying up from the spire of the church of St. Andrew where the bells had begun to chime for Vespers. Other churches swiftly took up the call until the whole city echoed with the hollow peals, which, Will had been told, could be heard for a mile out to sea. The buildings that lined the narrow streets glowed in the evening light and any glass in the windows blazed gold, too bright to look at. Will continued walking as the bells faded away. The marketplace was empty, the ground littered with dung, fruit peelings, a lost silk shawl fluttering limply in the hot, salt wind from the harbor.

It was almost midsummer. Back in Paris, the summer fair would soon begin. Already the jousting lists would be set up in the tournament ground. The girls would wear ribbons in their hair.

Will crossed an open square, shaded by a canopy of blue and green cloth, and entered the Venetian Quarter. As a Templar, he had no trouble passing through the gates that separated each of the walled suburbs. When the guards, nodding nonchalantly, had waved him through, he made his way quickly to the church of St. Mary. By the time he arrived, the service was almost over and the Eucharist was being administered. He slipped in, recited the Paternoster with the congregation, then waited for them to file out. A few people lingered, kneeling in prayer, as the priest began to clear the tabernacle of the Communion chalice and a dish of crumbs that had been the Host. Will’s gaze came to rest on one bowed head in the front benches. He moved down the side aisle, passing an altar dedicated to the Holy Mother, which was encircled by dozens of candles. These votive offerings had been lit all over Acre since Prince Bohemond had sent tidings of Antioch’s fall. The news had reached Acre just before Will and the other knights, and they had entered a city already in mourning. Will took a fresh candle from the stack on the floor and lit it with the flame of another. After placing it before the marble statue of the Madonna, who was looking tenderly down at him, he went to the front bench and sat next to the bowed figure.

“Who did you pray for?” asked Garin, raising his head.

Will ignored the question. “Is everything ready?”

Garin paused, then nodded. “It’s in the vestibule. The priest will let us through.”

“We can trust him?”

“I met him for the first time this evening. It was my informant who wanted to use him.” Garin lowered his voice and watched the priest head through a door off the choir aisle. “But he seems willing enough to help. The Temple supported Venice during the civil war with the Genoese, who were aided by the Hospital. We apparently saved a brother of his during a street battle.”

“You really think this can work?”

Garin frowned. “You’re not backing out?”

“No, I’ve lost too much for the sake of this damn book. I want it finished. I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing. What about this servant? How do you know he isn’t going to lead us into a trap?”

“He willingly offered his help. He told me how he’d asked to become a sergeant in the Hospital, but had been turned down and how upset he was because he had been working for the Grand Master for twenty years. He was old and bitter and poor. I simply offered him an outlet for his frustrations.” Garin shrugged. “That and some gold. Everyone has desires, Will. You just need to know which strings to pluck to make people sound them.”

“Is that some trick you learned while working with Rook?”

Garin sighed heavily. “What you’re really wondering is if you can trust me, isn’t it?”

“No, Garin,” said Will, meeting his gaze easily. “I’ll never trust you. But I want to be certain that this is going to go smoothly. If the servant is right and the book will soon be moved to a more secure location, we’ll only have this one chance to take it.”

Garin looked down at his hands. “You don’t believe I’ve changed?”

Will sat back with an impatient sigh.

Garin leaned closer. “Remember, I’m the one who came to you with this.”

“Everard has his own plan to retrieve the book.”

“Well, from what you said, his first plan didn’t work all that well.”

Will said nothing. He had returned from Antioch to discover that, in his absence, the Anima Templi had sent two mercenaries into the Hospital compound to take back the Book of the Grail. The mercenaries hadn’t returned and a week later, during a meeting of Acre’s ruler, Hugues de Revel had warned the other leaders that thieves had tried to break into his safe. These men, he had told the assembled leaders, had been apprehended for questioning, but had tried to escape and had been killed. Desperate to retrieve the book, but knowing that he couldn’t send more men inside the Hospital so soon after the failed attempt, Everard had been forced to wait.

“My plan at least has a chance of working,” added Garin. He glanced at Will. “And, anyway, if I was trying to get the book for myself, do you think I would have told you about any of this? I would have done it alone, wouldn’t I?”

“What about Rook? Won’t he be annoyed when he finds out that you helped me get the book for Everard instead of him?”

Garin avoided Will’s accusatory glare. “I told you I had no choice but to work for him.”

“If he was threatening you, you could have spoken to someone in the Order. They would have put a stop to it.”

“Not before he killed my mother!” Garin lowered his voice. “Listen, Will, I’ve told you I’m finished with him. I don’t know what else I can say.”

“You could start by telling me the truth. I don’t believe you know nothing about him. How did he find out about the book in the first place?”

“I don’t know!” insisted Garin. He reached into a pouch that was hanging from his belt. “Look,” he said, producing a small brass disk, “do you remember this?”

Will took it grudgingly as Garin handed it to him. He looked at it in some surprise. It was the seal of the Order; a brass badge displaying two knights astride a single horse.

“You gave it to me after the tournament. You won and I lost, but you gave your prize to me.” Garin watched Will nervously, hoping he wouldn’t notice that it was the wrong badge. He had tossed the one Will had given to him in the Thames years ago. “I wanted to give it back to you. To prove I have changed.”

Will paused for a moment, then returned the badge to him. “You saved my life at Antioch and I’m grateful for that, but we’ll never be friends, Garin, and I cannot forgive you for…” His jaw tightened and he looked away. “For what happened in Paris.”

Garin pressed his lips together, then stuffed the badge back into his pouch. “I understand,” he said quietly, as the vestibule door opened and the priest beckoned to them.

Inside the chamber, which was fogged with incense smoke, the priest showed them to a large chest. “Here,” he said, waving them closer. His accent was strong. “The man came this morning and left them with me. He said all you will need is here.”

“Thank you,” said Garin.

The priest nodded. “I will leave you to change. You can keep your garments here. I will leave this unlocked tonight.” He pointed to a small door. “You may go out by this way too. Follow the street to the wall. There you enter the Quarter of the Jews and after that you will pass the public baths. You will see the wall of the Hospital.”

The priest headed out of the chamber and Garin opened the chest. He pulled out two neatly folded black surcoats with white crosses on the chests and backs. Handing one to Will, he took the other. Will removed his white mantle and Garin pulled a rolled piece of parchment from the bottom of the chest. As he unraveled the skin, a small object slipped out and clinked on the floor. Garin bent to pick it up. It was a key. Putting it into his pouch, he scanned the badly drawn, yet simple plan of the Hospital, with Grand Master de Revel’s room and its iron locker clearly marked.

Stowing their mantles in the chest, Will and Garin headed into the dark streets. The priest’s directions were easy to follow and it didn’t take them long to reach the Hospital compound. Will held his breath as they were challenged at the gate, but the guards, holding up lanterns, let them through when they saw their surcoats.

Supper had just finished and the compound was busy. Will and Garin moved purposefully through the crowds of servants, messenger boys and sergeants. They nodded politely to any knights they passed, who nodded in return. The Hospital, as the Temple, was a major base and with so many people coming and going all the time, the men didn’t always know their fellows that well.

On entering the main buildings, they had to pause surreptitiously in a lighted passage to check the skin, but it wasn’t too hard to discover which stairs led up through the tallest tower, at the top of which was the Grand Master’s chamber. On the way from the church, they had agreed that if they found the chamber occupied they would say they had come to make an appointment with the Grand Master to discuss a personal matter. They moved up the stairs without hesitation, so as not to arouse suspicion from anyone they might meet. So far, their plan seemed to be working remarkably well. The only thing concerning Will was what they would do if they met Nicolas de Navarre.

At the top of the stairs, they came out in a vaulted passage that led left or right to a set of double doors at either end. After consulting the skin, they went right. In the curved wall were set high arched windows that gave a stunning view across the city which was lit by torch fires and a pale half-moon.

From beneath the closed doors came the faint glow of candles. Garin nodded to Will, who rapped his knuckles on the dark wood. They waited. After a few moments, Will knocked again. Still, there was no reply. He pushed carefully at one of the doors, which creaked open. The chamber was lit by a couple of candles on a large table in the center, in the wall behind which, Will immediately saw the locker. There were marble pillars supporting the chamber’s ceiling at the edges and, beyond these, arched windows like those in the passage. The area outside the pool of candlelight was gloomy.

Will entered, and Garin followed, but stopped when Will halted. “What’s wrong?”