Brethren: An Epic Adventure of the Knights Templar (48 page)

Sergeants and servants nodded respectfully to him as he walked through the preceptory. Knights, older than himself with tanned faces and a hardness to their eyes, ignored him. Will guessed that they would know Garin if he had indeed come here following Nicolas, but something stopped him from asking. Now the moment had come, he had no desire to see the man who had betrayed and dishonored him. Neither had he any desire to head out alone into the unfamiliar city to search for Nicolas.

After a time, Will found himself on the battlements looking out across the city. The sight was arresting. Beyond Acre’s main walls was a packed settlement that was bordered by another wall and a moat. Beyond this lay orchards, gardens and olive groves, stretching off into a gold-amber haze.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Will looked around to see a white-haired knight on the battlements beside him.

“I come here every evening before Vespers. It never fails to move me.” The knight smiled. “You have come from France, brother?”

Will nodded. He thought the knight might be able to answer a question he had. He looked out over the city and asked it. “Where is Safed from here?”

The knight pointed east. “Thirty or so miles across the plain.”

“Could I find it easily?”

The knight looked surprised. “There’s a road that leads there from the city, but Baybars’s men command most of the route now. You know Safed is in Saracen hands?”

“Yes. My father died there.”

“I’m sorry. But I would advise against visiting his grave, for it would become yours. The barons of Acre sent an envoy there to treat with the sultan last year. They found the fortress surrounded by the heads of murdered Christians.”

Will thought of his father’s body, once a pillar of strength and dignity, defiled and unburied. He wanted to gather the bones in his arms and bring them to a place of peace. The thought of his father’s spirit, blown and scattered by the gritty winds, haunting these foreign plains, anguished him. It wasn’t Scotland. It wasn’t home.

“I will leave you,” said the knight gently.

“Do you know a knight called Garin de Lyons?”

The white-haired knight shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so.”

“He would have arrived in the past year. He’s my age.” Will described Garin.

The knight spread his hands. “Many come through here.”

“He might have been alone. Not on board a Templar ship.”

“Alone? A young man did arrive on his own just before the Christ Mass. De Lyons?” The knight gave an apologetic shrug. “That might have been his name. I cannot say for sure. He came by land from Tyre. The harbor was closed, so whatever ship he came on would have been rerouted there. The merchant states were at war at that time,” the knight explained.

“He isn’t here anymore?”

“If I remember rightly, he was posted with a company of knights heading for Jaffa.”

“Jaffa?”

“A city on the coast near Jerusalem, about eighty miles from here.” The knight pointed south to the distant mountains. “We have a garrison there.”

“Thank you.” Leaving the knight to his sunset, Will returned to the quadrant. He found himself back at the gates. He was about to head to his quarters when he heard his name being shouted. Will saw Simon running toward him.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” panted the groom. “You have to find Everard.”

“Why?”

“We’ve been posted,” said Simon in an anguished tone. “
Both
of us.”

“Posted? We aren’t here for…”

“A knight came into our dormitory with a list,” Simon cut across him. “Just after we’d settled in. He told me I was being posted with a company. I found out you and Robert were in it too.”

“Posted to where?”

“Somewhere called Antioch,” said Simon despairingly.

T
he city of Antioch, although diminished in its former importance as a center of trade, was still considered one of the wonders of the world. Three miles long and one mile wide, people seeing it for the first time were rendered speechless, unable to believe that man, not God had built it. The walls that encircled it, erected by the Roman emperor Justinian, ran for eighteen miles and were set with four hundred and fifty towers. On one side they bordered the River Orontes, known by the Arabs as the Rebel, and on the other they marched up to encompass the steep slopes of Mount Silpius, atop which, towering one thousand feet above the city, was a colossal citadel. The city within this girdle of stone was equally impressive. There were villas and palaces where palm trees and crumbling Roman arches rose from tiled courtyards, there were bustling markets, lush market gardens, numerous churches and monasteries. It was, according to the native Christians who formed the majority of the population, a city unlike any other.

Will, standing on the battlements of the Temple’s preceptory, had a clear view down the plunging Orontes Valley, where the river flowed through limestone chasms into fertile plains. To the north marched the Amanus Mountains, the highest peaks of which were capped with snow. The Temple owned two fortresses perched on those rocky heights, one of which guarded the Syrian Gates—the high pass that led into the Kingdom of Cilicia. South, beyond the plains, lay the Jabal Bahra Mountains. Those peaks hid the stronghold of the Order of Assassins.

“Seen anything?”

Will looked round as Robert stepped out onto the battlements. “Sheep, rocks, grass, more sheep.”

Robert arched an eyebrow and passed Will a skin of water. “You know what I mean.”

“Thanks,” said Will, taking the skin. It was a warm morning, although not nearly as warm as it would be by midsummer, the relentless heat of which Will, Robert and the other men who had been arriving in Outremer since the beginning of the year had yet to experience. “No, I haven’t seen any sign of the scouts.” He drank thirstily, then handed the skin back to Robert. “But it could take them a week or more to gather any useful information.” Will leaned against the parapet, Mount Silpius filling his view. Shepherds were leading their flocks down from the rough pastures. Two days ago, Will, Robert and several other knights had ridden along the walls to those slopes, their orders: to make sure that the escape tunnels there were still passable. They had found the mountain riddled with passages and caves, some of which, their Armenian guide had told them, the first Christians had used for their services. Now, they mostly seemed to be used by children as hideouts.

“A knight I knew in London used to talk about this city,” said Will with a smile. “We all used to laugh behind his back when he said the citadel touched the clouds. We thought he was brainsick.”

Robert shielded his eyes against the glare. “Everything here does seem too big, doesn’t it?” He shrugged. “Well, just as long as the Mamluks aren’t giants.”

“I think that depends on which stories you listen to.” Will bent to adjust his coat of chainmail, the rings of which were catching on his sword belt. The coat had been given to him back in Acre, along with a new mantle that fitted him properly. “But unless you believe they can breathe fire, or curdle a man’s blood by looking at him, then I’d guess them to be of a normal size.”

“Good. I had visions of standing on a box to fight them.”

“Fight who?”

They looked around as Simon appeared behind them, his face troubled.

“No one,” said Will.

Simon came tentatively to the parapet, avoiding the vertiginous view to the courtyard below. “Those scouts haven’t come back then?”

“No,” replied Will and Robert together. They both laughed.

Simon looked disgruntled.

“We don’t know anything yet,” said Will, trying to reassure him. “Just rumors. That’s why we sent the scouts.”

“What if it’s true? What if Baybars’s army is headed our way?”

Will sighed. What was he supposed to say, he wondered? He knew as much as anyone, which wasn’t a great deal. In the past week, reports had reached Antioch of fighting in the south, but they had differed greatly in detail. A merchant from Damascus had said he had heard that Baybars’s army was marching on Acre; a farmer that the Mamluks were coming for Antioch; three Coptic priests that the Mamluks had been turned back by the Franks. After hearing these rumors, the constable of the city, Simon Mansel, had called a council between the military leaders. With Antioch’s ruler, Prince Bohemond, visiting the city of Tripoli, Mansel had been left in charge. He had ordered a patrol to be sent out to verify the claims and the Master of the Temple’s garrison had offered five knights for the task. They had left four days ago. “If Baybars’s army comes, we’ll deal with it when it gets here.”

“How can you be so calm?”

“Because I don’t know anything yet. I know it’s hard, but the only thing any of us can do is wait and try to remain calm.”

Robert nodded as Simon looked to him. “He’s right.”

“It’s all well and good for you two,” muttered the groom. “You have swords and you know how to use them.”

“It took the first Crusaders seven months to capture Antioch from the Turks.” As soon as the words were out, Will realized it was the wrong thing to say.

“But they
did
capture it!” exclaimed Simon. “Besides, I heard you and Robert talking after the council. You were saying how you didn’t reckon the city could be defended properly with so few men.”

Robert and Will shared a look. “We were only talking,” said Will.

“Don’t cosset me,” said Simon testily.

Will threw up his hands. “Then don’t act like you want cosseting!” He glanced at Robert, then took Simon by the elbow and steered him along the battlements. “What’s wrong?” he murmured.

“The same as everyone. I’m worried about getting a sword in the gullet.”

“It isn’t just this. You’ve been on edge since we left Acre.”

“What do you expect, Will? I thought we would find Nicolas and you would do whatever it was you were going to do, Everard would get the book and we would all go home.”

“Everard tried to get our posts changed.”

“He should have tried harder,” responded Simon obstinately.

“He did all he could,” said Will, thinking of Everard’s frustrated defeat in the face of the adamant Marshal.

Back in Acre, on learning of their posting, Will had gone straight to the priest, who had immediately requested that the Marshal change the assignment.

“I need him here,” the priest had insisted. “He was my sergeant in Paris.”

“He is a knight now,” the Marshal had responded, looking at Will. “And in Paris we aren’t at war. King Louis’ Crusade is unlikely to reach us anytime soon. We must rely on ourselves to defend the little we have left from Baybars’s forces.”

“I have come here specifically to secure a rare and extremely important work on medicine for study. I must track down this text.” Everard had drawn himself up and had fixed the Marshal with a stern look. “The Visitor of the Kingdom of France sent me on this assignment, Sir Marshal. William is my escort and the groom our squire.”

The Marshal had been unimpressed. “When this war is won, brother, you may have a battalion escort you to find your precious work, but until that time I will use every man at my disposal in any way I see fit. It is not manuscripts that will save us.” The Marshal had crossed his chamber to the door and had opened it. “Only swords will do that. Now, if you will excuse me I have important matters to attend to.”

“I will appeal against this decision, Sir Marshal,” Everard had said in a restrained voice as he had left the chamber.

“You may do so at the next chapter meeting.”

Everard, seething with impotent anger, had stalked from the building, out into the yard.

“What will you do about the book?” Will had asked him.

“Leave that to me. There may only be three of us left here, but we still have resources.” Slowing his stride, Everard had turned to Will. “I’ll get you and Simon out of Antioch as soon as I can.”

As yet, Will had received no word from Acre.

“Did you really do all you could to convince Everard?”

Will frowned at Simon. “What do you mean by that?”

“You just don’t seem bothered by the prospect of Baybars’s army being just over that hill.” Simon’s brow creased. “It’s like you want them to be. Like you want to fight?”

Will looked out over the valley to avoid Simon’s probing gaze. He didn’t
want
the Mamluks to be coming, but then neither was he disappointed by the prospect. He hadn’t wanted to come to Antioch, to defend a foreign city, or fight the Saracens. But being here had altered his perspective. He was still a Templar, a warrior. The ideals of the Anima Templi had been known to him for eighteen months, the Temple’s ideals had been instilled in him his whole life. He had tried to remember Everard’s words; that peace was beneficial to all. But when he thought of the agony his father must have felt when that Mamluk sword had hacked down into his neck, there was no white flag in Will’s mind, just the thought of the blood to be spilled, just the cold of the steel in his hands.

“Riders!” called Robert.

Leaving Simon, Will crossed to Robert. “Where?”

“Down there.” Robert was staring intently into the valley. “They’re too far for me to see who they are.”

Will followed his finger and saw movement on the valley floor: horsemen moving fast along the road to St. George’s Gate, the northwest entrance to the city. A rocky slope that rose up to the right was currently shadowing them, but as the shelf tumbled away and became fields they passed into sunlight and their white mantles shone. Will glimpsed a tiny flash of red on the back of one of the riders, who slowed to lean forward in his saddle momentarily.

“Templars.”

“Must be the scouts.”

Will shook his head. “We only sent five. I count nine.”

Garin fell back behind the other riders, pausing to tighten his stirrup strap, then kicked his spurs into his horse’s flanks and urged the beast on. For the last few miles, Antioch had been growing in the distance and the nearer he came to those vast, sheer walls the smaller he felt himself becoming. Antioch was like the hand of God stuck on the plain, palm upraised, commanding all those who came before it to halt. For a moment, Garin couldn’t imagine how any army could hope to take it. But then he thought of Baybars and he wasn’t so sure.

Baybars.

Garin had heard that name often in the past few months, but few people, he had come to realize, knew what they were talking about when it came to the Mamluk sultan. Some believed that Baybars was Satan and God had sent him to punish the Christians in Outremer for their love of fine clothes and harems, and forgetfulness of the path of humility and poverty extolled by Christ. Those people said that the only way to defeat Baybars was through prayer and penance. Others thought him a savage whose faculty lay in brute strength rather than intelligence or bravery and that he would only be placated by plunder so they should seek to bribe him into submission. Garin, however, had seen Baybars fight and knew that the sultan lacked neither courage, nor cunning. Baybars was a force of nature: a raw, raging power, terrible and extraordinary. He had changed Garin’s life.

Garin had boarded a Genoese ship at La Rochelle, intending to follow the Hospitaller, as Rook, who had returned to England to tell Edward what had happened, had ordered. But almost as soon as he had stepped off the ship in Tyre, he had felt that he had been wearing an invisible chain that had just snapped in half. For the first time in his life he had felt free. It was with a surprisingly light heart that, forsaking any attempt to track down the book, which Rook had demanded he retrieve on pain of death, he had received his posting at Jaffa. It was here that he’d had his first encounter with the blue-eyed sultan.

In Jaffa, the only things required of Garin had been that he fight and stay alive. He did not have to lie, or sneak about, or live in fear of displeasing or angering Rook. It was brutally, refreshingly simple. It was against Baybars that Garin had got his first taste of praise and pride. Against Baybars, he had become a hero.

As Antioch’s guards opened the gates for the company, Garin, who knew all too well what was coming behind him, couldn’t help but smile at the thought that he might be the man to save this Godlike city.

Will and Robert remained on the battlements when the nine rode in and it wasn’t until they were summoned to an urgent chapter, a short time later, that they saw who had come.

“This doesn’t look good,” murmured Robert to Will, as they filed with the fifty other knights of the garrison into the chapter house. He motioned discreetly to a grim-faced officer who was talking with a knight in the porch of the building.

“No,” agreed Will. “But at least we might get some news.”

They crossed to a bench at the back of the chamber, the front rows having already filled up. On the dais, the Master of the garrison and two officers were standing in a close circle with five knights. They finished speaking as Will, Robert and the last few men were seated. The Master gestured for the doors to be shut and the knights behind him broke their circle. Will’s breath caught in his throat as Garin turned to face the assembly. Will went to stand, but something stayed him. Glancing down, he realized that Robert had gripped his forearm. The knight shook his head. Will, his whole body trembling, sat on the edge of the bench as the Master began to speak.

“I apologize for the abruptness of this council, but haste is of the essence. The scouts we sent out met with four of our brothers on the road, who have come with grave news from our fortress of Beaufort. I invite one of them, Sir Garin de Lyons, to address you.” The Master moved aside.

Will’s eyes were fixed on Garin who stepped up to the front of the dais. He looked tired, dirty and tanned. There were bloodstains on his mantle and his hair was tousled and more blond than golden. He looked uncomfortable, clenching and unclenching his hands as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “As the Master says, we’ve just come from Beaufort, which has been besieged by Sultan Baybars’s army.”