The Spymaster's Protection (25 page)

Lucien had noticed that when he had ridden in. “Now there may
be even more loss of life. The Grand Master obviously forgot about the large
Saracen encampment I informed him of.”

His derisive observation was followed by a question from Lord
Balian. “Lucien, why are you not wearing your Templar garb? That is not your
horse, either.”

“It is a rather long story, Balian,” the count responded,
seeing a frown cross the archbishop’s face and wanting to spare his disavowed
friend the clerical scolding that was sure to ensue.

“I quit the Order,” Lucien replied, knowing all would know
soon enough. “You know I have been thinking of it for some time, Balian. Master
de Ridefort and I strongly disagreed about his course of action today. Our
argument simply prompted me to act sooner rather than later.”

“Brother de Aubric.” The archbishop stared at Lucien, clearly
displeased with his pronouncement. “You took holy vows when you became a monk.
They were lifetime vows. You may join another monastic order, but you cannot
simply quit.”

Lucien stared back at him. He knew what the archbishop was
telling him was true, but he had also known men who had simply walked away to
live a secular life. The Templar Grand Master before Odo de Saint Armand,
Philip de Milly, Lady Silvia’s father, had joined then resigned the Brotherhood
to serve King Amalric as an ambassador to Constantinople.

Being a warrior monk was not the same as being a priestly
monk. Life was very different for a knight of the Temple. To begin with, he
was
a knight. He was trained for warfare, not peaceful pursuits like tending the
poor, performing the sacraments, and Christian ministry. Like other monastics,
the Templars did engage in daily prayer and devotion, but most Templars in
Palestine lived more in the world than out of it. But he had taken vows of
chastity and obedience and poverty, and while he had not always upheld them as
well as he should have, he had tried.

Still, regardless of the permanence of his vows, he was not
retracting his disavowal.

“I am not renouncing God, Your Grace,” he told the bishop.
“Only my vows.”

“Does it have to do with Reynald de Châtillon’s wife?” Josias
asked bluntly.

“Nay, it does not,” Lucien answered truthfully, although he
knew he could feel given to her in a way he’d never felt given to the Church.
But his decision to leave the Order had been made for reasons other than
Gabrielle de Châtillon. His vows as a monk had been taken as a result of need,
not devotion or faith, and his needs had changed in the decade since he’d
joined the Templars. He could no longer remain committed to something he no
longer believed in. He was not that kind of man.

“Then I will petition His Holiness, the Pope, for release from
your vows, brother, for official freedom must come from him.”

Lucien nodded. “I will not return to the Order to await his
decision. Mine is made.”

Bishop Josias shook his head, clearly unhappy with Lucien’s
adamancy.

+++

By the time, Lucien and the other men in Count Raymond’s party
returned to the garrison of Tiberius, the sun had set, leaving dusky light and
shadows. The torches had been lit in the bailey and the yard was full of
people, horses, and wagons.

It had been a hellish day, and Lucien was sick to the bottom
of his soul. He thought he had been prepared for the worst, but the number of
dead they had come upon at the Springs of Cresson, near the foot of Mount
Tabor, had been gut wrenching.

Survivors, of which there were damned few, told of de
Ridefort’s surprise attack upon the Saracen envoy in the heavily wooded area
around the springs. Apparently the Grand Master of the Temple and his cavalry
had come upon the Arab troops watering their horses. Leaving their infantry
behind, in an open field, the Christians had charged the enemy.

James de Mailly, Marshal of the Templar garrison at Caco, and
Roger des Moulins, Grand Master of the Hospitallers, had vehemently argued
against the charge. De Ridefort had accused them both of cowardice and
chastised the Marshal for being afraid to die for the Cross. As a result of his
taunting, both men had relented and joined in the attack, only to be cut down
within moments of the battle’s start.

It appeared to Lucien, after listening to the testimony of
several eyewitnesses, that the envoy had been heavily backed up by a much
larger force, under the command of the infamous Blue Wolf, Muzaffar al Din
Gökböri, one of Saladin’s leading commanders. This unit, which had been
encamped somewhere nearby, had been seven hundred or more strong and had come
almost immediately to the envoy’s aide. Caught in a thick grove of trees,
without the backup of their infantry, de Ridefort’s troops had been
slaughtered.

Of the one hundred plus Templars, only Gerard de Ridefort and
three other brothers had survived. The Grand Master of the Hospitallers, plus
all of his meager number of knights had been killed. The Templar Marshal, James
de Mailly, had died as well. The secular knights from Nazareth were being taken
to imprisonment in Aleppo, to be ransomed later. The infantry, who had not
escaped, and the unwise townspeople of Nazareth, who had followed the Christian
army for plunder, had been captured and marched off to be sold into slavery.
Over five hundred fighting men had been lost at the battle of Cresson,
including many good friends of Lucien’s, like Brother Giles de Chancery.

Sick at heart, he rode into the Tiberius garrison at dusk,
beside the wagon that held the dead, which included his Hospitaller friend. The
wagon behind him carried the injured. To Lucien’s relief, Brother Conrad was
among them. The German had fought beside Master de Ridefort, who had returned
with them and was astride his horse. His injuries were minor. Brother Conrad’s
were more serious, but not grievous enough to cause death.

Lucien was burning with fury at de Ridefort’s vainglorious
idiocy. Once again the personal pride and misguided zealotry of a grand master
had sent good men to their deaths needlessly. If Saladin wanted to weaken troop
strength and demoralize the Christian forces, de Ridefort had played right into
his hands. If it weren’t for the fact that he knew de Ridefort hated all
Saracens and that Lucien eventually found out just about everyone’s intent in
Palestine, he would have concluded the Grand Master was working for the enemy.

By the time, they reached the front of the keep, there were
many helping hands ready to assist the care of the injured and transportation
of the dead.

Lucien was not surprised to see Gabrielle with the countess
and her two daughters-by-law. The women went to the wagon with the injured
first, and Lucien drew a breath of relief. He left his horse with a stable boy,
then strode over to Gabrielle before she could reach the wagon with dead
Hospitallers.

The countess was giving rapid-fire directions to all the
inside servants regarding the placement and tending of the injured. The count
turned the supervision of the dead over to the archbishop, who had also ridden
in with them.

Gabrielle saw Lucien and paled. He was covered in gore and
blood; the only blessing being that his tunic was black and therefore hid some
of it. She reached out for him. “Are you hurt?” she asked desperately.

“Nay, none of this,” he said with a grim sweep of his hand,
“is mine.”

Gabrielle took his helmet from him, set it on the ground, and
reached up to help him pull his mail coif off his head. His dark hair was
plastered with sweat. His face was streaked with grime, and his hands were
coated with dried blood, but Gabrielle wanted to throw her arms around him and
cry for joy. She had been so worried for him all day!

He took her hand, and stared at how clean and soft it was.
Such purity and grace!

“Gabrielle, Brother Giles is among the dead.” There was no way
to soften the news of her long-time friend’s fate. “I am told he died quickly
and cleanly, in defense of his Master, who is also dead. All the Hospitallers
are dead, as well as all but a handful of Templars.”

“Mon Dieu!” she cried out in anguish as she dropped her head
onto his upper arm. “Brother Giles and his companions were all such good men.”
She looked toward the Templar Grand Master, who was dismounting slowly. “I see
your illustrious leader suffered little harm,” she added bitterly.

“Fools usually do escape, while others pay the ultimate price
for their idiocy.”

“Come inside, sir, and get cleaned up. I will help you, then
see to the injured.”

Lucien stopped her with a hand on her forearm. When he saw the
blood print it left, he drew back appalled.

“Do not worry about it,” she dismissed with a gentle smile.
“Come. I will order water and a bath.”

“Gabrielle, some of the men are sorely injured. It may not be
a pretty sight,” he warned her.

“I have seen blood and gore before. It is never pretty to see
what men can do to one another in battle. I will be fine.”

Lucien felt her hand on the small of his back as she turned
him toward the giant double doors of the keep. It was a great relief to know
that he was not alone in dealing with the day’s terrible losses. God help him,
he wanted this; to receive comfort from her and give her comfort; to never be
alone again, to share life’s tragedies and joys!

“De Aubric!” Gerard de Ridefort bellowed angrily behind him.
“Prepare yourself to leave,” he demanded to Lucien’s back just as he turned to
enter the keep.. “As soon as my wounded are tended to, you will be going with
me.”

Lucien had not spoken to the Grand Master since he had come
upon the battlefield and found so many injured and dead. He had not trusted
himself to speak to him. Now all his rage came pouring out in a feral growl as
he spun around and glowered at the man coming up the steps.

“De Ridefort, you bloody bastard! Look what you have wrought?”
Lucien roared with a sweep of his hand to encompass the body strewn yard. “You
have squandered the lives of our men unnecessarily, all to serve your damnable
pride and zealotry! You have cost the kingdom scores of fighting men that we
desperately need right now. By God, I want to kill you for this, you fool!”

The Grand Master went red with rage. His hands fisted at his
sides, and for a moment, Gabrielle thought he would strike Lucien down. The
Templar leader looked at her malevolently, and she took a step back to stand
slightly behind Lucien. The man was so furious, she placed a hand on Lucien’s
shoulder blade in support.

“Seize them, both!” de Ridefort bellowed. “Seize de Aubric and
the adulteress!”

Behind de Ridefort, there were four Templar sergeants. They
moved up the steps to carry out their leader’s orders. Count Raymond’s sons and
Hazir’s nephews, who stood nearby on the wide steps, immediately stepped in
front of Lucien and Gabrielle, withdrawing swords and daggers. They were soon
joined by the count and two of his guards. Lord Ibelin moved closer.

“I have told you, de Ridefort, you will not be arresting
Lucien or Lady de Châtillon in my house!” Count Raymond warned angrily.

The Grand Master was out-numbered and out-flanked. He swore
heatedly as he stared at Lucien. “Rest assured we will meet again, de Aubric,”
he growled furiously. Then his gaze fell to Gabrielle. “I will see that Reynald
comes to fetch you, woman. You have caused enough harm here.”

Lucien edged through the men who supported him. “Lady de
Châtillon is the cause of nothing here, de Ridefort.”

“She is, and we are not finished!”

“Maybe not, but you
will
leave the lady alone.” Lucien
stood nearly nose to nose with his former superior, his big body clenched in
barely suppressed rage. “She is of no concern to you, now or ever. My
withdrawal from the Brotherhood had nothing to do with her, and everything to do
with your reprehensible leadership. You are not above judgment, brother.”

“My God, you insolent bastard! You dare to talk to me that
way?”

“I have always done what was right for the kingdom. What have
you done, but injure and weaken it? These deaths are on your head, de
Ridefort!”

“By God! I
will
have you arrested for this!”

“I think not.” At that Lucien turned his back and walked away,
leaving the Grand Master seething impotently on the steps of his former lord’s
keep.

+++

It was nearing midnight by the time Gabrielle finally climbed
the stairs to her room. Along with all the other women in the castle, she had
spent the entire evening tending to the wounded. Brother Conrad would be able
to depart with his Grand Master tomorrow. Too many others had not fared so well
and had joined their brethren, Templar and Hospitaller alike, in the past few
hours. Preparing the dead to be buried, either in their respective commanderies
had been the worst work of the evening.

Gabrielle had helped tend to the body of Brother Giles. He was
going to be transported back to Jerusalem to be buried in his commandery, after
which an election for a new Grand Master would be held. It had been
heartbreaking to see her dear friend lying dead on one of the trestle tables
below. He had been her closest friend for the past five years. Many times,
Giles had been her confidante and even her confessor, though he had not been an
ordained priest. His support had been indispensable. Dear God, but she would
miss her gentle-hearted friend!

At midnight, the countess had told her to retire for the
night. As she wearily climbed the stairs, she imagined Lucien was soundly
asleep. She had not seen him after he had retired to his room hours ago. In her
own chambers, she washed the blood from herself, then changed into the
nightgown Lucien had given her. Once she donned her robe, she headed for his
room. She could not sleep until she looked upon his beloved face at least.

The only light in the room came from a fat candle that marked
the nocturnal hours. The lines that scored the wax showed the hour to be after
matins. Gabrielle’s tired body and grieving spirit told her it was indeed that
late.