The Spymaster's Protection (31 page)

Lucien squeezed her hand, and while the sword-wielding Arab
took a step away from them to inspect his companion’s find, he carefully and
slowly withdrew a long blade from his boot. Gabrielle saw him and took a step
backwards, prepared to get out of the way.

With a lightning quick lift of his arm, Lucien threw the
misericord at the man, hitting him squarely in the side of the neck. The
mercenary dropped like a stone. Lucien charged the second man before he had a
chance to draw the sword at his waist.

He had him on the ground and was fighting him for his shorter
sword when the man called out and a third mercenary appeared. Gabrielle spun
around just as he emerged from the thicket of bushes the horses were tethered
to.

She tried to run, but the soldier grabbed her around the
middle and pulled her tight up against his chest. In the next second, a knife
appeared at her throat.

“Get up or I cut her throat!” her assailant called out to
Lucien in Arabic.

Lucien had no choice but to release the man beneath him and
push to his feet. The downed mercenary rolled swiftly to his feet also with a
dagger in his hand. Gabrielle screamed as she watched him throw it at Lucien.

Lucien ducked and spun away. The commotion distracted her
captor enough to allow her to bring her elbow up and back and then jam it, with
all her might, into the man’s ribs. It was only by some miracle that she was
not beheaded in the process.

As the brigand behind her doubled over, she picked up the
scimitar lying on the ground, called out, and tossed it to Lucien, then heeded
his shout to run.

She got only to the edge of the firelight before she collided
with another male body.

Only this time, she recognized him as a friend. Nephrim stood
before her, with Omar a step behind. After assuring themselves she was all
right, they hurried to assist Lucien, who was now fighting off both of the
remaining mercenaries.

With the odds in their favor, the fight was over swiftly. In a
matter of minutes, all three mercenaries were dead, sprawled on the ground
around the campfire. Gabrielle hurried to Lucien’s side. He wrapped his arms
around her, and she held him as tightly as he did her for a few moments.

When they broke apart, she checked him for injuries. Besides a
few minor cuts and scratches, he was whole and well.

He passed his fingers tenderly over her throat, noting a small
rivulet of blood and a tiny cut. “That was incredibly reckless, Gabi,” he
breathed out, shaking his head. “You could have been killed.”

She smiled at him ruefully. “I couldn’t let you stand alone
against those men.
You
could have been killed.”

He hooked an arm around her shoulders and laughed, though
there was more relief than humor in it. “I think I can let my heart start
beating now.”

Gabrielle looked to Nephrim and Omar. “Where did you two come
from? I thought you had gone back to Jerusalem.”

“They’ve been shadowing us,” Lucien supplied. “I have had them
out doing more scouting.”

“We have stayed close enough to watch your back,” Nephrim, who
was the eldest, corrected. “You are on dangerous ground out here, behind enemy
lines.”

Lucien laughed mockingly. “I’m always on dangerous ground.”

“Nevertheless, we are here to help. We’ll go home when you
do.”

“Aw, my friends, that may be longer than you hoped for.”

Omar walked over to one of the dead bodies, pried something
from the man’s fingers, and returned with it. “Hazir would have our hides if we
let anything happen to either of you,” he advised with a smile. “Here, Lady
Gabrielle, I believe this belongs to you.”

Gabrielle took her mother’s pendant and chain, grateful that
it was not blood-stained.

“Thank you, both of you.”

“Let’s get rid of the bodies,” Lucien suggested, eyeing them
with a scowl. “Afterwards, we will share what remains of our dinner, then take
turns on watch for the remainder of the night. Tomorrow, we leave early for the
city.”

Lucien took first watch that night, but when he was relieved
by Omar and crawled onto his bedroll, Gabrielle, who had waited for him,
scooted closer and laid her head on the rock solid plain of his chest. “I was
so terrified for you tonight, Lucien,” she whispered into the dark.

He slid his arms around her to hold her against the length of
his fully clothed body. “I have escaped death many times, Gabi, and I plan on
doing so many more times. Don’t you know we have a lifetime to spend together
yet?”

Wrapped snuggly in his arms, she threw a muslin clad leg over
his, and listened to the steady drumming of his heart. “Oh God, I hope that is
so, Lucien! For without you, I do not want to be here.”

“Our timing may be lousy, sweet Gabi, but I promise you I will
do everything in my power to be right here with you for a very long time.”

She lifted up on one elbow and stared at him worriedly. “But
when we return, you must go to fight alongside the king.”

His knuckles caressed her satiny smooth cheek. “We will face
that when the time comes, and we will get though it together.”

He sounded so certain. Gabrielle wished she could be as
certain.

Seeing her continued distress, Lucien cupped her head and
pulled her to him for a long meltingly hot kiss. Beneath the tender assault of
his lips and tongue, she reminded herself that he had lived a long time in this
war-torn land and survived. He had worked in more dangerous situations than
most men as a spy, and he had undoubtedly lived with a price on his head as a
spymaster.

He would survive to love her for a long time, she reassured
herself over and over as she returned his passionate kiss with all the
adoration she felt for him.

CHAPTER
15

Damascus was reputed to be one of the oldest cities in the
world, having been inhabited for over 4,000 years. Built at the base of a
mountain range, its steady source of water from the Barada River fed extensive
irrigation systems that kept the land and its people well supplied with water
and food.

Referred to in the Bible as an oasis city, it was located at
the crossing of two ancient trade routes known in antiquity as the King’s
Highway and the Way of the Philistines. Strategically located, it was the
capital city of Syria and the primary seat of Saladin’s Caliphate.

Whether coming from the Mediterranean coast, Egypt, or the Far
East, caravans crowded the roads entering the city with their camels, mules,
horses, and wagons. Damascus was a destination and a gateway city for merchants
in the Middle East. For centuries, Greeks, Romans, Jews, Christians, and Arabs
had passed through its high stone walls to trade within its marvelous markets.
And despite its diverse cultural and religious population, it served as Islam’s
political hub.

Gabrielle, Lucien, Omar, and Nephrim had traveled beside the
numerous caravans on the old Roman road into the city which was still paved in
thick slabs of stone. At a stable several miles outside the metropolis, they
paid to have their fine Arabian horses boarded to avoid drawing undo attention
to themselves. In their places, they rented a sturdy little donkey, on which
they loaded their water skins, rucksacks, and baggage.

They entered the northwestern gate, along the city wall that
paralleled the river, on foot, leading their donkey behind them. At the
entrance, they were stopped by a guard who inspected their travel documents.
Gabrielle clutched Lucien’s hand nervously as he calmly presented his
impeccably forged papers and explained they were in the city to visit
relatives.

The line of travelers ahead of and behind them all had to do
the same thing, and yet Gabrielle had dreaded this moment. Lucien, and of
course Omar and Nephrim, could all easily pass for Muslims.

Lucien needed no hooded robe to hide his face. He looked every
bit the half-Bedouin he was with his dark sun-bronzed skin, coal-black hair and
beard, and deep brown eyes. But Gabrielle, while dressed as a Muslim woman, was
not so sure her lighter skin and hair coloring or her dark blue eyes would go
unnoticed. She was heavily veiled, and little could be seen of her face or
hair. Nevertheless, she worried that she would not blend in. Hoping that he
would simply consider her a properly modest wife, she kept her eyes diligently lowered,
even when one of the guards looked at her.

Lucien had told her not to worry. They were disguised to blend
in perfectly, and they both spoke flawless Arabic. He assured her no one would
suspect them of being Christian Franks. Between them, they possessed a fairly
sound understanding of Islam, enough to know what to eat, when to pray, how to
act and dress. Lucien’s knowledge of the Koran and other Islamic texts was far
superior to her own, she had learned, due partly to knowledge his mother had
shared with him and partly to his own quest to understand the culture in which
he worked.

Still, Gabrielle was grateful that her face was veiled as they
passed through the guard station and came up alongside the mighty Syrian
military citadel in Damascus.

It was a massive, forbidding structure with its multitude of
round, crenellated towers and heavily fortified walls. Infidel soldiers manned
the garrison in great numbers, especially now that war with the Franks was so
close. The closer they had gotten to the Syrian capital, the more soldiers and
mercenaries they had seen on the roads. Too frequently they had been assembled
in large regiments.

But even after that exposure, it made Gabrielle uneasy to look
up and see so many on the walls high above them. They looked down on the line
of travelers entering the city with a watchful eye. Inside, she suspected, were
many imprisoned Franks, especially after the battle at Cresson a month ago. The
garrison at Damascus contained a prison as large and dreaded as the one at Aleppo.
From Reynald, Gabrielle had heard more stories than she cared to remember
concerning the atrocities that went on in the bowels of both prisons.

She shuddered as they passed by the great fort, praying
fervently that Lucien never had cause to see the inside of the stronghold.
Chilled by the thought, she shivered noticeably, feeling as if something had
just crawled across her skin.

Despite the fact that it was unseemly to show demonstrations
of affection in public in Muslim communities, Lucien looked over at her and
drew her into the half circle of his arm. “Are you ill, love?” he murmured in
Arabic against her indigo silk kufiyya.

She shook her head negatively and turned into him. “No, but
walking by that garrison was frightening. Men you know might be inside the
dungeons.”

“We should have come in through another gate, but this one was
the closest, and I worried that you were tiring.”

“I will be fine now that we have passed it.”

“Passing through the gate and having our travel documents
inspected was the hardest part.”

“Omar does good work,” she responded and offered him a smile
finally.

“Impeccable, as always.”

The short Arab beside them heard his name and grinned. His
taller brother halted. “We will split up here. I will let your contacts know of
your arrival.”

Lucien nodded to Nephrim. “Find Farouk Mansur and tell him we
will be arriving tomorrow to stay with him for the remainder of our visit here.
Be sure to tell him I have brought the lady from the orphanage to see him also.
He will understand, as I have already sent him a message by carrier pigeon. I
did not give him an exact date of our arrival, so we will be staying at a
hostel near the Christian quarter tonight.” Lucien gave the name of the inn to
both men, and they nodded.

“We will keep in touch, and you know how to reach us if need
be,” Nephrim stated. “Be sure Lady Genna also knows how to reach us.” At the
use of her pseudo name, Hazir’s nephews both grinned. “May Allah be with you,
Latif.”

Lucien dipped his head and touched a curled finger to his
forehead, then to his lips in farewell as the two young men turned to leave.

In the distance a bell sounded, alerting the faithful that the
hour of prayer was not far off. Lucien turned back to Gabrielle and urged her
to continue their journey through the streets of the city, which were so
crowded, people were nearly shoulder to shoulder.

He knew his way through the thoroughfares extremely well,
Gabrielle noted, recalling that he had lived here for two years and had
returned many times to gather intelligence for the Order. Despite the maze of
corridors, lined on both sides by three-story buildings, many of which were
pleasingly plastered in pink and white limestone, she felt safe with him at her
side. Safe enough to relax and enjoy the sights and sounds of the ancient
Oriental city as she followed a step behind him, as was deemed proper.

Above her, flower decked terraces and wrought iron covered
windows overlooked the stone paved streets. Occasionally, she could catch a
glimpse of the rooftop patios atop some of the buildings. They were adorned
with colorful silk draperies and awnings, and giant potted palms that were a
splash of green against a sea of beiges and pinks.

Below, the stone paved streets were amazing clean. Compared to
most sectors of Jerusalem, Damascus was pleasantly devoid of the normal garbage
and debris that littered so many streets.

At one point, they passed the Great Mosque of Damascus. Its
porcelain tiled walls were beautiful with their silver, blue, and green
designs. The great arch that housed the door to the mosque was splendidly
carved and inlaid with gold-etched symbols. Beside it, stood a minbar, where an
imam would preach. Behind the blue-domed building, two minarets towered,
overlooking the spacious public square in front of the mosque. Soon, the
faithful would gather for one of the five daily prayers.

Bathhouses constructed of stone that formed bands of white
limestone and dark grey basalt lined the next block. In these, the faithful
could wash before they prayed. There Gabrielle took note of the fact that there
were bathhouses for women and men, separately. Every good Muslim knew of their
location.