The Spymaster's Protection (33 page)

With a sharp expelling of his breath, he collapsed on top of
her, unable to even roll away. Their skin was so hot, he felt they might
incinerate at any moment. Despite his violent release, he felt every nuance of
her quivering flesh. The sharp little peaks of her breasts poked through his
mat of chest hair, pressing against him, making him aware of how extremely
sensitive his own flesh seemed to be. He felt completely merged with her.

Wrapping her tightly in his arms, he finally rolled onto his
side with her, refusing to let her ease away from him even the tiniest little
bit.

Gabrielle was content to be held so tightly. The rapture of
their joining this time had been even more powerful than usual. She clung to
him like a lifeline, unable to speak or to move, her body melded with his.
Maybe she could hold him this close and keep him with her always, she thought as
she closed her eyes.

Neither of them spoke. By unstated mutual consent, they fell
asleep, intertwined in each other’s arms, their limbs tangled together, sunk
deep into the downy soft mattress.

CHAPTER
16

The bathhouses were indeed a good source of information about
what was happening in the city. The next morning, on their way to Farouk
Mansur’s house, they chose two that looked respectable. It had been a sennight
since Gabrielle had indulged in more than a sponge bath, and she was looking
forward to the luxury of a long hot soaking of her tired muscles.

While Lucien departed to the men’s public bathhouse, she
entered the women’s, across the street. After undressing in the private rooms,
she joined the women in the pools in the large central room. Steam wafted all
around her as she made her way to one that put her in a position to listen to
the score of women enjoying their bath.

It didn’t take long to decipher their conversations. Most were
avidly complaining about the loss of their husbands and sons to the sultan’s
call-to-arms. As she soaked in the hot water, her head thrown back and her eyes
closed, she listened closely to the places their men had marched off to. She
also learned that the garrison and the city were preparing for Saladin’s
arrival soon, though no one seemed to know exactly when that would occur. They
all agreed, though, that his return would signal the beginning of the war with
the despised Christian Franks.

Gabrielle shuddered to think what they would do to her if they
knew she was one of those hated Franks.

When she rejoined Lucien, they resumed their journey across
town. Along the way they shared what each had learned in the bathhouses.
Lucien, too, had heard that Saladin was expected soon. The garrison was
overflowing with troops from all over the sultan’s caliphate. Those that were
not stationed here were moving west, toward encampments north and east of
Tiberius. It was becoming increasingly clear that Saladin would not attack the
Christian settlements from the south, as originally assumed.

Their next destination was the home of a middle aged couple
whom Lucien had first met when he had lived in Damascus. Farouk Mansur was
actually a relative, a distant cousin of Lucien’s mother. Lucien had made the
discovery years ago when he’d been working in the city and come looking for a
quality sword maker.

The finest swords in the world were made in the city, from the
famed Damascene steal. But only the best sword makers knew the formula. And
there were none better than Farouk Mansur.

Lucien spoke to Gabrielle about all this on their way to the
Mansur residence. Once they had gotten acquainted, the two men had discovered
that they were distantly related and that their political sentiments were
similar. Both wanted a peaceful Palestine where Muslim and Christian could live
side-by-side without conflict. It was not a popular sentiment with Christian
crusaders, and it was a sacrilegious for a Templar knight to hold. Gabrielle
understood it put Lucien on a collision path with his brethren.

Farouk and his wife, Nahla, were also involved, like
Gabrielle, in finding homes for Muslim children displaced by war. Their
two-story, white plaster house had been a refuge for many over the years and
was only a block from the orphanage. Lucien introduced Gabrielle by her maiden
name since her married one was too dangerous to reveal. Most Arabs had heard of
the notorious Reynald de Châtillon and knew of the high price on his head, as
well as the sultan's great personal animosity toward him.

Gabrielle was simply presented to the couple as a friend, and
she understood that they could not pose as husband and wife here.
Unfortunately, as friends, they could not share a room or sleep together. She
was going to miss making love to him, lying next to him all night. She had
grown very accustomed to reaching for him in the middle of the night and
feeling his warm body next to hers.

But Lucien still had much to accomplish in Damascus, and he
needed a safe place to leave Gabrielle while he did it. She wasn't sure if the
couple knew Lucien was a Templar. It quickly became apparent that their
friendship had spanned many years and many visits, but whether the Mansurs knew
what Lucien did for the kingdom was unclear to Gabrielle.

At any rate, they were the couple he had told her could assist
her with placing some of her orphans in Muslim homes.

Typical of Bedouin hospitality, she and Lucien were
immediately offered refreshments once they were settled inside. As soon as
rooms were assigned, a servant was dispatched to unload their belongings from
their donkey.

"I am surprised to see you using a donkey," Farouk
laughed over a cup of strong black coffee. "The last time you visited, you
were riding a fine black Arabian."

Lucien grinned and shrugged. "I am afraid a donkey served
our purposes better this time."

Gabrielle was a quiet observer as she drank her coffee. The
sword maker was a man of medium build, strong across his upper body, as
befitted a man who worked a smithy all day. His dark head was turbaned, and his
clothing was immaculate. Obviously, he had expected them and had not been
working at his forge a few blocks away in the arms market.

His wife was a small slender woman with dark eyes and a kind
face. Her gauze headscarf provided a glimpse of black hair that was severely
swept back into a braided coil. She sat beside her husband on a striped silk
divan that was placed directly across from the matching one Lucien and
Gabrielle were seated on.

"So how many children would you like to see placed?"
Nahla asked her. Gabrielle smiled and shook her head. "All of them, but
there are two score and ten."

"So many." Farouk shook his head sadly. "There
are nearly that many here in our orphanage."

"I don't suppose we can place them all." Gabrielle
stared into the thick black liquid in her porcelain cup. "Maybe we could
at least bring them here where they would have a better chance at being adopted
by Muslim families. My intent is to protect their heritage and religious
traditions. While the Brothers of Saint John take excellent care of them, they
cannot provide the precepts of their Muslim religion, not the way of life the
children should know. If Christians adopt them, they will lose the religion of
their parents. That does not seem fair or just."

Both husband and wife stared at Gabrielle with surprise, then
with open admiration.

"That is a very unusual point of view for a Christian
woman," Farouk stated with a warmly approving smile. "Are you sure
you are not of Muslim heritage, like my friend here?"

Gabrielle rarely spoke of her liberal views regarding religion
and heritage. She’d been raised a Christian Catholic, and adhered to those
precepts, but had learned to respect those of Muslim faith. Her Christian peers
were not understand or approve of her beliefs, with the exception of Brother
Giles and Brother Lucien.

She admonished herself silently for thinking of him as a
Brother of the Temple. He was that no more. "My mother was a very tolerate
person and taught me that our Muslim neighbors were not our enemy. Sadly, my
father does not share that opinion."

She did not add that there had been many times when she had
looked in her mirror and wondered at the lack of resemblance to her father,
even her mother. Simone had been small and fair skinned, with very light brown
hair. Armand was even fairer-haired. While her own hair was brown, it was much
darker than her mother’s. And her skin was a light olive shade. Many thought it
was due to her being outdoors so much, but Gabrielle knew differently. Her
entire body was a darker hue than any of the Europeans. It had nothing to do
with the sun. Reynald had never commented on it, but she’d seen Lucien’s
curiosity. The only thing she seemed to have in common with her parents were
her blue eyes, and she had often wondered why that was so.

"Well," Nahla Mansur offered. "We can go to the
orphanage tomorrow morning and talk to the headmaster and the imam. Hopefully,
they will be able to advise us and give us some solutions."

"Will they talk to me?" Gabrielle wondered. Some
Islamic clerics were very traditional and frowned on close associations with
Christians.

"Oh yes. Both men think as you do, Lady Gabrielle. They
believe our Muslim children should be placed in Muslim homes. They will not
hold your faith against you."

Lucien set his empty coffee cup down on the low lacquered
table between them, pleased by the assistance his friends were willing to give
Gabrielle. They were much like Hazir and his extended family; tolerant,
generous people. He had guessed the Mansurs would like Gabrielle and accept her
into their home. It was a good place for her to be. She would be safe and kept
very busy arranging futures for her orphans. It relieved him that he would not
have to worry about her while he was away from her for a few days.

As he had kept all indication of their intimacy from the
Mansurs', he was surprised when they gave him and Gabrielle rooms upstairs that
were across from one another. Of course, there were only three rooms on the
second floor, for Farouk and his wife slept on the first floor. Still, he regretted
that he and Gabrielle would not be able to share a room.

+++

From her second story window, Gabrielle stared out over the
city's nightscape. A crescent moon hung among the stars that swept across the
midnight sky in a milky cloud of sprinkled glitter. Below, on the streets,
lamplights flickered in the faint evening breeze. In this part of the city, all
was quiet at this late hour. It was mostly a residential sector, with only a
smattering of shops in between the multi-storied houses with their rooftop
patios.

The Mansurs had a lovely ne atop their house. She had been up
to enjoy it several times already. Colorful bougainvillea climbed the walls and
draped over the edges. A large stripped silk awning provided shade, and leafy
potted palms provided privacy She had been here nearly a sennight, and the
Mansur's hospitality had made her feel as if she was at home with Hazir and his
daughter in Jerusalem.

Every day, except one, she and Nahla had gone to the
orphanage. As predicted, the local imam and the headmaster had both welcomed
her without reservation. Gabrielle had been surprised to discover that they had
actually heard of her. Her efforts to rescue children displaced and uprooted by
the violence in Palestine had reached the ears of Saladin himself, the imam had
informed her.

They had known she would come some day to seek placement for
the Arab orphans of Jerusalem. To her relief, they had not known her name, only
her deeds. Gabrielle recalled King Guy mentioning this to Lucien at his
birthday party. She was as uncomfortable in Damascus with the praise as she had
been in Jerusalem. She wanted no reward or acclaim for what she did. She simply
wanted the children to have a chance for a happy life after losing all that had
been familiar to them.

There had been so much heartache and loss in Christ’s
homeland. She felt compelled to alleviate some small portion of it, if she
could. But rescuing its youngest victims was only the first step. They needed
care, which she had gladly given, and they needed good homes. Now she was
pleased to have Muslim friends who would assist her with the latter.

Over the past week, several families had promised to help, and
the orphanage had agreed to take any children who were not placed in homes. All
that remained was transporting the children from Jerusalem to Damascus. No easy
task, as the region prepared for war. It was not a safe time for anyone to
travel or cross the border between Palestine and Syria. Much of the plans that
Gabrielle made with the imam and the headmaster had to await the Caliph’s next
moves.

Jerusalem was, of course, Saladin’s goal. The ancient city was
as important to the Muslims as it was to the Christians. It had been at the
center of the conflict that had begun nearly four score years ago. If the sultan
was victorious in his initial assaults, Jerusalem would probably be attacked
vigorously in the months to come. More than any other time in its eighty year
occupation by the Christians, the Holy City was in dire jeopardy. The Muslims
had a great leader, while the Christians had a weak, ineffectual one.

When she thought of all her charges at the Hospitaller
orphanage, she saw their big dark eyes looking at her so full of hope and
wondered what would happen to them if Jerusalem became a battleground. It was
said that when the Christian knights conquered the city for the first time,
they massacred every Jew and Muslim within its walls, regardless of age, in a
rampage that left the streets flowing ankle deep in blood. Even hard-bitten
soldiers were shocked by the slaughter.

Gabrielle knew her path led back to Jerusalem, while Lucien’s
would probably lead elsewhere if war erupted. If Saladin was victorious and
took the city, would he pillage and plunder the way the Franks had? Surely, he
would spare Allah’s children.