The Spymaster's Protection (39 page)

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Gabrielle,” the
general said at last.

Gabrielle was at a loss as to why these two men seemed so
fascinated by her as the sultan motioned for them all to sit. She and Lucien
were not being treated as enemies or even captives. When the sultan urged
Lucien and her to partake of the food and drink on the table, Gabrielle knew
they would not be harmed in any way. Once such hospitality was offered, one was
assured of being free of harm.

While a servant scooped up ice shavings into the four goblets,
then poured a dark red juice into each, Gabrielle studied the man called the
Blue Wolf more closely. Something about him unnerved her, disturbed her. Though
he was very tall and strongly built, she was not afraid of him, as she thought
she should have been, from the things her father had said about him.

He was an impressive, hard-to-forget man. His hair was jet
black and razor straight, falling down his back thickly to nearly his waist. At
both sides of his face, it was braided. He looked to be close to two score and
five, at an age close to the sultan. Like his commander, he was a handsome man,
with a strong square face and sharp features. Heavy dark brows rose above
remarkable blue eyes that were nearly black they were such a dark blue. His
face was more tanned than swarthy, and he wore no beard, simply a dark thick
brush of a mustache. His long sleeved dark red leather surcoat was adorned with
gold braid, and it fell only to his knees, split up the center for riding and
ease of movement. Beneath that, he wore fitted heavy grey leggings. His dress
revealed his Turcoman origins.

“Lady, allow me to put more ice in your cup,” Saladin offered.
“It will not keep for long. No use in letting it go to waste.” Gabrielle held
out her goblet, and then the sultan turned to Lucien. “You, too, Lucien de
Aubric. Accept my humble atonement, please, both of you.”

Lucien was at as much of a loss over the whole affair as
Gabrielle appeared to be. He did not know what to make of the sultan’s personal
hospitality, but he suspected it had a great deal to do with Gabrielle.

Before she had arrived, the sultan had confided to him that he
knew who he was, and that he was quite distressed to learn that the Chief of
Intelligence for the Temple and King Guy had been held in the citadel’s dungeon
and been mistreated.

Mystified, Lucien had said nothing. As then, he now let
Saladin control the course of the conversation, hoping silently for some
explanation that would make sense to him.

“Madam de Châtillon, I must beg your forgiveness most
especially for your abominable treatment. I have removed the prison guards and
replaced the head jailer. I understand you informed him who you were and he
failed to believe you.”

Gabrielle nodded, and Lucien knew that he could not let her
become a hostage for her husband.

Seeing Lucien’s sudden disquiet, the sultan hurried on. “I
have no intention of using you to capture your husband, madam. While it was a
noble attempt to rescue your friend here, I cannot barter you for Reynald. You,
quite frankly, are worth ten of him.” He held up a hand to forestall her
comment. “I have indeed heard of all you have done these past five years for
Allah’s little ones. That you rescue them and find homes for them is most
admirable. That you find Muslim homes for them is most unexpected. That you
follow in your husband’s wake to ease the harm he does makes you
extraordinarily special to all of us. Knowing your husband’s reputation, you
are a most courageous woman. I could never repay that bravery and compassion by
using you to capture him.”

Overwhelmed by the profuse and unanticipated praise, Gabrielle
bent her head in gratitude. “Thank you, my lord. Your esteem is worth much to
me. I have witnessed my husband’s wickedness for far too long, and I ….”

Again the sultan raised a hand. “I understand completely,
lady. Allah will see justice done in time.”

“May I ask how you knew Sir de Aubric and I were in your
dungeons?” she ventured.

Amir Gökböri responded by withdrawing her mother’s necklace
from inside the breast pocket of his surcoat. He held it to the light for along
moment, studying it rather peculiarly, then handed it to her.

“This came to my attention last night as I walked by the barracks
and noticed it being wagered in a game of dice.” The general’s French was not
nearly as good as the sultan’s, but Gabrielle understood him.

“Thank you,” she whispered, fighting back a surge of grateful
tears. “It was my mother’s and it means a great deal to me.”

“But maybe not as much as this disavowed monk?” the Blue Wolf
speculated.

Lucien was amazed that they knew that he had left the Order.

Gökböri saw his surprise and laughed. “You are not the only
one with a reliable network of spies, Lucien de Aubric. And I was at Cresson.”

Despite his admiration for the renowned warrior, Lucien’s jaw
tightened, remembering good friends who had died there that day. “I cannot hold
it against you, general. You only defended yourself against a suicidal attack,
but it was a day of great sorrow for me.”

“Indeed, it was a sad unnecessary affair. You have done well
to leave the service of your Grand Master. He is a man without honor.” They had
slipped into Arabic because of Gökböri’s poor command of French. “You have also
gained our notice because of your protection of my….Madam de Châtillon.”

“I understand your mother was Arabic?” the sultan inquired of
Lucien.

“Yes,” Lucien confirmed. “Her family was from here originally.
They were of a Bedouin tribe in the region that migrated to northern Africa and
then southern Iberia. I was adopted by the Temple after both my parents died in
a siege.”

“Yes, I have heard that.”

The sultan’s interest was now focused on Lucien, as was the
Blue Wolf’s. Gabrielle hoped it was an interest that would lead to his release.
They had inferred hers, but said nothing of Lucien’s.

“Your well-informed sources have no doubt told you why I am in
Damascus,” Lucien said in effort to discover if he was going to be allowed to
go free or held in further captivity.

“They do not need to tell me,” Saladin announced with a small
smile. “An ex-Templar spy in my city means only one thing. I would expect no
less of you, on the eve of war.”

“War cannot be averted?” Lucien asked hopefully.

“I am afraid not. We cannot allow Christian domination of our
land, the closing of our trade routes, the defilement of our scared places.”
All congeniality had disappeared from the sultan’s face, to be replaced by the
determination and tenacity he was admired for. “But you can do us no harm,
Lucien de Aubric. It matters not what you know. It will make no difference. You
and I both know that with King Guy on the throne, there will be no effective
resistance.”

Lucien had long feared this, but it was still hard to hear the
Christian fate of Palestine predicted so bluntly. He had to retain the hope
that he could steer the king down another path that would avert war.

The sultan read his face too accurately. He laughed
sympathetically. “Follow the path God has set you upon for now, disavowed monk,
but know that when we meet again, he may have another path for you to follow.”
He stood at the conclusion of his enigmatic comment, prompting all to rise with
him. He looked at Gabrielle, then again at Lucien. “You are both free to go. I
have enjoyed this meeting for I have been most curious about you both. I cannot
say all my curiosity has been satisfied, but you and I have tasks that await.
If Allah wills it, maybe we will meet again. Lady de Châtillon, you have my
full support for what you are doing for the young victims of this struggle.
Lucien de Aubric, General Gökböri and I wish you to continue to ensure her
safety. We thank you for what you have done thus far for her.”

Lucien bowed his head and wondered why it seemed to mean so
much to these two men.

“Thank you,” Gabrielle said one final time, looking from the
sultan to the general. “For your hospitality and our freedom.”

The Blue Wolf stepped forward. To Gabrielle’s surprise, he
took her hand and brought it to his lips. When he lowered it, he retained it
for several long moments, staring into her eyes with the strangest look in his
dark blue ones.

“Your husband’s contract with Rashid al Din Sinan has been
rescinded, Lady Gabrielle.” The way the great warrior said her name was
distinctively touching. “You need have no further fear of any attempts on your
life by the Isma’ili Assassins. Go to Jerusalem. Reynald de Châtillon and
Armand Chaumont will march with their king soon, and no longer be a threat to
you.”

Another veiled message? Gabrielle stared into the handsome
face of the Blue Wolf and wondered at his meaning.

After the two men took their leave, Lucien and Gabrielle were
escorted to a quiet side gate of the citadel and released. At the first
opportunity, Lucien found a deserted alley and pulled Gabrielle into his arms.
His head bent to her in a long possessive kiss.

“My God, that was a strange ending to this ordeal,” he
exclaimed when he lifted his head and readjusted her veil.

“I do not know what to make of it, myself,” Gabrielle admitted.
“They knew so much about us both. It makes little sense to me why they would be
interested in me, at any rate.”

“Well,” Lucien mused, rubbing his beard. “A good spy knows as
much as he can about his enemies.”

“But we were not treated like enemies.”

“No, we definitely were not.”

“General Gökböri’s behavior was the most strange of all,” she
remarked as they exited the alley and headed down the street, away from the
citadel. “My father has always spoken of him with such loathing. He struck my
mother once for mentioning him. It seemed very personal for him. I had expected
the Blue Wolf to be a terrifying man. Instead, I found myself strangely drawn
to him.”

“He is a legendary warrior, and a completely honorable one.
His loyalty has been questioned by the sultan’s power-hungry nephew, but
Saladin has always shown complete faith in him. He transferred his loyalties
from Nur al Din to support the sultan early on in his rise to power. Gökböri
has fought hard for Saladin, and it is said they are like brothers. Though he
is originally from Irbil, in northern Iraq, he is a Turk.”

“That explains his eyes and lighter skin color.”

At the end of the street, Lucien spotted Nephrim sitting in an
outdoor café. It had been a designated meeting place for them, and he assumed
his friend was hoping that Lucien would return to it if he escaped.

When Hazir’s nephew spotted him and Gabrielle, he rose from
his table and strode to greet them. An arm flew around Lucien. “Allah be
praised!” he exclaimed jubilantly. “I thought never to see the two of you
again!”

Lucien winced when Nephrim patted his back. It would be some
time before the lacerations there would heal completely, though the sultan’s
doctors had attended to every bruise most competently.

“We must fetch Omar and be on our way as soon as possible,” he
told Nephrim. “I do not want to tempt fate and the sultan’s good will by
over-staying our welcome.”

“Omar is nearby. Will we go back to Farouk’s?” Nephrim asked.
“He and his wife have been worried about both of you.”

“I cannot afford to involve them any further. I will send them
a note while you find Omar. Then we must depart.”

“Farouk has sent all of your belongings to the caravansary
where we left our horses,” he informed both Lucien and Gabrielle. “He thought
you might need to leave quickly.”

Gabrielle was most relieved to have her things returned to
her, especially the magnificent purple head scarf Lucien had bought for her.

Lucien nodded his approval, then guided Gabrielle to a
secluded table in a far corner of the café. “Go fetch your brother, while I
send a missive to Farouk.”

By late afternoon, they were on their way to Jerusalem.

CHAPTER
20

The gates to the royal palace in Jerusalem were closed and
secured when Gabrielle and Lucien rode up to the entrance. Dressed in Arab
garb, it took a few words from Lucien before the soldiers on duty raised the
portcullis and admitted them. Outside, they parted company with Nephrim and
Omar. Lucien thanked the brothers and dismissed them from his service. With war
a heartbeat away, he had no intention of further involving his Arab friends.

Once she was notified of their arrival, Queen Sibylla met them
inside the great hall and immediately led them to a private sitting room. “Oh,
Lucien, I have heard all that has happened to you and Lady Gabrielle. There has
been much happening here, as well,” she said, clearly distressed as she
motioned them toward three thickly cushioned chairs positioned in front of a
low round brass table. Before she sat, she clapped her hands and ordered two
female servants to fetch wine and a light repast. Then she turned and dismissed
the two burly guards standing sentry at the door.

“I take it the king is not in residence,” Lucien asked as he
pulled out a chair for Gabrielle, then the queen. “His banners were absent from
the walls.”

“He is on his way to Acre to meet with the barons. You will be
going there next, won’t you?”

Gabrielle listened with a sickening drop of her stomach. She
looked to him and saw the inevitability in his fathomless brown eyes. It was
time for their love to give way to duty, however much each wished otherwise.

“I will be there,” he quietly assured the queen.

She smiled in relief, and smoothed the sumptuous silk material
of her skirts. Sibylla was a striking woman, and Gabrielle became acutely aware
of how dusty and travel worn she must look sitting next to her. She preferred
the way Muslim women dressed. It was practical and comfortable, particularly
for riding astride, which was her preference. It was also cool and allowed much
greater freedom of movement. But it was not always as elegant and lavish as the
layered gowns, kirtles, and robes that the more affluent noblewomen wore.