The Spymaster's Protection (43 page)

“Master de Ridefort, cease your accusations and
interruptions,” the king censored him. “You will have your turn.”

Raymond of Tripoli, regent to two kings and advisor to all,
looked as if his patience was stretched to its limits. The ordeals of the past
year, since Baldwin IV’s death, had weighed heavily on him. Lucien wondered if
he would live through the next series of events.

“As I was saying, if we stay put, the sultan will either have
to retreat or attack. Our army is in its strongest position here, at Sephorie.
When Saladin weakens and discipline declines, as surely it will by attacking in
the middle of the hottest season, we will conduct a swift attack, our army
having remained fresh from this well-supplied position.”

Lucien wasn’t entirely in agreement with his friend’s analysis
of Saladin’s potential strategies or his army’s eventual decline of discipline.
He had seen the fire in the sultan’s eyes and the determination in his voice
when they’d met in Damascus. And the force he had assembled was being commanded
by men who would tolerate no breach of discipline. They had supported the
sultan and fought too long at his side to allow any weakness to destroy their
goal now. The infidel had never been this confident, this united.

There were several barons in the room who echoed Lucien’s
unspoken reservations of the count’s proposed strategy. Lord Ibelin, who was
held in great respect by his peers and by Saladin, himself, said that he did
not believe Saladin or his troops would weaken, ever. They might eventually retreat,
but it would only be to reassemble elsewhere for another all-out attack. The
Christian army might not be able to hold this position indefinitely, either.
There were many men who would not remain if they were asked to stay for months
on end. Eventually, they would demand to return to their families and their
livelihoods.

The king listened to all, then gave Master de Ridefort the
chance to speak that he had promised him. “What we have heard from Count
Raymond is all nonsense,” the powerful Templar began predictably. “Some of you
have already seen the implausibility of maintaining our position here
indefinitely. We have assembled a mighty Christian army; the largest ever to
meet these accursed infidel dogs. We have not defended God’s kingdom from them
these many years, only to cower behind a wall, like weak and frightened women,
while they ravage our countryside and our homes. Would you leave a valiant
noblewoman to fight this battle alone? Have you no backbone?”

Lucien’s head was bowed as he listened to de Ridefort’s
typically exaggerated speech. Rolling his eyes in disgust, he decided the man
should have been an actor in a traveling troupe of entertainers. Yet again he
and de Châtillon had resorted to insults and bullying to achieve their end
goals. Unfortunately for the kingdom, the king was too frequently swayed by
such talk.

“Dare we trust the advice of a man who signed a secret treaty
with our enemy this past winter?” de Ridefort demanded loudly.

Lucien was not a baron. At best, he was an advisor. To some,
he was nothing but a lowly knight now. But he could not stand by and let the
madmen across from him denounce a good man as a traitor again and again, in
front of his peers.

He rose to his feet and addressed the king. “Sire, the Lord of
Tripoli and Tiberius paid you public homage and swore renewed fealty to you.
His private treaty with Saladin was his right, as all of the barons know. It
covered only his land and the protection of his tenants. How many of you have
agreed to similar treaties with raiding Arab leaders to keep you fiefdoms safe?
And Master de Ridefort,” he demanded of his former superior, “were you not
teetering on treason, yourself, when you allowed hundreds of men to go to their
deaths in a foolhardy, ill-advised attack on a body of Saracens over twice your
strength? The battle at Cresson played right into Saladin’s hands and cost the
kingdom several hundred good fighting men at a time when we could ill afford
it.”

“You insolent whoreson!” de Ridefort exploded.

“Gentlemen!” the king roared. “Enough of the accusations of
treason. I have made my decision after listening to all of you. We will remain
here at Sephorie for the time being. We will not march in defense of Tiberius.
I believe Lucien de Aubric when he says Saladin will allow Count Raymond’s
family free conduct in the event of defeat. Though we may yet fight the infidel
in Galilee, we will await a better opportunity.”

As the assembly broke up, the count caught Lucien’s forearm
and detained him by his side. “It is best if you remain here with me a bit
longer, my friend. De Ridefort and de Châtillon look ready to spill your
blood.”

“Fuck them!” Lucien swore savagely. “They are madmen, like I
said.”

“They probably are, but I also wish to thank you for your
defense of me. It seems few enough are ready to do so these days.” The count,
who appeared tired and distraught, despite the victory he had just won, moved
his hand again to Lucien’s shoulder. “I would like you to take service with me
when this is all over, Sir de Aubric. Galilee and Tripoli are large fiefs. My
sons have their duties, but I have need of your special abilities. You choose
the position; seneschal at one of my castles, captain of one of my garrisons,
intelligence officer, anything you like. I also have many fine residences scattered
over my holdings. You and the Lady Gabrielle are going to need a place to live
soon. What say you, my friend?”

Lucien was deeply moved by the count’s generous offers. “I may
be more trouble than I am worth, Raymond. You already hold de Ridefort’s deepest
enmity. If you retain my services, he will only have another reason to hate you
and harass you.”

“As you say, fuck him! He has yet to best me, and he has been
a thorn in my side for a long time.” The count shook off his anger and
chuckled. “Maybe it is unfair of me to ask since the king has employed you. He
has undoubtedly offered you long term service and greater wealth.”

Lucien set aside his friend’s concern with a quick shake of
his head. “I serve King Guy only until this crisis is over. I cannot stay in
Jerusalem afterwards. It would be too dangerous for Gabrielle and I, with the
Temple so close. De Ridefort and his successors could have me arrested at any
time, then transported and held for trial before the Pope. Even King Guy may
not be able to stop that. They might someday convince him to hand me over to
them. I cannot risk that, for Gabrielle’s sake.”

“Then join my household.”

“I will give it deep consideration, Raymond. If I choose to
remain in the Holy Land, it will likely be in service to you.”

“You are thinking about leaving Palestine?”

“I have given it some consideration.”

“Would you go to Iberia, where you were born?”

“Actually, I do not know, Raymond. At this point, I have
simply come to the conclusion that I have had a bellyful of the politics in the
kingdom. I imagine much will depend on the outcome of this battle with the
sultan.”

“I do not feel good about any of this, Lucien,” the count
finished.

“Nor do I, my friend, nor do I.”

+++

Lucien went back to the tent he shared with Lord Ibelin, set
up in the central courtyard of the castle. The count had retired to the one he
shared with his sons. The three young men were understandably upset over the
fates of their mother and families, even though Lucien had reassured them many
times that Saladin was no slayer of women and children.

Guessing it to be close to midnight, Lucien chose to sit
outside under the dark night sky for a while before he retired for the day. He
had not had much sleep since he had left Jerusalem and Gabrielle, and he had
much on his mind tonight, not the least of which was the bewitching woman he
had left behind.

How he missed her! In the few months they had known one
another, she had come to mean everything to him. He could not imagine his life
without her. She was his heart and soul. He sat down on a log near the entrance
to the tent and pulled out the necklace she had given him from beneath his
steel reinforced leather hauberk. The multifaceted clear stone embedded in the
top of the gold crescent moon sparkled as it picked up the bits of starlight
overhead.

As a talisman, it might just serve him as well as it had
Gabrielle during her dangerous rescue missions across the deserts of this
war-ravaged land. He desperately hoped so, for he wanted to return to her,
alive and whole, able to love and care for her for the rest of his life. He had
little at the present time to offer her, but he would find a way to provide for
her.

The alternative, leaving her alone to face her bastard of a
husband, was unthinkable. If he weren’t a man who believed in Christ’s
teachings and God’s eternal judgment, he’d murder the reprobate at an opportune
time on the battlefield. He was fully aware that Reynald would take any similar
opportunity to do the same to him.

De Châtillon had been inside the Grand Master’s tent since the
conclusion of the council meeting. No doubt they were planning their next
strategy to get the king to move his army and engage with the enemy.

The Templar camp was set up on the other side of the keep.
Lucien had a good view of it. Their tents were always arranged around the
chapel one in the center, with the Marshal’s and the Grand Master’s beside it.
The Order’s black and white standard flew from a lance planted into the ground
at the tent’s entrance.

Lucien felt the tug of memories as he stared at the camp. He
still had friends within those tents, men he would grieve over if lost; some
good friends, like Conrad. He had been stunned by his brother’s defense of him
this evening. He was glad Conrad did not consider him a traitor. Though he had
not been able to thank him for his support, he vowed he would protect his
friend’s back on the battlefield if he could.

He was just about ready to join Lord Ibelin in his tent when
he saw Master de Ridefort come out of his tent. He was alone. For the most
part, the encampment was quiet, with most in their tents resting. Lucien rose
and stepped into the shadows as the Grand Master made his way to the keep.

Staying far enough back to remain unnoticed, Lucien followed
him. Inside the keep, de Ridefort climbed the spiral stairway in one of the
towers to the top floor. Lucien removed his boots and tracked his steps. At the
final landing, de Ridefort knocked on the closed door of the only room on the
top floor; the king’s room.

He was admitted after another knock, but the door did not
close behind him. Lucien took advantage of the oversight to move to a position
to listen.

The conversation was muffled, as if coming from the far side
of the room, but Lucien heard enough to know that the Grand Master was
complaining bitterly to the king about his decision that evening. As they moved
closer, he heard the king’s raised voice more clearly.

“I think I made the correct, decision, Gérard,” Guy insisted.
“De Aubric’s intelligence has been solid, and confirmed by your men, as well as
Reynald’s. The sultan would have drawn us out and cut us off had we charged
after him yesterday.”

“That was yesterday’s plan. Damn it, Lusignan, we must go
after the enemy or lose all!”

There was a reply, but it was not the chastisement Lucien had
suspected. The words garbled, he recognized it only as a grumbling dissent by
the king.

“King Henry is your cousin, and as such, he would expect you
to use his money wisely in this war,” de Ridefort continued. “Need I remind you
that he could replace you on my advice? You sit on the throne here by his
agreement and my design. Princess Isabella waits in the wings as your
successor. There has been talk of bringing the brother of Sibylla’s first
husband over from Constantinople. Married to Isabella, Conrad de Montferrat
would make a capable ruler. Reynald and I both think so.”

“Isabella is married to Lord Humphrey, for God’s sake! What do
you and Reynald plan to do? Assassinate the young pup? And de Montferrat has no
blood claim to the throne.”

“Like you, he would… by marrying a princess. King Amalric’s
daughters have been very useful. Did you not gain the throne by seducing one,
afterall? Reynald and I put you on that throne, my friend, but if you refuse to
defend the kingdom and instead sit like a coward in Sephorie, we will demand a
man strong enough to lead us and preserve us. The Pope would no doubt join us
in demanding a new ruler were we to lose the Holy Land. So what say you, Guy?
Do we ride for Tiberius at first light or hide in Sephorie?”

Lucien did not need to stay to hear the king’s response. Guy
Lusignan was and always had been a puppet to men like de Ridefort and de
Châtillon. While he might wish to do the right thing, he would, in the end,
concede to the will of those who had placed him on the throne.

+++

Except for Lucien, it came as a great surprise to everyone
when the order was given to march at dawn the following morning. They would
have been better off to march at night. The day dawned hot and dry, with nary a
cooling breeze in sight. By noon, temperatures would be scorching. Lucien was
sure of it. When he left Lord Balian’s tent, he felt an ominous sense of
inevitability settle over him.

He had spoken to Balian and the count about what he had heard
last night, but neither thought there was much hope of altering the king’s
decision. They had all been down this road before with Guy Lusignan.

Like Lucien, they too felt the day’s course would bring
nothing good. There was nothing for it, though, but to make the best of it and
do what they must, as duty, allegiance, and honor demanded. Lucien had learned
that lesson bitterly time and again in Outremer. Men’s lives turned on the
whims of kings and their kingmakers.

A loud commotion at the forefront of the three assembling
divisions drew Lucien's attention from his grim reflections. A Muslim woman
from some village nearby, was standing upon a rock calling a curse down upon
the army as it began to march past her. She screamed in Arabic some nonsense
about Allah’s retribution on those who dared attack his holy warriors.