Templar's Acre

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

Later that same day, it seemed as if God had answered the prayers of the people in the city, for a little after noon, cries went up all over the city.

‘The King! The King’s here!’

Edgar had remained on the walls, while Baldwin and Hob went to help a team of Pisan engineers near the Patriarch’s Tower, helping to piece together an even more massive catapult than those which Hob had already built. Hob’s eyes blazed with an ungodly light when he was working on these machines of death, and Baldwin clapped him on the back and joked, ‘You will kill more Muslims with your catapult than I will with a sword and twenty men behind me!’

Hob nodded grimly. ‘I hope so.’

At that moment, a man on the wall above turned and bellowed, ‘Look! Ships! Christ Jesus, I’ve never seen so many ships!’

Hob and Baldwin exchanged a look and walked down the roadway towards the harbour for a better view. Baldwin stopped, mouth wide. ‘Good God!’

‘Aye. They’ll help,’ Hob said.

From the port itself all the way to the horizon was a mass of shipping. Baldwin’s delighted eyes ran over them, trying to count. ‘How many are there?’

‘The way they’re rolling, I doubt even a shepherd could count that little lot,’ Hob grunted.

Baldwin reached thirty great cogs, but then gave up. Herding them were galleys of war, with Venetian or Pisan flags flying cheerily in the wind. Men and arms: hope for the people of the city!

But it was the flag on the ship quickly approaching the shore that made Baldwin’s heart race: the sky-blue background and five gold crosses of the Kingdom of Jerusalem.

That night was a festive occasion like no other Baldwin had attended in the city.

There was a feast, which had originally been intended to be held in the castle’s yard, but bearing in mind the proximity of the catapults, it was agreed that they should move further from the city walls. Instead, King Hugh II of Jerusalem ordered that tables be set out before the Temple, and here the notables of the city gathered, including secular knights and merchants wearing their finest silks. With the press of people in the yard, it was a miracle anyone could sit. If a missile had landed in their midst, it would have wiped out most of the commanders of the city, Baldwin thought. The Commune was present, as were the Grand Masters of the Orders, Otto de Grandison, the leaders of the Venetians and the Pisans, amongst others, and all were determined to demonstrate that they were unconcerned by their position.

Ivo was invited, and he brought a reluctant Baldwin along with him. Baldwin would have been happier to remain behind with Lucia, and leave this task to Edgar. More and more men had turned to theft and violence in recent days, and although those caught trying to cut a man’s purse or stealing into a house at night were invariably hanged, some still used any opportunity that presented itself. Still, with Edgar and Pietro in the house, Baldwin told himself, there could be few women as safe as Lucia.

When Baldwin and his master entered the court, the young man felt as if he had been transported back to Acre’s heyday. He had never seen such a feast, even when he was living back in England. Beneath flags bearing the royal symbols were set out spiced dishes of many kinds that Baldwin did not recognise. Many were coloured into a variety of hues, and he wondered what might be in them. Glad to leave Ivo at his table, he walked over to where servants stood, watching the festivities. As he glanced about him, he saw Buscarel, standing in a corner.

‘I wondered if you would be here,’ he said as Baldwin approached.

‘I thought you were dead!’

‘So did I. I was found by a fisherman and brought back. The Templars looked after me.’

‘You were unwell?’

Buscarel shrugged. ‘I lived.’

‘You are not recovered — I can see that. You should be resting.’

‘I don’t want to rest. My family. . they are all dead. A stone.’

‘I am sorry.’

‘While I lay in the Temple, recovering, a rock tore down my house with my family inside. I wish I’d been with them.’ There was a world of despair in his tone.

Baldwin could say nothing. Any enmity between them was done, and he could empathise with a man who had lost so much.

‘Why are you here?’ he asked eventually.

‘Without me, my Lady Maria would lack a guard tonight.’

‘Maria?’ Baldwin repeated, and then risked a quick glance around the tables. There, up at the top of a middle table, he saw the familiar green clothing, and as she turned her head, he saw her features once more. ‘Why are you here with her?’

Buscarel looked over to his mistress, and shrugged. ‘She has no one. Why should I not help her?’

‘I see.’ Baldwin had little sympathy for the woman who had threatened him and his lover.

‘She reckons she will be safe when the Muslims get in, but I think I will kill her when they do.’

Baldwin nodded slowly. It would save her from rape or slavery. Either was not to be borne.

‘With these ships, perhaps we will fight them off,’ he said.

‘There are not enough men. What, another thousand, two thousand? To what avail are such numbers when they have hundreds of thousands?’

‘She might take a berth on a ship leaving here,’ Baldwin said.

‘Perhaps,’ Buscarel muttered.

‘Shipman, are you well?’ To him, the man looked broken.

‘I’m alive — what more can a man ask?’

‘So many have died,’ Baldwin said solemnly.

‘And more will yet. I will kill as many Muslims as I can for revenge. Oh, when will the bastards break in!’

Baldwin nodded, but he could not help a feeling of elation to see the King of Jerusalem here. It seemed to show that God was on their side again — that He was holding them in His hands and defending them. If the banners of Jerusalem were here, in Acre, it meant that He was here too. And He wouldn’t wish to see His kingdom on Earth lost to heathens.

‘And what of your Lady over there?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Is she still devoted to the city?’

‘Lady Maria is devoted to herself,’ Buscarel said coldly. ‘Not to the city.’

It was hard for Baldwin to recall that this man had beaten him, that he had robbed him of his father’s ring. He felt the last vestiges of anger and bitterness leave him as he saw the deep sorrow in the Genoese’s eyes. Buscarel had remained when all his countrymen had sailed to safety, he reminded himself.

Buscarel’s eyes fell, and he began to walk off, but Baldwin called him. ‘Master Buscarel?’

‘Yes?’

‘God be with you, my friend.’