Templar's Acre

CHAPTER EIGHTY

The days following the arrival of King Henry were happy ones, Baldwin thought afterwards. Whereas before, all had begun to give up any hope of the city’s survival, suddenly there was renewed optimism. The sea could bring them reinforcements along with food, and the sight of the bright blue robes of the King’s guards and his footsoldiers gave a fillip to all those who had already endured a month of siege.

It was not merely the sight of new warriors walking about the city, men with clean clothing who were not bandaged and foul with lice, it was the confidence that they radiated, and the ideas that they brought.

King Henry’s first proposal was that an embassy should be sent to the Sultan.

‘It will not hurt us to ask whether the Sultan has a legitimate grievance for breaking his peace treaty. We can investigate whether there is any restitution the city can offer, while also delaying further offensives,’ he said.

That at least had been the hope.

Baldwin heard of the failure when he spoke with Sir Jacques. That morning, Baldwin and his men were stood down from the walls, while newcomers from King Hugh’s entourage took their places. They were nothing loath. Baldwin stretched his legs walking about the city, and when he returned, he found Sir Jacques talking to Ivo.

‘The King sent Guillaume de Canfran, a Templar, and Guillaume de Villiers to speak with the Sultan,’ Sir Jacques said. His face was still twisted where the gauntlet had hit him two weeks before, but his smile was still there. ‘And they did as they were bid. De Villiers is a mild-mannered fellow, but de Canfran is, I fear, one of the old breed, who learned no humility when a child. His arrogance must have been difficult to curb. Not that it mattered.’

‘What happened?’ Baldwin asked.

‘They reached the tent and waited. The Sultan demanded to know whether they had brought him the keys to the city, and they said that they couldn’t, and when they asked whether he would accept redress for any imagined grievance, he reminded them that it was their people who had murdered Muslims in the market during the riots. When they asked what he wanted, he said that his father had said he wanted the city, not the people. Just as he had said to the Templars last year. So, there you have it. A pleasant chat all round, I think. Almost convivial.’

‘Really?’ Baldwin said.

‘Baldwin, you need to learn about sarcasm, lad,’ Ivo grunted.

Sir Jacques’ twisted smile grew. ‘There was an unfortunate incident. While they were talking, the Muslim artillery was continuing to fire their weapons at us. One of our catapults retaliated, and flung a stone that landed near the tent where they were speaking. It sent the Sultan into a rage, and he had men grasp the shoulders of the two Guillaumes and force them to their knees while he drew his sword to despatch them. It was only the intervention of one of his men that saved their lives.’

The three men fell into a gloomy silence. It was clear that there would be no further negotiations. Baldwin thought he had never see Sir Jacques so sunk in gloom, and Ivo sat scowling at the mazer in his hand as though searching for the future in the wine’s depths.

‘Well, at least we know where we stand,’ Baldwin said.

‘Aye,’ Ivo breathed. ‘On the brink of Hell.’