Murder in the Holy City

PROLOGUE

Sir Guibert of Apulia’s head snapped up from the ground, and he was alert instantly as he heard the cry outside his tent.

“Saracens, Lord, Saracens!”

Snatching up his sword, Sir Guibert threw open the flap to the tent. The darkness was broken only by the low-burning fire and the streaks of light in the sky preceding dawn. Guibert quickly took in the scene.

His small camp was being attacked from all sides. If the sentries forming the triangle outside the camp were therefore already lost, only his sergeant, Adhemar, and the other nine men of his party of fourteen were left. He could not tell with certainty, but there appeared to be at least fifty Saracens pouring into his camp.

“Draw closer together, and stand back to back,” Guibert yelled to his panicking troops. Adhemar and two of the men formed a small cluster, but it was already far too late. Awakened from deep sleep after a rapid and thirsty march, his weary force was unable to form an effective defense and was being quickly overwhelmed. Guibert had bivouacked miles away from the guarded supply routes, because his delicate mission had demanded both secrecy and haste. Out here in the desert, there was no help and no retreat.

“Apulia!” Guibert yelled the war cry of his house and waded into his enemies, sword in one hand and dagger in the other. His prodigious fighting talents, which had earned him the nickname “Guibert the Two-Handed,” allowed him to drop four of the enemy as he slashed his way toward Adhemar. But, with blows falling from all sides, his light chain-mail shirt, which he had worn because it was less cumbersome than a full set of armour, was rent by several determined thrusts. He saw his sergeant and the last of his men fall, and then Guibert himself was struck down by a blow to the neck.

As he crumpled to the ground, his last thought was that he should not have braved the dangers of the Saracen-infested desert wearing only a mail shirt and leather leggings. Such light protection enabled him to ride with far greater speed, but what use was haste when he would not live to see his mission accomplished? And then the pale light of dawn was blocked by the Saracens who fell upon him, and he knew no more.