Templar's Acre

PROLOGUE

29 May 1291

The creaking of the ship was familiar.

As he began to come to, the sound brought back memories of his first voyage, and for one glorious moment he dreamed he was on his way there again — en route to Acre — a year ago, before the catastrophe.

Still only semi-conscious, he listened with half an ear to the thunderous crash of waves against the hull, the wind singing in the sheets, the flapping of flags, the moaning of the timbers. And then he heard the whimpers and weeping all around him, one man sobbing uncontrollably, and he remembered where he was, and his eyes snapped open at the terrible memories that flooded back. He would never sleep again in case he dreamed of them.

The broken bone in his leg hurt like hell. Each movement of the ship made it shift, and he felt the jagged edges grating. The scar at his cheek pulled, and the burns on his limbs shrieked for butter or grease, but Baldwin paid them no heed.

In his mind’s eye he saw it all again: the flames, the shattering of buildings and bodies, the dread assaults, the devastation. He saw the corpses lining the roads, he saw his little dog, Uther, and he saw the men of whom he had grown so fond: Ivo and old Pietro, Jacques, brave Guillaume, Geoffrey of the sad eyes. All those who had endured the last hellish weeks with him — and then died. And he sobbed unaffectedly as he recalled the disaster that had overwhelmed them all. No tears would come, but he felt the grief must throttle him.

Then he saw her again: Lucia, his love; his mistress, with her black hair and olive skin; her calm, trusting eyes. .

And his heart could no longer contain his desolation.