Templar's Acre

CHAPTER EIGHT

There was one sight that shocked Baldwin beyond uttering. One morning, as he strolled about Montmusart with Pietro, he suddenly encountered a man clad in strange mail, with a conical helmet, and turban encompassing it, a spike protruding from the top. He was bearded and had skin as brown as a conker. It was like meeting with a demon, and Baldwin took an involuntary step back.

His hand on his sword’s hilt, the fellow swept past him with a haughty sneer that would not have looked out of place on a King’s herald.

‘Eh? What?’ Pietro snapped when Baldwin tugged at his sleeve.

‘He’s a Muslim, isn’t he?’ Baldwin whispered, his startled eyes fixed on the man.

‘So? Half the city is! There are many who prefer them as guards in any case,’ Pietro grumbled, half to himself. ‘Rich ladies who need protection will often have Muslims in their employ.’

‘Not Christians?’ Baldwin said, shocked.

‘There was a woman some years ago, who inherited vast wealth when her husband died. She was kidnapped by a Christian nobleman who wanted to take her as his wife by force. When he heard about this, the Sultan sent men to demand that she be freed. From that day on, she always had a guard of Muslims provided by him. Ironic, isn’t it? She felt endangered by the knights about here, but was happy enough with a bunch of heathens to protect her!’

‘I must go to the Temple,’ Ivo said, a day or so later. ‘Will you join me?’ He eyed Baldwin critically.

‘Certainly!’ the young man cried, wiping his face with the trailing hem of his linen shirt. He had been exercising with his sword, and in the heat had worked up quite a sweat.

‘That shirt was once white, I presume?’ Ivo asked drily.

Baldwin glanced down at it. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean it’s filthy. You should let the maid take it to be washed.’

‘I only have this one. Since the ship. .’ He had no need to continue. When he had lost all his money and weapons, his bag too had been taken, with his spare shirt.

‘I should have thought,’ Ivo muttered. ‘We must buy some cloth for a new shirt. In the meantime,’ he added as they left by the front door a short while later, ‘I have been summoned to meet with the Grand Master of the Templars. Sir Guillaume de Beaujeu is the most important man in the city, no matter what anyone says, so remain respectful.’

The two set off, and soon walked under the gateway in the old city wall, on past the Hospital, and down towards the Temple.

The streets here were bustling, with hawkers of all nations bellowing out their wares, men-at-arms striding about like minor barons, servants hurrying hither and thither — and beggars. Beggars were everywhere you looked: old men pleading from the ground where their crippled legs kept them, urchins standing in the way, holding out their hands, eyes enormous with hunger as they entreated all the passers-by, younger men with limbs broken or weakened by rickets, toothless youths with sores and skin diseases.

It was the same in any street in Christendom, Baldwin knew: he had seen enough beggars in his time, and yet there was something especially poignant about these people of different races. Their eyes seemed to scorch him with their demands, and he felt ashamed to walk past them.

‘You feel it too?’ Ivo asked quietly. ‘There was a time when I would ignore the poor, but here, I find it more difficult. There is shame in living here in the Holy Land and doing nothing for these unfortunates.’

Baldwin made no comment, but he felt their gazes on his back long after he had passed by.

The Temple was a glorious fortress, and Baldwin looked up at it in wonder as he approached. Before him were the two towers of the Temple, with a pair of smaller towers flanking each. On top of the lower ones stood a great gilded lion, as massive as an ox. In the sunshine, they were painful to look at, they gleamed so. They seemed statements of pride, power and wealth. His impression was confirmed by Ivo a moment later.

‘You see those lions? They cost one thousand five hundred Saracen besants. The palace there, that is the Master’s, and you see the tower over there, at the sea? That is where the Templars hold their treasure. No one would get to it there! It is said that that tower was built by the Saracen Saladin when he ruled Acre. If so, he had a good eye for a place of safety. It must be the strongest part of the entire city.’

They entered the fortress and Baldwin followed Ivo as he made his way to the Master’s Palace. Two Templars in their tunics stood at the door and opened it to allow Ivo and Baldwin to pass. It was huge. The paved floor stretched away to a great dais, on which there was a table. Ivo bowed and stood in the middle of the floor. It would have been impossible to go further because of the press of people.

Looking about him, Baldwin recognised faces here and there: men he had seen in the streets, one whom he was sure he had seen on the ship on the way here, but for the most part they were rich merchants who had all the obvious signs of their wealth, with bejewelled fingers and bright, cool silks that rustled softly. Baldwin was jealous of them, standing there in his grimy shirt and old tunic.

He noticed one man in particular. He stood, tall and very strong, clad in a white Templar habit. His head was bare, showing the fine greyish stubble, and making his thick beard look peculiar. He had piercing eyes, heavily hooded, and a manner of jutting his head forward that was aggressive and contemplative at the same time. His hands were hidden in the sleeves of his habit, and Baldwin wondered whether he held a weapon in them. There was something entirely warrior-like about him, and the idea that he was unarmed seemed wrong, somehow.

Ivo pointed to him with his chin. ‘Listen carefully. That is the Grand Master of the Temple, Guillaume de Beaujeu. He knows more of affairs between us here and the Egyptians than almost any man.’

‘How?’ Baldwin whispered.

‘He has the money to pay spies,’ Ivo snapped. ‘Now, listen!’

De Beaujeu spoke with a calm authority that ensured silence in the crowd. On the dais, he towered over the people before him, glancing from one to another as he spoke. At one point his eye met Baldwin’s, and Baldwin was surprised to see that the great leader did not look away instantly, but instead studied him as if Baldwin was as important as any other in that chamber.

‘You all know that I have sent a messenger to our Father the Pope. After the fall and destruction of Tripoli, it was necessary.’

‘If we don’t provoke Qalawun, he will leave us alone,’ a man called.

‘No one provoked Qalawun, yet he attacked Lattakieh. No one provoked him, yet he attacked Tripoli. Does anyone believe that he will leave us alone here at Acre? I have heard that calls have already gone out to his people deep in the interior of Egypt, for them to gather their armies and meet him. Where is he to go? In past years, we may have thought he was making a foray into Mongol lands. But the Mongols are no threat to him. He has attacked castles. But he has Montfort, he has Krak, he has Marqab. There is only one jewel he can seek to pluck. And that jewel is Acre.’

His words rang out with simple force. No man spoke against him now.

‘So, I have sent a messenger to the Pope to beg for men to defend our city, but I fear that all too few will come. There are some hundreds who are already on their way from Lombardy, I believe, and the English have promised an army, but they do not have the men to be able to protect us. So we must see to our own protection.’

Ivo had his lips pursed as he listened. Now he shook his head. ‘We are too few,’ he muttered. Baldwin looked back to the Master.

‘The commune of Acre must invest in the walls. We must at once purchase all the timber we may, to reinforce our defences and build the hoardings. We need more machines of war, especially catapults. We need masons, to strengthen our walls. .’

‘The walls are strong already. We would have to spend prodigiously to afford all this work!’ a man called.

‘Very well. My walls here, at my tower, are almost thirty feet thick,’ the Grand Master stated equably. ‘I shall be safe when your house is burned to the ground, with both your daughters and your wife inside it. Need I remind you how Tripoli fell? You have all heard of the violent conflagration that overwhelmed our friends there. How many of us lost friends in those massacres? Who can count the young women and children who were marched off to be sold into slavery? How many of us know women who even now are held in captivity, to suffer the shame of rape? Is that what you want for your daughters? Your wives? Do you want to die knowing that you failed to protect your families for the cost of a few ounces of silver?’

‘What of the other Orders? There are only Templars here. What of the Hospitallers?’ a man shouted.

Baldwin could see him. He half-expected a Templar to grab the fellow and pull him out for his rudeness, but no one made a movement.

The Grand Master nodded. ‘I know you, Master Mainboeuf. You and I have worked together often enough. I will say this: I will ally myself with any man, any Order, any nation, in order to protect our city. I have asked the Hospitallers to join us here, but I fear they did not heed my invitation. I hope, and pray, that they will come to discuss this before too long. Perhaps if you, or your companions, could speak to the Grand Master, he may be persuaded to come to us and talk about how we might best defend our city.’

‘You say you want wood,’ a man called. ‘Will you tell the Venetians to stop selling it to our enemies?’

The Grand Master allowed a wintry smile to pass over his lips. ‘I already have.’

It was almost noon when the meeting was closed, and the room gradually emptied. Baldwin walked out behind Ivo, blinking and covering his eyes against the sudden glare of the sunshine.

‘Those men were not very respectful,’ he commented.

‘Did you expect them to be?’ Ivo grunted.

‘I thought they would show the Grand Master respect in his own hall.’

‘He was hoping to bolster confidence. Attacking his audience would not help.’

‘I see.’

‘So, do you feel you understand the city’s position more clearly now?’ Ivo asked.

Baldwin said, ‘I would have been happier with the Hospitallers in the chamber with us.’

‘At least it shows that the merchants appreciate the dangers at last,’ Ivo said. He snorted, hawked and spat into the street. ‘I don’t think they realised how perilous our situation has become.’

Baldwin nodded, but as he did so, he saw a flash of emerald.

‘That woman! I know her!’ he cried.

‘Who? Where?’ Ivo asked distractedly.

Baldwin could see the gleam of her bright silken robes. Two dark-skinned warriors followed close behind her. He wondered at first whether she was a Saracen princess, until he saw her pale hand and wrist.

She passed through the crowds serenely. There was no need for gestures or threats, the people moved aside as she approached.

Ignoring Ivo, Baldwin hurried after her. He had to see what she looked like — but this time he wouldn’t scare her, the way he had before. Noticing a gap in the throng before him, he forced his way through it and managed to reach her side. He caught a heady odour of sandalwood and spice as he passed, and then turned to look at her.

‘My lady,’ he said, and bowed.

That was as far as he got before the nearer of the two guards whipped out his sword and rested it on Baldwin’s throat.