Templar's Acre

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was a few days later that Baldwin met the Templar shipmaster Roger Flor again.

For the last few days, Ivo had been taken up with business. More horses were needed for the Order, and Ivo was the Templars’ chief trader in horseflesh. He was known, Baldwin learned, all over the Mediterranean for his fairness, but also for his determination to win a good deal for his clients.

Well, that attitude was fine in business, but Baldwin thought it made him too easy-going. Ivo was happier to negotiate than protect his own interests, but Baldwin was the son of a knight. He had a duty to avenge any slur, and the Genoese had gravely insulted him. Baldwin would have his day.

But not with Ivo’s help.

Baldwin took to walking about the city in the early morning before the heat began to hammer at the senses. He liked it best just after daybreak, when he would walk to the cathedral to listen over the hubbub of merchants haggling and children playing to the solemn prayers. The scent of incense lifted his spirits, and in there it was hard to believe the dire warnings from Guillaume de Beaujeu of an army being raised by the Egyptians to overwhelm the city. God would protect His own. He would not see His last city destroyed, giving His Holy Land to the heathen.

Walking from the cathedral one morning, Baldwin stood in the sunshine and snuffed the air. There was a fresh breeze from the sea, and he could imagine the waves chopping at the hulls of the ships in the harbour, the hum of the great cables as the wind plucked at them.

‘Master, I am glad to see you once more,’ said a familiar voice, breaking into his reverie. ‘I hope Ivo the killjoy has not completely destroyed your pleasure in gaming?’

‘Master Roger — I am glad to see you,’ Baldwin said, grinning. It was easy to smile at such a welcoming face, especially since Roger Flor was only a little older than himself. Baldwin felt a ready affinity for him which he could not feel for Ivo. After all, stern Ivo was old enough to be his father.

‘What, no Ivo today?’

Baldwin grinned as Roger made a show of peering high and low in all directions. ‘No, he is at the Temple. He prefers to spend his time counting coins there.’

‘Ah, an honourable occupation, I doubt me not. Being a Templar, I’m assured there is no nobler way for a man to spend his time,’ Roger stated, nodding sagely.

‘I would prefer to be busy with my sword,’ Baldwin said. ‘I came here to fight the enemies of all Christians.’

‘You should be a Templar, then. We exist to serve the pilgrims,’ Roger said.

Baldwin laughed at that. ‘What, serve? With the riches owned by your Order? You’d do better to give money to people so they can afford to travel here!’

Roger looked at him, and there was an unwonted seriousness in his voice. ‘Don’t make that mistake, Master. There are many who deride the Templars, but we need that money. It is essential. If pilgrims are attacked here, they need help here, and were it not for the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon, they would be entirely at the mercy of the Saracens. But come! We will not fall out over such affairs.’

‘No, indeed,’ Baldwin said, ‘but I should like to know, if the reason for the Templar Knights’ existence is to protect others, how can they do it from inside a great fortress like that?’

Roger followed his pointing finger and gazed at the tower of the Temple. ‘We don’t,’ he said simply. ‘Our service lies in bringing people here by ship, like you, and then protecting them all about here.’

‘In the city?’

Roger looked at him. He still wore his customary little smile, but there was a hardness in his eyes Baldwin hadn’t seen before. ‘If you want to see what we can do, come with me today. I’m riding with a reconnaissance out to the south, into the bay. You may join us, if you wish.’