Templar's Acre

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Baldwin was not sad to see Edgar leave. There was something unsettling about him, an aura of scarcely restrained violence.

‘You are cold, maid?’ he asked, seeing Lucia shiver.

‘No, I am warm,’ she said, but there was fear in her eyes.

‘You need not worry. The rioters will soon be calmed and the city will be as safe as before,’ he said. She did not appear soothed by his words. ‘Why are you troubled? Is it the way your mistress treats you? Is she cruel?’

‘No, no. She is a good mistress.’

‘Please, maid, if there is anything I can do to help you, command me! I would protect you.’

‘What could you do to protect me?’

‘Keep you here, safe within my house. I can guard you night and day. If you would have me, I could marry you. .’

The words were out before he knew it, and he stopped, dumbfounded by his own speech.

Lucia was as silent as he, the two a scant yard apart, but it felt as though the length of the desert lay between them. He wanted to reach for her, but feared he would scare her away, like a terrified mouse. He hesitantly lifted his hands in mute appeal, but she said very quietly, ‘I may not marry without my mistress’s permission. I am a slave.’

‘In a Christian city, if you agree to be baptised, you can marry whom you will,’ Baldwin pointed out. ‘No Christian may hold another Christian as a slave. Renounce your faith and we can marry. I could speak to the Prelate — he would help, and-’

‘I cannot.’

‘Why?’ Baldwin asked. His heart was pounding, and he felt light-headed as though drunk, her sad beauty was so entrancing.

Before she could respond, there came a knock at the gate and Baldwin cursed as Pietro opened it.

‘Master Baldwin, I hope I find you well,’ Roger Flor said, and then his eye fell on Lucia. ‘Ah, you must be feeling refreshed!’

‘This maid was caught in the riots,’ Baldwin said stiffly.

‘So you brought her here?’ Roger peered closer. ‘The lady with green eyes?’

Baldwin felt a sickening lurch in his belly as he recalled the whore in the tavern. ‘She is Lucia.’

‘Where are you from, wench?’ Roger asked with a smile.

Baldwin stepped in front of her, and his glower made Roger laugh aloud.

‘Well, I may be a Templar shipman, but I know when I’m not wanted! I’ll see you soon, Baldwin, eh?’

Baldwin walked with him to the door, where Roger paused. ‘She is the woman you were after? I thought you wanted Lady Maria.’

‘She is the lady’s maid. I hadn’t realised.’

‘Enjoy yourself. And Baldwin — I know you didn’t enjoy your ride out with us, but keep it under your hood, eh? We don’t want news of the caravan getting out into the city. That could embarrass me.’

‘I see,’ Baldwin said.

‘Good, good,’ Roger said, and chuckled. ‘I like you.’

He patted Baldwin’s shoulder and walked off, laughing quietly, and Baldwin closed the door. Roger Flor was another like Edgar. Unsettling, and not only because of his propensity for violence. There was something else in him Baldwin found disconcerting: an appeal.

He felt Lucia’s hand on his arm, and smiled down at her. ‘Yes?’

‘Do you want me to stay here now?’

‘Only if you would have me. I would marry you and have you live with me.’

‘I cannot. I must go back to my mistress. It is my place.’

‘There is nothing I can say that would tempt you to remain with me?’ he asked.

Her eyes flashed with something like anger. ‘Would you surrender your faith to become Muslim?’

‘Of course not!’

‘But you ask me to convert?’

‘I shall walk you back,’ he said.

The words almost choked him.

She felt safe with Baldwin walking at her side. There were two men from Ivo’s stables with them, both strong and carrying staffs in case of violence, but they saw no sign of rioters. While there was still some shouting from towards the harbour, people were walking the streets again, nervously and not in great numbers, but it was a beginning. They saw Templars and Hospitallers in groups of two or three, often glaring suspiciously at each other, and men in the livery of the King of Jerusalem.

Baldwin was about to knock at Lady Maria’s door, when Lucia put her hand on his breast. She was wearing her veil again, and her eyes stared into his seriously. ‘No further,’ she whispered. ‘Please, stay here.’

He nodded reluctantly, but she was glad to see that he stopped. She would have liked to kiss him, but she dared not. Not in the street where anyone could be watching. Instead she smiled, and hoped her eyes would speak of her gratitude. His face held pain. There were no words she could use to soothe him.

She walked away without turning back. If she had, she knew she would be lost. So she walked to the door, rapped sharply on the old timbers — and entered.

Baldwin stood there a moment or two longer, gazing down the lane, hoping that the door would open and she would reappear, perhaps run to him, and throw her arms about him. But no. The door had closed, and she was gone. Unless he bought her, she would remain there forever.

Baldwin came to a decision.

He would have to earn the money to buy her. And perhaps he could persuade her mistress to sell her for a reasonable amount.

It was a sustaining thought as he made his way back up the street, and over towards the wall to Montmusart.

Lucia was grasped by the bottler. He pulled her with him into the room at the rear of the house, overlooking the gardens, where her mistress was sitting with a thin muslin sheath draped about her against the heat of the afternoon. She was sipping from a goblet of wine.

‘So, you returned at last?’

‘I came as soon as I could. The mob was in the street-’

‘Silence!’ Maria snapped, and gestured.

The servant shoved, and Lucia was thrown to the ground, moaning with the pain of scraped knees.

‘You went with that man Baldwin, did you not? You were seen in the street with him. Have you been whoring?’

‘No! No!’

‘Stop the snivelling — it doesn’t impress me. I think you fell back deliberately when we were hurrying home. Didn’t your friend want you when he learned you were a slave? I thought so. You cannot trust these fine, chivalrous men. They take fresh rump when they can, but they are less keen on rotten meat.’

She went to the terrace, picking a rose and sniffing at it. ‘You have disappointed me, Lucia. Now answer truthfully: did you mention my business?’

‘No. Not at all.’

Maria crossed the floor, her leather slippers making no sound. ‘Tell me the truth, child.’

Lucia could feel tears welling. It didn’t matter that she was innocent. When Maria looked at her like that, it made her feel guilty.

‘I think you told him,’ Maria said softly. ‘And now you seek to come here to listen to my conversations. Was that the idea? You were to come here and spy for him? What, is he from Venice?’

‘No! He is English.’

‘English? They are all pirates and felons,’ Maria said with contempt. She snapped her fingers. ‘Take her to the cellar and question her. I want to know what she told that man, and I want the truth.’