Templar's Acre

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

While the first meeting had been held against a chorus of anxious demands, this second was more restrained. Everybody had heard that a party of Muslims had attacked the Templars. Baldwin saw Guillaume de Beaujeu look about him when the Constable asked him to speak. The Templar’s expression was fierce, especially when it lighted upon Philip Mainboeuf. Baldwin was glad it didn’t land upon him.

The Grand Master began quietly. ‘I have been accused of cowardice in this chamber. That, and worse: being prepared to endanger Christian lives for profit, as though I care more for money than their souls. I state here it is not my desire to enrich myself or my Order. I have only one ambition, and that is to see Jerusalem return to our faith. Christians must reconquer the Holy City, and to do that, we must hold tight to Acre!’

There was a murmur of approval at this. A murmur that was only stilled when the Grand Master held up his hand.

‘Qalawun is calling on his vassals in Egypt and Syria. In Palestine his men are building siege engines to attack our walls. A vast host is gathering. We cannot hope to prevail, unless we plan. We need more men, and should send all useless mouths away. Can we demand of Venice, Pisa and Genoa that they remove all those who cannot fight? Send them to Cyprus, to safety. Returning ships can bring more men and food.’

‘How many more men? For how long?’ Philip Mainboeuf demanded, and now he stepped forward to address those present, saying patronisingly, ‘Citizens of Acre, we are aware that the good Templar is devoted to the city. We know that he is an enthusiastic proponent of all forms of warfare against the heathen Muslims, but come! Let us be rational! Qalawun is a sensible man, no less than any of us here. He would not seek to destroy the key trading city that brings him so much in gold each year. Look at us — panicking over attack, when we are the only city that should be safe! If we overreact and respond in a warlike manner, then yes, we can guarantee that Qalawun will attack. But I have a note here,’ and he held aloft a scroll, ‘that proves all concerns to be mistaken. Citizens, noble Grand Master, please, let us not be precipitate. Let us discuss, consider, and behave accordingly.’

‘What does your note suggest?’ Constable Amalric asked.

‘That the armies he raises, and the machines of war he builds are for the east and north of Africa. Our city is safe.’

There was a hubbub at that. Baldwin looked over at the Grand Master, and saw his pinched expression. Perhaps the Grand Master had misjudged the meeting. Or perhaps he had hoped to incite war?

‘I have had messages too,’ Guillaume declared. He took a step forward, commanding the whole assembly. ‘I say this: there have been orders sent to his men in Egypt and Syria. In Egypt the muster continues unabated, while he has ordered his commander of the Syrian army, Rukn ad-Din Toqsu, to move to Palestine where there is timber, so that they might construct siege machines. Where are the cities in Africa that he would wish to attack? Is there a single city with a great encircling wall, such as we have here? I know of none. His strategy is concealed from us deliberately. He has created a misty deception, a fog about his plans, in order to confuse us. When he feels it safe, he will launch his attack, in a great torrent of fire, rock and men, that will overwhelm even our great city, just as he did with poor Tripoli. This man is insatiable. Qalawun will not rest until all Christians in the Holy Land are slain. He has no interest in trade. It matters not to him whether the trade is allowed to flow through Christian Acre or through Muslim Damascus. Why should he care that our city can trade with Venice or Genoa? It means nothing to him.’

‘He needs our trade,’ Mainboeuf said loftily, with a supercilious glance at the people all around. ‘He knows we make him lots of money.’

‘You think that,’ de Beaujeu said flatly. ‘You are wrong. He knows he can make more money by having trade fully controlled by his own people. That means having Muslims at the coast. Not Christians to make their own profit.’

‘I think that here we can discern the inherent panic of an Order which sees its own destiny written,’ Mainboeuf sneered. ‘The Templars are always honourable. They try to support friends and allies. Venice has been a good ally to the Temple, has it not?’

‘What of it?’ de Beaujeu demanded.

‘We all know that the Venetians have in the past profited from selling timber to the Egyptians. Their buildings are dependent upon Venetian wood, as is their manufacture of siege engines, as you so astutely point out. And when we look at the present situation, do we not see only a Templar’s desire to help his allies? We know Qalawun is determined to punish those in Africa who have offended him by refusing to accept peace with him, and he is to build siege machines. The Templars would prefer to have the machines built at their profit or the profit of their friends, so they have persuaded the commune to pay their allies for all this timber here: we buy wood and use it prodigiously, constructing hoardings. It is normal, certainly, for them to support their Venetian friends, but I am surprised that the Templars should have fallen for such a ruse. For I am certain that the good Grand Master is not dishonest. He has been convinced in this tale, I have no doubt, by his friends in Venice. They put this-’

The rest of his words were drowned by roars of disapproval from Venetians and Templars alike.

A body of sailors and merchants from Venice tried to force their way towards Mainboeuf, while Pisans and Genoese jeered and bit their thumbs at them. The Templar Grand Master stood glowering. Behind him, his knights were holding themselves back only with great restraint, and Baldwin saw more than one of them shuffling forward as if to prepare to attack.

‘Enough!’ Amalric bellowed at last, standing and holding his hands aloft. ‘This ridiculous noise will cease! Be still! Master Mainboeuf, I hope you have some evidence for the wild allegations you have made.’

‘ “Wild allegations”? What is wild about them? We know that the Venetians supply timber to Egypt. That is a fact known for decades. They have been censured for such sales by the Pope. We also know that the Temple and Venice have been allied for many years. This, too, is fact. So what have I invented for this meeting?’

‘I have nothing to say to a fool who suggests I would lie, nor that I would succumb to the blandishments of others to deceive this company,’ Sir Guillaume growled. ‘I state again: the city is in grave peril. Our enemies gather their full strength to assault us. We shall succumb unless we can hurry the pace of our efforts.’

‘We have already succeeded in making our city as near impregnable as it is possible to conceive,’ Mainboeuf said flatly. ‘There is no need to worry about this latest rumour. Our enemies are occupied elsewhere.’

Baldwin thought the look Guillaume de Beaujeu threw at Mainboeuf must surely scorch him, but the merchant smiled as though he were careless of any insult he might have given.

Only later did Baldwin begin to wonder about Mainboeuf’s supreme confidence.

Out in the field, Lucia continued with her labours, digging a trench for new irrigation, her pick rising in unison with those of the other slaves. She felt like the soil she was tilling. Invaded. Violated.

Some nights ago it had begun. A vicious, one-eyed Kurd with the body of a wrestler had been taking his pleasure with another slave woman, thanks to the connivance of a guard, but now he had selected Lucia.

She fought him, that first night. His fist felt as though it must break her skull when he punched her, and after that she daren’t resist, but lay quiescent while he rutted on her like a hog. And then, when he was done, he laughed as he left her. He laughed. And so it continued, every night. After the long day’s work, she would wait for the sound of his approach, brace herself for the torture of his rapes.

At first she had tried to turn her mind away from him, to think of other things, while he forced her on all fours and grasped her hips, but it was impossible.

No means of defence occurred to her. Every day she sought a tool, but the rocks were feeble sandstone, and not heavy. Her pick wouldn’t serve, since the tools were taken from them each evening. For her to attack the Kurd, she would have to do something that would hurt him badly, but which didn’t require a long weapon or steel.

And then she saw the little bush with scraggy branches.

That night, Lucia heard the guard approach, the lumbering steps of the Kurd with him. She had not been touched by the guards. The Kurd was the only man who had taken her. It was strange, to know that she was to be attacked again while the other women lay on the floor all about, listening. Perhaps some would even be jealous. Any attention was better, maybe, than this life of steady, crushing work.

They would get his attention in time. The guards needed the women served so that more slaves could be born, just as the farmer needed his cows served by his bulls. Slave-children could fetch good prices.

The door’s bolts were tugged back, but this time she wasn’t worried. She wanted him in now, to get this over and done with. Lying on her back, she waited. The door opened, and there was a moment’s hush as the guard and the Kurd peered in, a solitary candle throwing a faint glimmer over the room.

He could be smelled two yards away. She detested that smell. It had been on her, about her, within her, for days now. A repugnant stench, like that of death.

‘Ready for me, little sparrow?’ he asked in his grating voice.

She felt his hands on her breasts, her hips, then down between her thighs, and she parted her legs willingly, which made him chuckle. Reaching out her left hand, she put it about his neck, pulling him closer to her face. Even in the darkness, she could sense his smile of conquest.

‘Want me now, sparrow? I’ll reward you, then,’ he said breathlessly.

That was when she took her short, sharpened little twig, and stabbed his good eye, shoving it in as far as she could, ramming it with the heel of her hand, feeling his juices running down her wrist, relishing his sudden high screams and the spasms in his body in that long moment before his fist hit her face and she knew no more.