Templar's Acre

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

Baldwin settled back on his bench as the feast progressed, but he couldn’t help but think that such a profligate use of food was foolish. All these dishes had been brought with the King when he landed, and now it was being squandered. There was a part of him that understood the importance of such celebrations, demonstrating to the populace that life would continue, and that they should not be downhearted, but while his heart understood such reasoning, his brain told him that they should be husbanding their reserves.

But perhaps they knew there was no point, he thought. What if they already accepted that the city must fall? No, that was ridiculous. For one thing, the King would hardly want to come and risk his life if he thought there was no possibility of success.

There came a bellow, and the King’s steward stood at the front of the King’s table with a staff, which he ceremoniously slammed into the ground.

‘What’s that for?’ Baldwin said, looking at Ivo.

His friend sucked a piece of meat from his teeth. ‘How should I know?’

Baldwin watched as a succession of young men were called to the table. Some few he recognised. One he was sure had been with Sir Otto’s men, and had ridden on the night of the attack on the catapult. Others were unknown to him.

And then his own name was called.

He looked at Ivo.

‘Go and find out,’ Ivo said, answering his unspoken question. There was a gleam in his eye.

‘You are Baldwin de Furnshill?’ the King asked when Baldwin stood before him.

‘Yes, Sire.’ Baldwin could feel his belly dissolving with nervousness to be standing before all the great men here.

King Henry stood and held out his hands. ‘My Lords, knights and friends, people of Acre, we are here to celebrate our arrival today with this feast. We all know that our city’s future is resting on a knife-edge. To fail will mean disaster. Because if we fail, Outremer will lose her last great city. But we will not fail!’

There was a loud cheer, and the pounding of fists on table-tops. Baldwin felt proud to be here, but a cynical part of his mind questioned whether there would be feasting and cheer in another fortnight.

‘There have been many deeds of bravery in the last weeks. I am honoured to recognise the individual courage of these young gentlemen here, and I should like to reward them. From the defence of the walls to the outstanding courage of those who rode to the great catapult, these men deserve their recognition.’

Baldwin felt his mouth fall open.

‘Kneel, gentlemen!’

Baldwin knelt, but the rest of the ceremony went by in a blur. There was the brief lecture from the King, about how a knight should be courteous, bold, hardy, generous and debonair, but to a foe, ferocious and determined. He should protect the poor and weak, and uphold God’s law. There was more in a similar vein, and then the Patriarch came and blessed them and their swords, and they were each given the collée — a light blow from the Patriarch’s hand to remind them of their oaths and responsibilities.

Soon, he was walking back to his seat.

‘Sir Baldwin.’

He almost didn’t turn. It would take him time to become used to his new title, he thought. ‘Sir Jacques?’

‘Well done, my friend. Well done indeed.’

‘But I’ve done little more than any other.’

‘It was the way you saved the Marshal of the Temple on the night of the attack. He was impressed.’

‘That was kind of him.’

‘He thought you merited it,’ Sir Jacques said. He rested his fist on Baldwin’s shoulder. ‘I am sure he was right, my friend.’

When Baldwin and Ivo entered the house, they knew at once that something was wrong. Edgar was standing in the garden, and Lucia was nowhere to be seen as Sir Jacques closed the door behind them.

Baldwin did not know Edgar well, and the expression on his face was not one to inspire trust. Edgar shuffled and looked away as soon as Baldwin entered. It was the kind of look Baldwin would expect to see on a felon.

Edgar mumbled, ‘I am very sorry, Baldwin.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Who — Lucia? She is with him.’

‘What?’

Ivo put his hand on Baldwin’s wrist and pointed.

It was at that moment that Baldwin saw the hole in the rear of the house. A stone had smashed through the north-eastern corner of Ivo’s house and demolished the whole of that section. Baldwin stared, and then was running to his chamber.

She was in his room. Uther was lying on his scrap of cloth as usual, but now his wide, anxious eyes were still. There was no answering thud of his tail as Baldwin walked in.

Lucia stood and stepped back from Uther, as a slave would, trying to become invisible.

‘No, please, Lucia,’ he said, and held out his hands to her. She put her arms around him, but it was no comfort as he stared down at the dog’s body. ‘You poor brute,’ he muttered. ‘You never had much of a life, did you?’

And then he realised he was weeping as he buried his face in Lucia’s shoulder.