‘Yes. She was once the maid to Lady Maria.’
‘Then I wish you joy in your search. There is a manor of Lady Maria’s down to the south and east, which is on our way. Perhaps she will be there.’
Baldwin nodded. He would be glad to find Lucia there. Even if she was, of course, he was unsure what he might achieve. Her mistress had refused to sell her or give her her freedom, and if she remained intransigent, there would be little Baldwin could do to force her. Still, if nothing else it was good to leave the city for a while, and make a journey in the more mild temperatures of the winter.
The order to mount was given, and Baldwin and the others rose into their saddles, and were soon trotting under the broad gatehouse of the city and into the open lands beyond. Much had changed since Otto de Grandison’s arrival. The shanties were gone and their occupants evicted. Where lean-to shacks had rested against the walls, now there was only cleared sand, while above, along the line of walls, and atop the towers, the new hoardings concealed the sentries on the walls. The place had the appearance of an armed camp, as indeed it was.
Some distance from the city, the first of the farmed lands stood, green and verdant and full of promise. Baldwin hoped that the harvest would be good. He was at heart a rural fellow, and it grieved him to think that good crops could be wasted by war.
They rode for a day and a half, heading first east and south, and then sweeping back towards the coast again. On their way, Baldwin told Sir Jacques about Lucia, and how he feared for her because she was a slave.
‘Well, it makes your task easier.’
‘What, that she is a slave?’
‘Of course!’ he smiled. ‘She is a Muslim, you say. Well, that means she must be nearby. She will not be in Muslim-controlled lands, but close to Acre. Otherwise she would have been released. Muslims would not permit a Muslim to be enslaved any more than a Christian would allow that to happen to a Christian.’
‘I see.’
‘Slavery has created unique problems for us,’ Sir Jacques said musingly. ‘Baibars once settled a peace on the Christians, suggesting a free exchange of all prisoners of their wars — but of course the Templars and Hospitallers could not agree.’
‘No?’
‘For them to maintain their castles and lands, the Orders had need of craftsmen: masons, leather workers, smiths. So after every raid, they would learn the skills of their prisoners, and those who could be used were kept as slaves for life. It was the only way to maintain the Orders. They couldn’t rely on enough workers arriving from Britanny or Guyenne.’
‘I am sorry to hear that. I would never hold any man as a slave.’
‘The Templars paid for it. Have you heard of Safed?’ Sir Jacques asked as they rode eastwards that first morning. ‘It was a Templar castle.’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘It was after the breakdown of the peace, some forty years ago, that Baibars tried to destroy Safed. He attacked it time and again, but could not break the resolve of the occupants. So he took another tack. He made those inside understand that the Turcopoles would be welcomed, if they left. The Templars held them in a rigid discipline, but even beating them could not stop many from climbing over the walls in the dead of night. Without them, there were only two hundred Templars left inside. Not enough to man the walls. And so they were forced to accept terms. The Sultan offered them safe passage from the castle if they would only open the gates. So, reluctantly, the commander finally did so.’
‘And that earns them a place of pride?’ Baldwin questioned.
‘Yes, because as soon as his men took control of the castle, this same Baibars had the Templars gathered together. He made them a new offer. Those who submitted — you know that “Islam” means “submission”? — would live. All those who refused would be executed the following morning. The Sultan left them the night to consider, and next morning, he had the men lined up. The commander ordered his men not to forget their oaths and their faith, and for that the Sultan had him flayed alive before his men. Imagine: all those knights standing and watching while their leader had the skin peeled from his body in front of them. And then they were asked, one by one, whether they would accept the Muslim faith. It is said that as each refused, he was beheaded. And yet not one agreed to the terms. All remained firm in their faith. That is the sort of man a Templar is. Resolute, you see. Guillaume de Beaujeu is one of the mould of Safed. It is in his blood to do all he can to protect the people here, and if necessary, he will die trying.’
‘I hope he will not need to,’ Baldwin said.
A little later, Baldwin found Roger at his side. ‘So, you like his story of death and glory at Safed?’ Roger asked.
‘I would prefer to think they had retained the Turcopoles in the castle and had not lost it and their lives,’ Baldwin told him.
‘Aye,’ Roger said ruminatively, studying the men in front of them. ‘But they’d think they’d won a glorious victory by dying as martyrs.’
‘I think winning is better than a glorious death and losing the battle,’ Baldwin said.
‘Me too,’ Roger said. The sand was rising from the hooves in front, and he snorted, hawking and spitting, then adding, ‘Stiff-backed hairy-arses, the lot of them. But good men to have on your side in a fight.’
Baldwin smiled, confused. ‘But you are one too.’
‘Nay, only for a short time. Soon I’ll be free again, and I’ll buy my own ship and make a fortune bringing pilgrims here — if there is a “here” to bring them to.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
At the city’s gate, Baldwin felt his failure overwhelm him. With the Templars he had visited two farms of Lady Maria’s, but there was no sign of Lucia in either. All the long ride back, he had kept his face covered. Partly against the sand, but in truth more to hide his dejection.
‘Good day, my friend,’ he heard, and Sir Jacques trotted up to join him as he walked his horse back to the stable at Ivo’s. ‘If you do not object to the observation, you appear less than content after our ride.’
‘I am desperate to find Lucia,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘But how can I? Lady Maria has hidden her away.’
‘That is the counsel of despair,’ Jacques said. ‘Continue to join reconnaissance parties, and you will find her. I have faith that you will. You must have it too.’
Baldwin nodded without conviction. It seemed ridiculous that he should hold such a heaviness in his heart. ‘I would see her again. I am sick for love of her. Without her I feel like a flower missing the sunlight. I am nothing.’
Sir Jacques smiled sympathetically. ‘I understand.’
‘You cannot — you are a monk!’
‘Even monks were once men,’ Sir Jacques said mildly. ‘I loved deeply before I joined my Order. I was an enthusiastic hunter and gatherer of feminine hearts, if you can believe that.’
‘What made you join your Order, then?’
Sir Jacques sighed, and Baldwin saw for the first time that behind his smile there was a great sadness. ‘I loved one woman with more devotion than I had been able to summon before,’ he said. ‘She was beautiful to me, a generous, warm woman, with the natural grace of her people.’
‘She was Muslim?’
‘No, a Christian, but of the Jewish race. Her name was Sarah, and I adored her. If I had been able to marry her, I would have.’
‘What happened?’
‘She fell prey to leprosy. It is not uncommon. I would have married her and tended to her, but it was not to be. When she became leprous, I lost her. She was declared dead, and left me to join the Order as a nun. She was based here, in Acre. And when I heard she had done so, I chose my own path.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘I had thought that we would become wealthy. I saw myself as a baron to rival any in Guyenne, while she would be a glorious wife and mother to a brood of children who would be our constant pride. A man begins life with so many plans and hopes, does he not?’