‘But how can it be a trial when we know He cannot allow us to lose?’ Baldwin said.
Jacques looked at him. ‘And you are certain of that? Perhaps the trial is to see whether we have the resolution to see this through. But if we fail, perhaps it will be for another brotherhood of Christians to return to wrest the land from the heathen, and thereby bring about His divine wishes.’
‘He cannot allow heathens to take it, surely?’
‘Why not? If we are not strong enough, someone must have it.’
‘If God were to allow the Kingdom of Jerusalem to fail, surely that must mean the end of the world.’
Jacques smiled at the solemn young man. ‘And would that be so terrible? He has already given Jerusalem to the Muslims. What would it mean to give up Acre as well? Not so very much in comparison. I do not think He has been very impressed with His people in recent years. If He were, would He truly have allowed the slaughter at Tripoli?’
Baldwin closed his mouth and stared ahead. Speaking was painful, for every word meant swallowing sand kicked up by the horses ahead. Still, the thought that God might permit His lands to be invaded was ridiculous; He must help Christians throw back the godless.
‘Look there! I think that is the Lady’s farm.’
Baldwin followed Sir Jacques’ pointing finger, and saw some drab buildings in the distance. ‘There?’
‘It is a small farm for her slaves, I think,’ Jacques said.
Lucia was bent at her work when she heard the approaching thunder of hooves. Dimly, she could make out the white tunics, grubby with sand and dust, of the Templars. They were a large force, and dressed for battle. The knights wore mail, with helmets on their heads and swords at their sides. The overseer cracked his whip, and the slaves bent to their work once more. Lucia watched as two knights rode forward at an easy canter, reining in at his side, and began to speak. And then she saw him. The strange Frank called Baldwin.
It almost made her drop her spade. She tottered and, as the overseer shouted at her, she ducked below his lash. Too late, for the leather end caught her across the shoulders, and she cried out with the pain. A second blow struck her torso, and the end whipped about and caught the side of her breast.
The pain was unimaginable. She wept as she struggled to return to her work, feeling the slickness of fresh blood running down her spine.
Baldwin saw the overseer lift his hand, and felt his face grow black with rage. He spurred his mount onwards, thrusting himself and his horse between the slave-driver and Lucia.
The overseer glanced up at Baldwin with a frown of incomprehension. This was one of his slaves, and he was right to maintain control. It was his duty and his job. He edged around Baldwin’s horse.
‘Keep back, churl!’ Baldwin snarled. He looked down at Lucia and his heart was almost broken to see her. She was nearly unrecognisable. The lady in green he had fallen in love with was now a broken woman in soiled, torn linen.
‘My Lady,’ he said, ‘I offered you my hand once. I offer it again.’
The overseer darted around, to stand before Lucia, smiling wolfishly, daring her to speak.
Baldwin forced his horse on, and it barged into the slave-driver. ‘You try to hurt her again,’ Baldwin said, ‘and I’ll kill you!’
She stood, leaning on the haft of her spade wearily. ‘Sir, I cannot. As I told you, I am Muslim. I cannot betray my faith.’
Even as she spoke, the overseer darted round Baldwin’s horse and the whip cracked.
Baldwin didn’t hesitate. His sword flashed, and he thrust it into the man’s throat. There was a sudden gout of blood, and the man fell back, both hands clutching at his neck as if trying to stem the flow.
‘No!’ Lucia cried as he collapsed on the ground.
‘I will allow no man to hurt you again,’ Baldwin said. He was looking about him at the other slave-masters. One had already cast aside his whip and was fleeing, back to the farm. Another stood gaping, but made no threatening gestures.
‘Lady Maria will hear of this! She will have me killed!’ Lucia wailed.
‘I offered you my hand,’ Baldwin repeated steadfastly. ‘Come, Lucia, ride with me. It’s many leagues to Acre, and I do not think you can walk it.’
Ivo sat in his garden as the sun sank, sipping wine and thinking about the Marshal’s words. Sir Geoffrey had been deeply moved. Perhaps he felt guilt for escaping when he had. Just as Ivo felt the guilt of being absent when his wife and son needed him most.
He drank. Wine dulled the pain.
The knock at the door made him start. Pietro was in his little chamber near the gate, and he rose, complaining loudly as usual, and went to the door. And then, to Ivo’s surprise, Baldwin walked in, carrying a young woman in his arms.
‘I am sorry if this causes trouble,’ he said, standing in the doorway. ‘But I couldn’t leave her to suffer. Not like this.’
Ivo nodded, and stood aside to let the young man pass. But somehow, as he watched Baldwin walk through his little garden, the image was strangely familiar. And then he understood: in his dreams he had seen himself, just like Baldwin, carrying his wife and child, bearing them to safety from the flames of Tripoli.
At least Baldwin had been able to save his woman, he thought, and his eyes fogged with tears.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Baldwin woke late that morning, and arched his back as he stretched. In the past months he had slept on the roof, but with the recent rains he had taken Ivo’s advice and now slept in this comfortable chamber.
He would never have thought to live in such luxury. Soft linens made his bed, and even though others said it was chill at night, for him, used to the miserable damp and cold of a Devon winter, it was balmy and delightful.
Rising, he pulled a tunic over his nakedness, and made his way to the chamber where Ivo had installed Lucia. Her room was empty, and for a moment his heart fell, as though finding her again had been nothing more than a dream. Surely she had not left in the night to return to Lady Maria? But then he saw that her bed had been slept in, and there were blood spots on the sheet where her scabs had wept overnight.
The memory of the overseer taking his whip to her made Baldwin grit his teeth. Hearing a sound, he walked through into the garden and his rage disappeared at the sight of her sitting on a bench near the front door.
‘I like these moments,’ he said.
‘I am sorry?’ she asked, starting to her feet.
He waved her back down. ‘Before the full heat of the sun. I like this time, when the breeze is cool, and the air is still gentle. It is the best time of the day.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
He sat beside her. She was painfully beautiful, he thought, as she averted her gaze. She wore a simple shift of linen, and while she had tried to bind her hair decorously behind her head, the lack of hood or veil made her anxious, made her feel wanton and shameful.
‘You are troubled,’ he said quietly.
‘What should I do? I am a runaway slave! If she catches me. .’
‘You are safe here,’ he said reassuringly.
‘My Lady Maria may not see the affair in so clear a light.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You’re free, and here, and that is all I care about.’
She closed her eyes, but the tears forced their way past. She would like to believe him, but she could still see the Kurd leaning over her. She was not meant for happiness. ‘You don’t understand. She is powerful — here, and elsewhere in the land. If she decides to have me killed, I will die. If she decides to see you dead, you will die.’
‘I am not so easy to kill.’
‘Please! You saved my life. But now, if I remain, your life will be endangered.’
‘Let it be. I shall defend us both,’ Baldwin said. ‘This house is guarded, and Ivo and I are both trained in the use of weapons. Even if someone wanted to attack us, they would think twice because we are friends to the Templars.’