It was not only the city, of course. It was the atmosphere at Ivo’s house. Lucia was quiet and submissive, and Baldwin felt like grasping her and shaking her. He didn’t understand, and she would not tell him what was wrong. Their religions were a bar to their marriage, but there was more to her reluctance than that. There was fear in her eyes whenever he approached her. She shivered like a cowering hound. The only creature to whom she displayed affection was Uther. It was painful to see the woman he adored every day, knowing he inspired only loathing.
‘Master Baldwin, I would be grateful for a word,’ Sir Otto called as people moved out of the ward.
‘Of course,’ Baldwin said, pushing thoughts of Lucia from his mind.
‘You have been here longer than my men. I know that you are sergeant to Ivo, but one of my vintenaries has fallen prey to an unfortunate malady, and has died. I would appreciate your aid.’
‘How so?’
‘I would ask you to take his place.’
Baldwin felt his face break into a smile. ‘Me, Sir Otto? I would be honoured!’
‘Then it is decided. You will fight alongside Ivo, I trust, on the wall?’ Sir Otto looked around. ‘What is that noise?’
There was a sudden clamour from the gate, and when Baldwin glanced towards it, he saw the flash of swords, and heard a scream, but then he was running, with Sir Otto following closely. All he could see was a tightly-packed group of Templars with their swords held ready over their heads.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Edgar of London had not anticipated trouble as he left the castle.
He swaggered, confident that his master was one of the most powerful men in the city. With his pacifist approach, blocking those who sought war, Philip Mainboeuf had elevated himself to the very pinnacle of the social elite in Acre, and as his standing rose so, by association, did Edgar’s.
It had been a good decision to come here, he thought smugly. He had money, the best clothes he had ever owned, and his choice of women in the city — many of whom were grateful for a distraction from fears about their future. Life was good.
His mood was suddenly punctured when he saw the men pushing and jostling all about the Templars and his master; an alarm began to scream in his head.
Edgar darted forward, trying to get to Mainboeuf and pull him from the crush, but even as he did so, there was a sudden shout as the Templars drew their weapons.
Edgar’s sword was already out when he reached his master. The air was full of bellowing, and a woman gave a scream at the sight of blades. Edgar didn’t care — he ducked as a Venetian shipman nearby aimed a cudgel at his head, and as Edgar dropped, he stabbed upwards with his sword. He felt it sink into the man’s breast, and the sailor toppled with a look of intense surprise on his face, which gave Edgar a brief flare of satisfaction before something crashed against his head, and he felt himself tumble onto the rough gravel of the roadway — and could only watch numbly as boots moved all about him. Just ahead of him, he saw the shipman he had stabbed. The man’s mouth was moving, but no words were coming. At least, Edgar heard none. He remained staring, but then, too exhausted to continue, he closed his eyes.
Baldwin arrived as the crowd began to turn nasty, and it was a relief to hear Otto de Grandison bawling orders, barging his way through the men encircling the Templars, three Englishmen with him shoving people aside.
‘Move away! I won’t have the mob attacking unarmed men!’ de Grandison roared, ignoring the fact that the Templars were standing in a group with steel glinting in the sun. None had dared approach them. Nobody had any doubts of their ability to protect themselves.
Baldwin was standing with the remaining Venetian. ‘What was this about?’ he demanded.
Sir Guillaume spoke through clenched teeth. ‘The mob jostled us. Someone made jokes about Templar cowardice and whether we would find anyone who dared travel to Cairo.’
‘I’ll wager you won’t go!’ a man shouted.
Baldwin felt the crowd’s evil mood. One man was dead, and Edgar lay unmoving before him. He didn’t want any more injuries. In an instant, Baldwin grabbed the man who had spoken by the neck of his tunic, his sword resting against the fellow’s throat. He had never seen a man’s eyes open so wide before.
‘Is there anybody else who wants to make a comment?’ he snarled rhetorically. He shook his prisoner. ‘Now, since you are unconvinced about the Grand Master’s willingness to fight, would you offer him a challenge to single combat?’
He was wrong. Eyes could open wider, apparently.
‘Me? I’m no knight!’ the man squeaked.
‘You were brave enough when you had the mob at your back!’
‘He has armour and all!’
‘It was your choice to insult him. If you don’t apologise, I will take you to the castle’s yard now, and you can fight Grand Master de Beaujeu.’
‘I agree! I submit! I apologise!’ the man blurted.
The tension had already dissipated. Instead of angry mutterings, Baldwin heard chuckles at the fellow’s predicament. Someone imitated his high, anxious tones.
Baldwin thrust the man forward, then booted him in the backside, directing him into the crowd.
‘Disperse, the lot of you. Go on — clear off!’
‘Master Baldwin, I am grateful to you,’ Sir Guillaume said as the people moved away, and he and his men felt safe enough to put up their swords. ‘What is happening to the world, when a mob will take it upon themselves to attack Templars?’
Baldwin nodded. But there had been two groups in the crowd. Now the remaining Venetian was rising from the side of his dead comrade, scowling at Mainboeuf. Baldwin jabbed his sword out before he could move towards the merchant. ‘Why did you attack him?’ he demanded, his sword almost touching the man’s throat. The man’s face was familiar, but he couldn’t think how he knew him.
‘He sent the Genoese after my ship! You were there — you were on my ship when his men attacked us and killed half my crew! I had to sail to Venice to make good the damage he caused my ship, and only returned two days ago.’
‘That was not Master Mainboeuf, it was a man called Buscarel,’ Baldwin said. ‘I know him.’
‘Buscarel was the shipmaster, but this piece of shit told Buscarel to attack my ship. You ask him! See how his eyes shift? He knows it’s true!’
‘If he did, that was out to sea,’ Sir Otto said. ‘Whatever happened out there has no force on land. You have broken the law in trying to kill him here. Murder on the streets is not permitted.’ He motioned to the three men-at-arms who were with him, and two moved towards the Venetian, kicking his knife away and grabbing him by the arms.
‘What of justice for me?’ the Venetian declared wildly. ‘That man tried to ruin me, he had many of my crew killed, and now what?’
Sir Otto shrugged and jerked his head. ‘Take him to the gaol and meet me back here,’ he said. ‘So, vintenary, I am impressed with your turn of speed.’
Baldwin was only half-listening as he studied the figure on the ground. ‘I know this man,’ he said.
Philip Mainboeuf peered down too, saying, ‘He is Edgar of London, my Master of Defence. I was expecting to take him with me to Cairo. What will I do now? It is extremely disappointing.’
‘It would have been worse if he had not saved your life,’ Sir Otto pointed out. ‘He is your man. You will need to have him taken to your home to be nursed.’
‘How will I protect myself on the way?’ Mainboeuf snapped grumpily. ‘The man’s a fool, he doesn’t deserve to be nursed.’
Baldwin stared in disbelief. ‘This fellow was injured saving your life!’
‘And by failing to guard himself, the fool’s left me without protection. Ach!’ The merchant looked about him and seeing a scruffy urchin nearby, commanded him to go and fetch two strong men from the house, and a cart or some other means of transporting the body. ‘And be quick if you want payment for your effort,’ he called as the boy scuttled away.