01 - Murder in the Holy City (15 page)

Geoffrey felt Tancred’s eyes boring into him, willing him to discretion, but he did not look away from Daimbert’s steady gaze.

“The Advocate’s authority, my lord,” replied Geoffrey politely. He was aware of Tancred’s surprise, but still addressed himself to Daimbert. Daimbert, meanwhile, turned to indicate Tancred with an elegant gesture of his beringed hand.

“But you are Lord Tancred’s man, are you not?”

“Sir Geoffrey has leave to serve my interests however he sees fit,” Tancred intervened smoothly. Geoffrey was relieved, for he was uncertain how he would have answered without revealing that he was already investigating the matter for Tancred, something he sensed Tancred wanted kept from the Patriarch.

Daimbert slowly turned to Tancred. “Is that so? But it is suspicious, is it not, that your man, who freely admits working for the Advocate without your knowledge or permission, comes to my palace and is found standing over the corpse of one of the few men who know details of these peculiar murders?”

The silence in the room was absolute. Geoffrey looked from Daimbert to Tancred and wondered how he had let himself become embroiled in the petty politics of warring lords who wanted power and possessions at any cost. Melisende Mikelos had been right to fear the justice of men like the Advocate and the Patriarch.

“However,” Daimbert continued in his soft voice, addressing Geoffrey, “you did not come in stealth, and my captain assures me that Dunstan was already dead when you arrived. I suppose we can deduce you are not responsible for his death. You say Brother Marius came to you?”

Geoffrey nodded, not wanting to add that the scribe had fled the palace because he feared the murderer might still prowl within its walls.

“And what can you tell us about Dunstan’s death?” Daimbert continued.

“Very little,” said Geoffrey truthfully. “A rope was tied around his neck, and he died.” He indicated the body on the floor with his hand. “When we came, he was lying across the desk, looking as though he had been sitting at it when he died, and had slumped forward.”

“And you moved him to the floor?”

Geoffrey nodded. Daimbert stooped to look at the face of his dead monk and sighed. “It is a pity. Dunstan had the best hand in Jerusalem, and I am in great need of scribes with good writing. Especially ones that can be trusted.”

He glanced back at the monks behind him, not looking at anyone in particular, but causing a great deal of shuffling and blushing. He waited until they had grown silent again, and dismissed them with a wave of a hand that was more contemptuous than paternal. When the last of them had clattered down the stairs to discuss the murder in excited tones in the room below, Daimbert turned to Tancred.

“I am an agent short, and you seem to trust this man. Will you lend him to me to look into this business?”

For once, Tancred was caught by surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Eventually, he puffed out his cheeks and nodded reluctantly.

“Good.” Daimbert became businesslike. “You and I are of the same mind. These murders are more than they seem, and I fear that those who are committing these crimes are aiming to undermine the security of our Kingdom here. There are so many against us: the Saracens, the Jews, the Greeks. Not everyone is content with the rule of our Advocate, and this may be a personal attack against him. He obviously believes so, if he has arranged for the matters to be investigated.” Daimbert paused. “I am not asking you to serve two masters Sir Geoffrey; I am simply asking that you pass anything you discover about this affair to me as well as to the Advocate. Preferably to me first.”

Geoffrey glanced at Tancred, and caught his almost imperceptible nod. Geoffrey wondered when this would stop, and how many more Holy Land princes would attempt to secure his services before the business was resolved. Perhaps he should save the others the trouble and volunteer. There was still Tancred’s uncle Bohemond, and doubtless the Greek, Saracen, and Jewish communities would appreciate a well-placed ear.

Daimbert saw his hesitation and misunderstood. He drew a great ruby ring from his finger and held it out to Geoffrey. “You will appreciate that I do not carry much of value around with me in the night, but you may have this. And I will give you another two of similar value when you solve these wicked crimes.”

The heavy ring plopped into Geoffrey’s palm, and lay there glinting like an evil red eye. Geoffrey saw Tancred smile, and then nodded slowly to Daimbert to show he accepted the commission. Behind him, Roger coughed. Daimbert gave a resigned sigh and felt about in a pocket under his belt. For a man who carried little of value with him at night, Daimbert seemed to be doing admirably. He drew out a silver chain with a pendant and handed it to Roger, who thanked him with a grin and secreted it away under his unsavoury surcoat.

“I have only one thing to add,” said Daimbert. “You might wonder why I should take such an interest in the murder of two of Bohemond’s knights. I tell you this reluctantly, but I have considered carefully and feel you should be told. Jocelyn the Benedictine was a double agent. He worked for me in the scriptorium, but his writing was excellent, and he had various commissions from other men—including Bohemond. Another person who bought Jocelyn’s skills was the Advocate, who needed a man with a fine hand to write begging letters to the merchants for him. Jocelyn, when engaged on the Advocate’s commissions, usually took the opportunity to look around, to listen, to read, and to gather tidbits of information for me. I am troubled by his death. He was useful to me.”

Geoffrey’s heart sank. The business was becoming more complex by the moment. What else would he learn about Jocelyn? The monk spied on the Advocate and had nocturnal meetings with Sir Guido of Rimini. He must have been killed because he was a spy, and since the Patriarch stood to lose out on his death, the most obvious culprit for his murder was the Advocate. And since all five victims seemed to have been killed with similar weapons, it stood to reason that the Advocate was involved in their deaths too.

“Jocelyn worked in the library in Rome,” said Geoffrey carefully, his mind racing. “He learned his fine writing in the Pope’s scriptorium. Did the Pope send him here to help you?”

Daimbert’s face eased into a slow smile that had all the humour of a crocodile about to devour its prey. “Tancred is right about you,” he said. “You are thorough and quick-witted. Yes, to answer your question. Jocelyn came here with the express purpose of using his talents to the advantage of the Holy Church in Rome. And of course, that is best achieved through reporting his findings to me, the Patriarch. I commend you on your intellect. Now, it is late, and I have much to do.”

Business completed, Daimbert took his leave. Tancred raised his eyebrows and waited.

“Courrances approached me yesterday and asked if I would investigate on behalf of the Advocate,” Geoffrey explained. “It seemed prudent to accept when he would soon discover what I was doing anyway, and by serving him, I could use his name to authorise my questions and not yours.”

Tancred chewed his lip and then seized Geoffrey’s arm. “I have not the slightest doubt of your loyalty to me. And it was no lie when I told Daimbert I trust your judgement in best serving my interests. But this is a dangerous game for a knight to play. Daimbert is an ambitious man, and the Advocate is a desperate one who knows his powers are being leeched away. You now work for three of the most powerful men in the Holy Land. I hope the movements of the other two against each other do not crush you in the process.”

So did Geoffrey, especially bearing in mind that Courrances had told him that the Advocate believed the Patriarch’s role in the murders was far from innocent. “Is there anything I should know?” he asked.

Tancred gave a small smile. “Only to reiterate my warnings, and my fears that this business involves powerful people—perhaps even one of your other masters. Or it may be simple and just be the Greeks or Arabs. If I knew anything else, I would tell you, because I want this mess resolved as soon as possible. Tomorrow at first light I leave for Haifa. I feel ill at ease in Jerusalem with all these murders. I will be safer in Haifa.”

“Haifa?” Geoffrey felt his interest quicken. Haifa was one of the few towns in Tancred’s Principality still to hold out against him.

“I plan to force the town to surrender to me. Hopefully, this will be achieved by a frontal attack, but I am prepared to commit to a siege if necessary.” He grinned boyishly. “I would rather fight than sit and wait, but I will have Haifa in the end.”

“I have read much about Haifa,” began Geoffrey enthusiastically. “It is protected on one side by the sea and on the others by walls fortified with watch towers …”

“Your learning would be of great value to me,” said Tancred, interrupting gently. “Especially if we are forced to lay siege to the town. But I need you here. I will have no Principality to rule if Jerusalem falls, whether to Arab, Greek, Jew, or Christian. Make your reports to the Advocate, and watch him like a hawk. Send your missives to Daimbert, and observe matters here in his palace. But if you discover anything vital, dissemble to them, and get word to me first. We will keep in touch by messenger.”

Geoffrey made his obeisance to Tancred and took his leave, with Roger following.

They collected their horses and began to ride back to the citadel. The air was cool after the stuffiness of the Patriarch’s palace, and Geoffrey closed his eyes and let the refreshing breeze waft over him.

“I cannot see why you are so relaxed,” muttered Roger next to him. “Dozing in the saddle like you are off for a pleasant ride to inspect your Welsh sheep. You have put yourself in a dangerous position. Supposing you find out that Tancred is behind it all? What will you tell Daimbert and the Advocate?”

“Tancred would not let me investigate if he were involved,” said Geoffrey, a great wave of weariness flooding over him. He tried to remember the last time he had managed an uninterrupted night’s sleep. He had been out on patrol for two weeks, napping in ditches and behind stones, and then all this intrigue had started. He had come close to death twice by an enraged mob, and he had been trudging around the city all day in the searing heat. “And who are you to preach?” he said, turning to peer at Roger in the dark. “You are now in the pay of both Bohemond and the Patriarch yourself.”

“But they are allies,” protested Roger.

“I would not be so sure,” said Geoffrey. “And Tancred is far less likely to engage in treachery than Bohemond. Look what your master did at Marrat an-Numan. He told the citizens that everyone who gathered together in the hall near the gates would be granted an amnesty when he took the city. Then, when they were conveniently in one place, he slaughtered them all.”

“But that is honest treachery, and they were the enemy,” said Roger earnestly. “He would not engage in all this murky subterfuge.”

“Not much!” muttered Geoffrey.

“You now serve three men. Not one of them trusts the others. And any of them could crush you like a fly,” said Roger sagely. “You had better hope that Tancred survives this battle at Haifa he seems so gleeful about. You could be in serious trouble without his protection.”

Geoffrey was silent for a while. “The rulers of this country are like Greek fire,” he said eventually. “A terrible, destructive weapon that burns, and once burning is almost impossible to put out. It is made by combining pitch, brimstone, naphtha, and rosin. Apart, these elements are harmless, but together they are lethal. That is what the leaders in the Holy Land are like.”

“Greek fire is a marvellous invention,” said Roger admiringly. “I plan to take some home to Durham with me to try out next time those Scots come marauding.”

Geoffrey raised his eyes heavenward and let the matter drop.

“While you were chatting to Daimbert, I poked around at the back of the room,” said Roger after a moment. “There is a door with a great bolt on it. These days, it only leads to a storeroom, but before the Patriarch came it was probably a strong room of some kind. Anyway, a rope was tied to the bolt. Judging from the length of what was still attached and what was round Dunstan’s neck, I would say that it had been passed from the bolt over the top of the door and used to hang him.”

Geoffrey nodded. “I saw that door. And I saw the stool lying on its side next to it. I think Dunstan put the rope over his head and then leapt off the stool to break his neck. The stool was kicked over in the process. Someone, possibly Marius, must have found him there, cut him down, and tried to make his death appear to be murder. But the reality is that Dunstan committed suicide.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Not completely, but it makes sense from the information we have. The rope around Dunstan’s neck was tied in a knot, which seems an odd thing for a strangler to do. His neck was broken, which is more consistent with a leap into oblivion than with strangulation. And the rope used was thick and strong—the kind a man might choose if he intended to kill himself and did not want his efforts to be foiled by the rope breaking.”

“But why would Marius want to pretend that Dunstan was murdered? Marius said he was strangled, not hanged.”

“Perhaps they were good friends, and Marius did not want to condemn Dunstan to a suicide’s burial in unhallowed ground. Perhaps he thought we were more likely to believe Dunstan had been murdered by strangulation than murdered by hanging. It is probably quite difficult to hang a man by stealth, especially if the murderer is alone.”

“I could do it easy,” said Roger nonchalantly. “Force the noose over the head, hurl the rope over a door, and haul like the Devil.”

“But you are stronger than most men,” Geoffrey pointed out. “And by doing what you suggest, you would choke your victim to death, not break his neck. There was no damage to Dunstan’s fingernails, and he would surely have scrabbled at the noose with his hands had he been strangled.”

Roger considered. “I suppose so,” he said finally, after making the scowls and grunts that always accompanied his attempts at deep thought. “But we do not need to be wasting our time thinking all this out for ourselves. Marius will tell us.”