Authors: Unknown
“We’ll climb the wall,” shouted Angelo, sheathing his sword and darting back around the lattice of timbers by the doors, which hadn’t yet caught. The heat took his breath away and seared his throat, and he halted, confronted with the roaring conflagration. He picked out a route to the side of the aisle and began climbing over the piles of shifting stones. There was a cracking sound and a gust of fire and sparks as one of the roof timbers collapsed. As the flames were fanned toward him, Angelo threw himself flat and screamed at the impossible heat of them. His cloak caught and began to burn. Scrabbling over the rest of the stones, he made it to the crumbled back wall and slammed into it, beating furiously at the flames.
The other men had left the doors and were now scaling the treacherous pile of rubble following Angelo, who had put out the last of the flames on his cloak and was slumped against the wall, whimpering and clutching his blistered and burned hands between his legs. There was another creaking, cracking noise from above. All of the men looked up. Michael cried out as another of the beams crashed down. One end of it came down on Renaud’s back, smashing him into the rubble, crushing him.
Angelo screamed as the pile of masonry collapsed and his father was swept into the inferno in the center of the church, Michael following him a second later. Two more roof timbers fell and Conradt was swallowed by fire. The smoke swirled thickly. Angelo sank to his knees as flames devoured the world around him.
THE TEMPLE, ACRE, 14 JUNE A.D. 1277
“Are you certain?” demanded Everard insistently. “De Beaujeu knows nothing of us? Of the Brethren?”
“I’m certain,” replied Will. He looked into the sky and took a draft of the fresh evening air, feeling the dampness and claustrophobia of the prison cell fading from him. The moon was yellow, almost full. He had heard one of the guards say there was going to be an eclipse in three days. Will felt his fear draining in shuddery bursts. Now he had been released, he realized how close he had come to never seeing daylight again. The thought made him weak. He and Everard were standing on the deserted battlements beside the treasury tower.
When he had climbed out of the underground cells, he had found the priest lingering in the courtyard.
“And the merchants? The Vitturis and the others? What will happen to them?”
“De Beaujeu said it was being dealt with,” said Will, glancing at Everard. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about them.”
Everard rested his arms on the parapets. “I’m getting too old for this,” he wheezed. “I thought we were done for.” He turned back to Will. “By God and the saints, I swear you have more lives than a damn cat!”
Will laughed breathlessly in agreement. “When de Beaujeu knew I had betrayed him, I thought he was going to string me up himself that instant.”
“You did well, William,” said the priest seriously. He reached up and placed his bony, two-fingered hand on Will’s shoulder. “A lesser man may have broken, may have given up our secrets through fear or thoughtlessness. You kept your calm and thought on your feet.” A rare smile lit his face. “I feared as you left my chamber that it would be the last time I ever saw you.”
Will was about to respond when he saw a figure running across the courtyard toward the treasury tower. He recognized Simon and called down. Simon came to a halt, his head snapping up. In the yellow torch glare his face, white and wretched, was starkly revealed.
“Will!” he called hoarsely, racing to the stone steps that climbed to the ramparts and rushing headlong up them. He tripped, fell forward and almost threw himself at Will, who had gone quickly down to meet him, alarm filling him at the sight of Simon’s face.
“What is it?” demanded Will, catching Simon by the arms.
“Dear God,” breathed the groom, “dear God.” He dragged in several pained breaths and tried to speak, but only a high sobbing noise came out. “I’m sorry,” he cried, sweat dripping from his nose. His black tunic was soaked and stank. He collapsed to the steps, almost pulling Will down with him. “Will, I’m so sorry!”
Will crouched beside him, grasping his shoulders. “What is it?”
Everard had hobbled down the steps and was standing behind them.
“Elwen,” groaned Simon.
Will felt his alarm explode into a thousand stabbing shards of fear. “What about Elwen? Tell me!”
The power in his voice seemed to shake Simon from his hysteria. He raised his head. “They’ve taken her.”
“Who?”
“I couldn’t find you,” said Simon, shaking his head wildly. “I had your horse but you wasn’t there. I thought you’d gone, to Elwen like you said. I was going to go after you, but Paul said a man was here to see you and so I went out to meet him. I thought I was helping.” Simon dragged in a breath. “But he didn’t want to see you, Will. I ... I think he wanted to capture you.”
“The merchants?” said Everard quickly. “Vitturi?”
Will glanced at him, then back at Simon, who didn’t seem to have heard the priest. “Who was he? Did he give a name?”
“No. But I know who he was,” said Simon bitterly. “He made sure of that. He was a Mamluk. One of Sultan Baybars’s men. A Bahri.”
“What has this got to do with Elwen?” urged Will.
Simon wiped his dripping nose roughly with the back of his tunic sleeve. “There were others with him and they made me take them to you, Will.” He looked up quickly. “They had daggers. They said they would kill me. I should have let them,” he whispered, unable to meet Will’s commanding gaze. “But I was scared. I couldn’t think. I thought you would know what to do and so I ...” He couldn’t finish, but he didn’t need to.
Will let go of Simon’s shoulders and slipped back onto the step, his whole body going limp. “You took them to Elwen,” he breathed.
“I thought you were there! I thought you could fight them!”
“Why did the Mamluks take her?”
Simon looked up at Everard’s stern voice, seeming to see the priest for the first time. “They found out that she . . .” He looked back at Will. “When they realized you weren’t there, they thought I had led them falsely. There was no one in the house to help us, just servants, and the Mamluks locked them upstairs. They wanted to know who Elwen was, and when neither of us would answer, they threatened to kill us. They would have done, Will, I swear they would. Elwen told them she was your wife. They took her,” said Simon exhaustedly, now resigned to the confession. “And they said I was to tell you what had happened. They said if you wanted her to live, you must come to Damascus and face trial for your crime against their sultan.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know what they meant. But that’s what they said.”
Everard had drawn in a hiss of breath at this, but Will said nothing. Simon’s words echoed through his mind, blasting into all the dark places where he had plotted and planned Baybars’s death, all the hidden corners where he had tormented himself after the failure of the Assassination, places haunted with guilt and sorrow, bitterness and disappointment. Finally, they erupted in the deepest part of him, where for months fear had been gnawing, ever since he had learned that the Mamluks were searching for those who had contracted the Assassins, searching for
him
. Having heard no word from Kalawun and with the theft of the Stone taking up most of his waking thoughts, Will had tried to convince himself that nothing would come of it, that no one would find the Assassins and his guilt would never surface. Now there was nowhere left for his fears to hide. Revenge had come, sharp and sudden. And it had struck at the weakest, most vulnerable part of him.
Will’s hand went to the St. George’s pendant around his neck. “Is the horse you readied still saddled?”
“I ... I’m not sure. It might be.”
“Go and fetch it,” said Will, in a flat tone.
“I’m sorry,” whispered Simon, rising to face him.
Will met his gaze. “I don’t blame you,” he said tightly, after a moment. “You did what you had to.”
Simon shook his head sadly as if he didn’t agree, then hastened down the steps, making for the stables.
“What are you doing?” said Everard, clutching Will’s arm as he made to follow the groom.
“What
I
have to.”
32
The Citadel, Damascus 17 JUNE A.D. 1277
Kalawun was in his chambers, in talks with two officers from the Syrian regiment, when word came that the Bahri soldiers Baybars had sent to find William Campbell had returned. Having dismissed his men, he was making his way to the throne room, near to his own chambers, when he met Nasir coming the other way. The officer’s face was still pallid with exhaustion and scarred with faded bruises, but he seemed more solid than the wisp of a man he had been six days ago.
“Amir, I was on my way to see you.”
“What happened?” Kalawun asked, scanning the passage to make sure they were alone. “Did you find Campbell?”
Nasir hung his head. “I did not even reach Acre, Amir. My horse was injured on the second day. I made it to one of our outposts, where I secured another, but I was too late. I saw the Bahri returning on the road and so I hid and trailed them back. I came as fast as I could to warn you.”
“Do they have him?”
“They have someone. I was some distance away when they passed me, but I believe it was a woman, not a man.”
“A woman?” Kalawun frowned. “I will see for myself. Thank you, Nasir.”
“Do not thank me. I failed in my task.”
“You did what you could and that is all I asked. Go now and rest. You have done enough.” Kalawun moved swiftly to the throne room, where he could hear Baybars’s voice issuing from within. The sultan sounded incensed. Kalawun pushed open the doors.
In the lofty, sun-filled chamber, Baybars was in mid-stride, face ruddy with rage. He was sweeping the marble floor in front of four weary-looking Bahri. Towering over them in his black robes edged with gold, he was as menacing as a thunderhead.
Lining the walls of the throne room were a customary accompaniment of eunuchs, all with heads bowed, waiting only to be summoned or dismissed. Several governors, who had obviously been in council with Baybars, were seated around a table near the window looking perplexed. With them, to Kalawun’s surprise, was Baraka Khan, and hunched like a withered old vulture on the top step of the dais beside the throne was Khadir. There was one other figure in the chamber, and despite Nasir’s warning, she looked so out of place that for a moment Kalawun could only stand in the doorway and stare. As Baybars’s ferocious gaze fell on him, however, he quickly collected himself.
“My lord, I was informed that your men had returned,” Kalawun said, closing the doors. His eyes drifted back to the woman who was caught between two of the Bahri. She was tall and slim with a blaze of copper-gold curls that hung limp and disheveled around her shoulders. Her face, stiff with shock, was stark white against the flames of her hair. She was trembling like a colt. Kalawun noticed that Baraka Khan also seemed transfixed by the woman, his narrow eyes intent.
Baybars checked himself at Kalawun’s arrival, then flung a hand toward the woman. “They brought me his wife!”
“His wife?”
“Campbell’s,” snapped Baybars. His gaze swiveled belligerently to the four Bahri. “And what good will she do me?” His voice grew bitter. “He will know now that I am seeking him. He will run and I will never ...” He pointed at the soldiers. “You failed me.”
“We beg your forgiveness, my lord,” murmured one of the Bahri, looking from Baybars to his comrades. “But we could do nothing more. We were told that Campbell would be with this woman.”
“You should have killed her and everyone in that house and waited for him.”
“My lord, we did not know that he would come.”
“By Allah, she was his wife!” roared Baybars. “Of course he would come!”
“We left a message . ..,” began one of the other soldiers.
“As you said before,” growled Baybars. “A message?” He shook his head and laughed fiercely. “And the Christian will ride here alone? To face death for her!”
“Yes,” came a hissed response.
Baybars looked round as Khadir scuttled down the steps and perched, looking keenly at the woman, who shrank back from his scrutiny, but was stopped from moving by the Bahri to either side of her, gripping her arms.
“He will come,” murmured Khadir, studying her with his head cocked to one side. “By their law, Knights of the Temple cannot marry. If he is wed, it was done in secret and he has risked much. He’ll risk more for her yet.”
“When will he come?” asked Baybars, his voice draining of some of its ferocity.
“Soon,” responded Khadir. He looked at Kalawun. “And then you will see to it that the infidel bleeds and suffers as he should. As they all should.” His eyes flicked back to Baybars. “As was your pledge when you ascended the throne, Master.”
Kalawun felt a surge of concern as he saw Baybars’s expression grow taut and thoughtful with the soothsayer’s bold words. Only the other week, he would have refused to even listen to Khadir’s counsel. “My lord, if Campbell comes, you should try him, certainly, and if his guilt is proven, the necessary action must be taken. But I would caution against making any hasty decisions in your anger toward one man.”
“This isn’t your business!” spat Khadir with naked hatred at Kalawun.
“The sultan can make up his own mind,” said Kalawun calmly, although the animosity in his tone was undeniable.
“Leave me.” Baybars raised his head when no one moved. “Leave me!” he shouted, stalking toward the Bahri soldiers, who stepped back from him. “And you!” He turned on the governors and his son, waiting, astonished, at the table.
“Leave!”
Khadir shrieked as Baybars whirled on him. He scurried down the dais and fled behind Baraka and the governors.
“All of you!” Baybars yelled at the eunuchs, who hurried out, heads still bowed. “Wait!” he demanded, as the Bahri soldiers hastened to leave. “Not her.” He pointed at the woman. “She will stay. And you,” he barked, snapping his fingers at one of the eunuchs.
“My lord,” began Kalawun, as the servants jostled through the doors. He looked at the woman quivering in the center of the room. Now that the soldiers had let go of her, she looked as if she hardly had the strength to hold herself up. But somehow she managed it, and despite her obvious terror, there was something steadfast, bold even, in her large green eyes. Kalawun, staring at her, was reminded of his daughter. “What will you do?”