“Surely the Patriarch is investigating these priest’s deaths?” asked Geoffrey. “After all, they are under his jurisdiction-not yours, not the Advocate’s, and not Bohemond’s.”
Tancred’s eyes flashed briefly at this impertinence, but his temper cooled as quickly as it had flared. “The Patriarch is having no success at all. I discussed this business with him tonight, after news came of the last killing. I see the murders of these men as a direct attack on our authority here. How do we know it is not a diabolical plan to expose our vulnerability in Jerusalem and to incite our enemies to attack us? We are surrounded by hostile forces, and yet we are so full of factions and rifts that, if struck in the right place, the fragile alliances with our fellow Christians might shatter like glass. And then we will all die, ripped apart by an enemy who is watching constantly for such holes in our armour. There is more at stake than the deaths of two knights and three monks: I believe this business might affect our very survival in the Holy Land, let alone the possibilities of establishing other kingdoms.”
And there we have it, thought Geoffrey. Young Tancred-who only a few short months before had become Prince of Galilee-wanted a kingdom of his own. And Tancred could never have a kingdom unless Jerusalem was safe.
Unaware of Geoffrey’s reservations, Tancred continued. “Since the first victim was killed, the Patriarch has had two clerks investigating, but they have come up with nothing. I have acquired a copy of their report, so that you might study it at your leisure.” He handed Geoffrey a scroll. “You may question the clerks further if you wish. Their names are Brothers Marius and Dunstan, and they work in the Patriarch’s scriptorium.”
Tancred rose, and sensing the interview was at an end, Geoffrey also stood. Tancred gave another sudden smile, one that made him look even younger than his twenty-three years, and gently touched Geoffrey’s shoulder.
“I am grateful to you for doing this,” he said. “I believe it may be more important than either of us can know.”
For some reason, his words struck a feeling of cold unease in the pit of Geoffrey’s stomach.
His mind teeming with questions, Geoffrey made his way back through the deserted streets to the citadel. He had not gone far when he thought he heard a noise behind him, and he immediately sprang into the deep shadows of a doorway, dagger drawn, to wait. He stood immobile for several moments before thinking he must have been mistaken, and cautiously eased himself out into the road again. He looked carefully in both directions, but the street was as silent and still as the grave, and not even a rat disturbed it. Forcing himself to relax, he walked on again, faster this time, and with his dagger still drawn.
Moments later, he thought he heard a sound again-the soft slither of leather soles on the parched, dry dust of the street. He turned abruptly into one of the many narrow alleyways that turned the city into a labyrinth, and he cut sharply left, then right, and waited. Sure enough, there were footsteps behind him, running, desperate to catch up with him before he became invisible in the complex catacomb of runnels. He listened hard, eyes closed in concentration. Not one set of footsteps, but two, or possibly three. Who could be following him so intently in the middle of the night? It could not be casual robbers: first, his padded surcoat with its faded Crusader’s cross sewn on the back identified him as a knight, a trained warrior whom robbers would be hard pushed to best in hand-to-hand conflict; and second, his pursuers were being remarkably persistent for a chance attack.
Still listening, Geoffrey weighed his options. He was armed with a short sword and a dagger, and he was skilled in the use of both. He also wore a light mail shirt under his surcoat, and so was reasonably well protected, while still able to move unhindered by heavy body armour. He was in no doubt that he could take on three opportunistic thieves, but not three knights trained like himself. He decided caution was the order of the day, and sank back further into the shadows.
Within moments, three men shot past, fleet-footed and confident. One skidded to a halt so close that Geoffrey could have stretched out his hand and touched him. The man glared up and down the empty alleyway as if just by looking he could tell which way Geoffrey had gone. The others, seeing their quarry lost, came back shaking their heads, panting hard, and bending over to regain their breath. Geoffrey held his, afraid even the soft sound of his breathing might give him away, and he felt his heart begin to pound in protest.
He strained his ears as the men began to talk in low voices. He could not hear what they were saying, but he could hear isolated words, and the language they spoke identified them as Greeks. He released his breath slowly as the three men walked back the way they had come, the last one, judging from his angry gestures, furious that they had been so easily fooled.
Why was Geoffrey being followed by Greeks? They obviously did not intend to kill him, or they would have done so earlier and avoided the trouble of following him. Were they the murderers of the hapless knights and monks, aware now that Tancred had charged Geoffrey with solving the mystery? But that did not make sense either, for Tancred would not have told anyone what he intended to ask Geoffrey to do, especially because he believed that the murders were threatening his own interests.
Geoffrey waited some time in the shadows before slipping out and making his way stealthily back to the citadel. He did not go by the most direct route, back the way he had come, but took a tortuous journey along the dingy alleys where the traders lived, stopping every so often to listen. Once or twice, he heard sounds, but the first time, it was a scrawny cat scavenging among some offal, and the second it was the furious cry of a hungry baby demanding to be fed.
At last the citadel loomed ahead of him, the huge Tower of David a black mass against the dark sky. The citadel, called the Key to Jerusalem, was a formidable fortress. It was surrounded by a pair of curtain walls that were each several feet thick, and that were pierced by two gates. The first entrance was the great fortified barbican at the front that led outside the city walls, and the second entrance was a sally port that led onto David Street inside the city.
Within the lower of the two curtain walls was the outer bailey, where the common soldiers camped, while the more secure inner bailey was located inside the taller curtain wall. It was in the Tower of David in the inner bailey that Geoffrey had his quarters. While many knights had opted to live in sumptuous houses appropriated when the Crusaders had taken the city, others, like Geoffrey, preferred the security and convenience of life in the citadel. It was overcrowded, smelly and noisy, but it was well protected against attack, and there were no neighbours to complain about the peculiar hours working soldiers kept, or the incessant clang of blacksmith’s forges as weapons were honed and armour mended.
The citadel was rigorously guarded by the Advocate’s soldiers. As Geoffrey approached, basically unidentifiable in standard surcoat and helmet, there came the sound of arrows being fitted to bows by archers along the wall, and the captain of the guard called out for him to identify himself. Geoffrey pulled off his basinet so they could see his face, and told them his name. The captain thrust his torch near Geoffrey’s face to satisfy himself that the sturdy knight who had been walking Jerusalem’s streets in the dark was indeed the English-born Geoffrey Mappestone. There was a certain amount of unpleasantness in his manner, for the captain was a Lorrainer and had no love for the Normans-like Geoffrey and Hugh-who lived in the citadel. Eventually, Geoffrey was allowed past, only to go through a similar process at the gate that separated the outer bailey from the inner bailey.