By the time he reached the village’s wall, all the other Templars were already packing and mounting. Roger bared his teeth as Baldwin appeared. Great news, isn’t it?’ he said heartily.
Baldwin eyed him helplessly. ‘What is?’
‘The leader of our enemies, man! He’s promised peace!’
Baldwin heard no more. The command was given, and in a moment the horses were off at a swift, loping trot, the two messengers riding in their wake.
‘Who do you mean?’ Baldwin said when they were under way.
‘Sultan Qalawun,’ Roger said, looking at him with exasperation. He had thought Baldwin would have picked up a little Arabic by now. ‘The murdering fiend who overran Tripoli, and wanted to take Acre too. It seems he’s sworn peace for ten years, ten months and ten days!’
‘You would take the word of a heathen?’ Baldwin asked. ‘What of his court? Wouldn’t they force him to attack?’
‘They’d soon be put in their place. Qualawun is a warlord to be feared. If he wants peace, we’re safe. His barons and nobles wouldn’t dare argue. They bicker and fight amongst themselves more than we Christians do, but not with Qalawun. He doesn’t brook any dispute. No, this is good news. With luck we can turn to the old ways soon.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Roger shot him a sharp look. He liked this tall English fellow, but he was as yet untried. Still, he seemed game enough. ‘There are many traders come here from Egypt,’ he explained. ‘We stop a few, ask them to pay our tolls, and that helps us all.’
‘Tolls?’ Baldwin had not heard of any tolls on the roads here. He had thought that the roads, such as they were, were built by slaves.
‘That’s what I call ’em,’ Roger winked. ‘The travellers have to pay if they want to continue on their way. And if they refuse, we take their money anyway. It only needs the rumour of a couple of dead men for others to fall into line.’
Baldwin was shocked. It sounded no better than banditry — but Roger was so open about it that such behaviour must be approved. If it was the custom of the country, he was in no position to question it. He was a newcomer, after all. The idea left him uneasy, but he did not want to embarrass himself or lose his new friend.
‘I will call you to join me, next time I go,’ Roger said, taking Baldwin’s silence for tacit agreement, and the rest of the way, he chattered inconsequentially.
Even as they entered the gate to Acre, Baldwin was still uncomfortable. Admittedly these people were Saracen, and therefore not to be accorded the same privileges as Christians, but still, the idea of holding them and demanding ransom made him feel like a felon.
They continued on to the Temple, the two messengers attracting the notice of the crowds as they passed, and many men and women pointed and muttered amongst themselves. At the gate of the Temple, a groom came and took their horses, and the two found themselves alone.
‘Master Baldwin, I think this calls for a well-deserved pint of wine each!’ Roger said.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
News had already spread about the arrival of the messengers, and tongues were wagging with speculation about their mission. Roger took Baldwin to a little tavern which had a wide seating space outside, with vines growing over a wooden frame for shade. The two took their seats at benches near a small rickety table.
Baldwin was in the company of a good friend, and his day had been more than a distraction — it had been an education. He felt he was coming to understand the way of this country. After the first two cups of wine, he was certain Roger could teach him more about the Holy Land than Ivo or Jacques. After the third, he was convinced that he was more at home here in Acre than he had ever been in Devon.
‘You get on well with Ivo?’ Roger asked as he called for another pint of wine.
‘He has been kind to me. I was lost when I arrived,’ Baldwin said.
‘But do you like him?’
‘He is a good man.’
‘Aye, but depressing, eh? Not the sort of fellow to enjoy a game with dice?’
‘He doesn’t approve of gambling,’ Baldwin said with a snigger.
‘What about women?’
‘He doesn’t have any about the house.’
Roger belched and shook his head. ‘He ought to become a Templar. The knights aren’t even allowed to kiss their mothers or sisters, in case they get unclean thoughts.’
‘What of you?’
Roger pulled a face and his Italian accent grew more pronounced. ‘Can you imagine me taking a vow of chastity? I don’t think so. No, I am fond of feminine companionship. But I am a shipman: I have not taken the three oaths of poverty, chastity and obedience. They are the vows taken by monks. The knights, they are all monks, you see? Not me. I have agreed to become a lay-brother for a period of five years, and after that, in two years, I will be free again.’
‘Why did you do that?’
Roger shrugged. ‘When I was eight, I joined a ship. I’m a sailor, but I had no ship. I learned my craft well, and the Templars wanted shipmen. With them I was able to gain access to ships, and be my own master. Perhaps some day I will be rich enough to buy my own ship. I could bring grain to Acre to sell at market, and take away sugar-cane to sell in Lombardy or Tuscany. I’ll make my fortune.’
‘Tell me, what do you know about Ivo? He is so stern, like a disapproving father.’
Roger stared into his drink. ‘He was a strong fighter, I heard. He came here when your King was a Prince — that must be twenty years ago. But when your King returned home, Ivo remained here. He married, had children, and I suppose he was happy.’
‘What happened to his wife?’
‘Did he not say? She was in Tripoli when the assault came last year. She and their son were there.’
‘He was away buying horses?’
‘Aye, and when he came back it was too late. The siege had begun and all he could do was wait for news. There was nothing he could have done even if he’d been there, of course. One more sword wouldn’t have aided them. But that reflection would not help a man who saw his family slain.’
‘How could the people of Tripoli have been so easily taken?’
‘They did not think they were in danger. Just like Lattakieh before them, three years ago. Qalawun is a wily old devil. He gives peace treaties, but carefully hoards exclusions. Lattakieh was a principality, so Qalawun declared that it was not a part of the treaty with Tripoli. When Lattakieh was assailed by a great earthquake, and her walls tumbled to the ground, Qalawun took advantage: he rode straight in and the city capitulated. Last year, there was a dispute about who should inherit Tripoli when the Lord Bohemond VII died. Some sent to Qalawun to help them prevent the Genoese from taking the city, and he considered that absolved him from his oath and the treaty.’
‘Yes, but the city must have realised it was in danger. Were there no outriders to keep watch for an invasion? Even if there were not, surely some people from villages far away would have seen the army’s approach?’
‘He sent his army to Syria, but the people of Tripoli didn’t understand their danger,’ Roger said. He leaned forward on his elbows and explained.
The Templars knew the true target of Qalawun’s army, he said. For years the Grand Master had made good use of Templar gold, bribing officials in the Sultan’s court, and he alone had advance warning. He sent messengers to warn Tripoli an attack was imminent, but his urgent exhortations went unheeded. They thought he had his own mercantile interests at heart rather than the defence of their city and sneered at his prophetic alarms.
At last, seeing little more could be done, Guillaume de Beaujeu sent his Marshal and many knights to help, but they were too few, too late. The city fell, and all were enslaved or slain in the wholesale slaughter that followed. Only a few lived to tell of the devastation.
‘That is why Ivo is hurrying from Grenada to Lombardy and Tuscany seeking horses,’ Roger concluded. ‘The Order lost three hundred or more in Tripoli, and it is not so easy to replace trained warhorses.’ Roger looked at Baldwin, and with a wolfish grin nodded towards three women in the corner of the room. ‘Hey, we have need of celebration, yes? We should ask those pretty things to join us.’