Baldwin was nothing loath. It was a long time since he had grappled with a woman, and the middle of these three was a goodly height, just as he liked.
Beckoning to them, Roger leaned back on his seat against the wall, appraising them as the women crossed the floor, giggling to themselves.
To Baldwin, they were almost painfully exotic. Their skin was moderately darker than the olive complexion of the Venetian ladies he had seen while taking ship, and their eyes gleamed in the dim light in the tavern, while their clothing was as skimpy as decency would permit. Baldwin could hear the blood thundering in his ears at the sight of long hair framing slender necks. He could almost feel their soft flesh, and the thought of their kisses was a sweet agony.
They stood before the two men, and one sidled nearer to Baldwin. She touched his cheek with her cool hand, and he looked up into brilliant green eyes.
It may have been the wine, but the sight of her kohl-rimmed eyes was enough for him to lose all desire. He didn’t want this woman, he wanted Maria of Lydda, the woman in green.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Abu al-Fida learned what had happened from their neighbours.
A fire in the middle watches of the night, and screams from within, but none might enter to save his family. Two men tried, so he was told, and one, a brawny Galician who had the house next door, showed him arms still raw and hairless where he had got burned in his attempt to rescue them.
‘I couldn’t do it, old friend,’ he said.
‘What caused it?’ Abu al-Fida asked him brokenly.
‘Who can tell? A falling lamp? A candle? It only takes a little to set a curtain alight, and when that happens, the whole house will catch fire. We did all we could, my friend.’
All we could. If they had only realised that there was a fire sooner, if they had gone to his poor Aisha and his girls, perhaps they would still be alive now.
But such dreams of what might have been served no purpose. His old life was ended, and he must take stock. He must find a new place to live, think about how to renew his fortunes. Grief was a luxury he could ill afford.
At least he still had Usmar.
Baldwin returned to the yard where Roger was still laughing, one of the other women on his lap. He smacked her smartly on the backside and sent her away with a coin. ‘So, you enjoyed your filly? She looked keen.’
Baldwin flushed. ‘She was very kind.’
He could not explain that he had not enjoyed the encounter. The girl had been eager enough, but there was something still about the woman with the green eyes that haunted him. The air of mystery that encompassed her only added to her allure, and this little wench was only a cheap imitation of her.
‘They were good little tickle-tails, I thought?’ Roger said, picking up on Baldwin’s reserve.
Baldwin nodded. ‘It’s not them, it’s another woman.’
‘Oh, you have an object for your affections? Who is this woman?’
‘She is a lady I have seen, a woman in emerald silk.’
‘Maria of Lydda?’ Roger whistled, and surveyed Baldwin with concern. ‘My friend, if you seek to lose your head, there are less painful ways to do it. She can bring you nothing but misery.’
Baldwin gave a weak grin. ‘What would you have me do?’
‘Forget her and make good use of these ladies?’ Roger suggested, turning to point at the women, but they were already gone in search of more lucrative companions. ‘Ach! We shall have to hope to meet them another day, eh?’
Baldwin nodded as Roger chuckled to himself. He rose, threw down some coins for their wine, and the two walked from the tavern and out into the light. There, Roger wished Baldwin godspeed and returned along the street towards the Temple.
It had been too exciting a day for Baldwin to think of going home. Instead, he made his way along the street in the opposite direction. He had a vague thought of going to see the castle, but as he reached the Monastery of San Sabas, realised he had taken too southerly a course. He decided to cut through the Venetian quarter — it would be faster. He continued on, and tried to ignore the enticing odours of fish grilling on a charcoal fire as he passed. After the wine with Roger, his head felt woolly, and he was tempted to go and ask for water from one of the houses near, but the men and women were unwelcoming.
As he was coming from behind the Arsenal, he caught sight of the German Tower ahead of him. Hearing a noise, he turned and saw a woman clad all in emerald. She was standing in a sun-filled alley, and the yellowish rock made her glow with a green fire.
Baldwin could not resist her. This time, she made no move to run from him as he approached. There was something otherworldly about her, as though she would disappear in a moment if he once looked away from her. She attracted his gaze with a magnetism that was impossible to break.
He entered the alleyway and strode towards her, and as he came closer, he saw her smile at him. It was a smile to make his heart melt.
And then the first blow caught him over the ear, and he fell at once into the abyss that opened in front of him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ivo returned from the Temple to find that Baldwin had left, and for his part he was relieved. The younger man had been grumpy ever since the day they had encountered Buscarel in the street.
During the hottest hours of the day, Ivo routinely took his rest, but today there came a babble from the streets that intruded into his peace, and soon he rose to see what was the matter. Outside was a stream of people hurrying past. He followed, feeling the tension grow in his breast, until he reached the Temple. There the throng was so thick, he could not hope to push through.
‘What is it?’ he asked the man beside him.
‘Messengers from Egypt.’
Ivo looked up at the tower, and the gilded lions seemed to blaze with sudden brilliance. ‘An army?’ he wondered with quick dread.
‘Army? No! That old bastard Qalawun has agreed peace!’
For an instant it felt as though a leaden cloak had been drawn from his shoulders. ‘What? Do you really mean it?’
Ivo could hear music, the wailing of a stringed instrument, the blaring of horns, cymbals and drums, as men and women danced with joy. A woman was shamelessly picking up her skirts and dancing with a man over at the next street, while all about her, people clapped and cheered. There was a sickening lurch in his belly at the thought that this was what should have happened in Tripoli. How dare these people survive and celebrate, when his family was dead? It was enough to make a man beat his head in fury.
The city would be making merry all night, but he wanted no part of it. He had never felt so lonely. He wondered for an instant where Baldwin was, but reflected that the boy would be sunk in a tavern, just as Ivo would have been at his age. Let him drink. There would be time for work later. This was a glorious day — for those who had not already lost everything that mattered, everything that made life worth living.
‘My friend, you are glad at the news?’
He wiped his eye quickly. ‘Jacques, I wish you a good day. God has saved us.’
‘So it would seem, old friend. You are torn, aren’t you?’
‘You always could see through my moods.’
‘Where is that lad, Baldwin?’
‘Who knows? He has wandered off on his own. He doesn’t need me!’
‘Ivo, don’t be twisted by jealousy. He’s a good man, but young. He will show his quality before long. No doubt he’s out celebrating, along with everyone else.’