She wiped at Baldwin’s forehead again and threw her cloth away.
Following its trajectory, Baldwin saw that Lucia was in the room. She caught the cloth adroitly, and stood with it in her hands, eyeing her mistress and Buscarel warily.
Baldwin smiled at her. He was lying full length on a carved stone bench, and the door was some distance away. It would be hard to flee this chamber even if his feet were untied. Buscarel had two men with him, and they looked robust, reliable types. It was not a happy reflection. Behind Buscarel was a brazier, smoking lazily, and Baldwin wondered if this chamber was far below ground, to require the heat.
‘So, Master Baldwin. You are here in Acre for your soul, are you not?’ Lady Maria asked. ‘I wonder what crime you have committed that needs such a desperate penance. Perhaps you will tell us later. But for now, we need to know what it was that the messengers came to tell the Templars.’
Baldwin turned his head to peer at Buscarel. The man stood sullenly in a corner, and Baldwin silently swore to himself that he would avenge his beating.
‘Qalawun has agreed a peace treaty,’ he said wearily. ‘He has confirmed it for over ten years. There is no secret.’
Lady Maria looked up at Buscarel. ‘You see? Easy. All I needed to do was ask him. Now, Master pilgrim, what would you say about Genoa? I am sure that there was news of our city, too.’
‘Why?’ Baldwin asked. He tried to sit up, but it hurt so he lay down again. His back felt as though it had been pounded with leaden mauls, and his arms were painful where his hands were tied. ‘That was all I heard.’
‘But you must know that there was a dispute between Genoa and Venice. What was said of that?’
Buscarel approached, fists bunching. ‘Speak when my Lady asks! What did they say?’
‘Lady, could you silence your terrier?’ Baldwin said. Before Buscarel could hit him, he continued, ‘They said nothing in front of me. Why would they? They were messengers for Guillaume de Beaujeu, and if they had secrets for him, they kept them for him.’
‘What do you think of that, Buscarel?’ Lady Maria said.
‘He’s lying! Look at him! He is a dog from the north. You cannot trust a word from such as he. Let me have him with my sailors for a day. We’ll brand him and get all we need.’
‘Perhaps that would be best,’ Maria said. She put her thumb and forefinger on Baldwin’s chin, one at either side, and moved his head this way and that, smiling. ‘It would be a pity to spoil his looks, but if there is no alternative, such must be done. So, burn his face to make him unrecognisable, and cut out his tongue when he has finished talking, so he may never speak of things again. Then we could use him. Or sell him to the Moorish slave dealers.’
‘Lady!’ Baldwin protested. He hoped she was joking, but a look into her compassionless eyes told him that pleading was pointless. She looked on him as she would have looked at a cat, or a rat. Or a slave, he thought with mounting trepidation.
‘I will do your bidding,’ Buscarel said. ‘Genoa must be protected.’
Baldwin was transfixed with horror, his mind filled with images of coals searing his flesh. He did not see how he could free himself, but perhaps if he was carried to a ship, he might get away. Surely that was what they meant when they spoke of torturing him with Buscarel’s sailors.
But the smell of burning coals was already in Baldwin’s nostrils, and he realised there would be no journey to the sea. He was to be tortured here in this foul chamber. He struggled against his bonds, but nothing helped. In desperation, he threw himself from the bench to the floor. The stone flags struck his brow and knees with a shocking jolt, and he thought he would fall senseless, but then hands grabbed his shoulders and he was hauled to the brazier where the grinning Buscarel stood with a poker.
‘It’s all perfectly straightforward,’ the captain told him. ‘I have need of information, so I’ll burn and hurt you as I may, and then leave you to Lady Maria’s tender mercies. Now, while I heat this iron, think carefully about the question I asked you.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jacques pounded on the door with his mailed gauntlet again, and this time an elderly Moorish servant opened it, bowing low in terrified respect as the two men barged past him.
‘We want the lad, Baldwin de Furnshill. He was seen brought here, Lady,’ Ivo rasped as he strode into the house. He glared about him. ‘I will search the house if you do not produce him quickly.’
‘You? Search my house?’ Lady Maria said coolly. Two of her guards were close behind her, and now Buscarel and another sailor appeared at a doorway.
Jacques smiled. ‘I am sure that there is no need for us to argue about him. He is only a young fellow. But I would have him freed, madame.’
‘And if not?’
There was a rasp of steel as Sir Jacques drew his sword. ‘I will fight for him. And there will be the embarrassment of all your dead men, and the necessary explanations as to why I was here. You do not need such indignities.’
She nodded. ‘I have no use for him, in any case. He was struck by a footpad in the street and I had him carried in for his own protection. But if you wish to have him, you may take him,’ Lady Maria said with a patrician hauteur. ‘He is through there. Please, be careful with him. Don’t let him vomit on my floor. He has been knocked on the head.’
Ivo hurried through the door she indicated, and found Baldwin lying on the floor, rosewater being applied to his brow by a maid. ‘Baldwin? Are you able to stand?’
Baldwin gave a weak smile. ‘Cut my bonds and I may.’
With the thongs sliced from wrists and ankles, he slowly rose, and with Ivo’s arm to steady him, Baldwin managed a step or two, not without pain, the sweat standing out on his forehead as he made his agonising progress, through the doorway and out to the hall. There he gave a grateful nod to Jacques.
‘I thank you for my life, sir,’ Baldwin said. ‘You have today saved another pilgrim.’
‘My friend, I am taking responsibility for your safety from now,’ Jacques said with a cold fury. ‘If any man attacks you in this way again, they will answer to me and my Order,’ he added, sweeping a look around the assembled men.
‘Do be careful in the streets,’ Lady Maria called to him. She smiled, her curled lip making it look like a sneer. ‘I would not want you injured again.’
‘Now I know who are my enemies and my friends,’ Baldwin said, ‘I shall be careful to avoid the former, and stay close to the latter — until I am ready.’
Ivo helped him through the door and out to the street. ‘What happened?’
‘They wished to torture me to learn about a message concerning Genoa,’ Baldwin said. ‘But I know nothing of it.’
There were two Muslims at the street corner, and Sir Jacques took a coin from Ivo to persuade them to help Baldwin.
Baldwin was reluctant to have their aid. All he had heard of these people said that they were murderous and evil, but so far in his time at Acre, most appeared to be cultured and generous. Perhaps, he thought, it was the way of a subject race living cheek by jowl with their rulers, but somehow he doubted it.
Sir Jacques nodded, speaking quietly. ‘I know what they wanted to learn. Genoese galleys attacked an Egyptian ship and sacked the port of Tineh.’
‘So that’s why Qalawun is leaving us for the nonce,’ Ivo said. ‘He is planning revenge against them.’
‘What, he will build a navy to destroy them? I think not, old friend. No, they will have cause to regret their behaviour, I am sure. He will tax their goods extravagantly and make them weep,’ Sir Jacques said with a quiet grin.
‘How did you know to find me here?’ Baldwin asked. His throat was sore, and he felt an overwhelming desire to close his eyes and sleep.