Four entered, their eyes round and disbelieving. One began to giggle, in a high tone, while another licked his lips and crossed the floor. A widow stood defiantly, and he reached out with his hand and grasped her breast.
There was a gasp of horror from the other women, and she slapped his face, but that only enraged him, and he tore at the neck of her tunic.
Another man had darted forward to a blonde woman, and was gripping her, trying to kiss her face, while she screamed; the third was still giggling as he ran at a woman with a young son, but he left the mother alone.
It was then that Ivo gave a bellow of rage and drew his sword. He attacked the man with the boy, and with one blow he was dead. Edgar kicked a man down, stabbed him, and went to the next. Buscarel slid his sword into the kidneys of the nearest, and Baldwin had his sword ready as a fellow reached for Lucia. He died quickly.
There were many more Muslims, all now screaming their rage and running in, but the Templars who until now had remained away from the women, had heard the hubbub. Thirty or more appeared at the door, and seeing the fight, joined in with gusto until all the Muslims were dead.
Baldwin ran from the chamber, and led the way to the gates, roaring, ‘They are attacking the women!’
Abu al-Fida had left his horse with a group of his men at the gates when he heard the shouting. Sir Pierre left him, running to the source of the noise, and Abu al-Fida was alone for a moment. It was then that Baldwin appeared, sword in hand.
When Abu al-Fida saw the blood on his blade, he shouted, ‘Treachery! Treachery!’ and drew his own sword, parrying Baldwin’s weapon and lunging. His blade caught Baldwin’s cheek and opened it from below his eye to his jaw. Baldwin was surprised, and jerked back, and in that time the Emir’s sword came to his throat.
The two stood silent for a moment, Abu al-Fida recalling that day when he left the city, and a man who showed him sympathy. ‘You remember me?’ he asked.
‘After the riots. You were in the market,’ Baldwin said.
‘You saved me that day. Today I repay the debt,’ Abu al-Fida said. He took his blade away, turned and ran for his horse.
‘All retreat!’ he shouted when mounted again, and rode to the gates. Templars had killed all his men, and the gates were being closed. It was only by slamming his knee against one closing gate that he managed to escape. Otherwise, he too would have died there. Outside, he heard the bars being slotted into place while he sat on his prancing mount.
Sir Pierre appeared at the top of the gate. ‘So, is this how you honour our people? By raping our women?’
‘A hothead, perhaps. This is your reason for bad faith? A couple of women complained and you tear up the peace?’
‘There is no peace, Muslim. We fight to the death,’ Sir Pierre said. ‘Your men behaved atrociously.’
‘Then you will die!’
‘We will all die,’ Sir Pierre said. A moment later, Abu al-Fida’s banner was torn down and hurled into the dirt at his feet. The Templar banner returned. ‘Now, go,’ Sir Pierre told him. ‘If you remain, I will order an archer to fell you.’
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
That night, under cover of darkness, a galley braved the sea. A small rowing boat was despatched from it, and it landed at a small quay that gave access to the Temple.
Baldwin and Ivo were there, Baldwin nursing his scarred cheek, when the shipman came and discussed evacuation with Sir Pierre.
‘How many can you take?’ Sir Pierre demanded.
‘Thirty, perhaps. No more.’
Sir Pierre nodded. ‘There are some essentials that must be saved,’ he said. ‘We have the Treasury, records, and other important papers. Then I would send Tibaud de Gaudin, our Treasurer, so that these documents can be protected and understood. However, after him we should save as many women and children as we may.’
The selection of the fortunate few was made by lots. The mothers all drew straws, and twenty-two women and children were chosen. They joined the chests and boxes and the glum-looking Treasurer in the boat, and soon were bucketing through the waves towards the Venetian galley that stood a mile or so out to sea.
‘Will there be another ship?’ Baldwin asked Ivo.
‘The Falcon should come back, since she is a Templar ship,’ Ivo answered, but then he sighed heavily. ‘But Roger Flor is no fool. He’ll be enjoying himself in the fleshpots of Cyprus rather than coming here for us.’
Baldwin watched the ship. So far away, and yet such a good size. ‘Lucia, I am sorry. You should have been on that ship.’
Lucia rested her head on his shoulder. She did not tell him that she had drawn a short straw. She had plucked it from the fist of the Templar sergeant who came around all the women in the chamber, and as she took it, she had seen the woman with the boy next to her. Petrified with fear after the way he had been assaulted by the Muslim, he had clung on to her skirts. In his face there had been utter terror. He knew that if the Muslims came in again, he would suffer rape, and then death. He was only a young lad, not a man. Perhaps ten years old, no more.
She had looked at his mother. Tears ran slowly down the woman’s cheeks as she opened her hand and looked at the long straw. Lucia reached down, and replaced it with her own.
‘Sir Pierre! Sir Pierre! I would speak with you!’
The braying of the trumpets had announced Abu al-Fida’s presence, and now he sat upon a mare while he waited for a response.
It was some little while before a series of heads wearing Templar helmets appeared at the battlements. ‘What do you want?’
‘Yesterday, hotheads broke the truce. The Sultan offers you his full apology. He is prepared to offer the same terms as yesterday. Free passage for you and those inside the Temple. Your knights and men can keep your weapons, your women and children can leave. You will all board a ship to go to Cyprus.’
‘How can we trust the Sultan’s word?’
‘The Sultan wishes for no further disturbance. How many more must die? There is no purpose in such an outcome. Better for all that you accept terms and that you all vacate the fortress alive, that our men enter the fortress without fighting. Many thousands are already dead. Do we need to have any more die?’
Sir Pierre looked about him. ‘Well?’
Baldwin shook his head. ‘It is sensible, is it not? They wish to save their own people. It’s easier for them to have us walk from here and sail away, than that they should have to break into yet another strong wall. Assaulting the Temple would cost them dear. They know that.’
‘If we walk out of here, they won’t let us live,’ Ivo said flatly.
‘Why do you say that?’ Sir Pierre asked.
‘They are offended that we killed their men yesterday. In their minds, that is us breaking faith. They don’t understand how we could surrender, and then seek to protect our women. They don’t think like us. They know it was provocation, and if Christians broke into a Muslim harem, they would be outraged, but for their men to assault ours, that they will consider different. They will seek to capture us all, by guile if they can.’
‘I cannot tell whether you are right or wrong,’ Sir Pierre said. He stared over the parapet at the massed troops all about. ‘But I know this: if we don’t agree, we will all die here. There are miners beneath us now. They will be digging out a chamber and burning the supports to force the walls and the Temple to collapse. All the women and children will die if that happens.’
‘All roads lead to death,’ Buscarel said. He was behind Baldwin, honing his sword with a lump of stone. ‘Some are swifter than others. That is all.’
‘I think my own path is clear,’ Sir Pierre said. He had been standing with his head bowed. Now he kissed the cross of his sword, then leaned over the battlement to shout at Abu al-Fida. ‘I am coming down. I will discuss terms with your Sultan.’