Crusade (14 page)

“Andreas is at the warehouse?”

Elwen rolled her eyes and patted the cushions beside her.

“And Besina and the girls are at the market?”

“You know they are.” Elwen studied him quizzically. “Why are you so worried all of a sudden? Is it the room?” She looked around. “You’ve been in here before.”

“And I was worried then,” replied Will pointedly. Heading over, he unfastened his black cloak, which concealed the white surcoat he wore beneath. Laying it on the seat, he sat beside her, noticing how sheer her dress became in the sunlight. “It’s risky.”

“It’s been risky since we were sixteen, Will.” Elwen frowned. “What
is
wrong?”

“Nothing. Honestly,” he added, as she continued to frown at him, her pale green eyes webbing slightly at the corners. He wanted to reach out and smooth away the lines with his thumb. In them, he saw time passing. “It’s just since the grand master arrived, we’ve all been making sure we do everything by the book. Everyone’s keen to impress him.” Will grinned. “You should see some of the suppers the cooks have prepared. Wild boar baked with apples, saffron rice, sweets spun out of sugar and honey.”

“I thought you were looking a little broader,” Elwen answered dryly. But she smiled. “He is keeping you busy then?”

“Very. That’s why I haven’t been by for so long. I haven’t had time.”

“In truth, neither have I,” said Elwen, sleeking down her dress self-consciously. “I’ve been promoted.”

“Promoted?”

“Since the doge in Venice became one of Andreas’s patrons, the demand for his silks has risen and Tusco has to spend most of his time in Venice at the warehouse or organizing transportation. Andreas is training Niccolò to take over the shipping.”

Will hadn’t met Andreas’s sons, or the rest of family he had heard so much about, apart from Catarina, which had been an accident. He did know, however, that Niccolò was interested in Elwen. She once told him, laughingly, that the young Venetian had come to her room in secret, with flowers and a proposal. Will knew why she had done it: to remind him that she was an attractive woman that he hadn’t claimed for his own yet. It had worked. Now, whenever she mentioned Niccolò, he would feel a tiny bee sting of jealousy that occasionally swelled to plague him long after the initial stab.

“It means Andreas will have fewer hands to help him in the warehouse,” Elwen was saying. “He needs someone to aid him with the accounts and Elisabetta and Donata aren’t interested in the business. Anyway, he already has a suitor in mind for Elisabetta, and Donata is fast approaching fourteen.” Elwen smiled. “He said he thinks of me as family and that I do so much for the business already I was the natural choice.”

“I’m pleased for you.” Will knew how hard she worked for the Venetian.

Back in the royal palace in Paris, as handmaiden to the queen of France, Elwen hadn’t had to worry about her place in the world as an unmarried woman; she had lodgings and was paid well. Now that that net had been taken from under her and she was living an independent life, the pitfalls were that much greater. Very few industries approved the direct involvement of women, mostly just cloth manufacturing, brewing and more menial work such as laundering and cleaning. The promotion proved that she had started to become invaluable to Andreas and his business, and made her footing that much surer. Without him, her existence in Acre would be a lot less comfortable. It was no real surprise, from all the women who came to the East in search of freedom and independence, away from the trappings of forced marriage, that for every five men in the city there was one whore.

“Thank you,” said Elwen, twisting the coif in her lap. “It will mean that I have to work harder though.” She glanced at him. “That we will have even less time together.”

“I don’t mind, as long as you’re happy.”

Her brow creased and she looked away.

Will chewed his lip, wondering what he had said. He inhaled deeply. “Well, I’ve had a promotion myself since I saw you last. The grand master has made me a commander.”

Elwen stared at him. “A commander?”

“It came as a surprise to me too. I was summoned two weeks ago to give him a report on what I’d found out about the attack. He told me afterwards.”

“Must have been a good report,” said Elwen a little sardonically. “Did you find out who wanted him killed?”

“Not yet. We only knew that the attacker was Italian, so all I could do was speak with the consuls of Venice, Pisa and Genoa and ask them to conduct their own investigations. The Venetian consul was more helpful than the others, but even he couldn’t find anything on the dead man.” Will shrugged wearily. “The trouble is they are all suspicious of anyone from outside their own quarters. We might live in the same city, but for all the walls we put up to keep each other out we might as well reside in different countries. I told the grand master to offer a reward for any information that led to our discovering who tried to kill him. He agreed. We sent criers around the city.”

“I heard Niccolò saying something about that the other day.”

“Good,” said Will, relieved. “At least word is getting out.” He rubbed at his beard, a habit he had recently formed when preoccupied. “I just hope someone comes forward soon. I have no other ideas and I don’t want the grand master to think he made a mistake promoting me.”

Elwen reached out and took his hand, drawing it from his chin. “You’ll rub it bald,” she said softly. “You did your best and he rewarded you for it.” She shook her head. “You always do this, Will. As soon as something good happens, you immediately wonder when it will be taken away from you.” As Will looked at her, Elwen guessed what he was thinking. On the day he had gained his knighthood, he had lost both his father and her. Cursing herself inwardly, she pushed on. “You cannot do everything right all the time. You try to please everyone and that’s commendable, but you also need to know when to let go.”

“Look,” said Will tiredly, squeezing her hand, “I came here to see you, not to talk about my frustrations.” He threaded his fingers through hers until their hands were locked, pushed palm to palm. “Can we start again?”

Elwen moved closer. “Let’s not start at all.”

Will closed his eyes as she leaned to kiss him. He felt her lips brush his, so softly it was almost painful. Then their mouths were pressing together. Reaching out, he caught her by the waist and guided her onto him until she was straddling his lap, her white gown riding up to expose her thighs. God, but it had been a long time since they had been together. They came apart and she stared down into his eyes, her fingers tracing tingling lines through his hair, across his scalp, down to his neck, where a blue vein pulsed.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, then kissed him again to conceal the brightness that came into her eyes.

Will trailed his hands up the outside of her thighs, then over the folds of the dress to grip her waist again. But Elwen took one of them, led it back down to her thigh, and under the folds of material. Both their heartbeats quickened. Will pressed his hand into the small of her back, crushing her to him, as she bent to kiss his neck. Her skin was hot. Dizzy with pleasure, he half-opened his eyes. Over Elwen’s shoulder, he saw a figure in the doorway, watching them. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over him.

“Jesus!”

“What?” said Elwen, straightening abruptly. She followed his gaze and saw Catarina standing there.

Hopping off Will, Elwen pushed down her dress. Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire as she padded barefoot to the girl. She said something in Italian, which Will didn’t understand, then shooed her out of the room.

Will had stood and was rearranging his crumpled surcoat. He heard Catarina giggle and the word
kiss
.

A moment later, Elwen reappeared. “What are you doing?” she asked, watching him pick up his cloak.

“Getting out of your master’s bedchamber before his wife finds me here, you lose your job and I lose my mantle,” he muttered, swinging the cloak around his shoulders.

“Will, calm down,” said Elwen, crossing to him. “Besina isn’t back. Catarina didn’t go with them to market today. I told her to play upstairs, but she must have seen you come in.”

“What if she tells her father?” said Will, unwilling to be placated by her easy tone. “It was all right before she found out. But now? If anyone in the Temple learns of this, I’ll—”

“They won’t,” Elwen cut across him. “And it isn’t as if no one there knows about us.”

“Robert and Simon know,” responded Will shortly, “but they have for years and neither of them is going to inform on me.”

“And Everard.”

“Everard wouldn’t notice if you turned up at the preceptory and walked naked through the courtyard. He only cares about his work.”

Elwen grinned impishly at the image. “I’ll wager he would.”

“Elwen, this is serious. With Catarina following us around, we’ve no privacy anymore.”

“If we were married and living in our own home, we’d have privacy,” she responded. “We wouldn’t have to meet on set days when everyone else is out. I wouldn’t have to sweeten the maids with presents for their silence and leave a cloth outside my window to warn you when someone’s here, or wonder what has happened when you don’t come at all.”

Will sighed. “You know that isn’t possible.”

They stared at each other in silence.

Elwen pressed her lips together, then shook her head. “This isn’t how I wanted today to be.” Will watched as she moved to the table and opened one of the drawers. She took out a leather pouch. “Open your hand.”

“Elwen ...”

“Do it,” she insisted.

As he did so, Elwen shook the pouch over his palm. A thin silver chain coiled out with a small disc attached to it. Will pushed the disc over with the tip of his finger. On it was embossed an image of a man with his foot on a serpent.

“It’s Saint George,” she told him, as he raised it to the light to see the detail.

“It’s beautiful.” Will looked at her. “What have I done to deserve this?”

“I saw it and wanted to give it to you.” She shrugged. “To celebrate my promotion.”

“I don’t have anything to give you.”

“That isn’t the purpose of a gift.” Elwen took the chain and undid the clasp.

Will stood still as she draped it around his neck and stood on her toes to fasten it. The metal disc was cold against his chest.

“It was to remind you that he’s still there, protecting you. It’s just a little thing.”

For Will, the sweetness of the gift was soured by guilt. It wasn’t just a little thing. Elwen knew the significance of it. He had told her how he had found the statue of the Temple’s patron saint shattered in Safed’s chapel and how that had come to symbolize his father’s burial; something broken, ended. He wanted a gift to offer her in return, something more than this frantic lovemaking whenever they had the chance. But he was scared anything he gave her would feel too much like payment. “Thank you,” he murmured.

She kissed his mouth gently, the passion gone, replaced by tenderness.

Will gave her a brief, hard hug. “Next time will be better,” he said, releasing her. “I promise.”

After leaving Elwen, Will headed onto the Street of the Vintners that led to the western gates of the quarter. The street was barely wide enough for him to pass through, clogged as it was with traders and impatient men leading braying donkeys and pulling handcarts piled with barrels and food. Toothless women and dirty-faced children held out begging hands to the endless stream of passersby and men gathered in doorways to discuss wares and deals and prices. Washing hung from hemp lines stretched between the houses like banners at a festival, whilst pigs rooted in the rubbish and excrement that carpeted the street below. The comforting smell of fresh bread from a communal oven mingled with the cloying scent of hashish and the sharp aromas from the vintners’. It was like moving through a wall of sound and smell that invited, intoxicated and repelled at once.

As he walked, Will mulled over the things he needed to do that afternoon. It was a blessing in one sense that his meeting with Elwen had been cut short. Before Vespers, he had to check with the criers who had been sent out with news of the reward, to see that all the quarters had been reached. He would then have to file a report with the marshal and the grand commander, and he should try to see Everard. He hadn’t spoken to the priest for several days, having been kept busy for the grand master. When he had last seen him, Everard had been preoccupied with his concerns over King Edward. Will hadn’t been able to offer much comfort, except to assure the priest that he had written to Garin. There wasn’t much else they could do. It would be months before the letter even reached England.

Will was almost at the end of the street, when he felt a tug on his cloak. He spun around, thinking it was a pickpocket, and grabbed hold of a small boy behind him. The boy let out a cry as Will took a fistful of his threadbare tunic and almost lifted him off his feet. Will was about to shove him away, when he realized, with a jolt, that he recognized him. “You were on the dockside,” he exclaimed, keeping a tight hold on the boy. “The day the grand master was attacked.” Will ignored the annoyed calls and grumbles of the crowd, now having to pass around him. Someone told him to leave the child alone, but whoever it was kept on walking, pressed on by the tide.

“Let me down,” cried the boy in garbled Latin. “You’re hurting!”

“Not a chance. You’ll run again.”

“I won’t! I
want
to speak to you. I’ve been following you for hours.”

Will stared at him, then took hold of the boy’s arm and led him down the street, forcing him through the mob. Before reaching the gates, he squeezed into a narrow alley. It was deserted. Beyond the alley mouth, the stream of people continued on. “What were you doing that day on the dockside?” asked Will, turning the boy to face him.

The boy hung his head miserably.

Will studied him. He was a scrawny thing, with bruised circles under his eyes. He looked half-starved and his clothes seemed barely held together by their frayed threads; one good gust of wind and they’d be off. “What’s your name?” he said, more gently.