The Spymaster's Protection (21 page)

When Lucien returned, clean of road dust and clothed
immaculately in full Templar dress, Gabrielle felt a stab of pride and
admiration for him. He was a striking man, no matter what he wore, but in his
Templar garb, he was magnificent. His mantle was draped across his broad
shoulders to perfection, and the brilliant red cross on his blindingly white
surcoat only emphasized his impressive physical stature. He was clearly the
most handsome man in the room.

As he approached the table, his dark eyes were focused on
Count Raymond and his guests. Gabrielle could tell that he was scrutinizing
each man, carefully assessing their moods and the situation. She had discovered
that Lucien de Aubric was a very astute and observant man, and that he left
very little to chance.

Gérard de Ridefort rose, the scowl still etched across his
heavily bearded face. He half-turned to the man still sitting beside him.
“Remove your women, Raymond. I have tolerated their presence long enough.”

The count thrust himself out of his chair with visible fury.
“This holding belongs to my wife. Mayhap, she has tolerated your company long
enough, de Ridefort!”

“You know Templars do not commingle with women,” the Grand
Master rebutted, shooting a sharp look to Lucien, then to Gabrielle. “That you
have housed one upstairs, next to de Châtillon’s wife is offense enough, but
they shall not sit here, listening, while we discuss sensitive business of the
kingdom.”

Count Raymond made no move to comply. Inspired by Lady
Eschiva’s earlier daring, Gabrielle rose from her place at the end of the table
and looked down the long board directly at the Grand Master. Her face was set
in scorn, and her lips curved into a mocking smile as she met his disapproving
stare with a scornful one of her own. How she would love to remind the
hypocritical old bastard of all the times she had seen him at her husband’s
lascivious gatherings, surrounded by women who had been there for only one
purpose!

The countess eventually rose beside her and gave the Grand
Master a contemptuous look before nodding to her daughters. “Shall we retire to
my solar? I believe we will find it more agreeable there, ladies.”

Before Gabrielle turned to leave, Lucien caught her attention
with a look of open admiration, one corner of his mouth curled up in a slight
half smile. Gabrielle returned it with a barely perceptible nod before she
crossed the room to the stairwell. From the corner of her eye, she saw de
Ridefort’s scowl deepen, though she staunchly refused to let his manner
intimidate her as she departed.

After the women left, the table was cleared and the servants
refilled the large ewers of wine, then left the room. Lucien had pulled a chair
over from the hearth and sat across from the count. As he lifted his goblet of
wine to his lips, he scanned the men arrayed on either side of the count.
Brother Giles sat next to Master des Moulins, while the archbishop Josias sat
next to de Ridefort, who was leaning back in his high-backed chair as if he was
lord of the manor, looking completely satisfied that his demands had been met.

The count still looked prepared to throw the man from his
hall. “Treating my wife and the ladies that way was uncalled for Gérard.”

The Templar Grand Master waved his hand as if it mattered not.

“It was boorish,” the archbishop agreed.

“We are not here to entertain the women,” he growled
impatiently. “And you are lucky I am not here to arrest you, Raymond, for your
treasonous behavior!’

“By God, man! You go too far, inferring I am a traitor!”

“Gentlemen….” Bishop Josias interceded.

“Gérard,” the Hospitaller Grand Master echoed in an attempt to
calm the situation. “We have a directive from the king. He wishes a peaceful
resolution with Lord Raymond.”

“If I had had my way, we would have marched in here with a
whole echelon to arrest you, Raymond.”

“Well, you have not had your way!” Roger des Moulins roared.
“Now, let’s be at the business at hand and leave old resentments buried.”

Lucien knew the Hospitaller Grand Master was referring to
Gérard’s grudge against the Raymond when he had been denied the reward of a
wealthy heiress and her land for service tendered to the count. It had always
soured their relationship. Plus, they had never seen eye-to-eye on the
kingdom’s relationship with the Saracens.

De Ridefort actually growled an inaudible rebuttal to des
Moulins’ comment, then turned his simmering anger on Lucien. “Tell us what you
have discovered about this so-called envoy encamped on the edges of the the
count’s land, de Aubric,” the Templar leader demanded.

Lucien knew he had to temper his information against his
superior’s hot-tempered, ready-to-act mood. He and Hazir’s nephews had roamed
the countryside today. What the three of them had found was seriously alarming.
Lucien had expected to find a small
saqa
, or advance reconnaissance
party. Instead he and his two scouts had seen three
tulb
encampments,
each with a full muster of two hundred men. They were all located on the
fringes of Raymond’s land, to the north and east of the lake. The envoy they
wished to send onto his land might be a small unit from one of them, but what
had been implied in the request from al-Afdal, had not been what Lucien, Omar,
and Nephrim had seen today.

“I saw enough men to question whether it should be called an
envoy,” he said evasively, hoping the Grand Master would not question him
further.

“It doesn’t matter the size of the party,” Raymond argued.
“Al-Afdal assured me they would be peaceable and cause no harm.”

“That is ridiculous, Raymond!” de Ridefort thundered. “We are
at war with the sultan. If you are as loyal as you claim to the king, you will
let no armed Saracen onto your land.”

For once, Lucien agreed with his superior, though he did not
voice his agreement. Count Raymond was foolish to have made the truce, let
alone allow the enemy onto his land.

For two days, Lucien had been trying to warn his friend that
his actions were dangerously close to treason. The problem was, he did not
trust his Grand Master to be calm headed enough to do anything rational in
reaction to this very volatile situation. His blind zealotry and belief that
the military orders were invincible and superior to the Muslim forces would
send him charging across Galilee right now with whatever troops he could muster
to engage the Saracen troops.

What was needed was a a more sensible plan to meet Saladin and
his greater numbers at a time and place when the Christian army had at least a
possibility of prevailing. Squandering men now would do nothing, absolutely
nothing but diminish valuable resources. Of course, de Ridefort was probably
headed in that direction, despite what Lucien revealed or didn’t reveal.

“It is too late to rescind, and I am bound by….” Count Raymond
began.

“Your thrice cursed treaty!” de Ridefort finished for the
red-faced lord.“Stay here. Let them pass tomorrow, and avoid trouble before we
are ready, Gérard,” Raymond insisted. Under the circumstances, Lucien felt it
was the best advice.

The Templar Grand Master protested by shoving out of his
chair. “I will not sit by and let the enemy pass beneath my nose and
your
damned walls! At first light, des Moulins and I will
ride out of here to Nazareth and gather what forces we can. The enemy is here
and we will meet him. God wills it!”

Turning to the red-robed cleric at the table, he added, “Be
ready at prime, Your Grace. You may stay in Nazareth, if you like.”

“We should wait for Lord Balian,” the Hospitaller Grand Master
advised, obviously uncomfortable by his peer’s decision. “We have not concluded
our business with Count Raymond, or negotiated the king’s terms.”

“What is this, des Moulins?” de Ridefort sneered, laughing
scornfully. “You love your precious blond head too much to want to lose it? The
enemy is before us and we will meet him with God’s holy sword, by the Cross,
man!”

Lucien wanted to roll his eyes at the dramatics. Was there
ever any doubt in his mind that Gérard de Ridefort would conclude this
situation in any other way? For the love of God, what would his blind
enthusiasm for Saracen blood cost them in men on the morrow?

“Master de Ridefort, this assault may be too costly to bear at
the moment, especially in the face of imminent war with Saladin,” he tried to
reason, knowing his argument to be futile, but needing to voice it,
nevertheless. “The kingdom needs every fighting man it can raise now.”

“It is a reconnaissance unit, is it not, de Aubric?” de
Ridefort demanded.

“It is more than that, I believe. There are many men encamped
on your borders, Count. My scouts and I have seen nearly six hundred.” He hated
having to reveal such information, but maybe the greater numbers would
discourage his superior. “I cannot tell how many plan to cross your land
tomorrow, Raymond, but you are all aware that Saladin is putting together an
army of thousands, to the east, north, and south of here. These numbers across
Lake Tiberius cannot be anything but alarming.”

“Then I will send a message to the Marshal, James de Mailly,
at our Caco garrison for reinforcements. He can have them here by morning. From
here, we will still go to Nazareth to enlist troops from the royal garrison
there.”

“This is madness!” Count Raymond slammed his fist on the
table, knocking over several goblets of wine. “If I had known you would
endanger us all with an untimely and unprovoked attack on the Muslims before we
are ready, I would have denied you entrance into my town.”

“Your town?” de Ridefort thundered. “You do well to remember
you hold Tiberius and Tripoli for your liege lord, King Guy of Jerusalem. You
are already considered a traitor by many of us, by God! Continue with this
coddling of the enemy, and I swear to you, you will hold nothing, Lord
Raymond.”

With that threat, Gérard de Ridefort pushed out of his chair
and strode away from the table. At the far end, he turned and motioned for
Lucien to follow him. “I wish to talk to you, Brother de Aubric! Come with me
while I arrange for messengers to Caco and Nazareth. I also intend to find you
new quarters in the barracks.”

Summoned, Lucien could do nothing but follow.

Outside, night had fully fallen. The bailey was lit with
torches, and there were many men about, fighting men, not servants or villiens.
Raymond had increased his guards, and they were diligently on patrol. Lucien
suspected Raymond wasn’t happy about having to honor his ill begotten truce by
allowing armed Saracens across his land. He obviously anticipated at least the
possibility of trouble. His garrison and the town were both on high alert
tonight. Lucien had noted that the moment he had ridden back through both
gates.

“So, why are you here, Brother Lucien?” the Grand Master
demanded as they crossed the yard to the barracks.

If he was a true believer, he would not resent his superior
asking him this question. The Rule of the Templars said that a brother was
bound to obey his Grand Master in all things. Obedience. It held the same
weight as chastity and poverty.

There were several reasons why he was here, and he had cleared
none of them with de Ridefort before he embarked on this journey. That, in
itself, was a grave violation of the Rule. He decided to be less than fully
truthful again, yet another violation.

“I came to talk to Lord Raymond. It is in all our best
interests that he mend his differences with King Guy. He controls hundreds of
men here, and he has been one of the most influential barons in the kingdom for
many years now.”

De Ridefort scoffed audibly at that assessment, then halted
and turned to his knight. “And who gave you the authority to decide anything
for yourself?” he demanded in a loud, angry voice. “You may be the Chief
Intelligence Officer for the Order, but you clear these decisions through me,
man
!”

“I have worked alone in the field for years,” Lucien defended
himself. “My work does not always allow me to clear everything through you.”

“Well, that is going to change, de Aubric!” the Grand Master
thundered. “Not even our Marshals make decisions without consulting me. You may
be an officer, but you will not be independent of me!”

Lucien had little to argue about. By the Rule, Master de
Ridefort was correct. But in the field, an intelligence officer could not
always make daily or even regular reports. The situation was often too fluid to
have every decision approved and checked. de Torroja had understood this. De
Ridefort had not. They had not seen eye-to-eye since they had begun working
together. This Grand Master was too insecure, too inexperienced in the Order,
too arrogant to trust anyone else’s judgment. And no amount of arguing was
going to get him to see reason on this issue.

The fact of the matter was, he was blind to the threat of
civil war at a time when it could destroy the kingdom. If Raymond did not come
around, and instead used his influence to split the Christian army and the
barons, they would never be able to defend themselves against the sultan.
Lucien wasn’t exactly sure why de Ridefort could not see the danger. He was
either too stupid or too blindly egotistical. He concluded it was a little of
both. If he was only interested in what was good for the kingdom, they would
not even be having this argument.

Lucien waited for the Grand Master to continue or halt his
diatribe. There was little else he could do. He had known this was coming from
the moment he’d seen de Ridefort in the hall tonight.

He was standing before Lucien with his legs braced apart, of
equal height to Lucien, fury and disgust bristling from every inch of his
large, over-sized frame. His eyes were boring into his lieutenant. “I think you
came here because of de Châtillon’s harlot!”