00 - Templar's Acre by Michael Jecks Read Free Book Online

were set as he moved to
Baldwin’s side, his hands resting on his sword-belt, head jutting as he studied the Genoese.
    ‘This man attacked our ship,’ Baldwin panted. ‘He killed many of the pilgrims.’
    ‘I see,’ Jacques said, without taking his eyes from the Genoese. ‘Master, I think you should put away your blade before you cut yourself.’
    The Genoese hesitated, but when he saw the Leper Knight’s hand move to his sword-hilt, he rammed his blade back into its sheath, turned on his heel and strode away, muttering curses.
    ‘Master Baldwin, would you object to my walking with you?’
    Baldwin shook his head, unable to speak coherently for a moment. The confrontation had left him shaken, so soon after the battle at sea.
    ‘Please, tell me how you know that gentleman,’ the Leper Knight continued.
    Baldwin told Sir Jacques about his journey and the attack at sea that had been driven off by the
Falcon.
‘There was a man there who lent me money – an Englishman called
Ivo.’
    ‘Ivo? Ah, I see. He would have been aboard the
Falcon
with Roger Flor. A Templar crew. That explains how you were saved from two Genoese ships,’ Jacques mused. He smiled
down at Baldwin, and then pointed. ‘Now, master, I think you are safe enough. That rather magnificent church at the other side of the square is your destination. If you ask inside, I am sure
that you will be helped. Now, once more godspeed, my friend.’
    Ivo de Pynho walked to the west door of the cathedral and stepped inside the cool interior. When the Patriarch of Jerusalem had been thrown from his city by Saladin, he
commanded that the Church of Santa Anna should be torn down and rebuilt as a proof that the Patriarchate would not easily be dislodged from the Holy Land.
    Now Santa Anna was a memorial in stone of the oath sworn by so many knights, that they would retake Jerusalem in the name of Christ.
    Ivo’s head had been aching since leaving the Temple, and now he sagged with relief, dipping his fingers in the stoup by the door and crossing himself as he faced the altar. Here, in the
cool nave, he could remember his wife Rachel, and little Peter, for a while. But not with an easy heart, since he had not been there when they needed him most.
    The light poured through the coloured windows before him, and splashed over the floor like red, green and blue paints. It sparkled soothingly from candlesticks and the gilded icons. He walked
past merchants haggling, past men gambling on the floor, a couple arguing viciously about the husband’s wandering eye, to a pillar where he leaned, his eyes fixed on the statue of the
Madonna. Her beautiful face was calming, but his loss was a tearing pain that would not leave him, and even She was powerless to help him. Not even Christ and all His angels could ease it.
    He stared, almost expecting a miracle to strike him. Perhaps Rachel would appear, or Peter. No. If he was still in Jerusalem, maybe he might see a vision of them, but not here. Ivo sighed to
himself and turned to leave the cathedral – but even as his eyes fell on the gamblers, he recognised Roger Flor, and beside him a familiar face.
    Baldwin was playing at dice, and as Ivo watched, a broad grin broke out over the young fellow’s face.
    ‘Look at that! Look at that!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ve won again!’
    Ivo walked around the gamers, noting who the other men were. Two were clearly sailors; a third he recognised as Bernat, Roger Flor’s henchman.
    ‘Come, Master Baldwin, you must give us a chance to win back our losses,’ Roger was saying, and Ivo saw the look he gave his companions.
    Ivo knew it was hard to adhere to the Templar rules laid down by St Bernard. There were strict orders that Templars must avoid gambling. Chess and backgammon were barred, and only merrils
occasionally permitted; when a game of chance was allowed, it was only for relaxation. Discs of candle-wax were used, never money, for Templars had taken the vows of poverty, as well