by S A Monk
When the king had knighted him at eighteen, and his brothers had accepted him into their hallowed ranks, he had been full of fervor, enthusiasm, and youthful fire. It had mattered little that he was forsaking all earthly desires and pleasures. A lifetime of unquestioning service and unfailing loyalty seemed a small price to pay for the certain glory to come; for belonging to such an elite brotherhood of renowned warriors.
Kneeling before the tribunal at his investiture, he had eagerly envisioned all the great battles he would fight, all the infidels he would slay in God’s Holy War. He would become one of the Order’s greatest warriors, commanding respect with his unrivalled prowess and skill. He would become a legend.
His fervor had been motivated not so much by love of God, but by a need to belong to something important. His foolish youthful pride and desire for fame and glory had been blind to the reality of what he eventually discovered in the Holy Land. Young and eager and idealistic, he had been proud beyond all reason of his immaculate white Templar regalia.
After his adoption by the Temple, Catholicism had been dogmatically taught and practiced. Tolerance for other faiths was non-existent among his teachers, but Lucien did not completely forgot what his mother had taught him.
Vigorous and relentless Christian indoctrination was part of every novice Templar’s preparation. Daily prayer, scripture readings, and monastic disciplines shared as much significance as physical training. The Order wanted its recruits fervently dedicated to defending the faith with a strength of arms that would not waver in the face of a heathen sword. To die on the field of battle by the sword of an infidel was to die a martyr, with an immediate reward of heaven and eternal glory. Such was the fate all Templars should be glad to accept. It had been so uncomplicated then.
Then he’d arrived in Palestine with Arnold de Torroja and a shipload of other newly installed knights of the cross.
In the beginning, Lucien had been as ready to die for his faith as any other young recruit.
Soon after he had arrived, the kingdom had been threatened by the new leader of the Saracens. Salãh-ad-Din Yũsuf, ruler of Egypt and soon of Syria, led a force across the Sinai Desert toward the Templar fortress at Gaza, where Lucien had been stationed. It was there that the warrior monks had concentrated their counter-force in anticipation of attack. When Saladin had moved on to Ascalon, Lucien and his fellow Templars left Gaza to join their young king, Baldwin IV, as he attacked the sultan and his Egyptian army at Montisgard. Catching the enemy by surprise, they had routed the army and prevented Saladin from his ultimate goal of taking Jerusalem.
It had been a glorious victory, and Lucien had fought with all the valor and prowess he had dreamed of, so much so that he had come to the notice of the young leper king. Dozens of Saracens had fallen under his blade that day, and he had earned himself an enviable place in Baldwin’s elite bodyguard. His youthful dreams had come to fruition that day. Filled with reckless bravery, he had gone on to fight other battles with the infidel, each time coming away with more acclaim.
Then in the summer of 1179, when Saladin had laid siege to the newly erected Templar fortress near Jacob’s Ford, on the River Jordan and the vital Arabian road to Damascus, Lucien had tasted his first major defeat. The impetuous, vainglorious Master Odo de Saint-Amand had rashly attacked a large contingent of Saladin’s army before the young king was ready to regroup and reinforce the Templar troops. Brutally beaten back, some were able to retreat across the Litani River and take refuge in the great stronghold of Beaufort, Lucien and the king among those who had escaped. But many of Lucien’s brethren had been slain, while many Frank knights and the Grand Master himself were taken captive. Costly ransoms were paid for the Franks, but the Templars were never ransomed, as dictated by their Rule. The Grand Master would have been the exception, but his pride prevented him from accepting Saladin’s offer of trade, and as a result Odo de Saint Amand had died in a Saracen prison.
The Order had been accused and condemned of arrogance, excessive pride, and reckless bravado by William, the Archbishop of Tyre. Secretly, Lucien had been in full agreement, having been a witness to all of that the day of the attack. The only good to come of it had been the election of Arnold de Torroja as Grand Master upon Odo’s death.
But that battle and its aftermath had planted the first seeds of doubt and uncertainty in Lucien’s mind. His valor in the field never wavered, but a crack in his beliefs had been created. The steady, more level-headed leadership of Master de Torroja eventually restored some of Lucien’s convictions and commitments to his duty, but he never again fought with such reckless disregard or naïve abandon. Each life he took and each he saw lost carved new scars that didn’t heal. No longer did he want to die for his faith. No longer did he want fame and glory.
As de Torroja’s protégé, he was given his first intelligence mission. He was sent behind enemy lines, to live in Damascus. It had been good to get away from the strict regulations of the Order for a while. It gave him a new perspective and a new purpose.
And he had begun to see the Muslim peoples of Outremer as more than non-believers and heathens. He made friends among many of his intelligence contacts. He had come to know the Arab people as good and bad, no different, other than their faith, than the Franks. He’d also come to appreciate the other half of his heritage.
His mother had adopted Christianity upon marrying his father, but she exposed her only child to the tenets and principles of her previous religion. She also taught him her language. Christianity had been practiced in his home, but Islam had been respected.
Before departing for the West on a diplomatic and recruitment mission, Torroja made Lucien Chief of Intelligence for the Order. King Baldwin had also made him so for all the Latin States. He was firmly established in the position by the time Gérard de Ridefort became Grand Master nearly three years ago when de Torroja had died overseas.
In his decade in Outremer, Lucien had learned finally what his mother had always tried to teach him. He had learned tolerance and humanity, compassion and integrity. They were more important than glory, fame, and battle prowess. The depravity he saw too frequently from his fellow Christians appalled him. The mindless, unnecessary killing of non-militants disgusted him to the depths of his soul, as did the excessive pursuit of greed, ambition, and hedonistic pleasure by those in positions of leadership.
Reynald de Châtillon and Gérard de Ridefort were prime examples of all he had come to hate.
His belief in the military might of the God’s warriors had been irreversibly eroded by scenes of senseless bloodletting and godless butchery. Killing in the name of God was certainly not the domain of Christians alone. The Saracens could be every bit as blindly zealous as their counterparts. Jihad was their term for holy war; crusade the term for the Franks. No matter which side practiced it, it was an abomination. Lucien had come to realize neither God nor Allah would ever command or condone such actions.
The light of his faith had dimmed considerably, though by some miracle, it had not been completely extinguished. He smiled, thinking of Gabrielle de Châtillon. Her selfless courage had gone a long way in restoring his faith in humanity and its creator these past weeks. But his misgivings about what was being done in the Levant were slowly overriding his desire to remain a Templar and a monk. And the lovely lady under his protection was creating an even bigger reason to leave his semi-monastic life.
But the kingdom was in crisis, and he had a vital job to do still. This was not the right time to pursue his personal desires. Nevertheless, this woman had become enormously important to him, and he could not walk away from her. He often wondered lately, what it would be like to live as a normal man, not a monk; to travel his own path, not one dictated by the Order.
Gabrielle de Châtillon made him want things he had not thought he wanted until meeting her. She was no ordinary woman. Right or wrong he was committed to her, and they were going to be together for as long as it took her to be safe from her murderous husband. Whether their
relationship developed beyond that, Lucien could not predict. He’d do what was right by her and see where it led.
CHAPTER 8
The following day, Lord Balian Ibelin summoned Lucien to his residence in Jerusalem. When he arrived at the spacious three-story, pink plastered house that sat in a section of the city where the nobility of Outremer maintained homes, he was ushered into a large airy room that Balian used for private meetings and business.
The baron greeted Lucien with the comfortable familiarity that bore the mark of several years of friendship. Both men were of similar age, and privately, Lucien had always respected Balian Ibelin’s more sober, level-headed political opinions. His family was one of long standing in Outremer, and it was extensively spread out over the kingdom. If the Latin States were to survive, it would be because of men like Balian Ibelin and his family; men who wanted to live side-by-side with their Muslim neighbors in peace and respect.
At one time, Sibylla, then a princess, had been ready to marry Balian’s cousin, Baldwin. Unfortunately, the lady’s affections had not survived Guy Lusignan’s charms. Her fidelity had lasted about as long, also, particularly in the face of Guy’s sexual pursuit. By the time Baldwin had been released from an Arab prison, Sibylla had become betrothed to Lusignan. Lucien wasn’t the only one who believed the kingdom would have been much better off had Sibylla been a more steadfast woman.
The fate of the land was too often tied to the fickle hearts and wandering eyes of its women. Though they were often political pawns in the marriage market, they could ruthlessly shape and affect events through their conduct. Lucien did not think Gabrielle de Châtillon would have conducted herself in the loose, sometimes heartless manner that many of the women of the ruling houses had. She seemed to have more integrity than that, a trait he himself placed high value on.
“You look as if you are wool-gathering, Brother de Aubric,” Lord Balian commented as stared at his friend across a table cluttered with missives and parchment. “There are several things I could guess might be occupying your thoughts, from the dire state of our kingdom’s affairs to the lovely wife of Lord de Châtillon.” With his fingers steepled under his chiseled chin, the baron eyed Lucien with amused speculation. “It is all over the court that you have arranged sanctuary for her at the Hospital, to protect her from an assassin Reynald and Silvia have hired to be rid of her.”
“You have it right,” Lucien confirmed with a half cocked grin. “It would be a refreshing change of character if our king would finally hold his kingmaker accountable for his misdeeds.”
“Amen to that,” Balian concurred. “Raymond rues the day Reynald was ransomed from Aleppo with Lord Joscelin. We all would have been better served if he had rotted there, particularly Lady de Châtillon.”
Lucien picked up the goblet of wine Balian handed him, and took a long swallow. “I have decided to take her with me to visit Count Raymond in Tiberius. With the Hospitallers getting ready to mobilize, it is the only way I know of keeping her safe.”
“Your path has grown intertwined with hers, Lucien. Taking her to Tiberius with you is a bold move. De Ridefort will strongly disapprove. He may even censor you.”
Lucien nodded, acknowledging the truth of the warning. “He may, when this crisis has passed. For now, he cannot afford to. The information I provide him and the king is too vital.
He cannot replace me quickly enough to keep the networks functioning effectively.” He took another swallow, then looked over the rim of his silver goblet to his host. “I am seriously considering leaving the Order.” He saw Balian’s alarm, and set his mind at ease. “I will not abandon my duties in the midst of our crisis.”
“Is this change of heart a result of Reynald’s lovely wife?”
Lucien shrugged. “It has been on my mind for some time.” After setting his goblet on the table, Lucien rose and walked to the window to look out onto the street. “But tell me, Balian, will Count Raymond be willing to mend his breach with the king for the sake of the kingdom?”
The baron rose and walked to the window where his friend stood. “Raymond felt deeply betrayed after the coup, especially by Joscelin and Humphrey of Toron. Both of them promised him one thing and delivered another. Then the barons that were initially allied with him reversed their support and accepted Guy. He is the only one beside Prince Bohemond of Antioch who still refuses to recognize Guy’s authority as King of Jerusalem.”
“The separate truces they have established with Saladin are dangerous to the kingdom,” Lucien said as he turned from the window to the man beside him.
“Your Grand Master believes Raymond has asked the Sultan for help in overthrowing King Guy. He is advising Guy to send a military force to Tiberius to arrest Raymond for treason. If he convinces Guy of this, we could have a civil war on our hands. Raymond still has enough support for that, especially if Bohemond comes to his aid. We cannot afford to be divided like this with Saladin calling for jihad.”
“He is moving on Kerak.”
“Good, it will keep him busy for awhile and give us time to convince Raymond to come back into the fold.”
“The Sultan has already called his allies to arms. There is evidence of troop buildup in and around Damascus, Cairo, and possibly as far north as Ras al’Ayn, above Ba’albak.”
Lord Ibelin did not mask his concern. “Have you told this to King Guy and de Ridefort?”
“Of course. De Ridefort is a fool to try to divide us further with talk of arresting Count Raymond. We cannot afford this distraction right now.”
Balian nodded and watched as Lucien paced back and forth. “I will take my wife to our stronghold in Nablus, then I think we should both go to Tiberius to try to talk Raymond into negotiating a truce with the king.”
Lucien stopped pacing and shook his head fleetingly. “I will take your wife to Nablus, then go onto to Tiberius to talk to the count. You stay and convince the king to offer Raymond terms. When he has agreed, join me in Tiberius.”
“Will it be safe for the women to travel?”
“I am taking Brother Giles and a small guard. Have your wife dress in native attire. It will be safer that way. I will return at an hour past Prime tomorrow. Tell her we will journey by horse alone and ride light for speed.”
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Nablus was a day's ride from Jerusalem. The party of six stopped midday at the base of a sandstone cliff where a small dam had been crudely built to catch the rainwater that drained off the fractured rocks above it. Near the watering hole, there were several date palms that provided a pleasant shade, plus a few flat-topped rocks to sit upon underneath it.
After watering the horses, Lucien stayed nearby to watch the two women fill their flasks and gourds with water. Nearby, Brother Giles and their two other companions stood guard and took turns relieving themselves in the bushes behind him.
Lucien had enlisted Hazir's nephews to journey with them. He had worked with the young men before. In fact, Hazir had several relatives that often provided him valuable assistance and information. Indebted to Lucien for his help with his wayward grandson two years ago, the old man had done many favors for him, the least of which lately involved the protection of Lady de Châtillon. Though Gabrielle wasn't aware of it, Hazir had most of the male members of his family on the lookout for any sign of assassins within the city limits. And outside it, Hazir had contacts in the Muslim world that were invaluable to Lucien.
Hazir was a good man, and Lucien had been friends with him long before he had met Gabrielle. Lucien had finally learned that the lady owed much of her freedom from harm on her journeys near and wide to Hazir's connections, though Lucien doubted she was aware of it.
On this journey, he hoped to use Hazir's nephews not only for protection, but also for a little reconnaissance. Lucien had several purposes for this trip, not the least of which was trying to determine how large and how close Saladin's troop build-up was in the region between Galilee and Damascus.
Assuring himself that everyone was where
they should be, Lucien sat down on a nearby rock to rest and simply take pleasure in watching the beautiful woman with Balian's wife at the watering hole. She had enjoyed the journey from the start, and at the moment, her laughter reached across the short distance to him, filling him with pleasure. Gabrielle de Châtillon needed more laughter in her life.
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Maria Comnena was still a beautiful woman in her mid-thirties. She had a long intriguing history in the Levant. A great-niece to the Byzantine emperor, Manuel, she had married King Amalric, Sibylla and Baldwin's father, soon after his ascension to the throne of Jerusalem. By him, she had one daughter, the princess Isabella, who had recently married young Humphrey of Toron. After Amalric's death, Maria had married Balian of Ibelin.
Her life at court during her marriage to Amalric had been full of treacherous intrigue because it had polarized the political parties; those in favor of Amalric's first wife, the devious Lady Agnes, mother to the future King Baldwin IV, and those in favor of his well-connected Greek wife, Maria Comnena. While the Lady Agnes was still happily involved in all her plots, manipulations, and sexual dalliances, Lady Maria had found peace and contentment among the prominent, close-knit Ibelin clan.
Gabrielle had known her for years, and she had always preferred her company at court to Lady Agnes. They had been catching up on old and new gossip on this journey, and while the unstable fate of the kingdom composed some of their conversation, it did not dominate it. Like most of the nobility, Maria was wildly curious about what was happening in Gabrielle's life. Everyone, it seemed, knew of the attempt on her life, of her efforts to seek an annulment from her widely disliked husband, and of her newly acquired protector.
Gabrielle felt uncomfortable talking about all of it, most especially, about her budding association with Lucien de Aubric. Much of her life had been ugly, and she had tried to keep it as private as possible. It shamed her to have people know what she had suffered at Reynald's hands.
