by Katz, Yoram
Al-Ashraf received the small delegation in front of his tent, asking whether the two had brought him the keys to the city gates. De Caffran answered that the city was not about to fall easily. He offered to restore peace and redress any injustice done. Al-Ashraf offered to let the inhabitants leave in peace for the capitulation of the city and de Caffran promptly rejected this. While they were negotiating, a huge stone, shot from one of the catapults inside the city walls, fell a small distance from them. The enraged Sultan accused the two messengers of treachery and almost killed them with his own hands. Only his officers, who rushed to calm him down, rescued the two from immediate death and allowed them to return to the city empty handed.
The last attempt at saving Acre peacefully failed and the siege of Acre began.
* * *
‘But this cannot be the end!’ The thought raced through de Charney’s mind. He raised his head. “Do not despair, your holiness, we will be back,” he said, trying to convince himself as well. “We will learn our lessons and God willing, the Kingdom of Jerusalem will rise again.”
The Patriarch gazed at him with his wise eyes, like a forgiving father eying a naive child. For a moment, it seemed he was going to say something, but he just shook his head and kept his silence.
The galley was drawing away from the shore. With the low wind, it was moving forward mostly by its oars, powered by slaves inside its belly. The sounds of the pandemonium on the shore grew weaker and then turned into a soft murmur, to be eventually drowned by the sound of the oars beating rhythmically against the water.
The two descended below the crowded deck, into the Patriarch’s spacious cabin. There were already three other men there, whom Philippe identified by their attire as clerics belonging to different communities. It was obvious that the three felt ill-at-ease in each other’s company. The Patriarch took his seat and signaled to Philippe to sit beside him. “Monsignors,” he addressed the three men, “please meet Philippe de Charney, a valiant and capable member of the Knights Templar, whom I expect will rise high in the ranks of his Order.”
Philippe blushed and tried to protest, but the Patriarch silenced him with a wave of his hand. The three men stood up and bowed their heads politely. Philippe returned the gesture.
"Monsieur de Charney," said the Patriarch, "let me introduce my distinguished guests, Monsignors Giuseppe Secola of Venice, Andrea Simeone of Genoa and Alberto Silvestre of Pisa. They accepted my invitation to join me on this galley."
The guests bowed again and so did de Charney.
“Interesting, de Charney,” noted the Patriarch, hardly able to disguise the bitterness in his voice, “we were just having this conversation on the deck, and here we have representatives of the leadership of the most prominent communities of our beloved, fallen city. I do wonder whether they are starting to realize where hatred and strife have brought us.”
A shadow passed over the faces of the three men.
“We were discussing the situation,” explained the Patriarch. “We both agreed that God is punishing us for our follies and for our lack of brotherly love. Instead of uniting against the enemy in the face of danger, we have engaged in petty squabbles. We are all guilty, and we are all being punished for it today.”
“How do you mean, your holiness?” asked Secola, the Venetian.
The Patriarch eyed him like a teacher would a backward student. “I mean, for example, the War of Saint Sabas.”
* * *
Saint Sabas was a building in Acre, which stood on top of a hill separating the Venetian and the Genoese quarters. The two opposing communities, representing two rival Italian city-states, quarreled over its control. One day, the Genoese, supported by the Pisans, seized the building by force. They then fell upon their Venetian neighbors and started a riot. This conflict was part of a 200 year struggle between Genoa and Venice for dominating trade with the Levant, which now escalated into a full-scale war.
The conflict then spread to Tyre, where the Venetians joined forces with the Pisans, who had switched sides. They also acquired the support of the Knights Templar and the Teutonic Knights, while the Genoese recruited the Knights of the Hospital to their cause, so that eventually, every community had aligned itself with one side or the other. The situation deteriorated into street fights, and then to naval battles. Even after a truce was brokered by the Pope in 1261, the skirmishes continued intermittently.
* * *
Secola, the Venetian, could hardly contain his rage. “Yes, the Genoese dragged us into a war we had to fight back and win.”
Simeone rose from his chair furiously. “I must protest...”
The Patriarch raised his hand. “This is enough, Monsignors. Your behavior is just proving my point, but we have to put all this behind us. What’s done is done and we must not discuss this subject anymore. I apologize for having brought it up."
Simeone tried to get back into his seat, but at that moment, the whole room trembled violently, and he fell. All five men were tossed to the floor, and started rolling from side to side, banging against furniture and walls. From the corner of his eye, Philippe saw Secola’s head hit the massive leg of the table and heard the dull, sickening sound of the blow. Secola lost consciousness, and his body was now being tossed around like a lifeless dummy, rolling from one end of the room to the other, with the rocking of the galley. Philippe tried to crawl towards the door but the swinging, which kept getting stronger, made movement difficult and kept him smashing into all kinds of objects. Eventually, he managed to get to the door and open it. The Patriarch was struggling behind him, and Philippe extended his hand and pulled him outside. Somehow, the two managed to crawl up the stairway and reach the deck.
They found the deck in total chaos. The sea, which was still and smooth when they left Acre, was now raging. A storm was blowing fiercer and stronger, and the galley rolled from side to side like a seesaw. The extra load caused the ship to lie very low in the water and with the amplitude of the swinging steadily growing, the waves started licking the sides of the deck as it tilted towards them. Presently, the line of oars on the high side of the galley rose above the waterline. The oars hit air, causing some of the rowing slaves to lose their balance and fall backwards, perpetrating even more havoc. On the packed deck, people were running from side to side to keep away from the water, and many fell down to be trampled upon by the hysterical mass.
The swinging grew worse and with it the screams of horror from the crowd. Philippe saw a woman, with an infant in her arms, falling and sliding all the way down the sloping deck, her slide broken only by the railing on the other side. She lost consciousness, and the small infant was torn out of her hands and shot into the waves.
The galley was getting out of control. The Captain stood on the bridge, shouting. He was holding on to the railing with much difficulty, and looked totally helpless. Philippe estimated that within a few more swings, the waves would overflow the deck, placing the galley in immediate danger of capsizing. He realized that he must save himself and the valuable asset he was carrying. The only way, dangerous as it might be, was to jump into the water and try to hang on to something. He might then be saved by another ship or drift to the shore, which could not have been too far away.
He made his way to the starboard side of the deck, but the crowd of people blocked his path. He unsheathed his sword and raised it threateningly, clearing a path that led him toward the railing. However, before he could reach it, the galley swung hard to starboard, and Philippe lost his step and slid down the sloping deck. He hit the railing, which was already immersed in water, and was flung over it, finding himself diving in the salty water of the Mediterranean.
He felt intense pain in his thigh, as his razor-sharp sword cut through flesh and muscle, and immediately lost consciousness.
8. Yossi Luria – Haifa, Israel, January 19th, 2010 (Tuesday)
It was 5 PM on a cold winter day. Yossi Luria sat behind the desk at his office, browsing his computer screen. He was examining pictur
es, which documented a rendezvous between a man and a woman. They chronicled the encounter from the start at a hotel lobby to the climax in one of the hotel rooms. The pictures were sampled from HD videos, which documented the rendezvous in a graphic and conclusive way, allowing the faces of the couple to be easily identified.
Luria then gazed at the printout resting inside the open file on his desk. There was no doubt about the man’s identity. He was a known character in Haifa, something of a local celebrity. His client will surely get her money’s worth.
Luria smiled. His smile had little to do with the joy of victory of another solved case. There was the mirth of vengeance there and some bitterness. A private eye spying on unfaithful husbands… How lower can you get? He did not like what was happening to him. This was not his dream. He was a top-notch investigator, and knew it. Until four years ago, anybody who was somebody in the northern region of the Israeli police knew it. Everyone knew that Superintendent Luria was a rising star who would go far. The detective unit he had built from scratch became a blueprint for other regions. He brought with him the enthusiasm and passion from the elite reconnaissance company he had led and commanded during his military service in the IDF. He saw the admiration in the eyes of his subordinates and enjoyed the appreciation of his superiors. He felt so sure of himself that he became blind and arrogant. His hubris facilitated his fall…
The telephone brought him back to reality. It was his secretary. “What is it, Noga?”
“There is someone here to see you; Attorney Porat.”
Luria glimpsed at his calendar. “I don’t have any appointment planned for now.”
“I know. He never made one. Is there a problem?”
“Well... No. Just give me a minute before you send him in.” He ejected the DVD from his computer drive, opened a drawer and shoved the DVD inside, along with the file containing the documents and printouts.
The man who stepped in was in his forties, good-looking, well-groomed and well-dressed. He was holding an elegant black leather briefcase in his hand. Luria recognized him. Yigal Porat was a very successful criminal lawyer, among whose clients one could count Ze’ev Srur, the heaviest criminal shark in Haifa. Luria loathed Porat. He was also sure that the fact that Porat was the very man whose picture was now tucked in his drawer, was no pure coincidence.
“Mr. Luria,” the man extended his hand and smiled for the record. “I have heard a lot about you.”
Luria joined the charade. “Only good things, I hope. And you, of course, are Attorney Porat. Glad to meet you again.”
“Have we met before?” Porat feigned surprise. Luria hated it.
“Yes. About four years ago at the Haifa Police headquarters. I summoned Ze’ev Srur for questioning, and you managed to extricate him and ruin my career in the process.”
Porat looked at Luria for a few seconds, and then grinned. “Yes, of course, I remember the case now. So you are that Luria … a classic case of a cop who did not know his place.”
Luria strained to control his growing anger. He pointed at the chair in front of him and sat down on his side of the desk. Porat stretched himself in the chair, looked at Luria with his all-knowing eyes, and said nothing.
“What can I do for you, Attorney Porat?”
Porat kept staring at him. “Do we have to play this game?” he asked eventually.
“Excuse me?”
“You know very well why I am here.”
“Do I?”
“Really, Luria, you should know by now that you must not underestimate my intelligence. Please stop this charade.”
“Can you please explain?” Luria was actually starting to enjoy this.
“So you do insist on playing the game. OK, I’ll play along, then. I want to strike a deal with you.”
“What deal?”
“I know my wife paid you a visit, and I know that you are gathering material on me. I am willing to double whatever she is paying, to have you conclude this investigation with negative results.”
Luria kept silent.
“With what you are getting from her, that’s three times…”
“Attorney Porat, please!” It was now Porat’s turn to turn silent.
“Even if what you say were true,” said Luria quietly, “what you are asking me to do is criminal and is also in violation of every ethical rule in the book. You are insulting me!”
“What ethical rules? Don’t make me laugh! Since when do ethics have anything to do with your profession?”
Luria stood up, noisily pushing his chair back. “Good night, Mr. Porat, our conversation is over.”
Porat understood he had gone too far. “Wait a minute, Luria, don’t lose your temper. Please forgive me. I never meant to insult you. Let’s get this conversation back on its proper tracks.”
Luria stayed on his feet. “Mr. Porat, I am afraid you do not understand. This has nothing to do with me being insulted. I just cannot help you.”
Porat grew red with indignation. “I am not sure you have taken into account the consequences of a rash act by yourself, Luria”
“Is this a threat?”
“I am just asking you to reconsider. My wife is leaving tomorrow for a long vacation in Europe, and this leaves us some time. I will expect to hear your final answer in a few days. Shall we say Monday?”
“Don’t expect any of this to happen. Really, Mr. Porat, this conversation has exhausted itself. Good-bye and good night to you.”
Porat rose from his chair and started walking out. Before reaching the door, he turned around. “Luria, you are a clever guy. Please do not play with fire. You of all people should know this. My advice to you is to think this over again.” He slammed the door behind him.
Luria dropped into his chair. A small vein beating in his right temple testified to his anger. He was not sure what made him angrier. Was it Porat or was it the nature of the work he had found for himself? Yossi Luria was not the type to be intimated. Threats, in fact, had the opposite effect on him, driving him to fight back. Porat and his friends did not scare him, but he would have preferred going into battle over worthier causes.
The phone rang again. “What is it now, Noga?”
“There is somebody here to see you, and yes, she has made no appointment.”
“I am having nausea. Can you push it to tomorrow morning?”
“Tomorrow you are out of the office all day. You had better see her now.”
Luria hesitated. He needed some time for himself, but Noga was right. “OK, Send her in.”
“Good. She does not speak Hebrew. Try English or French.”
Almost immediately, the door was opened by Noga, who usually never bothered to escort clients into his office. Luria stood up. Into the room walked a young woman of twenty-five or so, who seemed to have stepped out of the cover of Vogue. She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She walked towards him and extended her hand. “Mr. Luria, my name is Jeanne. Jeanne de Charney.” Her English had a conspicuous French accent.
The smell of her perfume distracted Luria for a moment, but he immediately came to and shook her hand. “Yossi Luria, but you can call me Luria. Everybody does.” He pointed at the chair. “Please sit down, Ms. de Charney. What can I do for you?”
Noga remained frozen in her place, with her eyes glued to the guest and Luria had to remind her of his existence. “Thank you, Noga." She gave him an embarrassed smile and left. The two sat down, facing each other across the desk.
Jeanne looked curiously at Luria’s face for a while and then smiled. “Interesting,” she said, “you remind me of somebody I know.”
“I hope he is a nice somebody,” Luria was happy to join her attempt at ice breaking.
“Well, yes, definitely. My cousin Louis is one of my closest friends, a charming and capable young man.”
“So, I do hope I will not disappoint you.”
Jeanne smiled again, and Luria felt he was melting. “What would you like to drink, Madam?” he as
ked. Before she could answer, the door opened and Noga marched in with a tray of coffee and cookies. “A short espresso, just like you asked, Jeanne,” she stated ceremoniously, and proceeded to arrange the cups, saucers and cookies on the desk. Luria was surprised. This type of service was reserved by Noga for VIPs only.
“You run a most efficient office,” laughed Jeanne. “Thank you, Noga”
“The pleasure is mine, Jeanne.” Noga beamed and left the room. Luria thought that if she had a tail, she would have probably been wagging it. Noga was obviously enchanted with his guest. He never saw her act this way. And the two were already on a first-name basis…
Jeanne took a sip from her cup. Even the way she lifted the cup to her lips had a certain grace and aristocracy about it. She enjoyed the taste for a few seconds. Then she put the cup down with that same effortless grace and looked at him. “Mr. Luria, I have heard good things about you, and I need your help.”
“It is Luria. You can drop the Mr. Where did you hear about me, may I ask?
“My uncle Charles is a senior officer in the Caen police. He inquired with some colleagues in the Israeli police about private investigators in the north of Israel, and your name came up. And, by the way, you can call me Jeanne.”
‘So Commander Arnon still thinks well of me after all,’ thought Luria, finding the thought comforting. “OK, Jeanne,” he said, “I will be glad to help. What is this all about?”
Her big blue eyes looked at him over the brim of the cup. She then lowered the cup, considering where to begin. “Well,” she said eventually, her beautiful face becoming all at once serious, “this is a long story. I hope you have the time and patience to hear me out.”
Luria reached for his coffee cup, raised it to his lips and sipped the bittersweet liquid, his eyes fixed on the young woman in front of him. “First,” he said, “there is the matter of the fee. This conversation will cost you nothing, but after I understand what is required of me, I will specify my fee. It is only fair to tell you that my services are not the cheapest in town.”
