00 - Templar's Acre by Michael Jecks Page B

besants. The palace there, that is the Master’s, and you see the tower over there, at the sea? That is where the
Templars hold their treasure. No one would get to it there! It is said that that tower was built by the Saracen Saladin when he ruled Acre. If so, he had a good eye for a place of safety. It must
be the strongest part of the entire city.’
    They entered the fortress and Baldwin followed Ivo as he made his way to the Master’s Palace. Two Templars in their tunics stood at the door and opened it to allow Ivo and Baldwin to pass.
It was huge. The paved floor stretched away to a great dais, on which there was a table. Ivo bowed and stood in the middle of the floor. It would have been impossible to go further because of the
press of people.
    Looking about him, Baldwin recognised faces here and there: men he had seen in the streets, one whom he was sure he had seen on the ship on the way here, but for the most part they were rich
merchants who had all the obvious signs of their wealth, with bejewelled fingers and bright, cool silks that rustled softly. Baldwin was jealous of them, standing there in his grimy shirt and old
tunic.
    He noticed one man in particular. He stood, tall and very strong, clad in a white Templar habit. His head was bare, showing the fine greyish stubble, and making his thick beard look peculiar. He
had piercing eyes, heavily hooded, and a manner of jutting his head forward that was aggressive and contemplative at the same time. His hands were hidden in the sleeves of his habit, and Baldwin
wondered whether he held a weapon in them. There was something entirely warrior-like about him, and the idea that he was unarmed seemed wrong, somehow.
    Ivo pointed to him with his chin. ‘Listen carefully. That is the Grand Master of the Temple, Guillaume de Beaujeu. He knows more of affairs between us here and the Egyptians than almost
any man.’
    ‘How?’ Baldwin whispered.
    ‘He has the money to pay spies,’ Ivo snapped. ‘Now, listen!’
    De Beaujeu spoke with a calm authority that ensured silence in the crowd. On the dais, he towered over the people before him, glancing from one to another as he spoke. At one point his eye met
Baldwin’s, and Baldwin was surprised to see that the great leader did not look away instantly, but instead studied him as if Baldwin was as important as any other in that chamber.
    ‘You all know that I have sent a messenger to our Father the Pope. After the fall and destruction of Tripoli, it was necessary.’
    ‘If we don’t provoke Qalawun, he will leave us alone,’ a man called.
    ‘No one provoked Qalawun, yet he attacked Lattakieh. No one provoked him, yet he attacked Tripoli. Does anyone believe that he will leave us alone here at Acre? I have heard that calls
have already gone out to his people deep in the interior of Egypt, for them to gather their armies and meet him. Where is he to go? In past years, we may have thought he was making a foray into
Mongol lands. But the Mongols are no threat to him. He has attacked castles. But he has Montfort, he has Krak, he has Marqab. There is only one jewel he can seek to pluck. And that jewel is
Acre.’
    His words rang out with simple force. No man spoke against him now.
    ‘So, I have sent a messenger to the Pope to beg for men to defend our city, but I fear that all too few will come. There are some hundreds who are already on their way from Lombardy, I
believe, and the English have promised an army, but they do not have the men to be able to protect us. So we must see to our own protection.’
    Ivo had his lips pursed as he listened. Now he shook his head. ‘We are too few,’ he muttered. Baldwin looked back to the Master.
    ‘The commune of Acre must invest in the walls. We must at once purchase all the timber we may, to reinforce our defences and build the hoardings. We need more machines of war, especially
catapults. We need masons, to strengthen our walls . . .’
    ‘The walls are strong