Simon Beaufort - Murder in the Holy City

The bath attendant eyed Geoffrey and Roger dubiously, and poured a hefty dose of fragrant oil into the water.

“We will smell like whores,” muttered Roger disapprovingly, but stripped off his dirty clothes and presented them in an unsavoury bundle to the bath attendant. Geoffrey did likewise, and climbed into the bath, screwing up his face at the agonising coldness.

“I hate doing this,” he grumbled to Roger, trying to stop his teeth from chattering.

“My father took a bath once,” said Roger conversationally. “He said it was an experience every man should have once in his lifetime.”

“Why?” asked Geoffrey, peevishly. “To mortify the flesh? To curb physical desires?”

“So he would know better than to do it again,” said Roger with a roar of laughter that echoed around the basement room and brought the attendant running in alarm.

“Right,” said Geoffrey, beginning to climb out, “that is enough.”

“You need to put your head under the water,” said Roger, wallowing like a pig. Geoffrey looked at him in dismay. “Your hair stinks of smoke. You need to get it right under.” He nodded at the attendant, and Geoffrey felt powerful hands begin to push him down. He squirmed and struggled, but the oils made the sides slippery, and he was helpless until the attendant pronounced himself satisfied.

“Ordeal by fire and water,” he muttered, climbing out onto a floor that was awash.

While they waited for their clothes to be cleaned, they sat draped in towels, dripping onto the already saturated floor. Geoffrey pretended to be dozing, because he was confused by the information he had collected: he was disturbed by the notion that while Roger attempted to kill Hugh, he had risked his own life to save Geoffrey from the fire. It made no sense. Perhaps Roger was not the one who had killed Marius after all. Perhaps it was Courrances, who had shown his murderous streak by locking Geoffrey in the burning stable. But all knights had murderous streaks, he reasoned, for that was what warfare was all about. Even Geoffrey had been seized with the occasional burst of bloodlust, especially after a long siege or if the opponents were Lorrainers.

Their clothes were returned washed, brushed, and smelling sweeter than they had done since Geoffrey had set off on Crusade. It was an agreeable feeling, and Geoffrey determined not to wait four years before taking his next bath. Outside, the air was still pleasantly cool, although dawn was not far off. Geoffrey breathed deeply and coughed, aware of the lingering effects of the smoke deep in his lungs.

As they walked along the street where Melisende’s house was, Geoffrey melted deeper into the shadows, and Roger, unquestioning, followed suit. Lights were burning dimly in her upper and lower windows, although Geoffrey realized it was not unusual for bakers to be up and busy long before dawn. Nevertheless, he was curious, and edged closer to see if he could see through the shutters.

Fortunately for Geoffrey, there was a split in the wood that afforded him an excellent view of the room within. He saw Melisende and Maria sitting at the table together. Maria had been crying, and there was a vivid bruise on her cheek, while Melisende appeared to be listening to what she was saying. It did not take much imagination to detect that Maria had fled straight from the riot at Abdul’s to the safety and comfort of Melisende’s clean and welcoming home. Maria must have confessed her whereabouts-for Melisende was no fool and would see an immediate connection between Maria’s battered face and a night of fighting at Abdul’s. Which meant, thought Geoffrey, that Maria had probably also told Melisende that she had spoken to him there, and that he had asked her all manner of questions. After all, why should Maria keep his trust when it was no longer necessary for him to keep hers?

He glanced behind to see what Roger was doing, wondering how he might react to seeing his accomplice spied upon, but Roger was doing exactly what he would normally have done-he was prowling the shadows to make sure they were not observed. Satisfied for the moment, Geoffrey put his eye to the crack again and strained to hear what was being said. But however hard he listened, he could hear only the occasional word, and nothing of any note. The two women seemed to be discussing cakes, for words like “raisin” and “almond” cropped up. Then Maria stood and moved toward the window. Her next words brought a whole new flow of questions racing through Geoffrey’s mind.

“Well, if you did not poison them, who did?”

Geoffrey darted back into the shadows as the door opened, and Melisende stepped out, followed by another, taller, person who was swathed in a dark robe. Geoffrey glanced around, and saw that Roger too had made himself invisible. Melisende looked quickly to left and right, and set off up the street, the hooded figure walking beside her.

Roger spoke softly in his ear. “Shall we follow her?”

“I will follow her,” whispered Geoffrey. “You stay here and see what Maria does.”

Roger nodded, although it was too dark for Geoffrey to read his reaction. Was he aware that Geoffrey’s ploy stemmed from a lack of trust, or did he think Geoffrey really considered watching the airheaded Maria important? And more to the point, would he do it, or would he simply follow Geoffrey? Well, we will find out, thought Geoffrey as he trailed after Melisende through the dark streets. As he walked, he tried to remember where he had seen someone with a gait similar to that of Melisende’s companion, but the memory eluded him.

Their progress was slow, verging on the stately, and Geoffrey began to grow bored. They made their way toward Pharos Street, and then plunged into the labyrinth of alleys that lay to the east between St. Stephen’s Street and the Dome of the Rock. Then it was more difficult to follow them, for the streets were short, and if Geoffrey came too close he ran the risk of being seen, while if he stayed too far behind, he was likely to lose them.

He realised they were heading for the jumble of alleys near the Gate of Jehoshaphat, where many of the houses had lain empty for a year. Compared to the Jewish Quarter and to those parts of the city occupied by the Greek community, these houses were palatial. But people were superstitious, and it was not easy to forget the slaughter that had occurred there. Geoffrey had heard that renegade soldiers who had deserted from the Crusader armies inhabited sections of the area, and he knew it was also peopled each night by merchants interested in buying and selling items on the black market. But he did not need rumours to tell him that it was a dangerous place to be at any time, especially in the dark.

They zigzagged deeper and deeper into the maze, and Geoffrey became aware that someone was behind him. He was not surprised, since he had half-expected Roger to follow him. Perhaps Melisende’s tortuous route had even worked to his advantage, he thought, having made it so difficult that Roger had given himself away. At the same time, Geoffrey was not unduly worried by Roger’s presence behind him, since if Roger had meant him harm, he would not have rescued Geoffrey from the fire.

Thus, he was wholly unprepared for the attack when it came. The first indication that all was not well was when a stone from a slingshot thudded into the wall above his head. Startled, he stopped and swung round in time to see a swordsman racing toward him with his weapon at the ready. Geoffrey whipped out his own sword and took up a defensive position. He was surprised to note that it was not Roger who bore down on him like a madman.

He parried the blow that sent shocks down his arm and drew a grunt of pain from his opponent, and he made a quick jab toward the swordsman’s legs before he could recover his balance. The man went down in an inelegant pile of flailing limbs, and Geoffrey turned to face an attack from the other direction. Like the first man, he hurled himself recklessly at Geoffrey, who blocked the hacking swipe and used the momentum to drive the second man stumbling over the first. Then there were two more, not attacking wildly like the first ones, but advancing one from each side, dividing Geoffrey’s attention. When the first man recovered and joined the affray, Geoffrey knew he was in trouble.