Simon Beaufort - Murder in the Holy City

“So how will you proceed now?”

Geoffrey considered, trying to force his numbed brain to think clearly. “I plan to make further enquiries in the citadel among the friends of Guido and John,” he said finally. He had already done this, and had been told nothing useful, but in view of the fact that it was probably Melisende’s men who had followed him from his first meeting with Tancred, he was reluctant to reveal too much about his future movements. What he really intended to do, after he had slept, was to concentrate on Dunstan’s movements for his final few days and to try to ascertain to whom he had sent the fatal blackmail note.

The Patriarch pursed his lips. “I suppose you know the best course of action,” he said ambiguously. “Unfortunately, my niece has put me in something of an awkward position. You now know about my small foray into the world of trade, and you will have established that it is because of the black market-run by me-that the Advocate is forced to make debilitating deals with the Venetian merchants. That you know all this makes me feel somewhat vulnerable.”

Not as vulnerable as me, thought Geoffrey, meeting the Patriarch’s dark, unreadable eyes with a level gaze. The Patriarch continued.

“I am forced to make a choice. I can either let you go to continue your investigation for me. Or I can keep you here to ensure my secret is kept.” He tapped his teeth thoughtfully with a long forefinger.

“Sorry, Uncle,” said Melisende. “I did not envisage you would be faced with such a problem. I thought you would want to question him because he had stolen your ring, and I did not want Celeste or Adam to murder him in the streets.”

“Really, Melisende,” said Daimbert, without rancour. “Your loyalty commends you, but your logic does not. What if he had stolen my ring? Then you would have presented me with a thief who knows all about our little operation. What would we have done with such a man? Would you have had me kill him?”

Melisende had clearly not thought of anything beyond presenting her uncle with a thief, and she regarded Daimbert in horror. Geoffrey watched her closely. She was intelligent and quick-witted, but she was also impulsive and did not bother to consider the implications of her rash actions. She glanced at Geoffrey and then back to the Patriarch, and Geoffrey had the impression that she did not really wish to bring about his death. Perhaps she just wanted him under lock and key in her uncle’s dungeons, so that she could come and go at her leisure and they could argue and insult each other, and so continue their relationship the way it had begun.

“Well,” she said finally, still gazing at her uncle. “You had better keep him alive if he can be useful to you. He can be reasonably discreet if he wants, and can probably be trusted to keep our secret.”

“Probably is not good enough,” said Daimbert. He turned to Geoffrey. “However, I know you will maintain your silence because of your loyalty to Tancred. If I lose my authority in Jerusalem, so will Tancred lose his. If you report the location of our supplies to the Advocate, you will strengthen the Advocate’s position in Jerusalem, and so weaken mine and Tancred’s. I do not for an instant trust you for my sake, but I know I can trust you for Tancred’s. Therefore, it is in my interests, to let you go to continue your investigation into these murders. I hope the false trail that has led you here has not inconvenienced you too greatly?”

“Not at all,” said Geoffrey dryly.

The Patriarch eyed him appraisingly. “You look quite dreadful. My niece is not always as gentle as most of her sex.” He took Geoffrey’s arm and turned him so that he could see him more clearly in the gloom. “Perhaps you will allow Melisende to prove she can be mannerly if she pleases, and stay for some refreshment before you leave?”

Geoffrey started to shake his head, wanting to be away from the Patriarch and other members of his corrupt family as soon as possible.

“Good,” said the Patriarch, donning his paternal smile and clasping his slender hands in front of him in his bishoply way. “Now, if you will excuse me, I leave for Haifa later today to join Tancred, and I have much to do. I will, of course, carry a missive from you to Tancred should you wish to report your progress to him.”

Geoffrey was sure he would, and considered writing Tancred a message that would deliberately mislead the Patriarch. But these were powerful men, and Geoffrey did not want to spend the rest of his life waiting for a knife to be slipped between his ribs because he had fed the Patriarch false information. He declined Daimbert’s offer to act as messenger on the grounds that he had written to Tancred the day before.

Melisende led the way out of the Patriarch’s room to a chamber nearby, where she offered Geoffrey wine and gestured that he should sit on one of the wide benches that ran round two of the walls. Instead, he walked across to the window and threw open the shutters as far as they would go, breathing in the warm morning air as deeply as he could. Melisende watched him.

“I have met others who have a fear of underground places,” she said quietly.

“I am not afraid of them,” said Geoffrey, twisting around to feel the first rays of the morning sun on his face.

“Yes, you were,” she said. “If I had known, I would not have forced you down there.”

Not much! thought Geoffrey, but said nothing. The horrors of the underground caves were already receding, and the sun flooding into the room was easing the chill from his bones. He leaned his elbows on the windowsill and watched the scribes walking across the courtyard to the scriptorium opposite.

“We should talk,” said Melisende, coming to stand next to him and reverting to speaking Greek. “There is probably much we can tell each other.”

“I am sure there is,” he said without enthusiasm. “But why would you tell a Norman anything?”

She cast him a sidelong look that oozed mischief. “I had to ensure my true identity was concealed,” she said. “By professing a profound dislike of Crusaders, no one would ever guess my ancestry is as western as yours.”

“So you only pretend to be Greek?”

“Yes. Uncle was horrified at what he saw when he arrived in Jerusalem. The Greek population had been so maltreated, that it seethed with unrest. Uncle needed someone to infiltrate that community so that he could be informed of their plans and thoughts.”

“Is it not dangerous for you? What if you were caught?”

“I almost was,” she replied with a grin. “By you. When you arrested me, you very nearly undid in an instant what it had taken me months to establish.”

He turned to face her. “Hence all the antagonism?”

She smiled again. “That was partly for the benefit of the Greek community, but partly genuine. I was furious to think that your senseless arrest of me might expose me as a spy.”

“Your disguise is very convincing. How did you learn to speak Greek so well?”

She turned to stare out of the window. “In Rome, where I lived with my uncle, I had a Greek nurse. Uncle insisted she speak Greek to me so I would grow up knowing that language as well as I do Italian.”

“Really?” said Geoffrey in surprise. “Did Daimbert anticipate he might need a Greek-speaking spy so long ago?”

She whipped her head around to glare at him. “He did not insist I learn it for that reason! He wanted me to learn simply for the sake of my education!”

“Then would Latin not have been a better choice?” reasoned Geoffrey. “Surely there are many more Latin texts in Rome from which to learn than Greek?”

“My education is none of your business!” snapped Melisende, but her outburst lacked the conviction of her earlier outrages, and Geoffrey guessed she might have been wondering along the same lines herself.