Baldwin’s kidneys, ‘now, I would learn what . . . news the two riders had . . . for the Temple. Is it news
of an attack on Genoa’s interests? You will tell me everything . . . just as soon as I have finished enjoying my . . . self!’
With each pause, he punctuated his speech with a kick until Baldwin felt that his spine must surely break. Then Buscarel’s boot caught his head – and everything went black.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ivo and Jacques were returning homewards when they saw Roger Flor walking along the street. He was waving his arms to make a way for himself among the crowds that thronged the
square and streets.
‘You will find the roads blocked all the way to the gatehouse,’ Ivo warned him.
‘They won’t hold up a Templar,’ Roger said. ‘You have heard the news?’
‘Yes. It’s remarkable. I had assumed that Qalawun would overrun us,’ Ivo said. He could feel Jacques’ eyes on him as he spoke, but he refused to meet the Leper
Knight’s gaze. It wasn’t his fault he distrusted Roger Flor. There was something excessively mercenary about the man.
Roger curled his lip into a smile. ‘It is the wrong time to remove the last port where his traders sell their produce, I suppose.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Oh by the way, your boy enjoyed his ride with me.’
‘Baldwin went riding with
you
?’ Ivo asked sharply.
‘Do not concern yourself. He didn’t have to draw a sword, although he thought he might when we met the messengers. It was we who escorted them back.’
Ivo glared at him. ‘Do not think to teach him your ways, Roger. I will not have you hire men from my house to help you rob and kill.’
‘Perhaps you should tell him that? He was a willing enough student on the ride, and back here too with wine and women,’ Roger said, smiling lazily, but with his hand near the knife
on his belt.
‘If you pollute him, I will kill you myself!’
‘Ivo, you are too old to be making threats to a man like me. Go and find him if you are so concerned about his morals.’
Jacques stepped between them and said pleasantly, ‘Where is he now?’
‘Last time I saw him, he was heading up the street,’ Roger shrugged.
Ivo left without further speech, Jacques hurrying at his side. Roger Flor was a low felon who would murder for a clipped penny. He was not worth talking to. But if Baldwin had walked up this
street here, he would be safe; it did not lead to Buscarel’s area.
Still, Ivo could not help but glance down into the alleys that led to the Genoese quarter as he strode up the street, a feeling of apprehension niggling at him all the way.
This time, Baldwin was not out in the open. The air was cool on his flesh. He woke to the sensation of a damp cloth being pressed against his brow, and he revelled in the
gentle touch of muslin. It was delicious. He moved his fingers, but it was difficult. The bonds tying his wrists and feet were so tight, they might as well have been cut from his own skin.
‘We must hear all he knows,’ Buscarel was saying.
‘In good time. Whatever he has overheard, a single evening will not change matters. If you had not so belaboured him, my dear friend, he would have answered much sooner. I shall report
your hotheadedness to your Admiral, if you wish?’
There was steel in that gentle voice. Baldwin relished the note of concern in Buscarel’s as he apologised.
‘It is unlikely he knows too much,’ the gentle voice continued. ‘If, as you say, he was with the party returning with the messengers, that does not mean he overheard secret
communications, does it?’
Baldwin opened his eyes as the cloth was removed, and found himself looking into the face of a different woman.
She was clad in a similar dress to that of Lucia, and her eyes too were green, but that was where the similarity ended. Lady Maria had higher cheekbones, and while her eyes were green, they were
closer set in narrow features. Her lips were less full, and there was a slight twist to the
of an attack on Genoa’s interests? You will tell me everything . . . just as soon as I have finished enjoying my . . . self!’
With each pause, he punctuated his speech with a kick until Baldwin felt that his spine must surely break. Then Buscarel’s boot caught his head – and everything went black.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ivo and Jacques were returning homewards when they saw Roger Flor walking along the street. He was waving his arms to make a way for himself among the crowds that thronged the
square and streets.
‘You will find the roads blocked all the way to the gatehouse,’ Ivo warned him.
‘They won’t hold up a Templar,’ Roger said. ‘You have heard the news?’
‘Yes. It’s remarkable. I had assumed that Qalawun would overrun us,’ Ivo said. He could feel Jacques’ eyes on him as he spoke, but he refused to meet the Leper
Knight’s gaze. It wasn’t his fault he distrusted Roger Flor. There was something excessively mercenary about the man.
Roger curled his lip into a smile. ‘It is the wrong time to remove the last port where his traders sell their produce, I suppose.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Oh by the way, your boy enjoyed his ride with me.’
‘Baldwin went riding with
you
?’ Ivo asked sharply.
‘Do not concern yourself. He didn’t have to draw a sword, although he thought he might when we met the messengers. It was we who escorted them back.’
Ivo glared at him. ‘Do not think to teach him your ways, Roger. I will not have you hire men from my house to help you rob and kill.’
‘Perhaps you should tell him that? He was a willing enough student on the ride, and back here too with wine and women,’ Roger said, smiling lazily, but with his hand near the knife
on his belt.
‘If you pollute him, I will kill you myself!’
‘Ivo, you are too old to be making threats to a man like me. Go and find him if you are so concerned about his morals.’
Jacques stepped between them and said pleasantly, ‘Where is he now?’
‘Last time I saw him, he was heading up the street,’ Roger shrugged.
Ivo left without further speech, Jacques hurrying at his side. Roger Flor was a low felon who would murder for a clipped penny. He was not worth talking to. But if Baldwin had walked up this
street here, he would be safe; it did not lead to Buscarel’s area.
Still, Ivo could not help but glance down into the alleys that led to the Genoese quarter as he strode up the street, a feeling of apprehension niggling at him all the way.
This time, Baldwin was not out in the open. The air was cool on his flesh. He woke to the sensation of a damp cloth being pressed against his brow, and he revelled in the
gentle touch of muslin. It was delicious. He moved his fingers, but it was difficult. The bonds tying his wrists and feet were so tight, they might as well have been cut from his own skin.
‘We must hear all he knows,’ Buscarel was saying.
‘In good time. Whatever he has overheard, a single evening will not change matters. If you had not so belaboured him, my dear friend, he would have answered much sooner. I shall report
your hotheadedness to your Admiral, if you wish?’
There was steel in that gentle voice. Baldwin relished the note of concern in Buscarel’s as he apologised.
‘It is unlikely he knows too much,’ the gentle voice continued. ‘If, as you say, he was with the party returning with the messengers, that does not mean he overheard secret
communications, does it?’
Baldwin opened his eyes as the cloth was removed, and found himself looking into the face of a different woman.
She was clad in a similar dress to that of Lucia, and her eyes too were green, but that was where the similarity ended. Lady Maria had higher cheekbones, and while her eyes were green, they were
closer set in narrow features. Her lips were less full, and there was a slight twist to the
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