are not Crusaders!”
For a moment, nothing happened, and then an old lady at the front turned and began to walk back up the street. The sound of a door closing after her was as loud as a clap of thunder in the following silence. Then the bearded man pushed through the crowd and walked away. Others followed, some gratefully relieved that trouble had been averted, and others clearly disappointed in their plans for revenge. It was not long before Geoffrey stood alone in the empty street.
“You were lucky, Norman!” said Melisende behind him, leaning up against the doorjamb and folding her arms. “You should be thankful these are God-fearing people and not like the unholy rabble you call knights, or you would be dead by now.”
Geoffrey swallowed, and felt a weakness in his knees. He wondered whether he would have the strength to find Roger before the large Englishman descended on the street with all the fury the citadel could muster. He was surprised to find his hands were unsteady, something that seldom happened, even after the most bloody of battles.
“You are in no danger now,” she said, indicating the deserted street with a nod of her head. “You can leave.”
“Will you answer my questions first?” he asked.
She put her hands on her hips and gazed at him in disbelief, before letting out a great peal of laughter. Geoffrey felt the unsteadiness in his limbs begin to recede as irritation took over.
“You are incorrigible!” she said. “You are delivered from the jaws of death by a whisker, and you persist in pursuing the very path that led you there in the first place. Very well. What do you want to know?”
It took a moment for Geoffrey to bring his mind back to the business at hand, and he thrust his hands through the slits in the sides of his surcoat lest their trembling should reveal to Melisende how shaken he was. He took a couple of steps away from her, so that anyone still watching him from the dispersed crowd could not misconstrue their conversation for one that might be considered threatening.
“You say you went out to see your uncle, and when you returned, John—the knight—was dead in your house?”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “That has not changed since yesterday.”
“Tell me again what you did when you came home.” He wanted to know whether she had pulled the dagger from the body in horror, as suggested by Hugh, or whether it had been beside the body on the floor.
“I went to pour water to clean my feet,” she said, with a heavy sigh, “as I told you yesterday. They were hot and dusty after walking through the city. Then I drank some wine and walked upstairs. The body was, as you saw, lying on its stomach. It was like a nightmare, like something from the scenes when the Crusaders took Jerusalem and killed so many people. I could not believe it was real, and I wondered whether someone might be playing some dreadful practical joke. I took the dagger in my hands and pulled, to see if it were really embedded in his back as it seemed, or whether it was cunningly arranged to look so. I saw it was real, and then I ran outside to call for help.”
“What happened to the dagger?”
She frowned. “I do not remember. Perhaps I dropped it in the bedchamber. No! I must have carried it with me. I think I flung it from me at some point.”
“So where is it now?”
She glanced around, as though it might appear on the ground in the street. “I have no idea. Someone must have picked it up.”
“For what purpose?”
She eyed him sceptically. “I imagine to sell. A year ago, these people lost most of their possessions to looters. Who can blame them if they took the dagger? It was a horrible thing, anyway, covered in big, ugly jewels. Like something a Norman might own,” she added defiantly.
“It had a curved blade,” said Geoffrey, “and Norman blades are generally straight. I would show you mine if I did not think your neighbours would misread the
For a moment, nothing happened, and then an old lady at the front turned and began to walk back up the street. The sound of a door closing after her was as loud as a clap of thunder in the following silence. Then the bearded man pushed through the crowd and walked away. Others followed, some gratefully relieved that trouble had been averted, and others clearly disappointed in their plans for revenge. It was not long before Geoffrey stood alone in the empty street.
“You were lucky, Norman!” said Melisende behind him, leaning up against the doorjamb and folding her arms. “You should be thankful these are God-fearing people and not like the unholy rabble you call knights, or you would be dead by now.”
Geoffrey swallowed, and felt a weakness in his knees. He wondered whether he would have the strength to find Roger before the large Englishman descended on the street with all the fury the citadel could muster. He was surprised to find his hands were unsteady, something that seldom happened, even after the most bloody of battles.
“You are in no danger now,” she said, indicating the deserted street with a nod of her head. “You can leave.”
“Will you answer my questions first?” he asked.
She put her hands on her hips and gazed at him in disbelief, before letting out a great peal of laughter. Geoffrey felt the unsteadiness in his limbs begin to recede as irritation took over.
“You are incorrigible!” she said. “You are delivered from the jaws of death by a whisker, and you persist in pursuing the very path that led you there in the first place. Very well. What do you want to know?”
It took a moment for Geoffrey to bring his mind back to the business at hand, and he thrust his hands through the slits in the sides of his surcoat lest their trembling should reveal to Melisende how shaken he was. He took a couple of steps away from her, so that anyone still watching him from the dispersed crowd could not misconstrue their conversation for one that might be considered threatening.
“You say you went out to see your uncle, and when you returned, John—the knight—was dead in your house?”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “That has not changed since yesterday.”
“Tell me again what you did when you came home.” He wanted to know whether she had pulled the dagger from the body in horror, as suggested by Hugh, or whether it had been beside the body on the floor.
“I went to pour water to clean my feet,” she said, with a heavy sigh, “as I told you yesterday. They were hot and dusty after walking through the city. Then I drank some wine and walked upstairs. The body was, as you saw, lying on its stomach. It was like a nightmare, like something from the scenes when the Crusaders took Jerusalem and killed so many people. I could not believe it was real, and I wondered whether someone might be playing some dreadful practical joke. I took the dagger in my hands and pulled, to see if it were really embedded in his back as it seemed, or whether it was cunningly arranged to look so. I saw it was real, and then I ran outside to call for help.”
“What happened to the dagger?”
She frowned. “I do not remember. Perhaps I dropped it in the bedchamber. No! I must have carried it with me. I think I flung it from me at some point.”
“So where is it now?”
She glanced around, as though it might appear on the ground in the street. “I have no idea. Someone must have picked it up.”
“For what purpose?”
She eyed him sceptically. “I imagine to sell. A year ago, these people lost most of their possessions to looters. Who can blame them if they took the dagger? It was a horrible thing, anyway, covered in big, ugly jewels. Like something a Norman might own,” she added defiantly.
“It had a curved blade,” said Geoffrey, “and Norman blades are generally straight. I would show you mine if I did not think your neighbours would misread the
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