Standard of Honor (40 page)

Most of the men listening to him were smiling at his little joke as he turned back to St. Clair. “But I was talking about your cousin and how important he is to our affairs in Outremer. By the end of his time with his tutors, your cousin had been transformed into a man who could effortlessly pass as a Muslim among Muslims. He traveled to Outremer and spent three more years living and working as a civilian trader attached to a Cairo-based trading house, traveling widely out of that city and uncovering and providing us with information.

“From there he moved to the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, abandoning his trader persona and taking up the duties of a Temple Knight within the Jerusalem garrison, circulating throughout the kingdom, ostensibly as a high-level courier but truly functioning as liaison between the brotherhood and certain active but equally secretive sects within the widespread but small Shi'a
community—activities which he knew would not endear him at all to the Sultan Saladin and his Sunni supporters, among whom his current companions must number.

“It is one of the greatest ironies of our existence that, despite the overwhelming importance of Jerusalem and Palestine to everything it stands for, our Order is, and for the time being must remain, very poorly represented there. Were we discovered, was our existence even suspected, the Church would root us out and destroy us as heretics. And so that need for secrecy makes it nearly impossible for us to function in Outremer. We have been thrust into a situation there where we have had to make use of every advantage available to us, and that has included befriending the Shi'a community, which in Jerusalem is almost as small and endangered as our own. The Saracen Sultan, Saladin, is Sunni, as are all his hosts. We therefore have actively sought out friendship and alliances among the Shi'a community, proceeding on the ancient theory that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Your cousin Alexander was our main liaison in those activities, and most particularly in our dealings with an association that operates within the Shi'a community much as our own Order does within ours. They call themselves the Hashshashin
,
the Assassins. I see you have heard of them.”

St. Clair's eyes had widened on hearing the name and he nodded, mute.

“Well, do not let what you have heard harden you against them. As usual in such things, where little is known and much is feared, what is broadcast is seldom
even close to the truth. The Sunni have used their numerical superiority and their ill will, both political and religious, to blacken the name and reputation of the Assassins. But that is unimportant here. What is important is that the Assassins represent no threat to us. On the contrary, they and we are natural allies and have mutual interests, not the least among those being a fascination with the geometry and the arcane lore of the Ancients. Like us, the Assassins are a closed, secret society, and theirs is the repository of a vast wealth of knowledge that we hope one day to share in equality. We had suspected that was so for decades, but Alex Sinclair established it beyond dispute … I can see you have a question. Ask it.”

“But …” St. Clair frowned, shaking his head very slightly in his impatience, “how could he have established that beyond dispute, without—?”

“Without betraying our own Order's existence? We had been aware for some time that, in order to gain the trust and confidence of the Assassins, we might have to show our own trust by exposing our own existence to them. Sir Alexander had the authority, at his own discretion, to proceed on that basis. When the time was right, he chose to do so, and his judgment has been amply rewarded.”

“And what if he had misjudged? What if he had trusted the wrong people with his information, what then?”

Germain shrugged. “What then? All that anyone would have is the word of one man, unsupported by evidence. What harm could ensue from that? No, there
were checks and counterchecks in place. Nothing irreparable could have occurred.”

“And what now, then, should he be dead? Are you telling me you do not know how to proceed from there?”

“On the contrary, we know that your cousin left a complete and up-to-date report for us before setting out for Hattin. We even know where he left it. But the messengers, and there were three of them, who were entrusted to collect and forward that report to us, were all killed in the aftermath of Hattin. To the best of our knowledge, the report must still be where Sir Alexander left it. Should you be unable to find him when you reach Outremer, you will have that location in your possession so that at the very least you may find the report and send it to us.”

“And if I do find my cousin?”

“Then you will deliver the Council's dispatches to him and work with him thereafter, assisting him in his endeavors.”

“I see.” St. Clair nodded slowly, his gaze moving from one to the other of the assembled group, although he continued to address Germain of Toulouse. “May I ask another question, one which you might find presumptuous?”

“Of course. We are putting your life doubly at risk, so ask us anything you wish to know.”

“Why is this more important now, today, than it was a month ago? I was arrested and brought here in haste. I could have been more subtly contacted weeks and months earlier, without risk or difficulty. I have been
working with members of the Council for at least that long, on Sir Robert de Sablé's behalf.”

Germain hesitated, then nodded. “Correct. And you
would
have been brought in a month ago, save that several developments occurred about that time and had to be verified and then considered at great length for their …
political
import. It would have been pointless to involve you before we were sure of what our path must be. Now we are sure, and our decisions have been made. But I am not the man to tell you about what they involve. Master Bernard, will you continue from here?”

Germain of Toulouse moved away and sat down, making way for another speaker, only slightly younger than he was. André St. Clair felt his heartbeat speed up slightly as the newcomer smiled at him before beginning to speak. André knew, from the information he had received from Robert de Sablé, that this was Master Bernard of Montségur, one of the trio of Joint Masters who supervised the affairs of the Order of Sion within the three ancient territories in which it functioned. The first and oldest of these three “regions” was the Languedoc, covering the entire region north of the Pyrenees, including the provinces of Aquitaine and Poitou and the walled towns of Montségur and Carcassonne; the other two were known as Poitou and Champagne, and together they covered the remaining area of what had once been Roman Gaul, with the Champagne region covering the northern third and Poitou the entire central area. Each of the
three Masters—their ranks elected and held for life— was responsible for the Order's affairs within his own region and acted as coordinator of the Regional Council. Of the three Joint Masters, de Sablé had told André, Bernard of Montségur was the most influential. He was also the one who conducted the Order's direct liaison with the Order of the Temple and the network of Brothers of Sion who functioned within the Temple on behalf of its much older avatar.

“As my brother Germain says,” Bernard began, “much has changed in recent months, and, as always, we are late once again in learning of those changes. My brethren here all know what I am speaking about, but we have judged it important that you, too, Sir André, should be aware of what is involved. A ship arrived in Marseille from Sicily a month ago, and it carried information that might, in itself, have been encouraging, had it not been connected with another, more troublesome development. Does the name Conrad of Montferrat mean anything to you?”

St. Clair shook his head. “No, Master. Nothing at all.”

“Hmm. Well, are you aware of Barbarossa's expedition?”

“To the Holy Land. Yes, I am. Everyone is. He is riding at the head of an army of two hundred thousand men, traveling overland from Germany. His host alone will outnumber the combined armies of King Richard and King Philip.”

“Correct. And do you know what this man calls himself?”

“Barbarossa?” St. Clair nodded. “Frederic of Hohenstaufen, Holy Roman Emperor, named Barbarossa for his red beard. Is that what you meant?”

“Yes, it is. But as Holy Roman Emperor, he rules an entity that is neither holy nor Roman. Nor is it an empire. It is a polyglot mass, a sprawling federation of barbaric and decidedly unholy German tribes. And it is far more Greek than it ever could be Roman.” Bernard saw the confusion on St. Clair's face and added, “I speak now of religion, Sir André, not race. Barbarossa cleaves to the Eastern rites of the Orthodox Church, as it calls itself, and the See of Jerusalem has always been maintained by the Eastern Church, headed by a Patriarch Archbishop.”

“Aye, Master, I knew that. Warmund of Picquigny was Patriarch there when first we took Jerusalem. It was he who, along with the second King Baldwin, gave Hugh de Payens his charter to proceed with setting up his knights. Yet I detect something in your tone that hints at friction there, and to the best of my knowledge there never was any such friction.”

“Correct again. There was none. Not then, and certainly not on the surface. The Church's presence in Jerusalem then was dominated by the Eastern rite, but the military power there was all Frankish, which meant it was Roman. The war that brought them there was called Pope Urban's War, after all. But now things have changed, as I said. After he recaptured Jerusalem, Saladin permitted the Orthodox Christians to return to the city last year, with no other penalty than a light tax,
and he allowed them once again to take over the administration of the holy places. That means that all the sacred Christian sites in Jerusalem are now back in the hands of the Patriarch, and the imminent arrival of Barbarossa and his hordes has thrown everything into hazard, because once they arrive and Saladin has been defeated and thrown out again, the predominant weight and power there will be that of the Eastern rite, and Rome's power will be eclipsed.”

He stopped, watching narrow eyed as St. Clair thought about that, but before the knight could comment he continued. “Why should we care about that? Eastern or Roman rite, they are both Christian and therefore misguided in the eyes of our Order, correct?” St. Clair nodded, and Bernard brought his hands together in a single loud clap. “No, Sir André. Wrong. The moment Barbarossa seizes power in Jerusalem—and think not for a moment that he will fail to do so—one of his first concerns will be to establish preeminence for his own Teutonic knights. They will take over all the duties and responsibilities of the existing Orders there—the Templars and Hospitallers. They may leave some of the Hospitallers in place, the serving Benedictine brothers who minister to the sick and wounded, but they will remove the military brothers, and they will most definitely expel the Templars. They have no choice if they are to establish preeminence for their own Teutonic Order—the Temple has to go. And since the Temple constitutes the veil disguising and enabling our presence in the Holy Land, that means
that we, the Order of Sion, will be ousted, too, our works, indeed our entire mission, abandoned unfinished. Do you begin to see why your cousin is so important to us now?”

St. Clair was frowning openly now, plainly uncomprehending. “No, Master.”

Master Bernard nodded. “Your lack of understanding stems purely from the enormous dimensions of the next logical step. If Sir Alexander Sinclair has been sufficiently successful in forging alliances with his Shi'a counterparts, he may be able to establish a solid presence for our ancient Order there, even after the Temple has been dispossessed.”

“Forgive me.” St. Clair held up one hand in entreaty. “I am still struggling with what you said about the Temple being ousted from Outremer. I find it difficult—no, more than difficult, I am finding it impossible—to imagine anything like that. It would take an open act of war by Barbarossa to achieve such a thing.” St. Clair looked around the assembly, seeking support but seeing only solemn faces. “The Temple will not meekly surrender its power in Outremer and simply sail away … will it?”

“No, it will not. That is what we ourselves would have said until mere weeks ago. But then the ship that I mentioned earlier arrived in Marseille, with tidings that altered everything we knew. The man who brought the information to us was familiar with what he described, and he bore written testimony from others to reinforce his claims. And here is what we now know to
be true.” He nibbled at his clean-shaven upper lip as he sought the proper words for what he would say next.

“From all that we have been able to gather from reports, we have become convinced that Guy de Lusignan, the King of Jerusalem, is a fool and a weakling. Guy was driven into the folly of the fight at Hattin by conflicting advice, all of it bad, from the Master of the Temple, Gerard de Ridefort, and his arrogant and disgusting cohort Reynald de Chatillon. Had Guy been anything less than a poltroon, he might have ignored both of them and made his own decisions, but he did not. And his folly did not end at Hattin. He was captured there by Saladin, who treated him well and later released him, upon Guy's promise to fight no more but to return home to France.

“No sooner was he free, however, than he broke his promise, on the unsurprising grounds that an oath issued under duress to an infidel cannot be binding. He then proclaimed himself King in his own right. But he was already late and feckless yet again, because a new player had arrived in Outremer. Do you know anything about Tyre?”

St. Clair shrugged. “It is a city. I know no more than that.”

“A coastal city and a great port. It was once an island, until Alexander the Great captured it by building a causeway to it from the mainland. That causeway is still there, forming an isthmus and straddled now by a great defensive wall that makes the city almost impregnable from the landward side. Saladin besieged Tyre
hugely within days of winning the fight at Hattin, and so hopeless were the defenders that they were already negotiating terms of surrender when a ship sailed into the harbor there. Aboard that ship was an adventurer called Conrad of Montferrat. He and his companions were headed for Jerusalem and knew nothing about the war, nor about Saladin or Hattin. They had sought to land at Acre the previous day but had been warned off, with word that the Saracens had captured the city four days earlier, and so they had sailed for Tyre.