Free Knights of the Cross by Tom Harper

against his own brother.’ He gestured to the window. ‘Look out there. An impregnable city, a fertile valley, a port at the mouth of the river and command of the spice roads east. Who would not want this for his kingdom?’
    ‘Would you?’ I asked. It was an unthought response, and I regretted it the moment I said it, yet its temerity seemed to provoke some spark of respect in Raymond. He seated himself, and waved the servant to splash more wine into my cup. When he spoke again, it was with more restraint.
    ‘I am master of thirteen counties, Duke of Narbonne and Marquis of Provence. In my own country I am Caesar, and I have earned my due: now I am willing to render the Lord God His. Of course I would covet Antioch for myself, but I do not forget the oath I swore to your Emperor to return the lands that are rightfully his. I will not dishonour my oath while I wear the Lord’s cross.’
    The bishop, who had attended our conversation in silence, now stirred. ‘Bohemond swore the same oath.’
    Raymond snorted. ‘And you trust him? To Bohemond, oaths are mere vessels for his ambition.’
    ‘There is still Tatikios to watch him,’ I said.
    Whatever regard I had earned from Raymond vanished. ‘How many men does your eunuch have? A thousand? Half that?’
    ‘Three hundred,’ I admitted.
    ‘Bohemond has ten times that number. And there would be more than just his army to oppose you. The men of Flanders, Normandy, and Lorraine would stand beside him – even among my own Provençals, your Emperor is not well-loved.’
    I thought back on my afternoon of scorn and misery in Raymond’s camp, and nodded.
    ‘Could you defy Bohemond if he claimed the city?’ Raymond taunted me.
    Adhemar stirred again. ‘You are lucky, Demetrios, that the Count of Saint-Gilles honours his duty to the Emperor so.’ His bearded face was solemn, yet even with the foreign words I thought I sensed a current of humour, as though he teased Raymond.
    The count scowled. ‘I do honour my duty, Bishop. To the Emperor, to Pope Urban, and to God. But I need not answer for it to a Greek hireling. I summoned you to speak of Drogo. You have discovered – or perhaps Bohemond has graciously told you – that one of his companions was a Provençal, Rainauld of Albigeois?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And doubtless by the same effort you have discovered that the man has not been seen since Drogo’s death.’
    I had, though I was more intrigued by how Raymond came to know it.
    ‘What do you infer by it, you whom Bohemond hired for your secret wisdom?’
    I paused, feeling the full force of Raymond’s eye on me. Even Adhemar watched with interest.
    ‘He would seem a likely culprit,’ I conceded.
    ‘He would even now have undergone the ordeal of fire, if only he could be found. Did you know he was one of my men?’
    ‘I thought he served Lord Bohemond.’
    ‘He does now. He lost his horse at Albara, and afterwards had to fight on foot. I would have found him a new mount eventually, but Bohemond offered one sooner, so he sold his allegiance to the Normans.’ Raymond swirled the wine in his cup. ‘Bohemond delights in stealing my men, and the winter has sent many opportunities.’
    There was silence as I considered this news. ‘What would it profit Bohemond if Rainauld had killed Drogo?’
    ‘Are you such a fool? I may have a single eye, Askiates, but it seems that I see more clearly than you. If a Provençal, even one who has left my service, has murdered a Norman, then Bohemond will use it to diminish me. My army will not mutiny, and my priests will not excommunicate me, but when I speak in the council my voice will weigh less with other men. Whatever lessens my authority benefits him – that is his purpose.’ Raymond stabbed a finger heavy with rings at me. ‘And you, Greek, you are his willing pawn.’
    I looked to Adhemar, but his head was bowed in prayer.

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    Tatikios was in a peevish humour that evening, and spent an hour dictating another petition