Free Crusade by Unknown Page A

sultan in waiting.” He stroked Baraka’s arm fondly. “Then you will sit at his right hand until the day when you take the throne and Khadir will use his sight to see for you.”
    “I don’t understand,” said Baraka, shaking his head.
    “You will,” replied Khadir.

5
    The Docks, Acre 17 JANUARY A.D. 1276
    “Can you see him? Can anybody see him yet?”
    As the galley drew closer to the docks, the men at the back of the assembled company of one hundred or so knights craned their necks, trying to see over the heads of their fellows for a view of the vessel’s eminent passenger.
    Robert de Paris rolled his eyes at Will, who smiled. Robert leaned in close to the knight who had spoken. “You’ll see him soon enough, Brother Albert,” he murmured. “Although you should probably hope he doesn’t see you.”
    “What do you mean?” said Albert, frowning at the fair-haired knight.
    Robert’s usual roguish grin and laughing gray eyes were hidden behind a convincing solemnity. “Your surcoat, brother,” he said in a delicate whisper.
    Albert looked down perplexed, then tutted as he spotted several brown droplets marking the white cloth.
    “Last night’s supper?” inquired Robert sympathetically.
    “I didn’t notice,” said Albert, licking his thumb and rubbing vigorously at the stains. “Thank you, Brother. Thank you.”
    Robert straightened as Albert cursed and fretted. Will was shaking his head, trying not to laugh. “Anyone would think God was arriving in that boat the way they’re acting,” said Robert derisively. But he kept his voice low as he said it.
    “It’s been over two years since we’ve had a master with us,” responded Will. “You cannot deny it has raised morale.”
    “But do they have to fuss so?” Robert, who was always impeccably neat, eyed his eager companions scornfully. “You would think the grand master has never seen dirt before. I mean, look at you.” He gestured at Will. “You haven’t combed your hair in weeks and your mantle’s blacker than a wolf’s mouth, but is he really going to care so long as you’re a good soldier?”
    Will glanced down at himself as Robert looked away.
    Tall and rather lanky as a boy, Will had filled out during his youth, until now, at twenty-nine, his chest was broader, his arms and shoulders more muscular and he moved with greater ease and confidence, as if he had finally grown into his skin. Like all Templar Knights, he was forbidden from shaving his beard, although he wore it clipped as short as he could get away with. After a month on the road, however, it was a little bushy. His hair was perhaps a bit unkempt, with black strands falling in his eyes and curling untidily around his ears. And Robert was right; his mantle really was filthy. Will went to brush at a smear of dust, then stopped himself as he caught his friend’s impish smirk. Folding his arms, he scanned the harbor.
    The area was bustling as usual, although nowhere near as busy as it would be by Easter, when ships sheltering in ports all around the Mediterranean, Adriatic and Atlantic coasts would set out for the East, laden with pilgrims, soldiers and cargoes of wine and wool. The knights stood in neat formation on the dock wall, just in front of a wide stone jetty that sloped down to the water, where smaller boats could off-load cargo and passengers. Acre’s inner harbor was protected by a heavy iron chain, which could be raised to block the approach of enemy ships and was suspended across the water between a tower on the end of the western mole and the Court of the Chain on the harbor. The inner harbor was always crowded with the vessels of local merchants and fishermen, the larger ships having to moor in the outer harbor just off the crumbling eastern mole. In the distance, near the Tower of the Flies, which rose from the end of the mole, the Templar warship the galley had sailed from surged in the choppy waters. The white mainsail with its red cross had been lowered,