01 - Murder in the Holy City Read Online Free PDF

sword at the ready before Hugh could even reply. The fair-haired knight made a motion of disbelief at Geoffrey’s distrust, even locked up safe for the night in the citadel, making Geoffrey grin sheepishly.
    Geoffrey opened the door and admitted Helbye.
    “Lord Tancred asks that you attend him,” Helbye said, his words chosen hesitantly, for he was a fighting man, not a messenger, by nature.
    “Now?” asked Geoffrey in disbelief, glancing at the darkness through the open window. “It is well past the curfew.”
    “Now,” said Helbye. “He is a guest at the Patriarch’s palace tonight.” He paused, looking at the glowing embers of the fire. “I think he wants you for more than desert duties this time. A priest has just been found dead. The man who found the body says that the murder weapon was a curved dagger with a jewelled hilt.”

CHAPTER TWO
    G eoffrey walked alone through the dark streets toward the handsome palace that the Patriarch had requisitioned for himself and his sizeable retinue. Although it was only a short distance from the great, square keep of the citadel, Geoffrey was wary. The roads were empty after the dusk curfew, but his sharp eyes detected shadows flitting here and there, and at night the city seemed even more uneasy than during the day. It was late, and all God-fearing people should have been abed, sleeping after an exhausting day of honest labour under the Holy Land’s blazing sun. But the city did not sleep, and Geoffrey was painfully aware that his progress through the shadowy streets was watched with interest by more than one onlooker.
    He forced himself to think about the business at hand. He was aware of the wild rumours that flew around the Crusader community regarding the murder of Sir Guido of Rimini three weeks before. Why anyone would want to kill the quiet Italian was a mystery to all, and his untimely death at the hands an Arab-style scimitar had been blamed on all manner of people: on wicked Greek priests from the Eastern Orthodox Church; on the aggressive Order of Benedictines, who bickered for power with other monks; on the little Jewish community who lived near the towering western wall and who tried to keep as far away from the squabbling Christians as possible; and on the handful of Moslems who had miraculously survived the massacre when the Crusaders had taken Jerusalem the previous year.
    So which of these rumours was true? Or were they all wrong, and was there something even more sinister afoot? Geoffrey narrowed his eyes in thought as he walked. The Crusaders had set out on a golden cloud of piety and hope to rout unbelievers from the most holy place in the world. But the rot had begun to fester within days: Crusaders from one country refused to cooperate with those from another, and their leaders were all in desperate competition for power and riches. By the time the ragged, disease-depleted, greedy, undisciplined rabble had reached Jerusalem three years later, any illusion that this was a just war fought by God’s heroes had long been shattered.
    Geoffrey jumped as a dark shadow glided across his path, and forced himself to relax when he saw the dull gleam of a cat’s yellow eyes. He was relieved when the dim lights of the Patriarch’s palace came into view. There were always lights burning at the Patriarch’s headquarters, as there were always candles glimmering at the windows of the citadel, where the Advocate lived. Geoffrey headed for the wicket gate in the huge bronze-plated door at the front of the palace, and knocked. It was opened at once—and slammed shut as soon as he had been ushered inside.
    He was led through a maze of tiled corridors, off which doors of distinctive eastern design led. He had been in the palace on several occasions, but never at night and never further than the great state room in which the Patriarch conducted his public business. Now he was escorted to a small chamber on an upper floor, where he was furnished with a goblet of