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Thomas. “But all it needs is one strong ruler to unite a determined force beneath him and the men of the West will throng here in the hope of liberating the Holy City. The men of our own order want this. Brother Everard is right. The peace we have helped create within this kingdom is fragile indeed. A tug in either direction and it will tear.”
    “And I fear our grand master may be one such ruler,” said the seneschal, clasping his large hands. “He has made no secret of the fact that he wishes to reclaim territory we have lost to Baybars through military means. At Lyons, he was the most credible advocate of a new Crusade. He could prove to be one of the gravest threats to peace we have faced since the treaty was signed.”
    Thomas and the other veteran knight were nodding soberly.
    “Then we will need to do all we can to persuade him down other courses of action,” said Velasco, his eyebrows shooting into his fringe. “We cannot allow Baybars to be given any cause to attack us whilst we are still so weak. His forces would overwhelm us. And Acre,” he looked to Everard, a little abashed, “our Camelot, would perish, along with every citizen within its walls and any hope for reconciliation between Christians, Muslims and Jews that we, and our predecessors, have been striving for almost a century to bring about. Until Baybars dies and a new sultan, one with whom we have an alliance, assumes control of Egypt and Syria, we are not safe.”
    Everard gave a small smile at the mention of Camelot, his name for the city, but it quickly faded. “There may well be hard times ahead,” he said in his gruff tones, “but there always will be. This is not an easy task with an easy solution that we have pledged ourselves to. Nothing that is worthwhile in this world ever is. It is a slow process.” His eyes swiveled to Will. “But we are making progress. Despite our concerns, we mustn’t lose sight of that. We now have a powerful ally in Egypt who will have influence over the next sultan, and in Acre we have formed alliances with those who believe in our cause. It was we, through our Guardian, who brought peace to Outremer. And all the while there is peace, all the while God’s children live in harmony, we triumph.”
    Will leaned against the wall as the men soaked up Everard’s speech. He saw the priest’s words fill them with hope and conviction, and found himself surprised by just how inspiring the old man could be. He had known Everard for too long to be overly awed or cowed by him anymore; had been whipped, insulted, comforted and taught by him; had seen him at his best and his worst. But every now and then he would catch something, some spark of wonder in the priest’s abrasive tone, and suddenly he would be nineteen again, back in the Temple in Paris, listening to Everard telling him about the Anima Templi for the first time.
    Memory, he knew, had probably colored the moment, made it more grandiose, more momentous than it actually had been. But he remembered being held, as if in a spell, by the priest’s revelations of how the Brethren were formed following a war with the Muslims that all but annihilated the Christian forces in the Holy Land; a war incited by a former Templar grand master. He recalled how attentively he listened as Everard explained how the Anima Templi’s initial mandate was to protect the Temple and its vast military and economic resources from the personal or political agendas of its leaders. But that in time, as other members were admitted, many of them high officials and men of learning, they brought with them their own ideas and this aim grew to encompass the preservation of peace in Outremer and among the Christian, Muslim and Jewish faiths.
    At the time, Will protested hotly against such a notion, saying that they were irreconcilable; that there could be only one true God for any of them, and that none of them would bow to the beliefs of the others. Even when Everard explained that the