01 - Murder in the Holy City Read Online Free

you would be attempting to wrest their paltry inheritances from them!”
    Geoffrey shot Hugh another unpleasant look, but knew he spoke the truth. Geoffrey’s mother had determined that the youngest of her four sons should become a monk, but while Geoffrey enjoyed the study, he proved himself wholly unsuited to a life of monastic obedience. Seeing that Geoffrey at twelve years of age was taller, stronger, and distinctly more intelligent than his older brothers, his father hastily dispatched him to France to train as a knight. This had the twofold advantage of providing Geoffrey with a vocation, and of keeping him away from home—Geoffrey’s father considered he had enough trouble with three sons waging a constant battle over the eventual division of Goodrich manor, and he was more than relieved to rid himself of a fourth.
    “My sister-in-law has died,” said Geoffrey, peering at the letter. “But he does not say which one. And the black bull called Baron has also gone to meet his maker …”
    Hugh roared with laughter again. “Your family are priceless! They describe the bull and give its name, but do not provide the same service for your sister-in-law! You owe your father a great debt of gratitude by sending you to Normandy, my friend. Or you might have ended up like your brothers—greedy, petty, and thinking only of livestock!”
    “I did not want to become a knight,” said Geoffrey, looking up from his letter and watching the humour fade from Hugh’s face. “I wanted to go to Paris—to the university to study. I ran away from the Duke of Normandy several times, but was always caught and taken back.”
    “A scholar?” asked Hugh, shaking his head and smiling indulgently. “So you would rather be living in squalid, cramped quarters in some seedy hall, teaching snivelling youths about Aristotle than enjoying life as a Crusader knight?”
    Geoffrey eyed him askance and gestured around his chamber. “Where lies the difference? Here are squalid, cramped living quarters, and there are snivelling youths aplenty among my men. And yes—I would rather be teaching them about Aristotle than how to set up an ambush. At least in Paris, I would not be forced to kill anyone.”
    “Rubbish!” spat Hugh. “There is nothing so dangerous as a man of learning, and the streets of Paris are more treacherous by far than the streets of Jerusalem. But this is reckless talk, Geoffrey. What would our fellow knights think if they heard of your qualms?”
    Geoffrey shrugged. “I do not care what their opinions might be. Most of them have held me in deep suspicion ever since I chose books over gold after the siege of Antioch. That these texts are worth ten times their weight in gold anyway—quite apart from the brilliance of the learning contained within them—seems a concept quite beyond their grasp.”
    “I have often wondered what led you to choose to come Crusading in the first place, given that you seem to abhor killing and are indifferent to looting. You must have guessed how such a venture might have ended.”
    Geoffrey stared into the fire, his letter forgotten as he remembered the events leading to the day when he had learned of the Crusade. “Once I realised I would not escape from the Duke of Normandy to become a scholar, I settled down to life as a knight in training. I still read as much as I could find, and eventually was sent as tutor to Lord Tancred in Italy. He was fifteen and far more interested in developing his physical abilities than his intellectual ones, but despite our differences, we came to respect each other well enough.”
    “You are too modest,” said Hugh. “Tancred does more than respect you. He trusts your judgement absolutely, and thinks highly of your skills—both as a knight and a scholar. You have been invaluable to him throughout this entire Crusade, and he considers you his most worthy adviser.”
    “Hardly,” said Geoffrey, startled. “He mocks my learning constantly, and his uncle,