Knightfall--The Infinite Deep Read online

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  THE INFINITE DEEP

  THE INFINITE DEEP

  DAVID B. COE

  KNIGHTFALL: The Infinite Deep

  Print edition ISBN: 9781785659096

  E-book edition ISBN: 9781785659102

  Published by Titan Books

  A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

  144 Southwark St, London SE1 0UP

  Visit our website: www.titanbooks.com

  First edition: March 2019

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  © 2019 A&E Television Networks, LLC. Knightfall, HISTORY, and the “H” logo are trademarks of A&E Television Networks, LLC. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  For Nancy

  Chapter 1

  May 18, 1291, Mediterranean Sea, Near Acre

  At this distance, beyond the death cries of the soldiers who still fought, beyond the clash of swords and the snap of crossbows, far removed from the screams of hunted women and children, Acre appeared deceptively peaceful. Smoke rose from the lost city, a shifting gray cloud against the pale blue of the western sky. Their small vessel, the Gray Tern, bobbed on the gentle swells of the Mediterranean. Landry could almost convince himself that he and his brother Templars had chosen to take to the water; that they hadn’t been driven from their stronghold by Khalil’s Mamluks.

  Almost.

  Dried blood tightened the skin on his brow and cheek, and stained his surcoat and mantle. He saw his own wounds mirrored on Godfrey’s face. Tancrede’s also. Gawain sat near the ship’s stern with eyes closed, his back against the hull, his injured leg stretched out before him. Pain etched lines in his youthful face, and sweat dampened his dark hair. Blood oozed from where the bolt had struck, darkening the mail of his chausses. The Jew, Simon, lay nearby, his leg in an even worse state than that of the knight. His young daughter was curled beside him, her begrimed face streaked by tears long since dried.

  Landry turned away once more to lean on the rails and squint against the glare. The sun’s reflection on the surface of the sea fractured and scattered like soldiers in retreat, only to coalesce again a moment later.

  God, let this not be the end. Let us return to reclaim all that we’ve lost this day.

  The magnitude of their failure overwhelmed him, stole his breath, roiled his gut. Everything. They had lost everything. The city itself, their last stronghold in the Holy Land, was now in the hands of the Saracens, who had proven themselves more than a match for the finest soldiers of Christendom.

  So many had died in their vain attempt to hold Acre; not only Templars, men he had considered brothers, but also too many innocents to count. And, of course, the Grail, that most sacred of treasures, the object of all for which they fought – it, too, was gone, perhaps destroyed. On the dock in Acre, he had spoken bravely of journeying back with a new army, of retaking the city and all the Holy Land. But they had still possessed the Grail when those brash words crossed his lips.

  Was that my punishment, Lord? Did my arrogance convince you to deprive us of the Grail?

  Like so many of his brothers, Landry had thought the city unassailable, their forces too mighty to be defeated. He hadn’t counted on the Saracens battling them with such relentless courage. He hadn’t thought the armies of the enemy could defend their homeland and face down yet another wave of Christian soldiers with such unflinching determination. He hadn’t credited that Khalil’s men might be just as canny, just as strong, just as skilled as the Templars. None of them had.

  Yes, arrogance. And now all lay in ruin.

  He clenched his teeth against the bile rising in his throat.

  “Landry.”

  He straightened at the sound of his name and marked Godfrey’s approach. A faint breeze stirred the commander’s wheaten hair, and sunlight gave his pale eyes a ghostly look. He was tall, bearded, his face lined from years of combat and journeying. Tancrede followed a pace behind, an angry gash on his cheek making him appear even more gaunt than usual. The sun’s glow lent a reddish tinge to his closely shorn hair and beard. He wasn’t as tall as the commander, nor as brawny as Landry himself, but he possessed a keen wit and the bravery of ten men.

  “Brother Draper has made inventory of our provisions,” Godfrey said, halting before him. “We have enough for a few days, perhaps a week if fortune smiles on us.”

  “That would be a change,” Tancrede muttered.

  Godfrey cast a disapproving glance his way. “Brother Tancrede wishes to make land somewhere to the north. Perhaps Sidon.”

  “We can replenish our stores,” Tancrede said, sunlight in his blue eyes. His gesture indicated the others on the ship, those who weren’t Templars. Blood stained his fingers. “Maybe we can see some of these people to safety. And we must find a healer for Gawain. He might never walk again if we don’t.”

  Landry considered them both. “Do we have gold? Silver? Anything we can trade for food?”

  Godfrey and Tancrede shared a look.

  “We have our weapons,” Godfrey said. “And our armor. The rest was lost with… with the other ship.”

  With the Grail.

  Guilt flickered in Godfrey’s expression. He would be blaming himself, just as Landry did, as all their fellow Templars did. Brothers in defeat, as in victory.

  Landry forced his thoughts past Acre. Stopping at Sidon struck him as extraordinarily dangerous, but he kept his expression neutral. “What do you think of Tancrede’s suggestion?” he asked Godfrey.

  “I fear for us all if we don’t find a safe harbor within a few days, but I do not believe Sidon is that place.”

  “It has the virtue of proximity,” Tancrede said. “Small communities of Christians remain there. We can sail in under cover of night, gather provisions, and be on our way.”

  “The danger is too great, and there are too few of us,” Godfrey said, exasperation in his tone. Landry sensed that this wasn’t the first time he had made this argument. “We would be putting the others at risk.”

  “Gawain—”

  “Gawain is a Templar,” Godfrey said, his voice rising. “His faith in the Lord is strong. By His grace, he will endure.”

  “God’s grace will not be enough without a healer’s care.”

  Godfrey faced Landry again. “I would know your thoughts on the matter. Tancrede has made his clear. If you agree, I’ll heed his counsel,
and we’ll make for Sidon.”

  “Where would you have us go?”

  “There is a Hospitaller fortress at Kolossi on Cyprus.”

  Tancrede’s eyes widened. “Cyprus? That will take us days—”

  Godfrey silenced him with a raised hand. “It lies near the southern shores of the isle. Naturally, I would prefer to find Templars, but given our plight, I believe we can convince the Hospitallers to shelter us. We’ll secure more food, maybe even reinforcements.” He looked at Tancrede again. “They’ll have healers.”

  “It’s too far.”

  Godfrey turned away from him. “What say you, Landry?”

  Landry took a steadying breath and regarded both men, unsure of how to answer. Considering their meager provisions and Gawain’s wound, Cyprus did strike him as too far. Just as a landing at Sidon struck him as too perilous for such a small contingent of knights. They were caught between bad choices. But for more than half his life, Godfrey had been his guardian and mentor. Over the years, Landry had learned to trust his judgment, even in the most dire of circumstances.

  “Forgive me, Tancrede,” he said at last, “but I must agree with Godfrey. Sidon will not be safe for us. Not compared to Kolossi. The Hospitallers may not be our allies, but they are Christians. Despite our differences, we are united in our devotion to God. They’ll offer us aid, and they’ll minister to Gawain. Yes, Cyprus is far, but with a favorable wind we can be there within the week.”

  “A week might be too long. You saw his wound.”

  “A landing at Sidon could kill us all!”

  “Enough,” Godfrey said. “We make for Cyprus.”

  He wheeled and strode away, leaving Tancrede and Landry staring at each other.

  “I knew he would listen to you,” Tancrede said, a sad smile touching his lips and then vanishing. “Just as I knew what you would say.”

  “Tancrede—”

  “One of my uncles was a sailor. My mother’s brother. Did you know that?”

  Landry shook his head.

  “These waters can be as dangerous and canny as an army of Mamluks. Not always, of course. But it’s a long way to Cyprus. God help us if the winds aren’t at our backs.”

  “By His grace, they will be.”

  “Yes. By His grace.”

  Tancrede walked away from him, his bloodied hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

  Landry started to turn back to the sea. As he did, though, he saw that Gawain sat straighter, pale eyes watching him, his lips set in a hard, thin line.

  * * *

  For what remained of that day, a light wind carried them to the north and east. By dusk, as the sun, huge and orange, sat balanced on the western horizon, Acre had receded to little more than a smudge of smoke on the pale mass of the Holy Land.

  Draper did what he could for Gawain’s wound, bathing it with salt water – which drew howls from the knight – and bandaging it with strips of cloth cut from Gawain’s own mantle. He could do less for Simon, though he managed to splint the man’s leg.

  With the last light of this endless day silvering the sea, Landry joined the others for a meal almost too meager to be worthy of the name. Stale bread, a bit of goat’s cheese, a fig or two. He understood that they needed to ration their stores, but even after they finished eating, as the sky darkened and stars began to emerge in the velvet blue, he remained famished. He still feared a landing at Sidon, but he wondered if Tancrede was right about the distance to Cyprus.

  Matters grew far worse as the night deepened. With the appearance of the gibbous moon in the east, blood red, its glow shimmering on the satin surface of the sea, the last of their wind dropped away. The single sail slackened and the vessel slowed.

  Landry hoped the lull would prove temporary. But as the moon rose higher, its color leaching from blood to bone, the wind did not rise again.

  “Find oars,” Godfrey said. “We will row to Cyprus if we must.”

  Landry and Tancrede searched for sweeps, looking first in a chest that sat under the warped rails on the port side of the ship. It contained two wine flasks, one empty and one full, and a pair of rusted swords. There were no oars. They walked the length and breadth of the ship. Landry used the hatch near the ship’s stern to descend into a small, musty hold beneath the deck. Oar holes dotted the hull here, beside worn benches for those who would man them. But the sweeps themselves were nowhere to be found.

  He climbed to the deck, where Tancrede enlisted Brice, Nathaniel, and Victor, the youngest of the Templars, to help them in their search. Together, the five of them scoured the vessel a second time, and a third. Nothing.

  They informed Godfrey, who didn’t believe them at first. He led them on yet another search of the vessel, which proved no more successful. They halted at the ship’s stern, not far from Gawain, who regarded them with concern and, Landry thought, a hint of disapproval. Landry glanced at the sky, at the glory of a million stars. In all the time he had spent at sea, never had he been more displeased by the prospect of a clear night.

  “Ill-fortune at every turn,” Godfrey muttered. “What kind of ship carries no sweeps?”

  Tancrede lifted a shoulder. “We took it in haste, with the city falling and battles raging all around us. We never thought to check.”

  Godfrey nodded, grim in the moonlight.

  None of the passengers spoke. There were twelve of them in all: men, women, and the one child. They watched the Templars, apprehension in their gazes. All of them seemed to be holding their breath, like the world itself.

  “Our breeze will freshen with daylight,” Godfrey said eventually, straightening to his full height and pitching his voice to carry. He sounded more confident than he appeared. “It grows late. Try to sleep. We’ll make up the lost time come morning.”

  Murmurs met this. Simon’s daughter stared up at Landry, her dark eyes wide and luminous. Landry saw fear in their depths, and a silent plea for a comforting word.

  “Come, Adelina,” her father said, beckoning her to his side.

  Landry nodded to her, but couldn’t bring himself to offer assurances. Instead, he looked to Tancrede, who was watching him. Their eyes met, but neither of them spoke. At last, Landry turned away.

  He found a place to bed down near the ship’s prow, knelt before his sword to whisper a prayer, and tried to make himself comfortable. He remained awake for a long time. Usually, he did not mind the gentle to-and-fro of a vessel at sea, but on this night he heard ominous portents in the quiet creak of the deck, and the soft slap of swells on the hull.

  His slumber, when it came, was fitful. He woke eventually to a golden sunrise and air as still as death.

  He sat up, his muscles aching from the previous day’s battle, his head fogged with fatigue and hunger. Peering over the rails, he saw nothing but water in every direction. No smoke from Acre by which to orient himself, no hint of land. And no evidence of wind.

  Godfrey and Tancrede still slept, as did most of the others. But Gawain regarded him from across the ship, looking pale and haggard. Landry stood and approached him.

  Squatting beside his fellow knight, he untied the bandage on Gawain’s leg and considered the wound beneath. He allowed himself no outward reaction, but inside he cringed. It was a gruesome injury to begin with, and the skin around it had grown livid and swollen.

  “How does it feel?”

  “How do you think?” Gawain said, his voice flat.

  “With all that happened yesterday… I said this once, but should have done so again. Thank you. You saved my life.”

  Gawain held his gaze for only a moment before looking away. But he nodded once. “Can you do the same for my leg?”

  “You will not lose your leg,” Landry said. “I won’t allow it.”

  “God may intend otherwise.”

  “By His grace, you are a Templar Knight.” Landry forced a note of surety into his assurances. “He will see to it that I keep my oath.”

  The dark-haired knight shifted, wincing as he did. “A
nd what of our wind? Do you have the power to raise that as well?”

  He glanced up at the cloudless sky. “It cannot remain still forever. We’ll have our wind before long.”

  “Perhaps if we had voyaged westward, as Tancrede wished, we would have it now.”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps we would have been captured by the Saracens. Maybe our throats would have been slit by now.”

  A third voice said, “We can’t know either way.”

  They both turned. Godfrey had propped himself on one elbow, his hair wild with sleep, but his eyes clear.

  “How is his leg?” the commander asked.

  Landry faltered.

  “It grows fevered,” Gawain said. “I need a healer.”

  “You will have one.”

  “When?”

  “When God wills it. Until then we will rely on Draper’s talents, and your strength.”

  Godfrey stood, and as the others roused themselves, he distributed the morning’s rations.

  The hours crawled by. The sun climbed higher, blazing bright, burning like Greek fire in the stagnant air. It didn’t take Landry long to understand that starvation was the least of their worries. The heat and the lack of fresh water were far more likely to prove fatal, in particular to Simon, his daughter, and Gawain. For the entire complement of passengers aboard the ship they had but a single flask of wine, and no way to water it.

  The currents of the Mediterranean carried them westward for a time, and then northward, but not far in either direction, and at a speed that was barely perceptible. By the end of the day, all of them were parched and famished, frightened and discouraged to the point of despair. The sail, dingy and patched in several places, marked with a red cross, hung slack.

  That night, Draper gathered all the Templars’ armor, and spread it across the deck, positioning each helm and each bracer just so.

  “What is the point of this?” Landry asked, as the man worked.

  Draper smiled, his dark eyes dancing, long black and silver hair framing a face round and open. “You’ll see come morning.”