Jerusalem, 1100. On returning to the city following an exhausting desert patrol, Crusader knight Sir Geoffrey Mappestone hears screams coming from the house of a Greek baker and discovers that one of his closest friends, a fellow knight, has been murdered in the woman's bedchamber. But this is not the first suspicious death in the city: other knights and priests have also been killed, all with the same type of curved dagger with a jewelled hilt. Ordered to investigate the deaths by his liege lord, Prince Tancred, it is not long before Sir Geoffrey finds himself drawn into dire straits involving some of the most dangerous men in the city--and learns that his closest friends could also be his deadliest enemies. Simon Beaufort is a pseudonym for a pair of academics formerly at the University of Cambridge, both now full-time writers. One is an award-winning historian, the other a successful crime writer under the name Susanna Gregory. Murder in the Holy City By Simon Beaufort Severn House Publishers Limited Copyright © 2014 Simon Beaufort All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-84751-495-0 CHAPTER 1 JERUSALEM, JULY 1100 The small band of soldiers glanced around uneasily as the scream rent the air a second time, clear and piercing. One or two fingered the hilts of their swords as they marched, and all were tense and wary. Although the street was deserted in the blazing midday sun, whispered voices and flickers of movement came from the huddle of houses that stood in an unruly line along the side of the road. Further ahead, a babble of hysterical voices exploded into the silence, and a dog began to bark furiously. Sir Geoffrey Mappestone exchanged a glance with Will Helbye, his sergeant at arms, and raised his hand to bring the soldiers to a halt. Nervously, the men shuffled to a standstill behind him, and Geoffrey heard the discreet rasp of steel on leather as weapons were drawn. "I suppose we should investigate," muttered Helbye, not looking at Geoffrey, but scanning the street with eyes alert for the signs of an ambush, "although I would sooner head straight back to the citadel. The men are exhausted after two weeks of desert patrol, and so am I." Geoffrey nodded in agreement, but led the way toward the cacophony of voices, his men falling in behind him. Their feet kicked up small clouds of dust as they walked, adding to the layers of yellow-white powder on their boots and powdering their faces and hands with a familiar grittiness. Geoffrey reached the end of the road and stopped a second time. To the left, a small alley ran downhill, disappearing into the deep shadow of shabby buildings that had been built so close together that they almost met to form an arch overhead. To the right was a wider street, where larger, grander houses suggested that this area had once been home to some of Jerusalem's more wealthy citizens. In the middle of the road, a woman stood, swathed in black from head to toe and clutching a long curved dagger in both hands. The dagger, Geoffrey noticed immediately, was bloodstained. Other people had formed a circle around her and were chattering in loud, excited voices. Gesturing for his men to remain where they were, Geoffrey strode forward, with Helbye at his heels. Seeing heavily armed soldiers bearing down on them, the crowd parted quickly to allow them through, and the babble of voices died away. "What has happened?" asked Geoffrey in Norman French, addressing his question to the woman, since she was obviously the cause of the incident. She gazed at him with frightened eyes until someone in the crowd translated the question into Greek. She glanced at the interpreter and forced herself to look at Geoffrey again. "There is a dead knight in my house," she said, her voice low and unsteady. She looked down at the knife in her hands, as if seeing it for the first time, and flung it away from her in horror. It clattered at Geoffrey's feet. Someone relayed her response to the onlookers, and a thrill of excitement rippled through them. All eyes turned expectantly to Geoffrey. "Oh Lord!" breathed Helbye in Geoffrey's ear. "The woman has done away with a knight, Sir Geoffrey. Now what do we do? After two weeks of chasing infidel robbers in that hell they call the desert, you would think we could go home quietly to rest and drink cool wine. But no! We are confronted with a killer of knights. Is it a trick? If we arrest her, will we be attacked?" Geoffrey did not answer, but looked beyond the crowd to see whether he could detect any telltale signs of activity that might forewarn him of an ambush. Helbye was right to be suspicious and reluctant to become involved. It was only a year since Jerusalem had fallen to the Crusaders, and thousands of its people had been massacred in a way that still made Geoffrey—a hardened and experienced soldier—sick with disgust. The city, despite so few of its inhabitants having survived the sack—or perhaps because of it—was uneasy, and there were pockets