Philip plunged down the passageway with his brother and nephew close on his heels. The main courtyard was a scene of apparent chaos. At least two dozen men had gathered, some holding a still struggling Barlais and three of his men-at-arms. On the stairs leading up to the gallery, a man soaked in his own blood was being laid down. Several men had stripped off their surcoats and bunched them under his head as an improvised pillow. A young and frightened squire was pressing his own surcoat into the wounds in his knight’s gut, but the blood had already saturated the cloth and was glistening on his hands.
At the sight of the baillie of Cyprus, men drew back to let him through, and he went straight to the wounded man. One look was enough to see that it would be a miracle if he survived. Philip shouted over his shoulder, “Sir Baldwin, fetch a priest!” He then bent over the wounded knight and gently touched his face. “Sir Tor, who did this to you?”
“Barlais!” the man gasped out. “Barlais and his henchmen, so help me God!”
Philip spun around and saw Barlais restrained by two knights. When Philip’s eyes fell on him, he stopped struggling and stared at the baillie with a defiant expression. “Sir Tor cheated yesterday, and no one would even listen to me. I took the matter into my own hands!”
“He cheated at sport, and you think that gives you the right to kill him?” Philip d’Ibelin asked in disbelief. “You think you have the right to commit murder in the streets of Limassol over a stupid joust?” His voice was rising in volume and pitch as his outrage boiled up. “Who the hell do you think you are?” He shouted. “I’ll show you who you are! Son of an illiterate mercenary! And now a murderer!” He flung himself at Barlais, his sword singing as he drew.
It was all Beirut could do to grab his brother from behind and hold him back. For two seconds the brothers wrestled with one another as Philip struggled to break free of his brother’s iron embrace.
“A second murder will not right the first!” Beirut shouted. “Don’t dishonor yourself, Philip! Barlais must answer before a court!”
At this critical moment, the physician arrived in his black cap and robes. He spared the Ibelin brothers barely a glance and pushed the squire aside to inspect the wounds.
“Put him in the dungeon in chains!” Philip screamed at his knights. “Or better yet, in the pillory!” Then he knocked his brother angrily aside as he turned to go to his injured knight.
Beirut nodded to the knights holding Barlais, and they hastened to manhandle him out of the courtyard. As he was dragged away, Barlais shouted: “You have no right to arrest me! He deserved what he got! He cheated and could have killed me yesterday! Why is his life more valuable than mine?”
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