Queen Of Knights (28 page)

Slowly, Gwendolyn opened her eyes.

"Thank God," Roweena cried.  But James only gazed into Gwendolyn's strangely iridescent eyes.

Gwendolyn held his gaze for a long moment before she spoke.

"We have much to do."

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Rising through the foggy bonds of his mind, Miles tried to remember what had happened to him.  He started to open his eyes, but could not, and a low moan was torn from his throat by the effort.

A voice spoke to him in an incomprehensible tongue.

Then he remembered what had happened and stopped his struggles.  A cool cloth was pressed to his brow, and Miles forced himself to stay calm.

He remembered the battle clearly, up until the last.  He and Richard had been leading their men in a surprise attack against Saladin's fortifications on the outskirts of Jerusalem.  Richard, master strategist that he was, had taken it badly when Saladin had refused to negotiate any longer and had thrown the offer of Richard's sister back at the English king.

Angered, Richard had set out to teach the Moor a lesson in courtesy by following his original plan, which he'd set aside for the negotiations.  It was a good plan, made even better by the early winter rains, but something had gone wrong, and Saladin had been prepared.

When they'd started their attack, Miles had seen that the Moors had more men than usual.  Before he could warn Richard, another wave of Moorish knights charged from behind.

While Miles had fought, he kept the king in his sight and soon realized that the day was lost.  But before he could reach Richard to fight by his side, he had been surrounded by Saracens.

Yet, though surrounded, he shouted orders to his own knights to protect Richard at all costs.  And then Miles had seen his fate.  He was cut off from his army, totally.  Not even Arthur was near him, and for that, Miles was glad.  Arthur was too young to die so far from his home.  With a prayer to Gwendolyn, he turned to meet his enemies.  Miles Delong knew he would die on the field, and his only regret was that he would never see his wife's face again.  But the thought of Gwendolyn only served to make his arm stronger, and he fought as he had never done before.

The knights of Saladin who faced him had never known fury as they fought against.  Before they had Miles ringed, a full half dozen had fallen.  Then something hit his helmet and he almost lost his balance.  With his ears ringing painfully, Miles readied himself for his last act upon this earth.

He lifted his sword high and shouted a battle cry through his clenched teeth.  Then he charged the circle, uncaring of who would strike the fatal blow.

Spurring his horse forward was the last he remembered.

Darkness had come suddenly, and now he realized he was still alive.

Again he heard the strange language and realized he was being spoken to.  "I do not understand," he said in a voice that cracked with dryness.

"She is but telling you her name.  It is Aliya," said a man speaking French.  "Hold still so that she may remove the cloth from your eyes."

Miles did as he was told, and a moment later he blinked his eyes.  It took another minute for his eyes to adjust to the light within the chamber, but when they did, he saw the woman, Aliya.

She was olive-skinned, with large eyes.  That was all he saw of her face; the rest was hidden by a veil.  Then he saw the man standing behind her, and recognition came instantly.  He was tall, with a lean body encased in the strange dress of the Saracen.  Hanging from the wide sash at his waist was a gleaming scimitar.

"Yes, you are alive, Frank."

"I am not a Frank, I am not French.  I am of the English," Miles replied.

"All Christians are Franks to us.  Are you not pleased that we spared your life?"

"I would rather know why."

The man threw his head back and laughed loudly.  The laughter ended abruptly when he fixed Miles with a hard stare.  "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes."

"And that does not frighten you?"

"I do not fear my own king, why should I fear you?" Miles asked in a mild voice.

"Because I could have you killed with the snap of my fingers," stated Saladin.

"And lose the ransom?"

"There will be no ransom for you."

His words shocked Miles, and it took him a moment to fully understand this.  It was custom to hold captured knights for ransom; it was one way both kings financed this war.  Only a personal hatred ever stopped the exchange of a prisoner for ransom.  Miles held back his question when he realized that he had somehow come to the attention of Saladin in a very deadly way.

Miles forced his protesting body to move.  Sitting up, he ignored the lance of pain in his side.  But he knew he had been hurt worse than he thought.

Saladin saw the knight wince, but kept his face expressionless.  Instead, he ordered the slave girl to give Miles water mixed with a small amount of powdered hashish to ease the pain.

"You are a brave fighter, Miles of England.  But I have made a promise that of all the Franks I capture, only you shall remain un-ransomed."

"Then kill me now." He stared at Saladin's lined face for a moment in challenge before he took the bowl the slave girl held out.  Miles drank the water, ignoring its rancid taste, and a moment later the pain in his side diminished.

"Your wounds are not great, and you will recover.  I have seen to their care and dressing and have been told they will heal quickly.  Although I am not permitted to ransom you, your life with us will not be overly harsh."

"Any life not of my choosing is harsh."

"But it is life just the same; Death offers no opportunity for change."

Miles listened to the Moorish king, but the effect of the drug began to slow his mind, and soon it seized him fully.  Saladin's words began to recede and Miles was again enveloped in the pleasant forgetfulness of sleep.

Outside the chamber, Saladin was met by his grand vizier.

The two men, accompanied by Saladin's bodyguards, walked in silence toward the audience chamber of the castle.  Only when they were inside, with no other ears to listen, did Borka-al-Salu speak.

"Master of Life, what will you do with him?"

"Taunt Richard for a while."

"Would you have that done to al-Nasir?" Borka asked, naming the foremost of Saladin's fighters.

"Al-Nasir would not have been taken alive."

"This Frankish knight had no choice.  He was prepared to die.  You saw that for yourself."

"True."

"And you respect him highly?"

"You know that is the case."

"Then do not shame him further."

"I will think on it.  Now I would be alone." Saladin watched his chief advisor bow low and leave the tent.  Sadness filled Saladin's mind.  It was rare that he felt any respect for these Christian murderers, but of all the men he fought, two stood out above the rest.  Richard was a mighty adversary, a worthy opponent, and a good general.  And the knight he held captive was also a strong opponent, and one who held himself with honor.

But winning and ending this war was more important than any single man, and he must use this English knight to weaken his enemy.  Although he was loath to place shame upon Miles's head, he knew that he must.  Yet, he also promised himself that upon the war's end, he would elevate Miles from the rank of prisoner to that of honored guest, with all that went with it.  But, no matter what the future brought, Saladin saw it was the will of Allah that had determined his position, and for as long as he lived, he was bound to his promise to keep Miles in his lands.

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While Miles slept within the walled city of Jerusalem, recovering his strength, and Saladin debated the wisdom of his actions, Arthur waited for an audience with Richard.

It was long after the sun had dropped from the sky, the chill of the November night wrapping its tentacles over the land, when Arthur returned to the main encampment from the hills he had hidden behind.  He had waited; long after the battle had been fought, trying to understand what he'd seen.

When he'd been separated from Miles, he'd tried to fight to his master's side, but two of Radstock's knights had prevented this.  Then, Arthur had ridden to the highest point overlooking the battle and had seen Miles fight the overwhelming numbers of enemy.  He had seen a lance bounce from Miles's head and had seen also a scimitar flash against his armor.  He had watched when Miles's stricken body fell to the earth, and had stared in shock when the Saracens, instead of killing him, had lifted him from the ground and tied him to a horse.

He knew then that it would be ransom they were after.

Arthur was certain that Richard would pay anything for Miles's safe return, and with that in mind, waited in the tents of Radstock for two days.  But early on the third day, as he walked past Morgan of Guildswood's tent, loud voices reached out to stop him.

He listened to the drunken talk and recognized Morgan's grating words.  "At last I have nothing to stop me from taking Radstock.  Saladin kept his word to me.  He refused the ransom negotiation from Richard."

"It is as you said he would do," came the voice of another knight whom Arthur did not recognize.  But the words painted the true picture for Arthur, and in that moment he knew what must be done.  An hour later he was dressed in the clothing of his station, waiting to see the king.

When he was finally called before Richard, he went to his knee and waited until Richard bade him rise.  Then he stood and gazed at Richard.

"We are all in mourning of our loss.  Sir Miles was the best of us," Richard said.

"Your Majesty, I ask permission to return to England and carry word of what has happened to my mistress."

"I understand your desire, but we need everyone here to fight the Saracens.  Do you not want vengeance for Sir Miles?"

"I do, Majesty; that is the very reason I seek your permission.  I would return to Radstock so that Lady Gwendolyn may send Sir Eldwin to avenge the insult Saladin has laid at your feet.  "

Richard's laugh was deep and strong.  He sighed loudly and placed a large hand on Arthur's shoulder.  "Do you think Sir Eldwin powerful enough to win back Sir Miles?"

Arthur looked around the tent, his eyes sweeping across the men gathered there.  When they fell on Morgan's face, they stopped.  Arthur spoke to the king, but his eyes never left Morgan's.

"There has been treachery set upon Sir Miles and you, Your Majesty, and I pray you let me go to the Lady Gwendolyn.  It is her right to know what has happened, and Sir Miles would want Sir Eldwin to lead his knights and fight by your side."

"Well said, lad," Richard stated.  Then he shrugged his massive shoulders.  "Go to your mistress and tell her what has happened.  It is the winter season, and I know not when we shall meet Saladin again."

Arthur did not wait; he bowed and quickly left the tent.

Before he reached Radstock's tents, he was stopped by Sir Hugo.

"I liked not what you said, Boy.  You spoke of treachery.  Was it truth?"

"It was truth, but I cannot prove it."

"Tell me what you know," Hugo demanded.

Arthur looked at the knight, and wondered if he dared take the chance of telling him the truth.  "What difference can it make to you?"

"There are too few men of Delong's ilk.  We need them all.  If something black was done to him, might it not happen to any of us?"

"It might," Arthur agreed, deciding that he would chance trusting this man.  He told Hugo what he'd overheard, and also what he'd seen during the battle.

"It is because of the tournament!"

"No, it is because Morgan wants what my lord has.  He wants the Lady Gwendolyn."

"Treachery to gain a woman? There must be more," Hugo whispered.

"There is, but I do not know everything."

"You will return with Eldwin?"

"I am sure of that.  Sir Eldwin will somehow free my lord."

Hugo stared at the squire for a minute before he nodded his head.  He remembered the tournament and his fight with Eldwin.  He remembered, too, the strength and power of the hooded knight.  "Perhaps he will.  All right, Boy, I will take you myself to Acre and see that you have a ship to return by.  Be ready at first light."

Arthur bowed to the knight who offered his help, and when Hugo left, hurried to the tent and packed the few things he would take back with him.  He told the other knights what had transpired and told them also that he would return with Eldwin.

Then, unable to sleep, Arthur lay on the pallet inside Miles's tent, waiting for the first light of day.

Chapter Eighteen

THE
chill was full upon the land, and the first snow of the winter spread its soft white blanket from Wales to Radstock.  But it mattered not to the three people hidden in the deep chamber beneath the foundations of the castle.

Gwendolyn worked steadily with her practice sword, advancing upon James and forcing him to defend himself and utilize all his training.  Roweena stood off to the side, watching the practice, wondering what devil possessed her mistress.  For a week following Gwendolyn's strange sleep, she had come to the fighting chamber to practice with James, leaving the castle to run itself.

Each day, Gwendolyn had given Roweena certain tasks to do and had warned her that none must know of them.  She had done as her mistress ordered and, when each task was completed, had reported the fact.

Silence descended in the chamber, and Roweena realized the practice was over.  Gwendolyn and James walked toward her, and she rose to meet them.  "Tomorrow James and I ride to Bath.  You must assume my role until I return."

Roweena stared uncomprehendingly at Gwendolyn.

"How, mistress?"

"In a similar manner as always.  You will direct the castle from my sick bed.  I will be gone but a fortnight."

"So long? I don't know that I can do it that long."

"You must.  And for longer if need be.  Roweena, we will soon be leaving England."

"Leaving England?" she echoed, her eyes widening at the prospect.

"Miles has been captured by the Saracens.  We must go to the Holy Land and free him."

Roweena had long ago given up trying to understand certain parts about her mistress, but this new revelation was almost too much to handle.  She shook her head silently, unable to respond.

"Do not fear, Roweena.  No one will learn of our deception." And Gwendolyn knew it would be so.  In the years she had spent with Roweena, a bond had formed between the servant and the mistress, joining them together in a way few could understand.  Each loved the other, and each knew the other's mannerisms perfectly.

Gwendolyn had taught Roweena to read and cipher Latin and French, and to write not only well, but in perfect imitation of her own flowing hand.  Any messages that would come for her, Roweena could read, and reply to if necessary.

She had learned the running of the castle at the same time as Gwendolyn, and had been at her side for almost all the decisions regarding the lands she had ruled for her husband.  Yes, Roweena could act for Gwendolyn in almost all matters.

"When do you leave?"

"Tonight," Gwendolyn stated.

That night, when the castle slept peacefully, Gwendolyn, in the guise of Eldwin, left the castle by its secret passageway and, with James, rode under the full moon toward the ancient city of Bath.  Her goal was the Abbey of Bath, situated just outside the ruins of the old Roman city.  She was going there to talk: with Theodore, Miles's brother, to ask him to return to Radstock and care for the lands until both she and Miles returned, or he learned of their deaths.

They rode through the night and into the day.  Once, when the sun broke through the clouds, Gwendolyn noted it was near noon.  An hour from Bath, in a small stand of woods, Gwendolyn, with James's aid, took off her knightly trappings and put on the smooth Saxon tunic she carried in the bag attached to her saddle.  When she was done, ignoring the cold, she allowed James to place a woolen mantle on her shoulders.

Bidding James to wait for her return, she mounted the black mare and rode to Bath Abbey.  Nearing the abbey, Gwendolyn saw the snow reflected on the sandstone walls and spotted a clearing, and the piles of stone that awaited the construction of yet another wing to the building.

Bath Abbey, the only cathedral for miles, was a medium- sized structure, with all its lines built on the perpendicular by the monks who had constructed the site two hundred years before.  Gwendolyn knew of its history because Theodore had spoken often of it.  He had also told her of the great conflicts that faced it, and he prophesied that within the decade, Bath would replace Wells, as the center of religion for both Avon and Somerset.

Gwendolyn cared nothing for the bickering of the Church and wanted only to convince Theodore that he was needed in Radstock.  With this thought firmly planted in her mind, she rode to the entrance of the abbey and dismounted.

Two monks appeared before her.  "Welcome, my lady," one intoned as he looked at her and saw she was of the nobility.  "How may we serve you?"

"I seek Theodore, a brother of your order.  I am Gwendolyn Delong, Lady of Radstock."

"My lady, permit me to take you inside.  I am Brother Charles.  Brother Allain will see to your mount." With that, the first monk began walking with Gwendolyn to the ornately carved door of the abbey.

When they entered, Gwendolyn gazed at the vaulted walls and ceiling, seeing for the first time of what Theodore had spoken.  The columns and arches were fanlike in their ornamentation, and the long thin windows reflected well the hard lines in which the abbey had been designed.  But for all its linear design, the abbey was a thing of beauty, and Gwendolyn knew that those who had built it, and those who had come after to care for and add to it, did so with a gentle love.

"I will fetch Brother Theodore, my lady.  Can I also have warm mead brought to you?"

"Thank you, Brother Charles, but I crave nothing other than to speak with Theodore."

"Please," said the monk, pointing to a long bench, "seat yourself."  When Gwendolyn did as he asked, Brother Charles left her and disappeared through one of the many doors lining the interior of the church.  A few minutes later, that same door opened, and Theodore walked toward her.

Rising, Gwendolyn went to him.  Although he wore the dark, shapeless robes of his order, she saw his tall, lanky frame.  His large eyes, the same green as Miles's, seemed to sparkle when they fell on her.

"This is a pleasure, Gwendolyn, and a surprise.  What brings you here?" he asked, taking both her hands in his.  Gwendolyn had almost forgotten the warm relationship they'd shared in the brief time they had lived together in Radstock.

"I must ask a favor."

"If it is within my power, it shall be yours." Theodore meant what he said.  He gazed fondly at his brother's wife.  He had liked her from the moment he'd met her and had felt a strong friendship grow between them.  But when he looked into her eyes, he saw she was deeply troubled.  "Tell me," he coaxed in a gentle voice.

"I cannot tell you all, just that Miles is in great trouble.  A week ago he was taken prisoner by the Saracens, and he will remain so for the rest of his life unless he is rescued."

"A week ago you say?" Theodore tried to hide his disbelief, but knew it carried in his voice.

"I said I could not tell you all, and I know how hard it is to believe, but you must.  Call it a vision, or whatever you desire, but I saw it happen.  I lay in my bed for three days, unable to move, and I was carried aloft over the Holy Land.  I saw a battle, and I saw Miles fall.  I witnessed his capture by the Moslems."

"Even if this is the case, I do not know how to help you.  I cannot go to fight in Jerusalem."

"Nor would I ask you.  I am going," she whispered.

"You cannot!" A chill rushed through him, brought on by her words.  He knew how strong-willed she was, and that she was capable of doing whatever she set her mind to-but she must not do this.

"I have no choice.  I have come to ask for your return to Radstock, to oversee your family's lands until we return."

"If you return."

"If…If not, you are the only surviving member of the line.  The lands will fall to you."

"I want them not," Theodore stated.

"Will you do as I ask?" Gwendolyn stared into his green eyes, her breath stilled while she waited for his response.

"When will you be leaving?"

"I do not know exactly.  Soon after Christmas.  Theodore?"

A bare nod of his head was his answer.  "Thank you."

"If I had refused?" But Theodore already knew the answer.

"Then I would have to leave Radstock unprotected." .

"Will you stay for the evening meal?"

"I must leave.  I have much to do.  I thank you, my brother.  We will return to you, and to Radstock." They embraced tightly, before Theodore accompanied Gwendolyn outside where Brother Allain held her horse.

Theodore stood outside long after Gwendolyn had gone, bothered not by the cold winds or his bare feet on the ground.  He remembered something he had once been told by his old teacher upon first joining the priory.  Again, the words of his teacher surfaced in his mind, comforting him and easing the decision he had made.

"There is a strange bond between a man and woman who love each other deeply.  Perhaps it is because they share themselves so closely.  There is an unselfishness that happens only rarely, but when they have joined together as man and wife, they truly seem to become almost as one."

"This always happens?" young Theodore had asked.

"This happens only rarely.  It is a special gift given by our Lord, Christ, and to those who receive it, they need little else from life.  I witnessed once this strange power, when I was called to the bedside of a woman I had known for years.  She was taken ill, and I was called to administer the holy sanction.  She lay as one dead.  Her skin was the color of snow and her breathing was so shallow I had to press my ears to her mouth to feel it."

"When I asked where her husband was, for they were rarely apart, no one had seen him for three days.  Then, as I began to pray for her immortal soul, I saw her eyes open to look at me."

“'You live,' I said to her.  'No, I die,' she responded to me.  I did not know what to say, her words shocked me so.  'Why?' I asked her."

“‘My Peter, he has been killed.' That is impossible, I told her.  'Two days ago, he was killed by a boar.  I saw it in a dream.  I will not live without him.'  And saying that, this woman died in my arms."

"Because her husband died?" young Theodore questioned.

"No, because a part of her she could not live without had died.  The power of love is strong.  We of the church do not fully understand this, but, Theodore, do not dismiss it just because you will never know it."

The lesson had remained in the back of Theodore's mind for many years, and, he reasoned, perhaps it was because of it that he had agreed to Gwendolyn's request.  But he also realized that Gwendolyn herself was partly the reason.  There had always been something different about her.  From the moment he'd met Gwendolyn he had sensed a power within her.  It was a nameless thing.  It was no physical trait; rather, it was an aura carried upon her shoulders like the mantle she had worn today.  One day he hoped to find out what it was, because it was the very thing that set her apart from the ordinary.  He had felt this before, with others who had been granted a strong destiny.

Eight days after leaving Bath Abbey, Gwendolyn and James stopped their horses in a secluded area of Devonshire.  Dismounting, Gwendolyn motioned James to follow her into a small opening in the face of a hill.

James was surprised at the warm interior of the cave, but held his questions until Gwendolyn spoke first.  He watched her take off the coif-de-maille, and then the chamois mask before she spoke.  "This was the place in which I learned about myself.  This cave is known only to me, Miles, and now you.  You will wait here until I return.  It will not be more than two days.  The buck we brought down this afternoon should see you through.  Rest easy here; there is no safer place in all of England."

"Yes, my lord," James said in a low voice.

Gwendolyn smiled at his expression.  "You do not approve?"

"I am a squire; it is not my place to say."

"Of what do you not approve?"

"Your grandfather will think you mad."

"That is nothing out of the ordinary."

"I would feel remiss in my oath and duty if I were not with you," James admitted at last.

"I must do this alone," Gwendolyn told him.  "Bring my clothing."

An hour later, Gwendolyn, dressed again in the Saxon tunic and mantle, rode to the gate of Kildrake Castle, the home she had not seen for almost two years.

The gate opened to let her through, and by the time she had dismounted and given her horse over to a groom, Hughes was striding across the inner keep.

He stopped a foot from her, staring at Gwendolyn.  "What brings you here?"

"Is it not enough for a granddaughter to seek out her family?"

"Yes," Hughes replied in a tight voice.  Then he reached out to her and pulled her close.  He kissed her firmly on the cheek before releasing her, only to hold her an arm's distance away and look at her closely.

"You have become even more beautiful."

"And you are the same as ever."

"No, I am starting to feel my age.  I am cursed to live a long life and suffer with every cold day."

"Do not play the ancient with me; it ill suits you," Gwendolyn said half seriously.  In the time since she had married Miles and left Kildrake, she saw that the years had begun to show on her grandfather.  It saddened her, but she pushed aside the thought and smiled.  "Perhaps we can talk inside.  I must be getting as old as you, for the cold is seeping into my bones."