The Falcons of Montabard (34 page)

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'Would you rather change places with Joscelin of Edessa or the King?'

Sabin's eyelids tightened. There was a band of tension at his brow, as if he had forgotten to remove his helm after battle practice. 'I still do not understand why he chose me,' he said. Grabbing a flagon off a trestle, he poured wine into a cup.

'Then you are either wilfully blind or fishing for compliments,' Thierry growled.

Sabin took a rapid gulp and pushed his free hand through his hair. 'Neither,' he said. 'I know I am good with a sword, I know I can handle men and administrate, but always if forced to it, or challenged, never of my own seeking. Surely he would have done better to appoint you, or Durand.'

Thierry helped himself to wine. 'All men have their own niche,' he said. 'I work best when I know the plan, but I need someone to give me that plan. Durand is a fine soldier but he has the imagination of an ox. As you say, you can fight, you can handle men. You are the young stallion champing at the stable door.' Thierry smiled. 'Men like myself and Durand are here to serve as your steadier stable mates - like that mule you have for your grey.'

Sabin laughed harshly at the comparison and drank again.

Thierry studied him. 'Can you truly say that you do not desire this task - even if it is being thrust upon you?'

Sabin sighed. 'No,' he admitted. 'I do desire it. But it comes with a deal of baggage and I am not sure that my back is broad enough to carry it all.'

'Lord Gerbert is certain . . . and he has ever been a good judge of men. No one has protested. We know you. There is no telling who might be given Montabard if it is left in the hands of the administrators in Antioch. Besides, they have enough on their trencher with the King in captivity.'

Sabin raised his cup in a rueful toast. 'To faith,' he said, and wondered what Annais was thinking. He had felt the flinching of her fingers beneath his. If she had not been fond of Gerbert when she wed him, then she was now. To watch him die and

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then be forced to marry another man before Gerbert was even cold in his shroud was more than grinding salt into an open wound. He knew that he should have ridden away long ago . . . but he hadn't, and now he was trapped, and so was she.

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Chapter 21

Annais looked down at her husband. The fight was over and Gcrbcrt's expression wore peace instead of the ravages of pain and fever. His brow was smooth; his lids were closed over sightless grey-blue eyes. She and her women had spent the day bathing and dressing him for the night vigil in church. He wore his court robe of blue silk and soft indoor boots of tender kidskin stamped with the image of falcons in gold leaf. The rings that he had owned but seldom worn in life bejewelled his broad fingers and a cross of gold set with peridots adorned his breast. The hilt of his sword was clasped between his hands, the blade pointing down his body, and his feet rested upon his shield. He would go to his grave without these accoutrements, which would be stored until his son was old enough to bear them, but for the vigil Gerbert was arrayed in full glory. He looked as if he were asleep. If she had not seen him die, she might have been fooled.

'Do you want to rest awhile, my lady?' Soraya's soft, accented voice invaded her thoughts as the young woman touched her arm. 'It will be a long watch in church tonight.'

Annais shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'If Gerbert is at rest until the trumpets of Judgement Day, then I can manage for a day and a night. There will be time enough for sleep when it is over.'

There was a knock on the door. She turned, expecting to see the senior officers of the keep arriving to bear Gerbert to chapel,

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but it was Sabin alone. He had changed his soldier's garb for a court gown of red silk damask patterned with golden lions. The deep embroidered neck opening was pinned not with his usual thistle brooch, but with one of Saracen gold set with rubies as small as beads of blood. He was wearing his sword and had donned his ceremonial belt of gilded leather instead of the one he wore when on active campaign.

Annais was suddenly aware that he and Gerbert were dressed for the occasion, but that she was still wearing the garments in which she had nursed her husband, held his dying body . . . washed and tended him when it was over.

'We are not ready yet,' she said, and bade Soraya have more water brought, and a pot of scented soap.

'No, I have not come for that.' Approaching the bed, Sabin looked down at Gerbert and crossed himself.

'Then for what?'

Sabin drew a deep breath. 'The oath he made us swear. If you want to reject it, I will understand. Taken under duress, it would not be binding.'

Annais lifted her chin. 'He is not yet cold and you stand over him and talk of revoking his dying wish?'

Sabin gave her a hard stare. His eyes were as bright as the peridots in the cross on Gerbert's breast. 'Would it be better to wait until he is cold and beneath the ground to discuss such matters?

Annais shuddered. She wanted to shriek at him to get out, but that would resolve nothing. Besides, she had more respect than he did for the sanctity of the dead.

'It is the living that concern me,' he said, as if reading her mind. His tone had gentled somewhat. 'I will hold you to nothing that is not of your will.'

Annais shook her head. The rawness of grief had left her numb. She did not know what her will was. 'Do you desire absolution of the vow?' she asked. 'Is that why you are here? If I revoke it first, then you cannot be blamed?'

He clenched his fists. 'I have no intention of revoking the

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vow,' he said. 'It is true that I argued against it at the beginning, but if you and Guillaume are to be kept safe, then I understand why Gerbert wanted the match. It need be a marriage in name only, if that is your preference.'

Annais swallowed. Her mind felt swollen against the cage of her skull. 'I will not revoke the vow,' she croaked. 'It was my husband's dying wish, and I know that he had the best intentions. He did not trust you when you came to us - indeed, he did not want you, but he took you out of obligation to his new family. If he changed his mind, it was based on merit, therefore I must have as much belief in you as he did.' Her voice wobbled. She had not thought herself capable of any more tears, but they welled over her hot, sore lids and trickled down her face. 'Is that the answer you wanted?'

'I am sorry ... I had to know.'

She turned away from him and wiped her face on a linen kerchief that was already sodden with tears. 'Now you do.' She blew her nose. 'What would you have done if I had revoked the oath? Ridden away?'

He tensed. 'No,' he said. 'I could have done it once, but not any more.'

Two attendants arrived with the soap and water she had requested. Also two storage jars, one of hot, one of cold. 'I will return in a while, when you are ready to bear Gerbert to the chapel.' Sabin gave her a stiff, formal bow and strode from the room.

Annais let out a quivering breath, sat down at the bedside, and wept.

In Outremer, a week represented a year's mourning. Seven days after Gerbert's body was laid to rest, Annais and Sabin were married in the chapel that had so recently hosted a funeral. There were no rich clothes, no celebrations, no feast. The ceremony took less than a thousand swift heartbeats to perform, witnessed by the priest and his altar attendants, by Durand, Malik and Thierry for Sabin, by Letice and Soraya for Annais.

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Sabin presented her with a gold bezant as a symbol of his intention to provide for her, and a wedding ring of African gold. He slid it onto her finger atop the one she had from Gerbert. Father Jerome pronounced them man and wife in the eyes of the Church and the pact was sealed with a kiss of peace. The meeting of lips was brief and impersonal, the clasp of hand upon hand no more than part of the ritual.

Following the ceremony, Annais went with Sabin to the Great Hall. Her arm rested lightly along his in the fashion of the court and she carried herself spine-straight like a queen. They matched pace for pace in slow dignity, turned and took their places in the great carved chairs on the raised dais. One by one, the knights and vassals of Montabard came to kneel and swear their oaths to the new lord and his lady. If there was any jealousy and dissent among the men, it was no more than a twinge. Few envied Sabin his position with the King and Joscelin of Edessa in captivity and the Emir Balak wreaking havoc in Frankish-held territory.

When the oath-taking was over, Sabin and Annais parted company, he to his duties, she to the women's chamber.

Annais gulped down the cup of wine that Letice poured for her, but shook her head at the offer of a stronger potion to give her ease. 'No,' she said. 'It helped me to sleep on the first two nights, but I need a clear head.' She massaged her aching temples and wondered if Sabin had been as eager as she to have the terrible ceremony ended. Certainly he had not lingered in the church and his lips had been as dry and sterile as her own.

Letice had moved from her side and was eyeing the bed. 'Will you both sleep here tonight?' she asked neutrally.

Annais turned the new gold wedding ring on her finger. 'I have been trying not to think about that,' she said. The bed where she had spent her first night as lady of Montabard. The bed where she had learned what it was to be a lover as well as a dutiful wife. The bed where Guillaume had been born and Gerbert had died. Now it waited to receive the cycle all over again.

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'You must,' Letice said gently. 'It cannot be ignored, and it is best to be prepared.'

Annais poured herself another measure of wine. 'Sabin promised me that if I wished, it would be a marriage in name only.' Her gaze returned to the bed as if pulled by an invisible leash. She tried to imagine lying in it with Sabin and abruptly turned from the vision with churning stomach.

'Even if you keep to separate chambers, for the sake of appearances you must spend at least one night together,' Letice murmured, her tone compassionate but insistent. 'No one need know what you do together, but they must see that you are one.'

She was right, Annais acknowledged. Given that she was no virgin, bloody proof of consummation would not be required . . . but she would still be expected to couple with Sabin. An unconsummated marriage, after all, was one that could be annulled. She wondered if Sabin was prepared to take that risk. Was she, for that matter? 'Have the bed made up with fresh sheets,' she said. 'But do not garland it with flowers or make it look like a bower for a bride and groom.'

Letice nodded with compassion in her eyes. 'It shall be done,' she said.

Annais spent an hour feeding Guillaume, changing his swaddling, playing with him. His eyes were so like Gerbert's, his brown curls too, that it was like gaining comfort from twisting a knife in her heart. She cuddled him and wept a little. When he became sleepy she laid him in his cradle and, leaving him to her women, went below to the hall. After all, she was lady of Montabard and this was her wedding day. The thought left her unsure whether to laugh or to cry.

Although she had not ordered a feast to be prepared, they still needed to feed the guests and witnesses who had come to Montabard to pay their respects. There was plenty of bread, both leavened and flat, goat's cheese, olive oil, lamb served with boiled wheat and almonds, and the thick honey and sesame sweetmeats so favoured in this part of Outremer. Not in the least hungry,

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she nibbled at the food. Since Gerbert's decline and death, she had felt little inclination to eat and the green silk gown, which had once suited her so well, hung on her like a sack.

Sabin did not try to coax her to eat, as her women would have done. He merely placed a dish between them to share and ate his own portion. But then she could see that he was occupied with the news brought by a Templar knight on his way south, who had paused to refresh himself at their board.

'Fortunately for us, Emir Balak has not seen fit to exploit King Baldwin's captivity thus far,' the knight said around mouthfuls of lamb and wheat. 'There have been skirmishes, but little more than usual.'

'I have kept up the patrols,' Sabin said, 'but there has been no trouble.' He toyed with a silver salt dish. 'It is all to the good that no one has panicked and that the rule of the kingdom has not fallen into disarray. Patriarch Bernard has the control of Antioch and Eustace Gamier of Caesarea has been elected bailiff of Jerusalem. They are both more than competent.'

The Templar grunted agreement and washed down his food with a swallow of wine. 'It is like anywhere,' he said, gazing pointedly around the crowded hall. 'Fill the gap with an able deputy and the ordinary folk scarcely notice.'

Sabin looked wry, but said nothing. He took a moderate swallow from his own cup, which was still more than half full. He was staying sober, and Annais did not know whether to be grateful or worried by the detail.

'I would offer my congratulations,' the knight said, 'but since they come on the heels of tragic circumstances, I do not suppose they would be in order.'

'My wife and I thank you none the less,' Sabin said politely and sent Annais a glance intended to reassure. She replied to the Templar with an inanity she was not later to remember.

'I heard Gerbert de Montabard died of a wound taken when the King was captured.'

'That is so,' Sabin replied woodenly, but the Templar did not take the hint and continued to probe.

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'Were you there when King Baldwin was taken?'

Sabin nodded. 'But out of the fighting. I was thrown from my horse and left for dead - the reason I am here now. My lady's father is a captive in Kharpurt with the King.'

'Is he?' The Templar raised his brow. 'I suppose that is slightly better than being dead, but not much.'

Sabin winced for Annais's sake. 'Have you heard any news of Balak from your own territory?' he asked to change the subject.

'Enough to know that he is not about to set out for Jerusalem.' The knight reached for a handful of raisins and almonds. 'He may have acquired a glorious reputation in capturing the Count of Edessa and the King, but he would rather make himself lord of Aleppo on its back than destroy the Frankish kingdom. Of course, if he conquers there, he will likely turn his attention on us ... but we have a few months' grace at least.'