The Falcons of Montabard (48 page)

'And how's my other bonnie lass?' he demanded, engulfing Annais in an ebullient hug that drove the breath from her body and left her wheezing.

'Squashed,' Sabin said helpfully, since his wife could not speak. Guillaume gripped her skirts and stared up at the fuzzy red-haired giant in astonishment. The child's eyes were huge and his lower lip quivered as he deliberated whether to cry. Sabin swiftly lifted Guillaume in his arms and set him on his shoulders so that the little boy was higher than Fergus. He couldn't see Guillaume's expression, but since no squalls deafened his ears and the small hands clung to his hair like a rider grasping the reins, he judged that disaster had been averted. The move had also cunningly prevented Fergus from clasping Sabin in a similar bone-cracking embrace.

'Och, it's good to see you all.' Fergus snatched up a passing flagon and hugged it to his silk-clad chest. Coarse red hair poked above the throat-lacing of his shirt. 'I'm right glad that Edmund's found himself another woman. I felt bad about Mariamne. If I had known what a slut she truly was, I'd not have pushed the match.'

'That part is over,' Sabin said quietly. 'And whatever the things she did, calling her a slut is a harsh judgement.'

Fergus shrugged and swigged from the flagon. 'That's a matter of opinion, lad, but I'll no' tarnish his wedding feast by airing mine more than once, and never in his hearing.' He winked up at Guillaume, who leaned over and buried his face

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in Sabin's hair. 'A stout wee lad,' he said. 'You'll be wanting brothers and sisters for him foreby, I warrant.' He looked at Annais, his eyes shrewdly assessing her slender figure. She swiftly clasped her hands before her waist as if closing a door inadvertently left open.

'As God wills,' Sabin answered. He could almost see the old rogue calculating how long they had been wed and measuring it against their progress or lack of it in that area. He changed the subject. 'How is the siege progressing?' He thought that it must be going slowly for Fergus to spare the time to come to Turbessel, and with such a fiery surplus of energy that once the drink got inside him, he was going to be the devil himself to control.

'Och, Tyre will fall, it's only a matter of time.' Fergus rested his free hand on the sword hilt at his left hip. 'It's taken a while because they had plenteous rain in the winter and early spring and it filled all the cisterns. They're starting to run short o' water now though, and the Venetian blockade means there are no supplies coming to them from the sea.' He nudged Sabin. 'I know it's been hard for the northern army and ye've taken some blows, but while you're keeping Balak occupied, it means that he's not able to send help down to Tyre. Every soldier o' theirs you wound means one less to man their walls and their siege machines.'

Sabin looked wry. Every sortie against Balak meant less of their own troops too, and they were no further forward than they had ever been.

'Is there any sign of a ransom being agreed?'

Sabin shook his head and sighed. 'Balak sends his representatives and the Queen sends hers. They take sherbet, they talk, but that is all it is. Smooth words and no substance. Balak has no reason to release the King unless it be in exchange for his kingdom.'

'Aye, well, once Tyre is in our hands, we'll give him a reason.' Fergus clenched his fist to emphasise his words. Then, seeing a friend among the wedding guests, he took himself off to bend

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the man's ear. Sabin exhaled with relief and gave Annais a rueful grin.

'Subtle as a wild bull in a street of pottery-sellers,' he said, 'but he means well.'

Annais removed the hand she had laid across her belly and smiled, although the expression did not quite light her eyes. 'I know that... and he is kin, so we make allowances. Who knows, when the time does come to give Guillaume a brother or sister, he or she may inherit that red hair. Both his sons have it and I am told that it comes from my great-grandfather.'

Sabin screwed up his face. 'That would be easier to bear than certain other traits,' he said, and tumbled Guillaume down from his shoulders into his arms. He had not missed the wistful note in his wife's voice. They had been very careful thus far, very careful indeed.

'If you want—' he began, and saw that she had been thinking along the same lines as him, for she shook her head.

'I do want,' she said, 'but not here, not in Turbessel when so much is at stake and the Queen needs me and you are so often away on skirmishes and patrols. Let it wait until we return to Montabard . . . unless you . . .'

'What man does not want to see himself live on in his children and to boast to other men of his virility?' He smiled at her. 'I would not regret the news that you carry a child, but for the nonce I think it remains best to be careful.'

She nodded and the moment passed, with agreement and wistfulness on both sides.

The wedding feast was a noisy, joyful affair. Men and women were eager to release their tension in drink and dancing, to forget the protracted war with Balak and the fact that their King was held captive deep in the enemy's territory. Some bought pleasure with wine; others used it to seek oblivion, or to release their emotions in weeping.

Strongfist and Letice danced a measure, circling and turning to the cheers and whistles of the guests. Sabin and Annais joined them, and Guillaume came too, performing his own version of

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the steps to the great amusement and pride of the adults.

The open inn door spilled light and music into the courtyard beyond. An entertainer from the town had brought his dancing bear to the celebration and it shambled to the music of an oud, its brown fur gleaming with the reflection of the torches burning in sockets either side of the door. Sabin was outside with Guillaume, watching the beast, when a horseman came thundering into the tavern courtyard, slid to a halt and even as he drew on the reins was already dismounting.

'News!' he bellowed. 'I have great news from the palace!'

The oud fell silent and the bear dropped from its hind legs to all four paws. Laughter and conversation raggedly ceased and the crowd turned its attention to the stranger.

'Balak is dead!' the man bellowed, his voice cracking with excitement. 'Of an arrow wound at Membij!' Tossing his reins to one of the onlookers, he strode inside the tavern to deliver his tidings to the other revellers. An instant later a massive cheer shook the hostel to its foundations. Sabin lifted Guillaume in his arms and pushed his way within. Annais was squeezing towards the entrance to find him. Meeting near the door, they hugged each other joyfully. Fergus appeared and pummelled Sabin's arm.

'Did ye hear?' he demanded with savage exultation. 'Did ye hear? Now we have the bastards by their short hair. There'll be no relief force for Tyre. Hah!' Seizing Annais, he gave her a bruising kiss on the lips, and then, full of raw, drink-fuelled energy, hurtled in search of fresh victims to embrace.

The messenger came hurrying towards them. Having delivered his news to the wedding feast where many of the guests were knights of the northern army, he had other destinations in the city to visit. As he made to pass, Sabin caught his sleeve.

'How did it happen?'

'A stray arrow from the citadel with Balak's name upon it,' the man said and his smile was still bright with relish although he must have told the tale a hundred times. 'The Queen has summoned a meeting for the morrow.'

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'Who inherits King Baldwin's captivity?'

'The Emir Timurtash, so I'm told.' The messenger nodded to terminate the conversation and left.

'That is good news too,' Sabin said. 'Timurtash is not forged of the same bitter steel as Balak. It is likely that we will be able to negotiate a ransom price with him for Baldwin.' He smiled suggestively at her through half-closed lids. 'And then we can return to Montabard.'

The rejoicing continued long into the night, for now there was not only a wedding to celebrate, but the death of the kingdom of Jerusalem's most formidable opponent. There might be threats from other neighbouring sultans and emirs along the Frankish borders, but none as potent as Balak had posed.

The newlyweds were escorted to a fine private bedchamber on the floor above the main room. The bed was garlanded with spring flowers and made up with fresh sheets of woven cotton and a coverlet of fine-spun wool, embroidered in the Armenian fashion. The priest blessed husband and wife with holy water and did his best to ignore the bawdy jests that were flying thicker than arrows in a battle. Strongfist took it in good part and Letice endured with the steady fortitude that was so much a strength of her nature.

Fergus's comments were by far the coarsest, with many references to siege engines and battering rams. Sabin managed to grab him and propel him out of the room before his comments cut too close to the bone. Fergus swung a wild punch, fell over, was sick and then began to snore. Sabin kicked straw over the vomit, dragged Fergus by the armpits into the side of a timber-covered walkway, covered him with his cloak, and left him to sleep it off.

'Reminds me of my days at King Henry's court,' he said to Annais as they went to find their own sleeping space in one of the outbuildings that the innkeeper had refurbished for the wedding guests. 'I was always either in the same state as Fergus or helping out one of the other squires ... or,' he added softly,

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'in some woman's bed.' His hand rested lightly on her waist as he spoke, and suddenly the atmosphere burned with tension.

'I thought King Henry didn't approve of drunkenness and debauchery?' She gave him a look of mock severity through her lashes. Her eyes were as dark as the darkness, but gleaming like jewels.

'Well, he was always strict about the drunkenness, so what went on usually took place away from his scrutiny. As to the debauchery . . . well, you don't beget a score of bastards by living the life of a saint.' He pushed open the door of the outbuilding. It had been swept out, washed with lime and draped with woollen hangings. There was a mattress on the floor stuffed with fragrant bracken and herbs and the floor was strewn with thick, fresh straw. It was inevitable that the conversation and the surroundings should remind Sabin of another tavern and a November evening when he had stood on a similar, if more opulent threshold with Lora. For a moment he hesitated in the doorway, but when Annais gave him a questioning look, he shook his head and stepped inside.

Guillaume was so tired that he flopped like one of Joveta's cloth dolls and within moments of being laid down on the mattress and covered up, was soundly asleep. Watching Annais tend the child, Sabin's heart filled with a pain of love and lust so strong that it stung his eyes.

She smoothed Guillaume's brow, then rose from her stoop. For a moment, they looked at each other, and then she went into Sabin's arms and raised her head to meet the downward slant of his.

Mindful of the sleeping child, they kissed and caressed in silence, but the constraint of making no sound heightened the intensity of sensation, driving it inwards, turning the core of the act to molten white heat. Annais forgot all about the precaution of fleece and vinegar and clasped herself fiercely around Sabin, refusing to let him go. And Sabin followed her willingly, letting the healing fire of now immolate the memories of the past and overlay them with the promise of the future.

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Chapter 31

*"V T"ou handle a falcon well... for a Frank,' said Usamah ^/ ibn Munqidh, with an approving nod at the young _JL shahin perched upon Sabin's gauntleted wrist. The Saracen lord was of a similar age to Sabin and, like Sabin, was raven haired, with eyes of changeable lion-hazel and a thin, quick smile. The likeness had been remarked upon more than once, much to the amusement of the two men who jestingly called each other 'brother' and had taken to sharing each other's company. Usamah was the nephew of the Emir of Shaizar, who had travelled to Turbessel to broker a ransom arrangement between Timurtash, inheritor of Balak's lands, and Queen Morphia for the release of her husband and his relatives.

'It is in my blood,' Sabin replied in Arabic. 'My grandfather was chief falconer to a king.' He took no offence at Usamah's patronising tone. The Saracen's charm and good humour offset his superior air. Besides, he deserved to be cocksure. Shaizar was an impregnable fortress, and the Munqidh lords of his family were respected, formidable warriors as well as being accomplished diplomats and men of high education. Since the rulers of Shaizar were keen huntsmen, Sabin and the court at Turbessel had been out with hawk and hound, with trained cheetah and bow and spear for the best part of a week, entertaining their Saracen guests.

Sabin stroked the bird's breast feathers with a gentle

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forefinger. 'When I was a squire, the King of England let me handle his white gyrfalcon.'

Usamah's eyes gleamed. 'Ah, one of those I would like to have, but I do not think they would do well in our country.'

'They might among the mountains where it is high and cold.'

Usamah shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'Look at the way you Franks do not prosper away from your own lands. Each creature has its own natural territory.'

Sabin smiled politely and did not argue the point.

The grooms brought the horses around. Usamah had a fine black mare with hard blue hooves and a sweeping elegance of carriage that made many a Christian lord watch her with envy. But then, as Usamah was fond of saying, the lords of Shaizar excelled in all things.

Usamah gained the saddle and drew the reins through his fingers. Gold tassels fringed the mare's browband and saddlecloth. Usamah's turban was pinned with an emerald the size of a walnut shell.

Sabin mounted his own horse. The women were emerging from the palace to bid the men good hunting - although everyone knew that more than hunting was on the day's agenda. There was the business of King Baldwin's ransom to negotiate. Discussions had taken place long into the night between Joscelin, Morphia and the Emir of Shaizar. Now the Emir and Joscelin would speak further while they rode, and there was to be another immediate council on their return, involving the Queen. Morphia was tenacious of her power.