Warrior's Song (29 page)

    "We have men scouting to the north. We will know soon enough if and where the Saracens are gathering." Jerval turned questioning eyes toward Edward. "You have decided upon the treaty with Baibars, then?"

    "Aye, I have decided. Our failure will be a grave disappointment to my father."

    "You have accomplished more than your great-uncle, Richard," Jerval said.

    "My great-uncle— the Lionheart— what a fantastical man he was. I believe he was driven by the lust for adventure and battle." Edward added, his voice infinitely weary, "I was driven by God." He raised his eyes to look at Jerval. "It seems that neither is enough."

    Amaric watched the Lady Chandra as she paced outside her tent, awaiting news of the battle. He had not liked being assigned as her personal guard so that Lambert and Bayon could join the battle. He wished she would at least go back into her tent, so he could find some shade and return to his dice without the sun beating down on his head.

    They both looked up at the pounding of a horse's hooves. Amaric moved closer to his lady, saw that it was Sir Eustace de Leybrun, and eased away again.

    "Eustace," Chandra said, her voice cold, for she wouldn't ever forget what Beri had told her about him.

    "Chandra, thank God I have found you so quickly. I must speak to you."

    She automatically took a step toward him, her heart pounding. "What is it, Eustace? Come, tell me, quickly, what has happened?"

    Before he answered her, Eustace's gaze flickered toward Amaric.

    "Oh, God, something has happened to Jerval? He is wounded, isn't he?"

    He nodded his head, not meeting her frantic eyes. "He has been wounded, Chandra, badly, and sent me to fetch you. I have already sent the physicians ahead, for the fighting is over. Quickly, get something to cover your head. The ride will be hard. We must hurry."

    When Chandra came out of the tent but moments later, she saw Amaric standing by her horse. He tossed her into the saddle and jumped astride his own destrier.

    "Amaric will help me protect you," Eustace said. He brought his mailed hand down upon her palfrey's rump, and the mare broke into a gallop.

    "He will be all right," she said, looking straight ahead. "He will." She refused to think anything else. She dug her heels into her palfrey's sides and lowered her head close to the mare's neck.

    They rode north toward Caesarea, keeping the inland sea but a mile to their west. They had ridden but half an hour when she heard Amaric call out behind them, "Sir Eustace! The fighting was to the north. We are headed east." Chandra looked to her left, for she had not noticed they had lost sight of the sea.

    Eustace drew in his destrier and waited for Amaric to rein in beside him. Chandra turned her mare, frowning. She saw Amaric slide to the ground from his horse's back. Eustace, smiling now, was rubbing his blood off a dagger. She stared at him in shock, and then at Amaric, sprawled dead upon his back.

    She realized so much in that moment. She'd been a fool. He'd tricked her, using Jerval.

    He grabbed her palfrey's reins and pulled her in.

    "What is going on, Eustace? By God, what have you done?"

    "So you have finally come out of your daze, Chandra. Well, no matter now— we will soon be far from Acre." He sent a quick gaze toward Amaric. "There will be no one to say what happened to you, save me."

    "You bastard. Jerval isn't wounded at all, is he?"

    Eustace laughed. "Your precious husband is well."

    She weaved in her saddle with relief. Then she heard Beri's words again. He'd taken her, and with little effort. She'd been a fool. She said slowly, thinking frantically, "But what is it you mean, Eustace? What are you saying?"

    He laughed again and sat back in his saddle. "I will have to tell Jerval that his stubborn wife insisted upon joining him, and that Amaric and I, fearing for your safety, rode with you to protect you. How sad that we were attacked by Saracens, and only I will be alive to tell of it."

    She hadn't strapped her dagger to her thigh, something she always did, except this time, because she was so frightened that she could scarce think at all. Here she was with a man who had betrayed her, and she had no weapon, nothing at all. This was madness. He was an English knight. He was Jerval's kinsman. "But why? What have I ever done to you? Or Jerval? Neither of us has ever harmed you."

    "You think not? Well, it doesn't really matter, for I will be rich."

    "What do you mean?"

CHAPTER 29

"My dear Chandra, you and I are going to the camp of al-Afdal, one of the primary chieftains of the Sultan Baibars. He heard of you from one of the Saracen soldiers who escaped from the Neva Pass. The man described a beautiful creature who fought like a man, all white-skinned, with golden hair. Al-Afdal gained a fortune from the looting of Antioch, and he is quite willing to share it with me, once I give you to him. Truly, this isn't due to hatred of you or Jerval. I want all the wealth he will provide me for delivering you to him."

    "You are a fool, Eustace. The Saracens have no honor. He won't give you anything except a knife through your heart. Call a halt to this madness whilst you have a chance of coming out of it with a whole hide."

    Eustace raised his hand to strike her, but drew it back. "Nay, I don't want to bruise your lovely face. Your new master would not like that."

    Chandra dug her heels into her palfrey's sides, but Eustace held fast to the reins. "That was your one try, Chandra, and your last. I know all your tricks, so you needn't waste your time trying them on me. You have no weapons. You stand no chance against me. If you try to hit me, I'll break your damned arm."

    She spat at him, full in the face. He stared at her for a moment, wiping her spittle from his cheek, before he smashed his mailed fist into her ribs. She doubled over in pain, and heard him say, "I told you only that I would not mark your face, Chandra."

    "You will not succeed, Eustace." She was panting, trying to get back her breath. Her ribs pulled and ached. "Jerval will not believe you. He will find out what you did, and he will kill you."

    "Did you not listen, my lady? The direction in which your captors lie will, unfortunately, be miles from where I lead your husband. Ah, the riches I will gain. And the joy of knowing that you will part your white legs for your heathen master the rest of your life— or until you lose your beauty and he tosses you away."

    "You cannot do this. Even you. Beri told me to be careful around you. By God, she was right."

    "Beri. I will see that she pays for that. Now, enough talk, Chandra. I wish to be farther away from Acre. You will ride with me, else you will feel my dagger in your breast." He brought his hand down again on her palfrey's rump and forced her to a gallop beside him.

    They rode due east, and the ground turned hilly and brittle beneath the horses' hooves. It seemed like hours to Chandra before Eustace jerked on her palfrey's reins and pulled his destrier to a halt. "We will take our rest here." His eyes scanned the surrounding countryside, then turned back to her.

    He saw it in her eyes. She was readying herself to leap on him. He drew his dagger. "You try it and I will slit your throat and bedamned to the wealth."

    She believed him. Later, she thought, later she would catch him off guard.

    Graelam de Moreton rode toward Acre to give Edward word of his victory in the company of one of his men-at-arms and his squire. Edward would be quite pleased with the outcome of the battle. They had attacked the ill-prepared Saracens as they gathered themselves for a final blow after the attempted assassination of Edward, and had scattered them easily.

    Graelam stretched his tired bones in his saddle, and looked inland, away from the sun-reddened sea. He saw a riderless horse cantering toward them and frowned, recognizing Amaric's horse. For a long moment, he held his destrier still, his dark brows lowered. He knew that Jerval had ordered Chandra never to leave the camp without a guard. Without another thought, he ran the horse down and reined him in. He saw a drop of blood on the saddle.

    What in God's name had happened? He turned to his men. "We ride east until we find Amaric."

    It was Albert, Graelam's squire, who spotted Amaric's body on a flat stretch of ground, his legs covered with sand by the desert wind. There was a clean stab wound in his chest, and his sword was sheathed. Graelam raised his lifeless arm. It was not yet stiff in death.

    "Albert, ride back to Sir Jerval. Tell him that we found Lady Chandra's guard murdered." Graelam studied the ground for several moments. "There are two horses riding to the east. Tell Sir Jerval that we will follow and will leave a trail for him. Quickly, man."

    Graelam swung onto his destrier's back, wondering why in God's name Chandra could not be like the other ladies and remain safe in the camp until her husband's return. Had she been so reckless as to demand that Amaric accompany her to the battle site? No, wait. They were traveling east, not north. Perhaps Jerval's proud lady had not been at fault. He smiled faintly at this thought as he dug his heels into his horse's belly. There was but one other person with her. Had she been taken against her will? Damnation, he owed her his life, and it displeased him to owe his life to a woman, even the fierce maiden warrior of Croyland. It was time to repay his debt.

*     *     *

    "Off your horse, my lady," Eustace said. "We wait here."

    Chandra didn't move. "This is madness, Eustace. We still have time. Take me back."

    He laughed, and picked a fingernail with the sharp tip of the dagger. "Not mad, my lady, never mad." He paused a moment then, and looked at her. " Besides the riches I will have, I will also have the memory of your lovely body, a very lovely body that you once denied me. Since you are not a virgin, it makes little difference how many men plow you before you become al-Afdal's sole property."

    "I don't think so," she said, even smiling at him. He frowned, but she moved very quickly, one eye on that dagger of his. She leaned over in the saddle and drove her fist into his jaw. More from surprise than from pain, Eustace reared back and dropped her palfrey's reins. Chandra scooped them up, and with a wild cry she sent her horse into a frenzied gallop.

    Eustace's powerful destrier quickly overtook her, his shadow huge and black against the moonlit rocks. She gave a cry of fury when his thick arm closed about her waist and lifted her off her palfrey's back. She fought him with all her strength, but he simply held her against him, squeezing her ribs, squeezing, squeezing until she couldn't breathe.

    Eustace pulled his destrier up and flung her to the rocky ground, and she felt the pain from the sharp rocks dig into her back She looked up to see him jerking up his surcoat, ripping at the ties on his chausses. He was going to rape her. She had to stop him, but how? He was much stronger, and she was hurting, badly.

    Eustace was grunting as he tugged at a knot in the ties. He looked down at her, sprawled before him, her gown torn and riding up her legs. "I begin to see why Jerval does not want to leave your bed." He tossed her his mantle. "Spread yourself on it. Else I'll gut you with my dagger."

    Chandra rolled to her side away from him and jumped to her feet. She grabbed the mantle and flung it at his head. She heard him curse as she rushed toward her palfrey. Stones cut into her slippers, but she didn't slow. She heard him still cursing, close behind her now, too close, and she gave a cry of anger and whirled about to face him, knowing that she could not outrun him. She controlled the pain in her ribs. She had only one more chance before he raped her. She saw him raise the dagger just as she kicked him in his groin with all her strength, but her gown held firm above her knee, and her foot landed against his armored thigh. Eustace grunted in pain, but he managed to close his arms around her and fling her backward.

    "No, I'm not going to kill you, but I am going to hurt you. Aye, I'm really going to hurt you." His voice was a mixture of pain and lust.

    Chandra fought him, tried to throw him off balance, using every trick her father and his men had taught her, but he was like a bull, crushing her into the cold stones. She felt his hand ripping her gown, and she yelled curses at him. His hand was upon her bare leg, squeezing her flesh.

    She could feel the cold night air against her skin. She managed to rear up in one final surge of strength and strike his face.

    Suddenly, she heard low, angry voices— men's voices— and they were close by. She raised her head, painfully. She saw about a dozen desert-garbed Saracens, some still on their horses and several standing near her. Eustace's fist was raised to strike her. One of the men said something. She heard Eustace yell back, "You have no right to interfere. I was told I could enjoy her before she became al-Afdal's whore."

    The Saracen who appeared to be their leader was speaking quietly. "The bargain was made, Sir Eustace, but you will not take the English girl here, on the rocky ground, and then turn her over cut and bleeding to my master."

    "I won't use my dagger on her, though she deserves it. Listen, I want her now. She fought me. I want her."

    "No, not here." Munza breathed a sigh of relief that he'd gotten here in time. If his master's physician found seed in the girl's body, his life would be worth less than an old slave's, of which there were very few. He turned and looked down at the woman. He knew all she could see was a dark face, framed in a white turban. "Ah, good, she is conscious."

    He dropped to his knees beside her. She did not move when he touched his fingers to her jaw. She thought she saw a glint of pity in his black eyes. "Are you in pain?"

    She shook her head.

    The Saracen said over his shoulder to Eustace, "You will pray to your Christian god that you have not harmed her."

    "She fought me, Munza," Eustace said. "She is a bitch, and wants taming."

    "Cover yourself," the Saracen said coldly, his eyes dropping to Eustace's open chausses. "It will be for my master to say what is to be done with her." His black eyes flickered over her, thoroughly assessing. "She is more beautiful than I believed possible. Al-Afdal will be pleased. It is a pity she is not a virgin."

    Chandra raised her hand to clutch at his sleeve. "Do not do this. Of course I'm not a virgin. I'm a wife. My husband is Sir Jerval de Vernon. You must return me to Acre and my husband. You will be greatly rewarded, I promise you."

    He shook off her hand and rose. "Can you stand?"

    She nodded, knowing there was no hope with him. Slowly, she forced her knees to lock and hold her weight. "Here," the Saracen said, and threw her a mantle to cover her ragged gown.

    She wrapped it about her. At least she was covered now. She wanted to kill Eustace. If only she could have gotten his dagger away from him. She also wanted to kill herself for being so stupid as to believe him. He'd killed poor Amaric. It was too much.

    "When can I have her?" It was Eustace, so frustrated he sounded as though he was ready to fight all the Saracens to get to her.

    Munza shrugged. "When my master accepts her, your bargain will be sealed. Come, al-Afdal awaits."

    Chandra was helped to her feet and set upon her horse. There was no more talk among them, only the sound of the horses' hooves pounding over the rocky ground. They were riding to higher ground, and the night air became colder. She thought of Jerval, wondering if he yet knew that she was gone, wondering what he would do. She felt tears sting her eyes, tears of grief for what could have been, tears for what she had found so briefly, and lost. She knew Eustace would still rape her. The Saracen had agreed it was part of the bargain. Then he would take his money and return to Acre, full of righteous anger and grief at her capture. And she would be left, like Ali's slave girl, Beri, for the rest of her years as a man's whore.

    She swallowed her tears. They couldn't help. She calmed. She would kill herself— aye, she would kill herself, before she would let Eustace or any of the Saracens touch her. She'd kill Eustace first, then herself. But the thought of suicide curdled like sour milk in her belly. She did not want to die, at least not by her own hand. It was a coward's way, and by Christ, she would not be a coward.

    But what to do?

    She would wait and see. She must be ready. Her father always said, "While there is life, there is hope." She'd never really thought about it before, but now it meant everything to her. Jerval would come. He must.

    Graelam and his man-at-arms drew up in the shadow of a huge rock at the sight of a ghostly, white-garbed band of Saracens. Chandra was riding in their midst, Eustace with their leader at their fore. Graelam gripped his man's arm. "We can do naught against a dozen Saracens. Ride back and bring Sir Jerval and his men. You will have no difficulty tracking me. I will follow to see where they take her."

    As he rode through the night, keeping well out of sight of the Saracens, Graelam smiled grimly, picturing his hands choking the life out of Eustace.

    The mountainous terrain gave way to a barren plain of low sand hills pressed among scattered rocks and boulders. Chandra looked up as she shifted wearily in the saddle and saw lights in the distance. As they grew nearer, she could make out a cluster of palm and date trees, and the outline of tents set among them. They formed a small village at the edge of the plain, its back pressed against the mountains. Horses whinnied and groups of armed men shouted in welcome. They rode past a pool of clear water with women kneeling beside it, filling goatskin jugs. Thoughts of escape dimmed at the sight of so many people.

    The Saracens drew to a halt before a huge, many-domed tent, and their leader jumped down from his horse and threw the reins to a boy standing beside its entrance.

    "Come inside, Sir Eustace," Munza said in his lilting accent. "My master will want to see you."

    Eustace dismounted and swaggered toward the huge tent. He turned as Munza helped Chandra off her palfrey and said, "It is just as well. I will enjoy her more once she is bathed and readied. I warn you, though. She is not a woman to be cowed and made fearful. Watch out for her. She is as ferocious as a warrior."

    Munza said nothing, though for a moment he wanted to laugh. The Englishman sounded afraid of the girl, which was beyond ridiculous. He grasped her arm and forced her to walk beside him to the tent. He stopped her a moment in the light, and studied her face. "There is a slight bruise, that is all. My master will be pleased."

    Chandra gazed at him coldly. "Your master will be pleased for only a short time. Then he will be dead."

    Munza drew back and frowned at her. He was not a tall man, and the English girl's eyes were as cold as the northern winters he'd heard about. He knew that Christian women were not like Moslem women. But still it shocked him that she could speak so brazenly, and stare at him with such contempt. "You will learn how to behave, my lady," he said. "Else my master will flay the white skin from your beautiful body." That should silence her. He waited to hear her plead, perhaps even beg him to go gently with her.

    She said, "Ah, another brave man. Take me to this courageous master who must steal a wife from her husband. Aye, I wish to look upon his noble face."

    Munza didn't want to, but now he found himself worried. She was not behaving as she should. He said slowly, "A slave does not look into her master's eyes unless he wishes it. I don't want you slain. Remember my words, my lady, else you will not live to say more."

    Chandra shrugged and it angered him— she saw it, and it was something. She pulled the mantle about her torn robe and walked, stiff-backed, beside Munza into the tent.

    She blinked her eyes, adjusting to the blazing resin torches that lit the interior of the tent. It was an immense structure, its floor covered with thick carpets, slashed with vivid reds and golds. Fat, brightly embroidered pillows were piled beside small circular tables, delicately carved in sandalwood. Flowing, translucent veils of cloth separated the tent into chambers, and it was toward a large central chamber that Munza led Chandra. She was aware of silent, dark-skinned women, their faces covered with thin veils, who briefly raised their downcast eyes at her. They were dressed as slaves, with flowing tops of light material fitted snug beneath their breasts, leaving their skin bare to the waist, and long, full skirts, fastened at their waists by a thin band of colored leather. She could see the line of their legs through the shimmering cloth. Dark, bearded men stared at her openly, and it was lust she saw on their faces. She would be strong; she wouldn't give up.

    She began to feel as if she were walking through a gauntlet designed to humiliate her. At last, Munza drew apart a golden veil that hung from the roof of the tent to its floor, and shoved her forward. She stood silent for a long moment, drew in her breath. She could not believe that such riches could be gathered in a tent, set in a barren desert. There was gold everywhere: goblets glistened upon the low tables, chests bound with intricately carved gold bands, and thick pillows embroidered with gold thread. The light was not so bright here, and its softness added to the opulence of the room. Munza grasped her arm and pulled her forward.

    "Bow to our master— al-Afdal," he said close to her ear.

    She laughed; she actually managed to laugh. "I will see this jackal in hell first." She'd spoken loudly enough to reach the man sprawled at his ease on the far side of the chamber. She threw her head back and stared at him, not moving. His dress was different from that of the desert-garbed Saracens. He wore a short jacket, without sleeves, fastened across his wide chest by golden chains. His trousers, like his jacket, were of pristine white wool, full at the thighs, and bound by a wide golden belt at his waist. When her eyes traveled to his face, she was surprised to see a young man, with a beard curving to a sharp point at his chin. He was not ill-looking. His black eyes were cold, deep as an ancient well. She saw thick black hair on his chest curling about the golden chains. She forced herself not to move.

    "This is Lady Chandra de Vernon," Eustace said in a loud voice, stepping forward. "She gave me a bit of trouble, but I barely marred her beauty. As I told you, she is known for her warrior skills. She did not come easily."

    "Come here," al-Afdal said. He raised a heavily jeweled hand toward her. He did not answer Eustace or even acknowledge his presence.

    Chandra jerked her arm free of Munza and strode forward. She drew to a halt some three feet before the man, al-Afdal, and crossed her arms over her breasts. "So, you are the jackal who bribed this weak fool"— she paused a moment, and cocked her head contemptuously toward Eustace—"to bring me here?"