Warrior's Song (28 page)

    "He is carrying on like a damned woman," Payn said, then realized what he'd said. "Nay, that isn't true, is it? Not any damned woman, in any case. However, I cannot imagine— damnation, forget that."

    Chandra lightly punched his shoulder and laughed.

    "You look as if you swallowed a prune," Joanna said to Chandra.

    "Nay, I was just wishing we had word from Haifa. It has been nearly a week without news."

    Eleanor, arranged comfortably on thick, soft cushions in Ali ad-Din's bathing room, said easily, "They will send word soon, Chandra. There is little to fear. My lord told me before they left that the Saracens had only a loose hold on the city and would likely flee at the sight of our army."

    The slave girl who had been soaping Chandra rose at a word from Beri and poured a jug of warm, perfumed water over her. Chandra sighed with pleasure and slithered into the cool bathing pool. As was her habit, she floated in the water, listening to the giggling Joanna and the chattering slave girls. When she opened her eyes, she saw Beri staring down at her, an odd, assessing look in her dark eyes. She stood up, pulled her hair over her shoulder, and twisted out the water.

    Beri handed her a towel. "Come, this time I have a very special perfumed oil for you."

    "Will it remove this ugly scar?" Chandra asked, looking at the jagged ridge of flesh on her arm.

    "Nay, but it will make men wild to be near you."

    Chandra gave her a twisted smile. "It is not something I wish."

    "Perhaps you should," Beri said.

    Chandra stretched out on her stomach and felt the warm oil trickle down her back until a slave girl began to rub it lightly into her flesh. She turned her face toward Beri. "Why did you say that?"

    Beri shrugged. "I told you once that I did not understand. You are beautiful, your body glows with health, and you are not at all ill tempered."

    "You have never seen me angry, Beri."

    "You are proud. That is different, and perhaps that is what I do not understand. You must take care. There is a man who wishes you ill— Sir Eustace de Leybrun is his name. I heard that he was spreading rumors that my master had given me to Sir Jerval as payment for his help against the Genoese. He wishes to hurt both you and your husband."

    Rumors that Jerval had bedded Beri? She wanted to know more, but there was no time because Eleanor called out, "Chandra? There is a message just delivered. We have taken Haifa, and our husbands are all safe."

    Chandra gazed blankly toward Eleanor, who was waving a letter a slave girl had given her. "Thank God," she said. "Thank you, Beri, for giving me warning." She paused a moment, and smiled. "Actually, I believe I lost my pride when I saw my husband wounded. I won't let Eustace or anyone harm him again." She rose from the table and allowed a slave girl to help her dress.

    She was aware of Beri watching her until she passed out of the bathing room with Eleanor.

    "I am returned, hale and hearty, Chandra. Stop your pacing. I am not hurt— indeed, everything went easily."

    She whirled about to see Jerval stride into the tent. She only stared at him.

    "Are you surprised that I am clean? And out of my armor?"

    She was at his side in a moment, feeling his arms, his shoulders. She fell to her knees, her hands on his legs. "You are all right? Your side did not pain you?"

    "Aye, I am fit again." He stopped abruptly, staring at her. "You look pale. What is the matter?"

    "I want you. Right now. I want you to kiss me."

    He believed his eyes would cross. He was instantly hard, harder than he'd ever been in his life. He was on her in just a moment more. He lifted her against him, pressing her tightly to him.

    She clutched at his shoulders and felt the power of him, felt the urgency of his need for her. His mouth was gentle, his hands lightly stroking, yet she knew he was holding himself back, that he was in control. She didn't want him to be in control. She wanted him to be as wild as she was. She rubbed herself against him.

    Even as he said, "Our clothes, Chandra," she was tearing at the fastenings on her gown. He laughed, slapping her hands away, and stripped her within moments. Then it was her turn. She gave him a siren's smile, and once again he believed he would lose control. It was very close.

    "Lie beside me," he said, and she believed him to be in pain. When she would have spoken, he lightly placed his fingertips against her lips. They lay facing each other, and for a moment, he feared to touch her, for if he did, he would be on her and deep inside her. He stared into her eyes, smoky and vague. Beautiful eyes, a deep blue, shimmering like the sea at dawn.

    "Why do you stare at me?"

    "I never want to forget what you look like at this moment." Then he clasped her hand and gently guided it down his belly. When her fingers closed over him, he smiled. "I want you, badly— you know that."

    She still held him, her fingers clutching at him now, and it was almost pain, but not enough for him to stop her. Finally he pulled her hand away. "No more, or I will spill my seed and you will want to take your sword to me."

    "No," she said into his mouth, "no." She felt his fingers pressed against her, feeling her, stroking, and she quite simply wanted to die from the frenzy of it, the immense wildness.

    "Move against my fingers," he said, nuzzling her throat.

    When her eyes went blank and wild, he reared over her and came inside her. He thought he would die at the feel of her, of them together.

    She yelled, holding him tightly against her, feeling him inside her, so deep, part of her, and she wanted him, wanted, and when his fingers found her, she yelled again.

    She was whispering love words to him and clutching his back, holding him down on top of her. For many moments, his mind was a vague blur, raw sensation warring with thought. He could feel her pounding heart against his chest, the giving softness of her breasts and belly. He shook his head, clearing away his passion, and balanced himself over her on his elbows to stare down into her face.

    "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

    She smiled, replete and satisfied. "Nay, but I am filled with you," she said in wonder. "Filled, and it is very good."

    "Aye," he said, "but not quite so much now." He lowered his head and rubbed his chin against her neck.

    She said against his temple, "So many things have happened, things I never expected. I thought I would die when you were wounded at Nazareth."

    "And I must always try to protect you. There will be some things I cannot change, Chandra, some things that you will have to accept."

    "Because you are a man."

    "Aye, because I am a man, and because life, even at Camberley, is so damned uncertain."

    "But I was not useless during the Saracen attack. I did save Graelam and help Payn."

    "That is true. I suppose I sound like a fool, and if Payn heard me, he'd likely call me an ungrateful dog, but perhaps the next time it would be your life to be forfeit. Never could I bear that cost, never."

    "So it must always be I who waits in fear?"

    He rolled to his side and laid the flat of his hand in the hollow of her smooth belly. "When you carry my child, it is his safety that must be your only concern."

    "I am to be the giver of life, and you its protector."

    "Those sound like some philosopher's words."

    "It is what you want."

    "Mayhap, some of it. We are back to obedience, are we? We will have great fights, Chandra, and we will tug apart and then pull back together. The servants will cower in fright, and my parents will believe us mad. But there will be love between us, and respect. If you will agree to that, then all else will work itself out."

    She snuggled her face into the hollow of his throat and smiled. "You won't ever leave me?" she asked him, her arms tightening about his back.

    "I doubt if I could leave you even if the damned Saracens besieged Acre."

    "I love you, Jerval." He was silent. For an instant, she tasted the fear of vulnerability.

    "It took you long enough to realize it. You will not now forget, will you? Ever?"

    "Nay, never."

    "I have loved you since I saw you standing in the Great Hall of Croyland." He paused a moment as his fingers lightly probed the raised scar on her arm. "There has been too much between us— and not enough."

    "I don't want us to be what we were in England, ever again."

    "No, we have both changed."

    There were no more words between them, and they slept within minutes, Chandra sprawled beside him, her hand curled upon his chest.

CHAPTER 28

The next afternoon, after little fuss, Eleanor birthed a girl child, named Joan of Acre— a fitting name, Jerval said to Chandra.

    But two days after the birth of his daughter, Prince Edward sat alone in his tent, wearing only his tunic, having rid himself of his hellishly hot armor, wondering what the devil was keeping al-Hamil, an emissary from a local chieftain who had made a truce with the Christian knights. He was impatient to join Eleanor and their babe, Joan. The fly that kept hovering about his forehead did not improve his temper.

    He heard conversation outside his tent, but did not rise. He looked up as the flap was raised and nodded welcome to al-Hamil, an unusually large man for a Saracen, nearly as tall as Edward, with black, bushy eyebrows that almost met across his forehead. Al-Hamil stepped inside the tent and bowed low to Edward.

    "Sire," he said, and walked slowly forward.

    "What have you to say to me today, al-Hamil?" Edward waved him toward a stool. Turning slightly to reach for a goblet of wine, he saw a shadow of swift movement from the corner of his eye. He flung the goblet of wine toward the Saracen and threw himself sideways even before he saw the gleaming dagger coming down fast. He felt a prick of pain in his upper arm, and with a growl of rage, he lunged at the Saracen, his fingers gripping the wrist that still held tight to the dagger.

    "Christian dog!" al-Hamil yelled, spitting into Edward's face. "It is too late for you, for the dagger has pierced your flesh."

    Edward felt the Saracen's arm weakening beneath his fingers and, slowly, he turned the dagger toward al-Hamil. Before the Saracen could wrench away from him, Edward brought up his knee and thrust it brutally into the other man's groin. Al-Hamil bellowed in pain, staggered, and fell to his knees. He saw the dagger's vicious point aimed at his throat.

    "Allah!" he screamed.

    Edward locked his arm behind the Saracen's neck and, with a final surge of strength, drove the dagger into al-Hamil's chest. The Saracen gazed up at the prince and smiled, even as his blood trickled from his mouth. He slumped backward, his eyes, now sightless, locked on Edward's face.

    Edward jumped back, his chest heaving. He saw his guards flooding into the tent, staring at him in shocked silence. He wanted to speak to them, but he felt a wave of nausea close over him.
It is but a prick in the arm,
he thought as he crumpled to the floor.

    Jerval, Chandra on his heels, burst into the crowded tent to see Edward's two physicians leaning over him, probing at the swelling flesh of his upper arm. Eleanor stood at the foot of his cot, utterly still, utterly silent, her face frozen.

    Jerval, angry at the babbling disorder, shoved the bewildered soldiers from the tent. "For God's sake," he shouted at them, "keep everyone out."

    "The dagger was poisoned," Payn said, "and the damned physicians are but wringing their hands."

    Edward slowly opened his eyes. He felt a numbing chill radiate from the wound in his arm. He looked up at Geoffrey Parker. "Is there nothing you can do?"

    "Sire, it is a heathen poison, a poison that we do not understand. We have cleaned the wound." He turned his eyes away from Edward's gray face. "We can do naught save sew the flesh together, and pray to God."

    Jerval turned to Roger de Clifford. "Send a man to fetch the Templar physician, Sir Elvan. If it is a heathen poison, he may know what to do. Quickly, quickly!"

    Eleanor raised her eyes at Geoffrey's words. For an instant, she looked about her blankly, at the hovering nobles standing impotently about, at the drawn faces of the two physicians.

    "Poison," she whispered. There was a bluish tinge about her husband's lips, and he was trembling now, uncontrollably. Her eyes fell to the still-swelling gash in his arm. Edward gave a low moan, and his head fell back against the cushions.

    "No!" Eleanor shouted. "You will not die." She rushed from the foot of the cot and shoved Geoffrey roughly out of the way.

    "My lady, please," Geoffrey said. "You must leave. There is nothing you can do."

    But Eleanor knew what she was going to do and no one was going to stop her. "Listen to me. I will not let him die. Get out of my way, all of you." She fell to her knees beside Edward and lowered her mouth to the gaping wound. She sucked hard, then spat the blood and the venom from her mouth, and sucked again at the wound until she could draw no more blood or poison from it. Slowly, she fell back on her knees, and bowed her head.

    There was stunned silence until Chandra slipped away from Jerval and eased down to her knees beside Eleanor. "My lady," she said gently, lightly touching Eleanor's white sleeve, "I think you are the bravest person I have ever seen. You have done all you can for your husband. Come away with me now." She looked up, angry because the damned physicians had begun to argue with each other in hushed whispers.

    "She likely killed our lord," she heard one of them say.

    "To bring in a Templar physician, surely the prince would not approve."

    Jerval, wanting to strangle the lot of them, shouted, "Why not? Do you think the prince would prefer to die?"

    "That is not the point," said another of the men, but Jerval just turned away from them.

    But Chandra didn't ignore him. "Then what is the point?"

    "It is better to die a Christian than let a heathen save you."

    "I have never heard greater nonsense," Eleanor said, raising her head to look at the man. "If the devil himself would save someone I loved, I would do it." Wisely, Geoffrey Parker held his tongue.

    As for Eleanor, she was now oblivious of them and all their muttering. "Nay, Chandra," she said at last, raising her head, "I cannot leave my lord." She shuddered, wiping her hand across her mouth. "I tasted the poison. It was awful, like decaying flesh."

    Chandra quickly poured her another goblet of wine. "Here, Eleanor, you must wash out your mouth again. I don't like it that you can even remember the taste of that horrible poison."

    Jerval and Payn shoved aside the bickering physicians. Chandra helped Eleanor to her feet, and they watched silently as the two men vigorously rubbed Edward's arms and legs.

    "By all the saints," Payn said, "he should not remain unconscious so long."

    Eleanor sat beside her husband and lightly slapped his face. "My lord," she whispered. "Please, my lord, open your eyes. Come back to me. I refuse to tell our little daughter about you. You must see her for yourself. Open your eyes else I will be very distressed."

    Edward's fair lashes fluttered. He heard Eleanor's voice from afar, vague and distant, and he was suddenly frightened that she needed him. He heard her voice again, closer now, and with a great effort, he forced his eyes to open. He felt light-headed, and the wound in his arm was a raging pain, so great that he clamped his lower lip between his teeth to keep from crying out. When he focused his gaze, it was not Eleanor he saw above him, but the dark-seamed face of Sir Elvan, the Templar physician.

    "Hold still, sire."

    Sir Elvan nodded to Jerval and Payn. They sat on either side of Edward and held him firmly.

    Edward scarce felt the knife plunging into his flesh. He heard Eleanor telling the physician to go more easily. He wanted to soothe her, to tell her he didn't feel much of anything, but no words came to mind. A fiery liquid followed the path of the knife, and Edward lunged upward with a cry of agony.

    "Payn, hold him!" Jerval shouted. It required all their strength to keep Edward down as Sir Elvan opened the wound still wider and poured more of the dark liquid into it.

    Sir Elvan slowly straightened. "The poison should have bubbled up from the wound. It may have worked so rapidly that my remedy will have no effect."

    Jerval smiled toward Eleanor. "I believe, Sir Elvan, that there is no poison because the princess sucked it from the wound."

    Sir Elvan's expression did not change. He looked at Eleanor, still speaking to her husband, stroking her palm over his forehead, her black hair straggling about her pale face.

    "My lady," he said very gently, "I believe you have saved your husband's life. Well done. You are very brave."

    Edward heard his words, and gazed up vaguely into his wife's face. She was smiling.

    "I am so blasted weak. Damn, but this is ridiculous."

    "And ill tempered, and impatient to be well again," Jerval said, standing over Edward. "At least you are no longer worried about making out your will."

    "You make my neck sore, Jerval. Sit down."

    Jerval sat. "Eleanor is suckling her babe and will return to you soon." Jerval smiled suddenly, his white teeth gleaming. "Now, sire, both you and I owe our miserable lives to our wives."

    "Aye," Edward said slowly, "it is a strange and daunting thought." His brows lowered. "Why did you not stop her? The poison could have killed her."

    "It did not occur to me to stop her. Indeed, I believe if anyone had tried, she would have killed him."

    "That is likely true," Edward said, and smiled. "She has been like a clucking mother hen, just as Chandra was when you were wounded at Nazareth." He shook his head. "Geoffrey Parker now meets with Sir Elvan daily, to learn from him. At least he will return to England with something."

    Jerval looked at Edward steadily, saddened at his bitterness.

    Edward laid his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes. "I wonder what would have happened had King Louis not died. He would have added another ten thousand men to our cause."

    "As pious and well meaning as Louis was," Jerval said quietly, "he still fancied himself a leader of men—"

    "Which he was."

    "Not in battle. It would have been up to you to lead our armies in battle, sire, not Louis. I wonder, after seeing all the bickering among Christians here, if all would have gone as we hoped."

    "I remember so clearly feeling that God himself laid the cross of his holy cause upon me," Edward said slowly, "that I was to be the instrument of his hand, to free his land of the Saracens. Even after hearing of Louis's death, I still believed that I was chosen to take Palestine."

    "It was the thought and belief in all our minds."

    What was he to do? Edward wondered silently, the pain of his spirit making his wound as nothing. "God knows we have tried," he said aloud, "but with a thousand men, we have achieved so little. Sometimes I feel the hideous desire to pray to God to rain destruction upon all the sanctimonious Christians who have refused to leave their comforts and come to our aid."

    "The Holy Land is thousands of miles from most of Christendom, sire. It no longer holds the promise of great wealth, or even the promise of freedom for God's people."

    "Aye, that's true, but still, when I think of King Hugh, him and his miserable barons, snug and safe in Cyprus, I want to kill the lot of them. And our sainted King Louis's brother, King Charles of Sicily— a ruthless, ambitious man, our Charles. I think he schemed only for control of the trade routes in the Mediterranean. I begin to believe that God has forsaken His land. We came with such hopes, like children who look only to God for succor."

    "Acre would have fallen had we not come."

    Edward said quietly, "Acre will fall, Jerval. It is but a matter of time. And when Acre does fall, the damned Venetians and Genoese will be slaughtered. I wonder if they will realize that it was their own greed over the control of Palestine that brought them to their end?"

    "No, probably not," Jerval said and fell silent. He knew well that even Edward's near death had brought only mendacious letters of concern from Christians in the Holy Land. There was nothing more, never anything more. Duty to God and to Edward was a grave cross to carry.

    "I have given it a lot of thought," Edward continued quietly. "What I sought to accomplish was a child's dream. I see clearly now that all we can hope for is a temporary halt to Sultan Baibars's mad desire for the rest of Palestine. I have heard it said that Baibars fears me." He laughed, bitterly. "Why, I cannot imagine. He probably believes that confronting me would bring the rest of Christendom to my aid. He seeks a treaty, Jerval."

    "A treaty? I did not know, sire."

    "You are the first I have told. I think he grew restive at my delay and took a chance that the rulers of Christendom would simply mourn my death with pious prayers, as they did King Louis's. Had I been gracious enough to succumb to the assassin's dagger, Baibars would have gained what he wanted with no effort at all. Do you know that the bastard had the gall to send me his profound regrets that an assassin had nearly killed me, an assassin he, naturally, knew nothing about?"

    "By God, I would like to stick my sword through his miserable belly."

    "Save your anger, my friend. If I guess aright, he is even now taking advantage of my weakness to gather an army to attack us. It is sound strategy, I must admit. I need you to lead our troops, Jerval. I have no wish to be forced to negotiate a treaty with Baibars without an army."