Claire Delacroix (23 page)

Two doors were there on the far end of the room. The one below the dais did not appear to lead anywhere of good repute, for ‘twas barred and of poorer manufacture. The one behind the king Thierry suspected led to his chambers, for ‘twas finely ornamented and marked with those same golden blooms. He shook his head minutely, his sense of being lured into a trap redoubled by his observations.

But one exit. This he did not like, the rising banks of benches to the left and right reminding him only too well of a valley set for an ambush. A valley with but one escape. Thierry liked not that he was the one stepping willingly within the trap. Though he was but an envoy and surely had naught to fear, Thierry felt his pulse begin to race.

“The envoy from the Mongols,” the messenger announced when they had crossed the threshold. The words launched an uneasy silence as dozens of murmured conversations halted as one.

The king looked up, pinning Thierry with a glance. His courtiers and advisers glanced up with curiosity. Thierry stiffened and gazed around the room, more than fully aware that he was being scrutinized.

When the whispering began, his pride set him in motion. Let them look, he thought ferociously. Of naught did he have to be ashamed. Thierry strode purposefully down the length of the room, summoning his most forbidding expression as he approached the dais. Only one man was he, but this king would know the might of the Mongol khan.

Thierry paused before the dais, absently admiring the way its design made it virtually impossible to assault the king from where he stood. The leap was too high. No wonder their weapons had not been removed before they were permitted entry. The realization fed his suspicions of the situation, but no time had he to indulge such whimsies.

A man on a diplomatic mission was he. The sooner this matter was completed, the sooner he and Kira could continue with their lives.

And the sooner he could seek out his ambitious dreams. His heart missed a beat in anticipation, but Thierry schooled his response. A task had he to fulfill first.

“Greetings to you do I bring from his most esteemed Second Il-Khan of Persia, Abaqa, son of Hülegü, son of Tolui, son of the Great Golden Khan himself, the immortal and most divine Chinggis Khan,” he began. The king’s brows lifted in surprise.

“Frankish do you speak,” he observed quietly before a frown flitted across his brow. “And rather well. How came this to be?”

“Many skills have we of which you know naught,” Thierry replied, striving to keep his manner and tone consistent with the missive he had been granted. No unnecessary information was he to grant these potential allies, he had been told, in case they became not allies, but foes. ‘Twas the strength of the Mongols they should be given to understand and not one concession should he make.

“Indeed,” the king commented mildly. Two of the courtiers whispered to each other and Thierry bristled when he saw that they gestured to Kira. The king smothered a smile and Thierry wondered how much of his response had been noted.

“Mayhap you would tell us your own identities afore reading your message,” the king suggested.

“Qaraq-Böke am I called,” Thierry informed the king proudly, not seeing any reason to discuss his own Frankish lineage. Was he not the messenger of the Mongol khan? “And the blooded warrior Nogai ‘tis who accompanies me on this mission.”

“And from whence do you issue?”

“We come bearing the message of Abaqa, Second Il-Khan of Persia.”

“‘Twas not my question.”

“But ‘twas my response.”

The king held Thierry’s gaze for a long moment, as though willing him to say more. Thierry remained resolutely silent, knowing full well that he had not answered the king’s questions as he had wished.

This prying manner was offensive in itself and Thierry did not feel that he alone should be the one to swallow his pride. A frown darkened the king’s brow for a brief moment when Thierry said naught else. The king made a sound that might have been exasperation in the back of his throat before he leaned forward slightly.

“Envoys we have had from the Mongols afore,” he confided. “And yet naught has ever come from these liaisons.”

“Well might one question on which side the fault lay,” Thierry countered flatly.

“One well might,” the king agreed readily. “Though truly that is not my point. I would but ask you for some indication that your khan sends this message in good faith.”

Thierry unfurled the scroll of parchment he carried, knowing that the text would explain itself more fully than he could.

“The truth lies here, as does the sign you seek,” he said.

The king nodded. “Then I would have you read this missive now,” he ordered.

Thierry cleared his throat as he stretched the parchment out before him. The moment was upon him and truly he hoped all went well. “His most esteemed Second Il-Khan of Persia, Abaqa, son of Hülegü, son of Tolui, son of the Great Golden Khan himself, the immortal and most divine Chinggis Khan, sends greetings to the king of the Franks.”

A clatter of activity diverted Thierry’s attention from his reading at that moment. He twisted to find a large group of armed knights entering the throne room. Thierry frowned and met the concern in Nogai’s gaze.

Who were these new arrivals and what was their intent?

Did these Frankish people regard diplomats differently than the Mongols did? Was he a fool to assume that they could come and leave here without being assaulted? Well enough had Thierry already seen the difference in their cultures, and the arrival of these knights fed his doubts. Suddenly Thierry was not so certain that their safety was assured and he swallowed carefully, even as he tallied a count of the new arrivals.

“What brings you here?” crisply demanded one of the courtiers.

The older knight who led the group assumed a cavalier air that Thierry knew was feigned. “Come to see the Easterners, have we,” he responded lightly. He was tall, his voice resoundingly deep, his step surprisingly vigorous despite the snowy whiteness of his hair. He carried his helmet beneath his elbow, his sword hanging from his hip.

At their leader’s words the others leered at the trio before the king and laughed amongst themselves. Almost might one think they were drunk, but Thierry was not ready to make such an easy conclusion. No reassurance was there in the fact that they were garbed similarly to their leader in mail and tunics with full weaponry.

Thierry acknowledged yet another increment of dread. To what battle did these knights travel? The king gestured to the new arrivals for silence and impatiently waved them toward the benches on either side.

“Provincials,” he muttered disparagingly under his breath. His manner indicated that the explanation should have meaning to Thierry, though indeed he could divine naught from the single word. There was shame in dwelling outside the city? Well might he have thought ‘twould be precisely the opposite, but no time had he to ponder the matter.

“Please continue,” the king insisted when Thierry stood uneasily silent, and he reluctantly returned to his scroll.

“Heavily cursed have both our kingdoms been by that godless union of Mamluk dogs emanating from Egypt and the infidels from Syria, and in this slight we already stand of one accord. Well do we understand that the loss of the city of Jerusalem and the land known as Palestine is a thorn that sticks in the side of the Frankish people, just as the loss of the surrounding plains sorely vexes our tribes.

“We propose a holy union between our armies, that we should attack these territories from opposite sides in a common operation. If by the authority of heaven, we should conquer these people, you should have Jerusalem as our gift.”

A murmur of discussion broke out on the dais and Thierry wondered if ‘twas his imagination that made the response sound favorable. Mayhap the matter could be settled hastily and Nogai sent back to Tabriz with the response. Mayhap. Thierry cleared his throat pointedly and the courtiers fell silent as he continued.

“The divine hand is clear in this and well it seems this liaison has been ordained. A sign has been sent to us in the person sent before you, for Mongol he is, yet he speaks your Frankish tongue. Well this seems a portent that our alliance is a blessed one. As if this were not enough, there is yet another sign of heaven’s intervention, for this same messenger bears the very mark of your Jerusalem emblazoned upon his flesh for all to see.”

A tense hush fell after his words, the expectation more than Thierry thought the missive certainly demanded. But no time had he to puzzle over such cultural differences. The sooner this was delivered, the sooner he could seek his own fate.

As he had been instructed, he unfastened his
kalat
and bared his birthmark to the view of those on the dais.

To his astonishment, the king blanched.

The king then fell weakly back in his chair, the pallor of his complexion making him appear markedly older than he had just moments before. The courtier to his left swore, the one on his right crossed himself vigorously, a young boy appeared to lift a cup to the king’s lips.

“He dares to venture openly amongst us,” another courtier whispered inexplicably. He stared in openmouthed disbelief at Thierry’s bared flesh. Another closed his eyes reverently and raised his rosary to his lips as he mouthed a silent prayer. The last man on the dais clambered to his feet and shouted.

“Guards!”

The cry echoed eerily in the silence that had fallen in the throne room. Suddenly everyone who had frozen in place came to life and the room erupted in activity.

What had Thierry done? This response made no sense. But a glimpse did Thierry need of the guards on the dais drawing their swords to prompt him to draw his own.

“Fool!” bellowed someone far behind when it seemed that naught could make less sense.

Thierry spun on his heel to find the knights who had lately entered the hall leaping down to the floor. They were led by that same solidly set man, who had donned his helmet. Thierry had little doubt ‘twas he who had bellowed, for purpose showed in every line of his figure as he closed the distance between them.

“What did you do?” Nogai demanded impatiently.

“No idea have I,” Thierry confessed in bewilderment.

“Well it seems that we will have to defend ourselves before we might find out,” Nogai observed dryly. The two men’s gazes held but for an instant before they backed together out of long-standing habit. A wide-eyed Kira was trapped between the two of them.

“A fine choice of an emissary Abaqa made in you,” Nogai muttered with dissatisfaction. He swung his blade and another grunted as his swipe found its mark. “Not long enough are we even here for a meal afore you strike offense. Well it seems the khan might have weakness in assessing diplomatic talents.”

No time had Thierry to respond to the accusation, for two guards leaped at him. He swung and missed, then jabbed more successfully. Kira squealed and he pivoted deliberately to keep her sheltered behind him as he dispatched the second opponent.

He cast a dubious glance at the knights now reaching them. On whose side would they swing their blades? Indeed, their role would decide the fight, for should Thierry and Nogai stand alone, they were doomed. Nogai bellowed as he impaled another attacker and Kira fairly crawled up Thierry’s back.

“Give me a knife,” she demanded breathlessly. Thierry but bared his forearm to her as he kept an eye on the courtier stalking toward him, dagger in hand. Kira snatched the blade. He knew not if she could wield it, but well enough should she try.

Another shout and Thierry fired a glance down the room to find the leader of the knights had dispatched one of the guards from the door with a telling blow. Allies these knights were, then. Thierry’s pulse pounded at the revelation. Now they had at least a chance of escaping the clutch of this infernal building.

“Guards! Guards!
Guards!
” One of the courtiers had climbed onto his seat and shouted for aid. The king had disappeared into his chambers behind, several of the courtiers similarly gone. The remainder pulled concealed daggers and swords from their garments and leaped into the fray with a shout. The group of knights worked their way down the floor with methodical ease, steel clanging on steel, until their leader was alongside Thierry.

“Thierry de Pereille are you?” he demanded in a terse undertone.

Thierry nearly missed a parry, so astonished was he by the question.

“Aye,” he agreed warily before he could think to do otherwise.

“Fool,” the man declared again, his green eyes snapping fire as he dealt a telling blow to another guard. “Though I guessed as much when I heard Mongols came calling. Well might I have thought your sire might have raised you to have more sense than this.” He grunted and jabbed his sword into the gullet of an attacker. Thierry struggled to make sense of the enigmatic comment even as he fought.

How could this stranger know his name? And how did he know Thierry’s father?

“And who might you be?” Thierry dared to demand, earning himself a sharp glare from the older knight.

“Eustache de Sidon,” the man spat. “Were it not for the pledge I took to your father, ‘twould be your blood on the floor and deservedly so. Never have I witnessed such brash foolhardiness—”

A roar erupted from the end of the hall as a large contingent of the king’s guards spilled into the throne room. The older man beside Thierry muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath that sounded markedly like something Nogai would say. He shot Thierry a scathing glance.

“Get out now,” he dictated flatly. Thierry bristled at the order and met that frosty regard with no intent of complying.

“I will not flee like a woman,” he snapped.

The other man snorted. “Nay, you will flee like a hunted man,” he corrected. “As will all the rest of us now, I wager.” He swore eloquently and visibly gritted his teeth, his voice dropping to a growl. “Indeed, I should have trusted the sign more. Had I but known, I would have brought them all.” His gaze flitted over the walls of the throne room and he shook his head disparagingly.

“Such an opportunity wasted,” he muttered, to Thierry’s confusion, then spared the younger man a knowing look. “Well could we have regained the prize this very day,” he asserted.