Lionheart's Scribe (9 page)

I steadied myself against the gentle rolling of the boat and tried to ignore the sailors who were now laughing uproariously. I made my way after the queen. I stumbled several times and almost dropped the girl twice, but managed to grab onto something each time and regain my balance. My foot pained me to the point where I felt I was walking on knives, but I clamped my teeth tight shut and carried on. I knew I could do this if I wanted to badly enough, and I did. It may have been just an oversight, but the queen obviously does not think of me as a cripple. She may well be the first person in the world who does not.

Finally I reached the queen's cabin. She stood waiting for me, holding the door open.

“Put her down there,” she ordered, gesturing to a pile of silken pillows.

“But she is soaking wet, Your Grace,” I protested, “and coughing up filthy water.”

“Do as you are told, Matthew,” she said sternly.

I hastened to obey.

“Now, leave and send my maidservants to me. I will take care of her. The poor child is half-drowned,” she added. As she spoke Queen Joanna knelt beside the girl and began to massage her hands. The girl whimpered again. Her eyes opened. She tried to draw back, but the queen held on to her.

Obviously this queen is used to getting her own way. And she is kind, I know. The little mermaiden I rescued from the sea will be in good hands.

Who is she? I wonder what she was doing on that ship.

The eighth day of June

I dreamed of snakes and drowning all last night. One of the sailors told me that the Muslim ship had been carrying two hundred of the slithery creatures. The ship was going to reinforce the garrison of Acre that our crusaders were besieging, he said, and they had planned to set the snakes loose in the crusader camp. I am still shuddering.

This morning, after attending upon the king, I received a summons from Queen Joanna. The queen was reclining on a couch piled high with pillows. Behind her a maidservant hovered, her mouth all squinched up as if she had just tasted something bitter. Off to one side stood Father Aimar, the queen's own confessor. He is said to be a most holy man, but is so tall and stern he frightens me somewhat. Beside the queen, on another pile of pillows, crouched the girl I had plucked from the water. At least I presumed it was she. She was dressed in a light shift, lent no doubt by the maidservant (but none too willingly, judging by the look on the servant's face). The girl's hair was dry now and flowed around her shoulders in a sea of black waves. She looked to be about twelve or thirteen years old and it was clear that she was terrified.

“This child will not speak,” the queen said. “I have tried to communicate with her, but to no avail. I wish to assure her that she is safe here, that there is no need for her to be so fearful, but she cannotunderstand me. You said that you could speak many languages, Matthew. Could you try to talk to her?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” I replied. “I think she speaks Arabic and I have a good knowledge of that tongue.” I furrowed my brow slightly, as Vulgrin used to do when he was trying to impress a rich merchant with the efficiency of his services. I hoped I looked stern and sounded competent. I'm not certain how successful I was, however, as that small smile tweaked at one corner of the queen's mouth again. Nevertheless I drew myself up as tall as I could and turned to the girl.

“Who are you?” I demanded. “What is your name?”

It was not, perhaps, the best approach. The girl's eyes filled with tears and she hid her face in her hands. The queen gave a small cough. I decided a quick change of tactics was in order.

“My name is Matthew,” I said more softly. “I am the one who saved you from the sea, remember? Could you not tell me your name?”

She dropped her hands and looked at me. “Where is my father?” she whispered.

“Who is your father?” I countered.

“He is the captain of the ship you attacked.”

“He attacked us first,” I replied without thinking. Another mistake.

“That is a lie!” she cried.

I hastened to make amends. “Please tell me your name,” I repeated. The queen was watching closely.

“Yusra. I am called Yusra.” The words came out in the barest of whispers.

Yusra. Her name means “ease after hardship.” I turned to the queen.

“Her name is Yusra,” I said. “She says her father is captain of the ship we sank.”

“Was captain,” Queen Joanna replied. “I know he was among those who were killed.” She looked toward Yusra, her eyes full of compassion. “Poor child. Tell her she will be taken care of, Matthew.”

“You are in no danger here,” I said, trying to make my voice gentle and calming, the way I would have spoken to my little goat if she had been upset. Indeed, this girl looked more fragile and frightened than any small beast I had ever seen. A thought struck me then. “Do you know who this lady is?”

“No,” she said.

“She is a great queen. She was queen of Sicily and is sister to the king of England himself.”

“She is a queen?” The girl wiped quickly at her eyes with the back of one hand. “Ask her, then … Ask her to let me see my father.”

“Your father …” I stumbled over the words, then summoned up the courage to speak them. Truly, I dreaded the effect they would have on this small creature. “Your father is dead. I'm sorry.” I reached out a hand to her, but she shrank back.

“Dead? That cannot be!” she gasped.

“It is true. I'm sorry,” I stammered again. What else could I say?

“It's not true,” she cried. “It's not true!” Her face suddenly paled. “And my mother?” Her voice was so low now I could hardly hear her.

“Your mother? She was on the ship as well?” Myheart took a leaden plunge downward.

She nodded. She was holding herself as still as if she had turned to stone. “My father always took us on his voyages.”

I looked to the queen. “Her mother, Your Grace. Her mother was on board as well.”

“There was no other woman among the survivors.” The queen shook her head slowly. “The poor creature has lost both her father and her mother and now she's alone amongst strangers. I know something of what that feels like—I must do what I can for her.” She looked toward Father Aimar as if seeking help, but he was staring at Yusra, face grim.

Yusra knew by the tone of the queen's voice what she had said. She collapsed, her face buried in the pillows.

I stood there, feeling as awkward and as sorry for anyone as I have ever felt in my life. There was a long moment of silence, and then the queen spoke.

“Go, Matthew. I thank you for helping me with her, but I think you have done all you can now.” She reached out a hand to stroke the girl's head, but Yusra flinched away from her touch. The queen dropped her hand and sighed. “I will call for you again, Matthew. I think we will have need of you to help with this poor child. But go now,” she repeated.

I made my obeisance and backed away.

I cannot put the remembrance of that small, huddled figure out of my mind. What is to become of her? I cannot imagine.

Later again …

We sailed into the harbor at Acre late this afternoon. It is a well-protected harbor, close up against the walls of the city. We dropped sails and the oarsmen took us in. The sea was calm, but small waves raced along the base of the walls like fingers of foam determined to find their way in. We could see figures moving around the ramparts. They seemed to have no fear of being fired upon, which I found strange. They were Saracens, after all, and the Christian army surrounds the city.

As I drank in the sights and the salty, kelpy smell of the sea, I heard the Muslim call to prayer begin. I have heard this many times in Sicily and never, truth to tell, paid much attention to it, but somehow here, on the shores of this strange land, it sounded new and different to me. Oddly compelling. The call seemed to have the same effect on everyone aboard the ship. Gradually a strange silence fell. I could hear naught but the creaking and plashing of oars. Then, from the hills far inland, an answering echo to the prayer song rang out. I turned to face the shore itself. The Christian army was camped around the walls of the city for as far as I could see. Figures bustled about there as well. Behind our army the ground swelled into high hills and peaks. It was there, I heard, that the camp of Salah-ud-Din lay, and it was from there that the echoing call to prayer came. I stared at those hills, imagining the size and force of that army. For the first time I truly realized the plight of the Christian crusaders. We, the besiegers of Acre, are besiegedourselves and surrounded at every point except for the coast.

As the last notes of the Muslim call to prayer were dying, a huge commotion broke out on shore. Suddenly there was noise and shouting everywhere. Trumpets blared, mingled with clarions and flutes. People poured down to the harbor where our ships were docking. They sang and they danced and they threw garlands and nosegays of flowers. Then King Richard appeared on deck in the most resplendent attire I have seen yet, and I thought the people would go mad with cheering. He strode on shore, followed closely by Queen Berengaria and Queen Joanna. Queen Berengaria looked frightened. Behind them trailed Yusra, looking even more frightened. Father Aimar had his hand on her shoulder. I suppose it was to guide her, but I wonder whether it might also have been there to keep her from running away—although where they expected her to run to I cannot imagine.

All during the time we unloaded the ships and set up camp the festivities increased. Indeed, they are still going on even as I write this. I must stop now though and try to sleep. I have been given a small tent not too far from the king's own pavilion. Now that we are here and settled, I will most likely be called to work tomorrow and I must be fresh and alert.

But how am I supposed to sleep with all this excitement? I cannot wait to see what the morrow will bring.

The ninth day of June

Where to begin? Where I left off last night, I suppose, but there is so much to tell my hand is cramping at the very thought of it. I must write it down, however. What I have seen today I must not forget.

I was called by one of King Richard's men just as the dawn was breaking. I had not slept a wink, of course. I do not think the king had slept either, as he was dressed just as I had seen him yesterday and had a stubble of beard on his chin. Very unusual this was for him. He is always most meticulous in his habits. Nonetheless, he was brighter and more awake than I. To my horror I even yawned as I knelt to greet him, but I think I covered it up well enough with a cough.

The tent was filled with people. I recognized many of the nobles of Ôutremer. They looked decidedly unhappy. Then I saw the king's senior scribe, Bertrand. I have seen him before, of course, but he is much more grand than I and did not deign to acknowledge my existence. He was seated at a plank that served as a table and was busily writing.

“I am having a notice written,” the king thundered. He looked annoyed. “A proclamation. It seems our good King Philip is offering three gold bezants to any man who will follow him. I distrust his motives and do not intend to let him build up a force larger than my own.” He gestured to me. “You will help write it. I need all the copies we can make as quickly as possible.”

I pulled out my quills and ink and made ready.

There was no room at the table where Bertrand worked, and I would not have dared to join him in any case, but I spied a trunk nearby him. I made room for myself on it and spread out a parchment. What joy it is to write on finely cured parchment instead of smelly, rough skins!

“Write!” the king commanded, and I did. “‘The king of England will pay
four
gold bezants to any knight of any nationality who would take service under his banner.' Make as many copies as you can, in all the languages you boasted you could.” He glared at me from under bushy golden eyebrows. I dropped my eyes, gulped for air, became immediately busy and promptly blotted a parchment. Thanks be to heaven he didn't see, but turned to the other men who waited on him.

“Two years!” His voice filled the tent. “Two years this impossible stalemate has lasted.” He strode back and forth from one side of the pavilion to the other, slapping at his thigh with a leather gauntlet. He was glowering at the men so hard that he nearly ran me down. I ducked just in time as he veered off. A servant bearing wine was not quite so fortunate. The king walked right into him and the wine cascaded onto the floor. The poor fellow lost his wits entirely and bolted for the door. Luckily for him the king was so overwrought he didn't notice that upset either.

“God's legs—most of the time they have not even been fighting! Worse, it seems the two camps have been consorting back and forth! Christian soldiers have taken part in Muslim celebrations and Muslims have walked freely amongst us. I have seen them with my own eyes. Philip has not done a thing since he arrived.” He slapped even harder at his leg. “Well, I am here now,” he bellowed, “and the Saracens will learn to tremble at the roar of this lion!” He looked back to me.

“When the notices are ready you will post them everywhere you can,” he said. He frowned at me as if I were personally responsible for the whole situation. “We will spread the word. The king of England pays better than the king of France to any knight of any nationality who would take service under my banner.”

“Yes, Sire,” I said.

I wrote as many notices as I had parchments for, collected up the others, went out to post them around the camp and immediately fell into an adventure. But I can write no longer tonight. I will have to continue tomorrow.

The tenth day of June

The camp is full beyond belief. I had thought Messina crowded when the crusading armies poured in upon us, but that was nothing compared to what exists here. Our camp is stretched in a narrow band around the city, squashed between the two Muslim forces. Salah-ud-Din's army presses down on us from the hills, and the garrison in the city keeps us at bay on the other side. There are men, and women also, packed in here from France, England, Germany, Italy and scores of other places. The whole world has come on crusade to Acre, it seems.