The Codex Lacrimae (21 page)

“Did our people make them comfortable?” Fatima asked.

“Your people did exactly as we expected,” Sibylla assured her. “Your tribe has grown by two hundred members in the last two nights, thanks to Guy's instructions. Let's just hope that the Templar guards don't look too closely beneath the
abas
our men borrowed from yours!”

Alex was incredulous. “You were planning your own attack?”

Guy nodded. “Khalil and Fatima got word to us shortly after Evremar refused to give them a writ.” He raised an eyebrow. “It seems as if your predictions were correct, Fatima.”

“Even someone guessing the future wouldn't believe that Evremar might disrupt a major trade route for some hidden agenda,” Khalil protested. “This
still
makes no sense to me. Why stop our entire tribe here and go out of his way to make new enemies?”

“I think that the ‘hidden agenda' has become apparent,” Fatima said with a nod at Clarinda. “Something to do with your father and a couple of caskets, I believe?”

“I didn't know
how
important until that banquet,” Clarinda confirmed.

“Evremar wants those caskets like nothing I've ever seen him want before,” Guy observed. “There was murder in his eyes when he spoke to you in there.”

“That's probably the one feeling we have in common, Lord Guy,” Clarinda said, “but, for my part, I want to get my father and get out of here. Any help we can give each other, I'll assist in, but my crews aren't trying to take over a town.”

Sibylla looked shrewdly at Clarinda and then smiled. “Ah, but we
are
trying to take this town, my dear, and having naval support is the one asset we didn't have before meeting you. Now, tell us what you were thinking before we reach that dock, and we'll tell you our plans —” She interrupted herself with a glance at the town. “Oh, we'll have to talk later.”

Someone had given an order on the quay, because all the guards in the area were rushing toward the group on the shore.

“
Oui, ma chere, il n'y a pas plus de temps
,
” Guy said. “Evremar's wants you in his dungeon!”

“Time to disrobe,
mes filles
,
” Sibylla said to Clarinda and Fatima. “I'll return your cloaks and dresses later.”

Fatima looked from the queen to Clarinda and then to the two boats that were swiftly approaching, the formerly hidden sailors from the
Maritina
and
Calypso
now upright and rowing as if their lives depended on speed.

She and Khalil exchanged glances. “So, it's the water, then?” Khalil asked with some apprehension.

Clarinda looked questioningly at Fatima.

“He can't swim.” Ibn-Khaldun's daughter said simply.

“Strip, Clare, they're onto us!” Alex said, his eyes fixed on the Templar keep. Two guards were saying something to each other and pointing at the group on the beach.

“I think Evremar killed my father, Fatima.” Clarinda said, grief-stricken. She cast aside her cloak and dropped the oversized dress to reveal her sailing and fighting togs.

“I fear as much, too,” Fatima agreed as she stepped from her own outer garments. In spite of the highly conservative notions of her culture, Fatima seemed untroubled by her near-nakedness, wearing only an underdress that she wrapped and knotted around her waist as she studiously avoiding looking at any of the men gathered at the water's edge. She next quickly re-strapped the belt that held a long poniard to rest comfortably above her thighs so it didn't hinder movement.

Putting her hand on the hilt of her blade, Fatima gave a promising nod to Clarinda. “There'll be much for them to answer for, but now isn't the time. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Clarinda said, securing her own blades on her waist and calf. Battle-ready in seconds, both women handed their bundled clothing to Sibylla and turned to help Genevieve, who'd watched them with a horrified and shocked look on her face.

“
We
.
..
are
.
..
not
.
..going to swim back to the ships!” Genie gasped. “And I'm certainly not going to strip to my underwear with all these men and my
brother
standing here!”

“They're figuring out that we're not going for a casual dip,” Alex said, wading into the shallows to grasp one of the incoming rowboats. “Get over here, Genie! Do it now, or by God you
will
be stripped and swimming for it. We're not going to have any more prisoners for that Templar to play around with and hold hostage over us!”

Fatima and Clarinda grabbed the now-struggling Genevieve under the armpits and brought her quickly to the boat, the trio of women sloshing through the small waves as Alex tried to hold one of the two boats steady.

“Stop it, Genie!” Clarinda roared when Genie made an infantile jerk of her arm. “Look at the shipwreck, you
idiot
— the soldiers are coming!”

Genie focused on the jetty and saw three Templar knights clambering into a dinghy.

Her eyes widened as she saw more movements along the shoreline streets as members of the garrison warmed into a pursuit of the group on the beach. Some were already on the sand and running toward the party as fast as their weighted chain mail and metal-shod boots would allow.

“They're...they're trying to capture us!” the girl exclaimed, and the fight went out of her.

“In the boat, Sister!” Alex grumbled as he easily hefted her, wet dress and all, into the bow of the craft. He directed Fatima and Clarinda into the second boat, and the athletic women were soon sitting on the middle bench.

“Khalil, you should go in this boat, too!” Alex ordered, shouting into the gusting winds.

“I'll not leave you all to fight for us!” Khalil protested.

“No one's fighting today,” Alex countered. “Am I right, Sir Guy?”

“Correct, son. They won't touch us — Evremar's going to have some explaining to do, but they won't touch us.”

Khalil hopped into the boat next to his wife and he started pulling oars with three sailors.

“Fatima, Khalil!” Guy shouted. “We'll stick to the plan that we had, but get word to us about the new developments!”

When Alex was sure that no one was going to be firing arrows, he glanced at the dinghy by the shipwreck and saw that it had obviously sunk because the three Templars who'd tried to use it were floundering in the water and trying to shed their clothes and armor in splashing panic.

“Your work, Pasquale?” Alex asked.

Pasquale took a break from pulling on the oar and followed the line of the hoplitarch's gaze.

“
Que
? Oh, that. Hmmm. Either they don't make rowboats like they used to, or that shipwreck's more cursed than we thought.”

“I'll bet,” Alex said, and moved deftly onto a free bench. He didn't need to grab an oar.

The winds of the approaching storm filled the sails on the small craft, moving the boats so quickly that nature's energy quickly drove them toward the waiting
Maritina
and
Calypso
.

Clarinda kept her gaze on the shore until she was assured that her boats were beyond bowshot, and then leaned against Fatima.

“Thank you for being here,” she said. “You and Khalil, the Lusignans...you're all allies, and helping us where I never expected to find anything but grief.”

Fatima clasped her arms around the younger girl's shoulders. “I can't explain it, but I've got a feeling that the future holds plenty of grief for both of us, but also great hope.” Thunder rolled overhead as drops of rain began to fall on the choppy water of the ancient port. “I, too, am glad that we've all met. United, we have a chance. Whatever that Grand Master's done — or is attempting to do — won't stand.”

Clarinda said nothing, as her tears began to mix with the rain falling upon them as she remembered Urd's words in Hagia Sophia.

I must warn you now, though — even if you reach Caesarea, hope not for your father. Live not for him, but for your Fate yet to be. Yggdrassil's roots run deep, Bambina, and sisters you now have who will help you.

At the time, besides foretelling her father's death, Clarinda had thought Urd's words meant only the Norn's own siblings, Verdandi and Skuld. In taking comfort from Fatima, she realized that Urd might have been referring to a farther-reaching sisterhood than any she could have imagined. Even Genevieve, Clarinda reflected, was a sister of sorts.

Lightning flashed in the sky as the
Maritina
filled her vision. She stood sure-footedly atop the dinghy's wild rocking and leapt onto a lowered rope ladder. Ascending as swiftly as she had even when a little girl, Clarinda reached the deck just as the skies unleashed its full torrent.

She watched Fatima and Khalil clamber aboard less assuredly than she'd done, but welcomed them as warmly as she her darkening mood would allow.

Fatima saw her face and grimaced. “Time enough later for grief, Little Sister,” she said in Arabic.

Clarinda smiled at the term that mirrored her own thoughts.

“
Si
,
” she replied, “but it's not sadness. I'm not giving up on Padre. I'm angry, Fatima. Besides being the worst dinner of my life, it's unconscionable how those men behaved back there. I'm thinking that the time for Evremar's reckoning will be before dawn tomorrow.”

“Our thoughts exactly,” Khalil said, coming forward to wrap a cloak around his wife, “but, this storm might or might not effect the timing of things. I believe that Sir Guy and we had come up with a very good strategy before your ships came along.” He wiped a drenched sleeve futilely across the rain streaming down his face. “Is there a cabin somewhere that we could perhaps tell you
our
plans
and
get into some dry clothes?”

Chapter 11

A Doom Delivered

Ríg rigorously washed his hands in the water that flowed from the porcelain ewer held by Jacob.

The bar of lye-and-potash soap did much to remove the blood and grime on the exposed skin of the young man, sluicing the filthy matter into the basin that was becoming a denser red as Ríg continued his cleaning. Neither Ríg nor Jacob spoke. The sounds that filled the silence were the groans and mutterings of wounded and dying men.

Jacob's thoughts kept returning to the events of the last couple hours. He'd followed Ríg's command to accompany him, but found only carnage awaiting when they'd entered the medical ward of the Krak des Chevaliers.

There'd been much activity as surgeons and volunteers strove to save the lives of four men who'd been critically wounded in the mission's return from the east.

The results of their efforts were hit-and-miss at this point. Three of the patients had died from their injuries and the expedition's leader (and Grand Master Arcadian's brother) Mercedier, had survived a surgery to his abdomen. It was too early to tell if the man whose hand Ríg had just amputated would live.

That patient's name was Roberto, a bearded Hospitaller knight in his early twenties, who hadn't yet regained consciousness. Jacob had fainted shortly after seeing Ríg set to work on Roberto's destroyed hand, which had been crushed by a horse's hoof in the ambush two days' ride from the Krak.

He awakened to Ibn-Khaldun calling his name and the sight of the man holding a vinegar-filled sponge under his nose. He also saw the assistant placing a still glowing flat-iron strip onto a stone shelf to cool. The smell of burning flesh from the cauterization filled the air, and Jacob noticed Ríg moving to the
wash area to clean up. The boy had thanked Ibn-Khaldun but, embarrassed that he hadn't been able to stay conscious and, upon awakening, volunteered to help wash the area.

His face flushed at the memory of the moment when he realized
what
his new friend intended to do to the injured knight, Roberto.

“Are you all right?” Ríg asked, stepping forward as he saw the glazed look in the boy's eyes. “You're not feeling faint again, are you?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I was just remembering the knife and the saw. For some reason, I thought that you'd just chop the hand off with a sword, bind it and move on. When you went more slowly at the beginning, I...I just couldn't look.”

Ríg nodded in understanding. “You can't just hack the hand off — that's why I started slicing higher, on the forearm.” He exchanged a glance with Ibn-Khaldun. “I still don't know if he'll make it. Sepsis might've set in past the point where we can do anything.”

“It's cauterized, balmed, and wrapped,” the Muslim scholar said, “we can do nothing now but pray.”

“I think you should go to your mother, Jacob.” Ríg began, then interrupted himself, “Wait, I almost forgot: Marcus.” He looked at Ibn-Khaldun. “We should just duck in and see him. He's going to be fine, thank God. I only wish the price hadn't been so high for Roberto here. Jacob, why don't you come with us before seeing your mother. You can meet Marcus, and say ‘
bonjour
.
'”