The Falcons of Montabard (24 page)

His breathing caught. 'If it is, I don't want to wake up,' he muttered and drew her to him, one hand at the back of her head, fingers meshed in her damp, tangled hair as he lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was hard and demanding, taking her breath, shocking her with its sudden assault. She made a sound in her throat, half yielding, half fearful protest.

Gerbert released her, but only to remove his damp tunic. The bulge in his braies was mute indication of what was going to happen next. Annais braced herself. It was three days since their wedding night and this was their first one beneath their own roof. She should not have expected the weather and the travails of the journey to convey immunity.

He lifted her in his arms and took her to the bed, with its clean cold sheets, deep feather mattress and pervading musty smell. He told her that it was all right, that he wouldn't hurt her, that she needn't be afraid, that he just needed to ...

She endured the storm as she had endured it outside. He lied when he said he would not hurt her, but she wasn't afraid, merely discomforted. He did not take long; within seconds, his body was shuddering against hers. Annais raised her hand and ran her fingers through his short brown curls. She could feel the hammering of his pulse in his throat and the small twitches of aftershock rippling down his spine. It had been perhaps a little easier than last time, and there was a certain satisfaction in being the source of her husband's pleasure, but still she thought he had the better part of the bargain and wished she could change places with him, feel what he felt and let him be the recipient of the storm.

Gasping harshly, Gerbert withdrew from her and rolled onto his back. 'I needed that,' he said.

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Annais bit her lip. She hadn't, but he was hardly going to ask her opinion. She tried not to feel resentful. Leaving the bed, she shook out her gown and went to pour a cupful of the hot wine. The place between her legs stung and throbbed. There hadn't been time for Margaret's oil, but at least she had the pot of salve in her coffer. She brought the wine back to the bed, took a long drink, and offered the rest of the cup to Gerbert. Heavy-eyed, he took it from her and stroked her face.

'Did I hurt you?'

Had it shown so much on her face? 'No.' She shook her head and forced a smile. 'I am tired, nothing more.'

He nodded and seemed relieved to take her reply at face value. 'It has been a long journey in bad weather. Lie down and take some rest.' Rising from the bed, he rummaged in one of the coffers for a dry tunic and belt, attached his dagger sheath and headed doorwards.

'Are you not staying?' she asked. 'What of your own rest?'

He paused, spun on his heel and returned to kiss her. 'Presently,' he said. 'I have matters to discuss with the garrison. I've been absent a while and there are changes to be made to the patrols.'

'Tonight?'

'What's done now won't be waiting tomorrow.'

The reply was light enough, but Annais did not miss the lines of anxiety furrowing his brow and the thinning of his lips that only moments ago had been full with desire. She did not ask him for reassurances. He would have given them without a second thought and they would not have been the truth.

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Chapter 14

⁽
"T
"V Thy is Gerbert so worried?'

\ A / Sabin shrugged his way into his hauberk, T ▼ jumping up and down until the mail shirt slithered over the quilted gambeson. All about him, harness and weaponry jingled as a detail from the garrison prepared to ride out on patrol. Horses pawed and snorted, their breath emerging as white vapour in the early morning air. Winter sunrise had blazoned the keep walls with red light, not warm as yet, but deep as fireglow.

Having settled his mail, Sabin considered Annais, who was patiently awaiting an answer to her question. She was wearing her woollen Scottish gown, the one Sabin privately called her 'nun's weeds'. A wimple of heavy linen enveloped her hair and throat. He did not blame her. The climate here was cooler than the plain and yesterday's rain had chilled the land so that it was almost like an autumn day in England or Normandy.

'Because it is in his nature to worry,' he said with a shrug. And because he has the responsibility for Montabard on his shoulders.'

Her gaze, steady and clear as a peat pool, demanded more of him. He sighed. 'Some of Gerbert's villages have been raided when there is supposed to be a truce between Christian and Saracen. In the lord's absence, enemies have grown bold, and it is necessary to put on a show of readiness and strength.' He checked that his scabbard was securely latched to his swordbelt.

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'It is the same as on the Scottish borders, or the Welsh Marches, or the lands of the Norman Vexin. You patrol your territory, you keep it clean.' He looked up at her from his equipment. 'Did Gerbert tell you nothing?'

'Nothing except to rest and not to worry my head. I knew if I asked you I would get the truth, since you are less tender of my welfare.'

He gave a short laugh. 'I never thought I'd hear you say that you believed in my integrity.'

Her look told him without words what she thought of his remark. Grinning, he turned to mount Lucifer. Gerbert emerged from the forebuilding where he had been having last words with the captain of the garrison. His stride was long and purposeful and the frown was deep between his eyes. Seeing it made Sabin even more determined that he was never going to adopt a position where the responsibility dwelt so heavily on him that bearing it brought lines to his face. Discreetly, he reined Lucifer away from Annais lest Gerbert should see and misconstrue their proximity.

Gerbert glanced around at his waiting men, kissed Annais and mounted his powerful bay. 'We'll be back sooner than dusk,' he said. 'Captain Aymer knows the route we have taken should there be need.'

'God keep you safe, my lord,' Annais said.

'I put my trust in Him.' Gerbert gave her a preoccupied smile and swung the bay towards the first of the castle's defensive gateways.

Riding behind Gerbert and Thierry the constable, Sabin gazed around the immensity of the walls of Montabard. Yesterday the driving rain had obscured the half of it, but today, glistening in the sunshine, he realised how huge the place was.

'Some of it was built by Lord Gerbert's sire and some by Lord Gerbert himself,' said Durand, joining him. 'But it was a Saracen fortress before that and a Byzantine one before the Saracens came.'

And now it was theirs for whatever span they could hold it.

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Sabin thought of the courts and keeps and palaces back in England and Normandy. Even among kings, there was little on this scale.

This time, instead of leaving through the concealed postern gate and winding their way down a precipitous goat track, they departed through the main entrance and rode two abreast across a timber bridge spanning a rock-cut ditch. In times of war the bridge could be destroyed, leaving an enemy faced with sheer, vertical walls.

Beyond the ditch was an outpost of the main keep, manned by two guards, and after that, their way was clear to descend the spur of rock to the flat land below. A flash of scythe-blade wings caught the corner of Sabin's vision, and he turned in time to see the final moments of a hunting shahin's stoop upon a rock dove. There was a violent explosion of soft cream feathers and falcon and prey plummeted to a ledge in the rock side. Sabin had seen such sights before. Travelling with King Henry's court it had been almost a daily event with the trained hawks from the royal mews, but this was wild and elemental . . . and stirred his blood beyond the common surge.

'Aye,' said Durand, who had noticed his response. 'The falcons of Montabard are famed. Lord Gerbert has to present one every year to King Baldwin as part of his feudal obligation. If you ask me who is the bravest man in the fortress, I would say the falconer who has to scale the rock face on a rope and collect the young birds from the nest.'

Sabin nodded in heartfelt agreement.

'There is a legend that as long as there are shahins at Montabard, it will remain a Christian fortress.' Durand shrugged. 'It's a fine story, but I think the birds have been here through every rule, and will still be so when we are long gone ..."

The River Orontes gleamed in the distance but, rather than reflecting the blue of the morning sky, was a rain-swollen brown torrent. Beyond its banks, the flood plain spread to Sabin's view, lush and green, dotted by grazing animals and arable fields.

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'Montabard grows cotton and grain and sugar cane,' Durand said. 'There is good hunting along the riverbanks, and plentiful fish in the river.'

Sabin's lips twitched. 'A veritable land of milk and honey.'

Durand returned the smile. 'Those too, if you do not mind scorpions.'

'How bad were the raids?'

'Several grain stores raided in a Christian village and a herd of cattle driven off. Two men killed and an aborted attempt made to burn down the sugar mill.' The knight shrugged. 'There is little we can do to prevent them except maintain constant vigilance. We do not have the numbers to take the battle to them. Ours is ever a defensive game.' He looked at Sabin. 'Have you ever fought the Saracen?'

'No, save on board our ship when we were attacked by Arab sea-reavers, but my father has told me of their methods - that they swoop in, attack and dart away. They are excellent horsemen and accomplished archers and spear-throwers, but they cannot stand up to Frankish cavalry.'

Durand nodded. Unfastening the hook at the top of his hauberk and tugging down the neck of his gambeson, he showed Sabin a jagged pink scar that began at his collarbone and disappeared beneath his clothing. 'I took this last year in a skirmish near Kafartab. Bastard put a lance over the top of my shield. A fraction higher and it would have been in my throat. They're fast, I tell you, faster than you would ever think, until it's too late.' He made sure that Sabin got a good look at the slick pink scar and refastened his mail. 'Some men keep a tally of how many Saracens they have killed. They say that each one is like a stepping stone on the path to heaven.'

'Are you one of them?' Sabin asked.

Durand laughed darkly. 'You are fast,' he said. 'I was going to ask that question of you. No, I am not one of them, although I was ten years ago when I came to Montabard. Then we raided a Saracen caravan filled with women and children.' He lifted his gaze to Sabin. 'There are some things that a man should

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not do, even to infidels. I know that we massacred them in Jerusalem when we took the city, but I was not there on that day. I can kill a man in the heat of battle or to save my own skin. I can hunt down raiding parties and kill without mercy. But to cut the throat of a woman, or a small child . ..' His upper lip curled and an expression of utter loathing crossed his face. 'Men who can add such "stepping stones" to their tally must surely be damned.'

'Is that what happened?'

'To some of them before Lord Gerbert's father put a stop to it. Some were ransomed; others were sold.' His eyes were angry with guilt. 'One of our Serjeants was intent on butchering a woman and her infant son, but I stopped him and claimed them for myself. She converted to Christianity — although I suspect she pays her devotion with lip service - and for the past four years we have been husband and wife.' He glowered defensively at Sabin as if daring him to pass judgement on the fact.

'So if I said I had come to a border post for the glory of killing Saracens, you would withhold your comradeship?' Rather than rising to the bait, Sabin pushed the issue sideways.

'It is the reason that most young men take up such positions. There are less dangerous livings to be made in Jerusalem and the softer south. Only the truly committed or the very well paid come to border castles like this.'

Sabin smiled. 'And what of renegades and rebels seeking a bolt hole?'

Durand snorted. 'You consider this a bolt hole?'

'Of sorts.' Sabin drew in the reins. 'Perhaps not for ever, but sufficient for the moment. And to answer the question you would have asked . . . No, I too have given up keeping tallies and for the same reason as you.'

Durand raised his brows.

'Her name was Lora,' Sabin said, and heeled Lucifer's flanks, urging him forward, and leaving Durand frowning in his wake.

The villagers came from their fields and their houses to greet Gerbert, clamouring around his saddle. They were mostly

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dark-skinned and dark-eyed, but here and there a child with light eyes or fair hair spoke of Frankish blood. Their dragoman was fluent in French and Gerbert questioned him about the raids while the troop was served with dark wine, flat bread and olives.

The session was short. The villagers, although vociferous, could tell Gerbert little enough save that the raiders had come from the north, from the direction of Aleppo.

Gerbert turned to ride with Sabin. 'Now comes your service to me,' he said. 'I cannot be everywhere at once, so I charge you with the task of preventing raids from the north. I want you to take out patrols. I want you to know this land as if you were born in it. You can borrow guides from the village, and take such men as you need.' His lips curved in an arid smile. 'I do not expect to see much of you at Montabard. There are more than fifty miles of territory to guard and some nights you will need to camp out. You will find the hunting good . . . although it is always wise to beware of leopards and lions.' A trace of hostility coloured his tone. Sabin decided that Gerbert had seen him talking to Annais that morning and had not been pleased.

As you wish, my lord,' he said with bland courtesy.

Gerbert studied him, then grunted. 'Good. I will show you the rest of the territory. If we ride along the top, you can see for a distance.' He gestured up the valley. 'I leave it to you to explore in detail.'

Although Gerbert's manner was curt, Sabin still felt a surge of pleasure. Literally, he had pastures new to explore and sanction to do as he chose. What more could he want?