The Falcons of Montabard (40 page)

Strongf ist made an irritated sound. 'I am past my prime,' he said as they crossed the courtyard. 'It will not matter if I do not return.'

'You are not exactly in your dotage,' Sabin retorted. 'And it will matter to me, and to Annais. Baldwin thinks we can hold this place ... do you say him nay?'

Strongf ist rubbed an agitated hand over his dirty beard. 'No, of course not . . . but it is not wise to put all your eggs in the same basket.'

Sabin smiled grimly. 'Annais and I knew the risks when I climbed into this particular basket,' he said. 'And I'm going to do my best to see that Baldwin doesn't drop it. I. . .'The words dried in his throat and he stared.

The woman emerging from another building across the courtyard was tall and slender. Her citrus-green gown flowed like an illuminator's paints melting in the rain and a diaphanous

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veil floated in a cascade of gold filaments atop her raven braids.

Strongfist muttered an oath and the prison-pallor of his skin turned corpse-grey.

Unperturbed, the woman advanced on them, her walk a graceful crossing of one leg before the other with the slightest sway of the hips, pronouncing her femininity without exaggerating it. Numerous gold bangles slithered and jingled on her wrists and her dark-blue eyes were rimmed in kohl of the same deep tint.

'Mariamne!' Strongfist's voice emerged as a wheeze.

'My lord.' With a curl to her cosmetic-reddened lips, she dipped him a mocking curtsey and inclined her head to Sabin.

The hair at Sabin's nape prickled. It was like standing in the middle of a dry thunderstorm. He flicked his gaze to Strongfist's hand, which was hovering rather too close to the hilt of the scimitar he had taken from the bloodied grasp of one of the dead garrison. Mariamne noticed too, but seemed unperturbed.

'I thought you would have sought me out before now,' she said.

'Why should I do that?' Strongfist's voice was still husky. From white, his complexion was now flushed and his eyes watering. 'Why should you think I have any desire to know about the welfare of an unfaithful whore?'

She tensed. 'A whore sells herself for money,' she said. 'Never in my life have I done that, but I have often enough been sold by men. Does that make them pimps?'

Strongfist spluttered. Sabin's first instinct was to step between him and Mariamne, but after one involuntary movement, he paused and held back. Mariamne flashed him a scorn-filled glance.

'So, if not a whore, what are you . . . apart from an adulterous wife?' Strongfist growled.

'Does it matter any more?' She made an impatient gesture and the gold bangles clinked musically together. Rings adorned her fingers too, one of them set with a blood-red stone the size

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of a robin's egg. Her nails were perfectly manicured talons. 'Strike me with your fists, if you want, beat me with the buckle end of your belt to ease your wounded manhood, but it will change nothing.' She raised a thin, black brow at him. 'But before you do, be very glad that I preferred not to thrust a knife in your ribs when you bedded me.'

Strongfist drew a loud breath over his larynx, but she forestalled the words he was preparing to speak.

'Why do you think that the captain of Balak's garrison was not there to direct his men?'

He stared at her with the whites of his eyes. 'You killed him?'

She gave a little shrug. 'He deserved it, the swine, and I was willing to take the risk that you would prevail over the garrison. If you hadn't, I would have cut my own wrists.' She jutted her chin at them in proud defiance.

Sabin thought that he understood. It was a fine performance, as good as any he had given in his troubled past. Whatever undesirable traits Mariamne possessed, cowardice was not one of them.

Strongfist opened his hands. 'I thought never to see you again.' His tone contained weariness and distaste, and, incongruously, a trace of longing.

'Nor I you.'

The moment stretched out until it became painful. With an effort, he tore his gaze from hers. 'I do not want you back. Do as you will with your life as long as it does not tangle with mine.'

'WhatofTelNamir?'

'What of it? You abandoned it when you abandoned me for your silk merchant - much good it has done you. What happened? Did he desert you when he became jaded by your whore's tricks?'

A pink flush mantled her cheek. 'We were set upon by robbers,' she said. 'He was killed and I was sold into the harem at Kharpurt. Call it just retribution if it salves your pride.'

'I doubt that anything will ever salve my pride,' he growled. 'For the sake of chivalry alone, I will extend you my protection

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while we are still in Kharpurt, but when we leave this place, I never want to see you again.'

She nodded stiffly. 'That will suit me well,' she said and turned back the way she had come, her walk graceful and unhurried.

'Bitch,' Strongfist muttered under his breath, his stare fixed on the supple sway of her spine and hips. 'Heartbreaking bitch.'

Sabin glanced at him. 'Despite what you say, would you take her back?'

Strongfist shook his head. 'No,' he said vehemently. 'Never.' But his gaze lingered and the way he spoke made Sabin continue to wonder.

Annais watched her son pull himself to his feet using the stout foot of his father's curule chair, then, clinging to the seat for support, walk his way to the bench beside it, where his toy wooden horse was standing. He squealed with delight at his own prowess, and Annais joined him, clapping her hands. She was certain that he was the cleverest child that had ever lived, but the other women, many of them mothers themselves, prevented her pride from swelling out of proportion. Having observed the way that Soraya doted on her son and small daughter, Annais understood that it was a common condition and to be kept within bounds. It was difficult though.

Her flux had come at its appointed time, a week after Sabin's departure, so she knew that she was not pregnant. In part she was disappointed, for it would have been something of Sabin to keep should the worst happen . . . but the practical side of her nature was relieved not to be with child. It meant that her energy was not diluted by a developing baby, but she could concentrate on the one she had and the duties of being the lady of a fortress under threat of war.

Going to Guillaume, Annais swept him into her arms and cuddled him fiercely. She often brought him to the battlements. It reminded the guards to whom they owed their duty, and it gave them a sense of continuity. It also awoke the protective

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paternal instinct in many and Annais let them hoist Guillaume aloft in their hard, mailed arms and show him the lands beyond Montabard's walls. She allowed them to carry him across the ward to the soldier's fire in the bailey and to become part of the ring of men standing around it. At the moment, Guillaume lived in the largely feminine world of the women's chambers, but the time would come when he would leave it for the masculine world beyond. It was never too soon to begin his training, and the training of the men who were to serve him.

Letice entered the bedchamber. 'A messenger has just ridden in from Antioch,' she announced, eyes bright.

Annais rose to her feet and lifted Guillaume to her hip. Her heart began to thump. It could be anything. News about supplies, a letter from the Patriarch concerning administration, a request for an escort for a merchant train ... or it could be news about Sabin and her father. Eyes full of hope and fear, she faced Letice.

' That is all I know,' Letice said.' He would say nothing more.'

Then it had to be news from Kharpurt. Annais handed Guillaume to Soraya, sent a summons to the senior knights, and hastened down to the hall.

The messenger had been furnished with a cup of wine and a platter of bread and fruit. He had discarded his mail and helm, but still wore his padded undertunic. Although it was reasonably cool in the hall, his face shone with the sweat of his ride.

'My lady.' Hastily swallowing his mouthful of food, he rose to his feet and bowed. The steward, who had been attending him, moved politely out of earshot.

She inclined her head in reply and came straight to the point. 'Who sends you? What is your news?'

If he was taken aback by her abruptness, he was too well trained to show it. 'My lady, I have come from Joscelin of Edessa to bring you tidings and a request for soldiers.'

'Your lord is free?' Her breathing quickened. 'The rescue at Kharpurt has been successful?

'Yes, my lady.'

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'That is good news! What of the others? Are they with him?' A prickle of unease walked beside her pleasure. If Kharput was no longer in Saracen hands, why was a messenger here and not Sabin in person? And why asking for soldiers?

'No, my lady . . . not yet . . . although Lord Joscelin bids you be of good heart for your husband and your father are both alive and well.' He hesitated and his gaze flickered down the hall. Turning her head, Annais saw Durand, Thierry and Malik advancing, and beckoned them to join her.

'Tell us,' she said to the messenger. 'Tell us everything.'

The man took a fortifying drink of wine and told his story. He spoke of the taking of Kharpurt, which was in itself nothing short of a minstrel's tale. 'Since the fortress is within enemy territory and since it is worth keeping, King Baldwin decided to hold on to it and use his rescuers as a garrison. There are sufficient supplies in the castle to withstand a siege should Balak bring up his army.'

Annais began to feel cold. At her side, she could sense Durand's increasing tension. 'So most of the men are still at Kharpurt?'

'Yes, my lady. It was decided that Lord Joscelin would fetch aid, since he knew the area the best of anyone there and the tribesmen are loyal to him - not all of them would be as loyal to King Baldwin. He left Kharpurt and made his way to the banks of the Euphrates. One man went back to reassure the King and those men remaining that all was well. Since Lord Joscelin could not swim, he and his guides made floats from goatskins and paddled their way across like dogs.' He spoke the words boldly, looking for and receiving exclamations at Joscelin's resourcefulness and bravery. 'When they came to a village they knew to be friendly, they took horses and rode for Turbessel where my lord's wife and court were waiting to greet him.' The messenger paused to drink again while his audience hung on his words. 'He tarried there not more than a night but set out to Antioch to raise troops to rescue the King.' His mouth turned downwards. 'Unfortunately Patriarch Bernard felt that

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the army of Antioch was not of sufficient size to face Balak's army alone and bade Lord Joscelin make all haste to Jerusalem and gather an army there . . . And so my lord is doing.'

There was a brief, intense silence, broken by Annais, her voice tight with strain. 'How long will it take?'

'That, my lady, I do not know.' The messenger spread his hands. 'It depends on the state of the roads and the speed of my lord's horse. He will not tarry, I swear to you.'

'Patriarch Bernard should have given Lord Joscelin the men of Antioch,' Durand growled.

The messenger said nothing. It was not his place to argue policy, just deliver it. 'Lord Joscelin will field a rescue force as soon as he can,' he said. 'He asks that you spare as many soldiers from Montabard as possible and bring them with all haste to the muster at Turbessel.'

'He shall have everyone we can spare,' Annais said fervently, and the men at her back nodded vigorous agreement. Her relief that her father and Sabin were safe was swallowed by anxiety. If Balak's army should take Kharpurt before succour arrived, then what price the lives of the men within?

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Chapter 25

Sabin donned the quilted undertunic and with Strongfist's aid struggled into the Saracen hauberk. 'Not a bad fit,' Strongfist said. He walked around Sabin, considering him from all angles. 'Could do with some links adding here, but that won't be difficult.' He gave an admiring click of his tongue. 'It's good quality.'

'So it should be,' Sabin said. The hauberk had been the property of Kharpurt's Saracen commander whose corpse now rotted outside the walls with the rest of the garrison. Having belonged to a man of wealth, the quality was superb. Strongfist was wearing his own hauberk, which, along with the rest of the Frankish prisoners' gear, had been stowed in the armoury. However, the flesh that he had lost during five months of privation meant that he no longer filled the garment and found its weight a burden.

Sabin rotated his arms to test for ease of movement. He latched his swordbelt at his hip and attached the scabbard, then fitted the Saracen helm on his head. It bore a spiked crest that shone as if hammered from silver.

Strongfist snorted. 'All you need is a scimitar, and you could be one of them.'

'You think so?' Sabin looked down. 'My hose are not baggy enough and my boots should have pointed toes.' He rubbed his smooth chin. 'I need a beard too.'

'Fool,' Strongfist said, but fondly. 'At least I suppose you are now fit to go on guard duty.'

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Sabin lifted the bow and quiver of arrows from the bench where he had laid them while he dressed. 'There was no sign of Balak's army yesterday,' he said. 'Let us pray our luck holds from another dawn to dusk.'

Strongfist agreed and set his hand to the hilt of his sword. 'It is more than a week since we heard that Lord Joscelin was safely across the river,' he said. 'Our own relief army cannot be long in coming. Patriarch Bernard is certain to send out troops from Antioch.'

'Is he?' Sabin moved from the guardroom to the stairs that led up to the wall platform. 'From Montabard's dealings with Antioch, I would say that Bernard is a cautious old bird.'

Strongfist cocked his brow. 'Your point being?'

'My point being that Joscelin may leap up and down and demand that men be sent immediately, but I suspect that Bernard will think matters through before he commits himself.'

'Not with a kingdom at stake.'

'Precisely because there is a kingdom at stake. The army of Antioch is not large when compared to the force that Balak already has in the field.'