The Falcons of Montabard (54 page)

Aiesha had obtained leave for Annais to bathe with the women of the harem. Her skin was massaged with fragrant oils to increase its suppleness, so that there was less chance of permanent stretch marks. A Saracen midwife was summoned to examine her and listen to the babe's movements through a trumpet fashioned of blown glass pressed upon the skin of Annais's swollen belly.

'She says it is a boy,' Aiesha declared with pleasure. Gold bracelets tinkled on her wrists. Here in the harem her face was exposed, revealing smooth honey-coloured skin and delicate features. Several missing teeth marred her wide smile.

'How does she know?'

'The way he kicks, the way he lies . . .' Aiesha reached to a heaped platter of honey-drenched dates and daintily selected one between finger and thumb. 'Fatima is never wrong. Four sons I have borne and two daughters and she predicted correctly each time.'

Annais laid her hand upon her belly and, beneath her palm, felt it ripple. The midwife smiled broadly and spoke again, holding up her spread right hand.

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'What does she say?' The woman's dialect was difficult for Annais to understand.

'That he will be born five weeks from this day.' Aiesha licked her fingers and selected another date. 'At night, two hours after moonrise.'

Annais felt the small hairs prickle at the nape of her neck. She had to subdue the urge to cross herself for she did not want to offend the women, although from the way that the midwife was looking at her, she suspected that her thoughts were as clear as glass. And will he and I be safe?'

Aiesha spoke to the woman, who then looked at Annais.
'Inshallah,'
she said. 'If God wills it.' There followed a torrent of words too swift for Annais to be able to pick out even one.

Aiesha made a face at the woman. 'She says that too much honey is bad for the teeth and will make me fat. I tell her that many things make women fat.' She pointed to Annais's belly.

Annais laughed. 'You would rather have a honeyed date than a man?' she asked.

Aiesha chuckled. 'That depends on the man,' she said. 'Your husband could make me fat any time he chose!'

Their mirth was curtailed as a messenger came to the harem door and delivered his news through a screen to the swathed attendant. She brought the message to the reclining women, and, on hearing it, Aiesha exchanged glances with the others. The play and laughter was put aside as swiftly as sweeping gaming counters into a box.

'Is something wrong?' Annais struggled up from the couch.

'We have visitors,' Aiesha said. 'The Atabeg il Bursuqi has ridden in with his bodyguard and he will require food and entertainment. You must return to the other hostages.' Her tone was preoccupied, her mind already busy with the new task in hand.

'Who is il Bursuqi?' Annais asked Sabin. They were eating food from the hastily prepared feast, which the unexpected guests were eating in another part of the fortress. Annais avoided the honeyed dates, the figs wrapped in almond paste, the pine nuts

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boiled in sugar, and settled instead for the spicy lamb stew served with boiled grains. 'They have gone to a great deal of trouble, he must be important.'

He looked up from his portion of bread stuffed with minced chicken and nuts. 'From what I remember and from what Usamah has told me, he is the ruler of Mosul and a man more powerful and influential than Timurtash.' He chewed and swallowed. 'More motivation too.'

'Then what is he doing here?' Ever since the execution of Waleran and Ernoul, Annais had been on edge, waiting for the next betrayal. . . the door flying open, guards bursting into the room, weapons drawn. Now that edge was as keen and thin as the blade of a honed scimitar. 'Surely such a man would not come to Shaizar without good reason.'

Sabin shrugged. 'He has good reason. Cementing friendships with the Emir of Shaizar can only be to his benefit, and I am sure that our presence here has drawn him through the hills like a siren song to a sailor.'

'Why?'

'Because he is strong and Timurtash is weak.'

She frowned at him, unsure of his meaning. Sabin was eating with apparent calm, but she could tell from the tense set of his shoulders that he was as troubled as she was. 'You think he will try and take us away from Timurtash?'

'I think he might negotiate with our hosts for a slice of the ransom. Last time Usamah spoke to me, he said that matters were not going well for King Baldwin outside Aleppo. I could glean little else, but I do not believe that Timurtash has the inclination or the strength to make too much trouble for Baldwin. I suspect that il Bursuqi does.'

There seemed little else to say. She did not want platitudes. Like the sweetmeats, they might seem pleasant, but their effect was ultimately detrimental. And speculation was like deliberately swallowing vinegar. Suddenly she was no longer hungry.

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It was late in the evening when Usamah summoned Sabin to play a game of chess in his chamber. As Sabin rose to his feet, he touched Annais's shoulder in reassurance. 'He's not desperate to play chess at this time,' he murmured. 'I think I am going to learn what il Bursuqi is doing here.'

She nodded and compressed her lips. Sabin gently squeezed her shoulder and went with the guard.

Usamah's chamber walls were adorned with embroidered silk hangings in hues of crimson and gold. Round shields decorated with star and circle designs hung between the fabrics. A charcoal brazier burned in the centre of the room, mitigating the chill of early spring. Upon a quilt near the door, the cheetah dozed; as Sabin entered, it roused to watch him through indo lent lids, its eyes like chips of amber.

Usamah was sitting in his favourite place near the window splay. Soft light from ceramic lamps pooled the small table before him with gold and he was toying with an ivory chess piece, walking it over, beneath and round the lean fingers of his right hand.

Two white-robed musicians sat in a cushioned corner, playing a duet of lutes. The scent of rose-oil perfumed the air as if a woman had recently left. Sabin took his place opposite Usamah. 'I thought you would be otherwise occupied tonight, my lord,' he said.

Usamah's teeth flashed. 'I was for a while.'

Sabin returned the smile. They both knew that it was not what he had meant. 'It is interesting, the difference,' he said, picking up a chess piece of his own with which to toy. 'The Franks think of the Saracens as oily-tongued and false because they prefer drawn-out diplomacy to plain speaking. The Saracens think the Franks uncivilised because they grunt out their demands on the instant and fail to observe the courtesies.'

Usamah looked amused. 'Very true indeed.' He looked from his chess piece to Sabin. 'So whose rules shall we play by tonight?'

'I will do my best not to be a boorish guest,' Sabin said, 'but

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I hope you will forgive any lapses.'

'Well then, I will try to accommodate some of your brusque ways. Let us play.' Usamah set his piece, a king, back on the board, and Sabin put down his pawn.

'Your wife, she is well?' Usamah gestured Sabin to take the first move.

'She is well,' Sabin confirmed, 'although somewhat uncomfortable.'

'Aiesha tells me that the birth will be soon.'

Sabin's lips curved. 'I had come to that conclusion myself without benefit of a midwife.'

Usamah responded to Sabin's move. An emerald ring gleamed on his forefinger. 'You know that you have but to ask and I can arrange for one of the women from the harem to entertain you.'

'It is generous of you, but there is no need.'

'There is always need,' Usamah said, eyeing him shrewdly.

Sabin shook his head. 'Once in another life I would have leaped at your offer, but not now.'

Usamah raised a cynical brow. 'You love the woman to distraction?'

'I would give my life for her.'

Usamah shook his head. 'You Franks are indeed strange.'

'It is more than love,' Sabin said slowly. 'It is pride and allegiance and . . . and putting myself between her and death for my own sake. For honour . . . and for what honour I once lacked.' He advanced his pawn and bent his head to the chessboard.

'And which you are not going to talk about?'

'No,' Sabin said and folded his arms. 'And since Saracens are subtle and courteous, you will not ask.'

Usamah chuckled softly as he made his move. 'You are good company for a Frank.'

'I must be if you prefer it to that of your guest, il Bursuqi,' Sabin said pointedly. 'Or am I being too brusque?'

'A little, but I can overlook it.' The Saracen waited for Sabin

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to make his play. 'If I am not with him just now, it is because he and my uncle wish to speak in private of their own affairs. It is a while since we played chess and talked together. I have things to tell you that will soon be common knowledge to all.'

'Good or bad?' Sabin tried to sound indifferent, but his stomach had responded to Usamah's words with a queasy lurch.

'That depends on where you stand.' Usamah stroked his beard and studied the board. 'II Bursuqi is an important lord, and he has the strength that Timurtash lacks.'

Sabin narrowed his eyes and, waiting, did not speak. He had said as much to Annais, and he had a healthy suspicion that he knew what Usamah was going to say next, but when Usamah spoke, Sabin was false-footed and the silence of anticipation became the silence of dismay.

'The people of Aleppo appealed to him when Timurtash would not come to their aid.' Usamah lifted and placed a pawn, the ivory clicking on the inlaid board. 'He agreed to help them and brought his army to Aleppo . . . whereupon Dubais fled and your King retreated to Antioch rather than stand and give battle.' He gave Sabin a calculating look. 'We hear now that King Baldwin is returning to Jerusalem. It seems for the moment that he has relinquished his campaign in the north and left il Bursuqi in command of the field.'

Sabin took a deep breath and strove to steady himself. 'But surely it is like a game of chess,' he said. 'You calculate what you can afford to lose, and if one strategy does not work, you seek others. I would have expected King Baldwin to visit Jerusalem sooner rather than later. He has been absent from it for two years. It does not mean that he is in retreat.'

'Indeed it is like a game of chess,' Usamah said with a narrow smile. 'But your King's attack has been routed and now it is the turn of il Bursuqi to make his play.' He poured lemon sherbet for himself and Sabin and lifted the fluted cup to his lips. 'It is politic for my family to show friendship towards him.'

'Of course.' Sabin gave an ironic tilt of his head and raised his own cup. The sherbet was as sharp as a new blade but with

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a fortunate sheath of honey. He managed not to suck in his cheeks.

Usamah swallowed and set his cup down. 'My uncle has offered him certain of the hostages to take into his custody. It is felt that with them in il Bursuqi's personal keeping, King Baldwin will have more incentive to comply with the terms of the ransom agreement.'

This was the news that Sabin had been expecting, but a chill still raised the flesh along his forearms. 'But your uncle is the trustee of the hostages,' he said. 'That was the agreement.'

'It was not my uncle who first broke his word, but your King. II Bursuqi has given an undertaking that they will be treated as if thej' were his own family.'

Sabin was less than impressed. Men of il Bursuqi's kind were not averse to disposing of family members who stood in their way. 'You said certain hostages. It would not take a fool to realise that you mean the Princess Joveta.'

'It is your move,' Usamah said pleasantly, gesturing to the game. Sabin was tempted to dash the pieces aside and overturn the board, but he quelled the impulse, keeping the violence as an image in his mind instead of letting it rage through his body. He coujd not think. The pieces meant nothing. He stared at them until his eyes grew sore and blurred.

'At last,' Usamah nodded. 'The Princess Joveta is indeed to enter il Bursuqi's household. Of course, in her present condition, your wife cannot accompany the Princess. You and she will remain here, and so will the boy, Joscelin.'

Sabin swallowed. The sherbet was bitter in his throat. 'When will all this take place?'

'At dawn tomorrow when il Bursuqi departs. You have leave to tell the others what is to happen.' Usamah fixed Sabin with a hard stare. 'The decision is final. There is no point in arguing.'

Sabin shook his head and blindly moved one of the pieces. His suppressed rage suddenly changed and he was assaulted by the urge to laugh. He bit his lip. His shoulders shook. He put his head down on the table and could not tell if the

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sounds choking from him were of despair or mirth.

Usamah waited, patient but puzzled.

At last, Sabin raised his head and wiped his eyes on the back of one hand. 'I am sorry,' he croaked. 'Is it not ridiculous? We are indeed as struggling ants beneath the eyes of God.'

'Everything is as Allah wills it,' Usamah said, a slight frown between his eyes as if he suspected Sabin of more than just the usual Frankish blasphemy.

'My wife only agreed to stand hostage because of the fondness that Princess Joveta harboured for her. Now you tell me that she and the Princess are to be separated ..." He blinked at Usamah, his vision stinging and salty from the sweat he had rubbed into his eyes. 'It seems so futile, does it not? A good jest at our expense?'

Usamah shrugged. 'Everything happens for a purpose,' he said. 'Every deed has its consequence,
inshallah.'
He nodded at the chessboard. 'That was a rash move, but a brave one, my friend.'

'You will find it part of the Frankish nature,' Sabin said huskily, managing to rally some of his scattered wits. There was still a lump in his throat, but the tension that had been gathering within him as the weeks slowly passed had been eased back to a point where he could control it.

Usamah smiled. 'Indeed,' he said and bent to his chess pieces. The cheetah came to lie at his side and he absently set one hand to its spotted pelt. It sighed and half closed its lids, but a glint of feral amber still flashed upon Sabin.