The Falcons of Montabard (63 page)

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Sounds roared in her ears . . . hooves thundering and fading, the shouts of men, the screaming of her baby son. Her vision cleared and darkened by turns.

'Christ, Annais . . . Annais.' A hand touched her face, her throat, feeling for the life force. She was lifted to a sitting position and cradled against hard, sun-hot rivets. A rim was pressed to her lips and she tasted the appalling burn of Galwegian usquebaugh. Choking, she pushed the drink aside with shaking hands and looked up into Sabin's face. He had removed his helm and his sweat-soaked hair dripped at his brow. There was a long smear of dust on his cheek and dried blood was caked on one hand and beneath his fingernails. He was kneeling and she was lying against the left side of his chest. Edmund yelled with lusty indignation from the ground between Sabin's knees. 'Annais?'

She blinked at him. 'You are alive,' she croaked. 'I saw you shot ... I saw you fall . . .'

'My hauberk took the blows ... I am not injured beyond a scrape.' It wasn't entirely true, but it would serve for the nonce, and he was scarcely at death's door. 'It's all right . . . everything is all right.'

Beyond him Faisal's corpse was sprawled in the powdery dust in a grotesque parody of the way she had seen Sabin lying. The blood, the curled hand, the arrow quilling the corpse. She buried her face against Sabin's breast to hide the sight, but he cupped her jaw and made her look up.

'We can go home now,' he said. 'It is all that matters . . . home to Montabard.' He lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss tasted of salt and blood and dust. But it tasted of survival too, and hope and passion. What had been so nearly an end made the prospect of a new beginning all the sweeter.

It was too far for the hostages to ride back to Shaizar to recover from their mauling at the hands of the Emir's men. Three had been captured for ransom; three, including Faisal, killed; and the rest had fled. A camping place was made beside the river

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within the shade and protection of a stand of licorice trees. Usamah posted guards on the high ground and sent a messenger back to Shaizar with news of the successful pursuit and details of where the party was spending the night.

A fire was kindled under the trees and water heated in small cooking pots for the bathing of wounds and the cooking of food.

'I do not think we will be troubled further,' Usamah said, crouching beside Sabin who had gingerly removed his hauberk, gambeson and shirt so that Annais could tend to the arrow gouge in his side. 'The Emir of Horns may take an opportunity like any man, but he is not foolhardy. He knows that to dare again on our territory would make him the enemy of Shaizar.'

Sabin tried not to wince. 'I hope that you are right.'

'I always am.' Usamah's teeth flashed with a hint of self-mockery at the statement. He looked at the wound and gave a small frown. 'You were fortunate. A fraction deeper, a different angle, and it would have pierced your ribs.'

Sabin grimaced. 'A timely reminder of God's mercy,' he said. He looked at Usamah. 'You saved my life and that of my wife and children.'

'A matter of honour.' Usamah shrugged. 'I would not want you to think I make a habit of kindness to Franks. The debt is cancelled now. Next time we meet on neutral ground.'

'I would hope in friendship,' Sabin said.

'There is always hope.' Usamah's tone was dry. 'If you have need of opium I have it in my pack.'

Sabin shook his head. 'No. The injury is painful but not beyond bearing.' He managed a smile. 'It reminds me that I am alive.'

Usamah left them then and joined his men at the main cooking fire. The smell of broth and spices wafted on the evening breeze. Although the Saracens and Franks sat together, there was a sense of constraint, of an imminent parting of the ways and alliances. This last act of rescue had drawn them together and driven a wedge between them.

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Annais bound Sabin's wound with clean strips of swaddling band, first smearing the injury with honey from the cooking supplies. The children were asleep, Guillaume twitching now and again with exhaustion, his fist pressing an edge of his favourite blanket to his nose, Edmund tightly wrapped in his swaddling.

'I wish I could sleep too,' Annais said wistfully as she wiped her hands clean on a spare scrap of bandage.

Sabin studied her. 'The juice of the white poppy that Usamah carries would grant you oblivion,' he suggested.

She shook her head. 'I would fear to sleep like that,' she murmured. 'I have been close enough to death today without drinking its semblance from a cup. Do you think we will ever reach Montabard?' Her eyes were shadowed and she gave a small shiver that owed more to her doubts than the breeze, chill now that the sun had almost set.

He touched his bandaged side. 'If we were going to die untimely, it would have been today, but the sword has passed over our heads.' He reached his hand to her and pulled her against his good side. 'If not for ever, we have tomorrow, and such days beyond that as heaven sees fit to grant us ... and I pray for the grace to grow a little older yet . . . with you.' He pressed his lips to her temple.

The Saracens had moved en masse from their fire and in the red of the sunset had approached the stream to bathe themselves and prepare for their evening prayers. Fergus and Strongfist were displaying the skills they had learned many years ago as youngsters on the Crusader route and were cooking flat bread on a round Saracen shield. The healing sound of camaraderie and laughter wafted from their endeavours.

Annais sighed and savoured Sabin's closeness, so nearly lost. The warmth of his body was like a benediction. 'I have never lain beneath the open sky with you,' she murmured.

She felt him smile against her temple and his hand tightened at her waist. 'Is that a proposition?'

She pressed against him, but carefully, mindful of his injury.

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'I am a modest and dutiful wife,' she said through lowered lids, 'what do you think?'

'I think that never was there a better reason for making a bed to watch the stars,' he said.

In the dawn when the Franks rose, the Saracens had gone, leaving weapons, food and several spare mounts as parting gifts. Poking the embers to light, Sabin saw two shahins winging westwards towards the receding bank of night-cloud, and it seemed to him a good omen. He pointed them out to Annais, who was sleepily feeding Edmund, her dark hair still unbound from slumber.

'Home,' said Guillaume, following Sabin's stretched arm.

'Yes,' Sabin said with a tired, contented smile. 'Home.'

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

My first historical novel, written when I was fifteen years old and inspired by a children's television programme
Desert Crusader,
set me on the path to my chosen career - although it was another fifteen years before I achieved my ambition. Although
The Falcons of Montabard
is set during the period of the Crusades, it tells a somewhat different story to my original one using a totally dissimilar set of characters. However, in a way I feel as if I've come full circle. As usual, I have intermingled fact and fiction, although a reader might be hard-pressed to judge which is which, so improbable is the truth at times! The author's note is my chance to explain where I've used imagination and where the facts have spoken for themselves.

Sabin made a brief appearance as a newborn baby in the previous novel to
Falcons: The Winter Mantle.
He was named Simon in that particular book, but as a grown man is known by the masculine version of his mother's name (mainly to avoid confusion with his half-brother and father, both also called Simon). I have found one tantalising reference to Simon de Senlis's illegitimate son, but since I have been unable to find out anything else apart from his existence, I have used him as the starting point for
Falcons
and given him my own story. I hope he doesn't mind.

Although Annais, Strongfist and Fergus are fictitious, they exist against a background of firm historical fact. King Baldwin

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of Jerusalem was indeed captured while out hunting and imprisoned in the fortress of Kharpurt together with Joscelin of Edessa and a few surviving knights from the massacre on the banks of the Euphrates. He and Joscelin were later rescued by a daring raid that could have come straight out of a Hollywood blockbuster. It is documented fact that allies of Joscelin and Baldwin came to Kharpurt in small parties so as not to cause suspicion and, when within the castle walls, threw off their disguises and overpowered the garrison. They were helped by some women from the harem who were Christian slaves. Joscelin went for help and had to negotiate the Euphrates with 'waterwings' made from goatskins. Baldwin held out, hoping for his army to arrive, but Emir Balak rode up first. There was hard fighting, but Balak undermined a tower and gained access to the castle. All save the King and a very few knights were thrown over the walls, including the women who had helped the Franks.

Baldwin continued to be held a prisoner while his wife, the indomitable Queen Morphia, strove to raise a ransom. His release was finally agreed in return for a promise of money and aid, and the provision of several juvenile hostages, including his own small daughter and Joscelin of Edessa's young son. The hostages were held at the fortress of Shaizar in the care of the Munqidh family, of whom Usamah ibn Munqidh was a prominent member. In his old age, Usamah wrote his memoirs and they have come down to us today as a fascinating glimpse of life in the Middle East in the twelfth century. I have loosely borrowed several strands from Usamah's memoirs, including the pet cheetah, which did indeed live among the family. The boar hunt is taken more or less from fact, and I have used Usamah's descriptions of bathhouses to flesh out the scenes in Jerusalem. Usamah also spoke of a Frank who was like a brother to him, so I had a perfect opening to develop the relationship between him and Sabin. Waleran of Birejek and Baldwin's nephew, who is thought to have been called Ernoul, were indeed killed when Baldwin reneged on part of the ransom agreement.

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Shaizar itself, although often under threat from the crusading forces, never succumbed to the enemy. The most destruction was done by an earthquake in 1157 which effectively finished the rule of Usamah's family.

While I can take a bow for sketching the drama of the grand finale, the idea again isn't mine, but actually happened. The Emir of Horns did attempt to snatch the hostages as they were on their way home and Usamah came racing to their aid in a day-long pursuit. The only liberty I have taken is in placing young Joscelin of Edessa at the scene, when it is likely that he was ransomed earlier with Princess Joveta.

For those readers wondering about the rapidity of Annais's marriage following Gerbert's death, it is a known fact that widows were remarried at speed in the Holy Land. While I might have exaggerated that speed slightly for dramatic input, the operative word is 'slightly* and the truth is not far out.

I feel I should say a final word about Sabin's horse. You will find Lucifer's descendants today in the Akhal Teke breed. Akhal Teke horses have been around in one form or another for at least three thousand years. Today they are valued for their enormous stamina, their speed and their superb ability as dressage mounts. Their coats, as stated in
Falcons,
are renowned for having an overlying metallic sheen.

For anyone wanting to read further on the Holy Land during the twelfth century, I would highly recommend the following books. They have been very useful to me - and Usamah's biography in particular was a delight.

Boas, Adrian J.,
Crusader Archaeology: The Material Culture of the Latin East
(Routledge, 1999), London and New York.

Boas, Adrian J.,
Jerusalem in the Time of the Crusades
(Routledge, 2001), London and New York.

Hillenbrand, Carole,
The Crusades: Islamic Perspectives
(Edinburgh University Press, 1999), Edinburgh.

Hitti, Philip K., trans.,
An Arab-Syrian Gentleman & Warrior

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in the Period of the Crusades: Memoirs of Usamah ibn-

Munquidh
(Columbia University Press, 2000), New York. Molin, Kristian,
Unknown Crusader Castles
(Hambledon,

2001), London and New York. Prawer, Joshua,
The Crusaders' Kingdom: European Colonialism

in the Middle Ages
(Phoenix Press, 2001), London. Riley-Smith, Jonathan, ed.,
The Atlas of the Crusades
(Guild

Publishing, 1991), London, New York, Sydney, Toronto. Rodinson, Maxime, Arberry, A. J., & Perry, Charles,
Medieval

Arab Cookery: Essays and Translations
(Prospect, 2001),

Trowbridge, Wiltshire. Runciman, Steven, A
History of the Crusades,
volume 2,
The

Kingdom of Jerusalem and the Frankish East 1100-1187

(Penguin, 1990), London.

I welcome feedback on my work and can be contacted either from my website (which is updated when I have the time!) at
http://www.elizabethchadwick.com
or by direct e-mail at
elizabeth.chadwick(a),btinternet. com
I also have an online group of readers who meet to chat about my work and historical fiction in general under the benevolent eye of the wonderful listowner, Wendy. E-mails to
ElizabethChadwick(a),topica. com

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