Queen Of Knights Page 24

  "Why?"

  "The reason is not your business. Your benefit by doing this should be enough of an answer," Morgan stated brashly.

  "You would accept my word on this?" .

  "It is said you keep your word."

  "Unlike you infidels, when a Moslem makes a promise, it is his duty to keep it."

  "Then you agree?"

  “I agree," Saladin replied, willing to accept whatever help necessary to end this war that was draining his lands of both wealth and people.

  "Then speak the words." Morgan stared at Saladin and waited.

  "I swear, by Allah the merciful, and Muhammad his prophet!" Saladin clapped his hands, and without issuing further orders, a blanket was spread on the sandy ground. Food was placed upon it, and for the next hour, Morgan talked and Saladin listened until Morgan had nothing else to say and the audience drew to a close.

  "And the knight you wish taken?"

  "He rides near Richard, always." Morgan took out a rolled sheet from his waist and handed it to Saladin.

  The King of the Moors opened the vellum and gazed at the crest drawn upon it. He studied it for a moment before looking at Morgan. His expression was one of dark thunder, and Morgan felt the first shred of fear since the meeting had begun. "I have seen this one fight. Be gone!" he ordered fiercely.

  Morgan left then, mounting his horse and riding from the valley. He did not care what Saladin said, only that he would do what was necessary. Morgan's plans would go ahead, and when he returned to England, his power would be increased immeasurably. That, and the agreement he'd made with Prince John before leaving England, would produce all he wanted.

  But behind him, Saladin and his men waited. They watched the Frankish knight ride away, and after he was gone, Saladin held up the drawing.

  "He is evil," whispered Borka-al-Salu, the grand vizier to the king.

  "But his evil will help us."

  "Oh Master, Right Hand of Muhammad upon this earth," Borka intoned solemnly, using only one of Saladin's hundreds of titles, "you have said time and again, that if all the Franks were like this one, we would not be at war." When he spoke, his finger pointed to the crest of Radstock which Saladin held in his hands.

  "I know. But I would do what is necessary to end this futility."

  "It is wrong. It will not go as you think. You have made a bargain with the devil." The grand vizier's eyes sparkled brightly as he gazed at Saladin.

  "Enough!"

  "No, Revered One, take my head if you must, but heed my words. A pact with that spawn of hell will not win you the seat of paradise you seek. Do not do this thing; the stars have spoken to me that it will tempt fate and bring hurt to our land."

  "I have given the Frank my word," Saladin said in a low voice .

  “As Allah is my judge, I pray you do not suffer because of it."

  "As do I," Saladin replied, remembering the two brief times he had faced Miles of Radstock. Of all the knights he had fought against and of all the reports he had received, only this knight stood out, both in his fighting, and in the gallant way he treated his enemy.

  Saladin had spies everywhere, and he knew that when Richard had ordered the deaths of his people in Acre, only this knight had stood against it, and when the slaughter had taken place, he'd not lifted his sword to strike a single Moor. Saladin, despite all his fierce thoughts and hatred of infidels, respected this man, and his heart was heavy with what he must do.

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  The sun bore down on Richard's army as it traversed the valley. They were on the primary road leading to Jaffa and would reach the town of Arsuf by nightfall. From there it would be a short journey to Jaffa, where green and bountiful lands met the sea, and Richard's army could rest and re-provision for the attack upon Jerusalem.

  Miles rode next to the king, his eyes constantly darting this way and that. He was uneasy, but only intuition held him so, as there was nothing concrete for him to see.

  "I dislike the grumblings of the French," Richard said to Miles.

  "More of them desert daily." It was true. Every day, five or six of Philip's men left. Without their king to lead them, they did not have the heart to do battle.

  "We do not need them. Miles, we are strong."

  "Are we, Sire?"

  "Are you, too, beginning to doubt us?"

  "No, Sire, I do not doubt us. I only doubt the flesh we are made of."

  "It will be over by Christmas," Richard promised foolishly.

  "I hope so."

  "It must be. I have received too many missives from home. John is beginning to flex his muscles and I like it not."

  "I know," Miles responded. In the last message he had received from Gwendolyn, she had written that Richard's brother was gaining power and lands, and was ruling the country in a harsh way. The people were hurting, and the word of his ruthless reign was spreading widely.

  "Attack!" screamed a knight. Simultaneously, Richard and Miles turned their horses. From out of the tree-lined hills, a wave of Saracens charged down upon them.

  Orders were called out and ranks formed. The archers knelt and unleashed a fury of arrows upon the attackers. The knights joined together, with lance and sword, awaiting the charge of the mounted enemy.

  "Hold!" cried Richard, too aware of his earlier losses to let his knights charge the rushing force."Archers, keep up the fire!" he commanded. Quickly, Richard rode his horse to the front of the knights. "Form ranks and wait for my command!" he ordered.

  The knights of the Christian army did as their king ordered and formed their battle ranks. In the center were Richard's knights, and upon the left flank stood the French. The right flank belonged to the Hospitaller knights, who lived for nothing more than to kill the Saracens.

  Then Richard turned to watch the advancing Moors. The archers were accurate, and wave after wave of Saracens fell, but they kept on. Miles sat still in his saddle, his sword held tightly in his hand, waiting for the word to attack.

  On the crest of a hill he saw a single rider and knew it was Saladin. But he could not watch the leader, for the Saracen knights were almost upon them.

  "Wait!" Richard implored harshly. He raised his hand to signal the trumpeters, but still he held back.

  Miles saw that Richard was in control. There was no finer military mind in the world when it came to warfare than his king's. But before Richard could give the command, a line of Hospitaller knights charged forward. Unable to stand and wait under the attack of Saracen arrows, they had gone forward to meet their sworn enemy.

  Still Richard held his men back. The Hospitallers met the Moors, and the clash of battle sounded. Only then did Richard give the command, leading the mounted knights himself. Miles spurred his stallion on and when he met his first foe, he was at Richard's side. They battled mightily for over an hour, and time became suspended within the fury of the fight.

  At one point, Miles became separated from Richard and had to fight his way back to the king's side. Richard's defense soon changed into an attack that became like a pincer of the desert scorpion. His knights closed in from two sides while the archers continued firing toward the center. Suddenly, Saladin's men were pressed tightly together, and the hell of battle grew to its fullest.

  Miles lost track of everything except the enemy before him. At one point five Saracens ringed him, but Richard burst through and killed two of them while Miles defeated a third.

  Before he could meet the fourth, a sudden cry went up, and the Saracens fell back, running and fighting from the field in a mad retreat.

  "The day is ours!" cried Morgan, who had ridden to Richard's side, his surcoat and sword covered with scarlet blood. But for Richard and Miles, who stared at each other and then at the bodies strewn across the battlefield, it had been a hollow victory. Neither Miles nor Richard had seen the shocked look on Morgan's face when he had recognized Miles. Nor did they see the dark flash of anger in his eyes.

  By nightfall the dead had been counted. Seven hundred Christians died that da
y; two hundred more were wounded so badly they would never fight again.

  The Saracens had lost more—over a thousand dead. But this was their land; Saladin would be able to replace them.

  It was long after midnight when Miles, Richard, and several others sitting in the king's tent heard the returning cries of the men sent out to spy on the Saracen army.

  A tired Sir Hugo, one of the king's most trusted mercenaries, and one of the few knights fluent in the Saracen tongue, entered the tent, bowed to Richard, and drank from a quickly offered goblet. Then he spoke. "They are already packing their equipment. I got close, very close, and listened to two men talk. Saladin has ordered a return to Jerusalem."

  "That is good," stated Alfred of Wight.

  "Why?" asked Richard. "So that he can strengthen his army? So he can plan another campaign even as we recuperate in Jaffa? No. We must again begin to negotiate with Saladin. We have been too long away from our homes."

  Miles' thoughts echoed Richard's, but he saw the strange look in Morgan's eyes. Miles had been aware of Morgan's black mood since the fighting ended. Now he sensed Morgan's new unhappiness in Richard's proposal and wondered why he would want to stay and fight. But he brushed the thought aside when Richard gave his orders for the morrow, choosing his representative to make the first approach to Saladin.

  "What if they refuse to parley?" Morgan asked.

  It was Alfred of Wight who spoke again, and his voice was heavy with sarcasm. "It appears as if you view this day as a loss, Sir Morgan. Why are you in so foul of temper? Your sword blooded many Saracens, did it not? No," he went on before Morgan could protest, "the Saracens will parley."

  "They will," seconded Richard. "The question is, will they agree to what we must have?" Then Richard shook his head slowly. "Saladin is a proud man, and I have fought no greater a general in my life. Mark my words! If we do not reach an agreement, we could spend the rest of our lives fighting." Everyone's eyes locked on Richard's, within the sudden silence of the tent, and all read within their sparkling depths the truth of his prophesy.

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  The scents of the late fall were carried by the November breezes to Gwendolyn's sensitive nose. She reined in the black mare and breathed deeply. Then, in a field of yellow stalks that would soon become dry and cracked, she dismounted and sat down upon the fertile ground.

  Behind her, James and Roweena did the same. For more than a year and a half, Gwendolyn had ridden the lands of Radstock, administering to the people, making certain that all was well. She maintained her husband's properties with determination and good sense, and under her gentle but firm guidance, all of Radstock prospered.

  But within her, hollowness festered. Her life seemed empty and meaningless. She drove herself unmercifully in an effort to hold back her loneliness, but whenever she saw something soft and beautiful, the emptiness of her life threatened to overwhelm her.

  Since Miles had left, Gwendolyn had filled her days to their limit: Making the rounds of the lands, seeing to the health and care of Radstock's vassals, and continuing her training as a knight. In the milder weather, Gwendolyn would train out of doors, in a hidden glen. But in the winter, she would go into the bowels of Radstock Castle, to the special pit, and practice her skills with James.

  More times than she could remember, Gwendolyn had ridden in the guise of Sir Eldwin to meet any who would try to take from Radstock what was not theirs to take. In the long months she ruled Radstock, Gwendolyn had lived the double life of man and woman, and so far, none had learned of the secret.

  But she did not want to continue this much longer. She had realized soon after Miles left that she had become half a person and had learned that she needed Miles in order to be whole.

  Whenever her emotions became too much to bear, she would ride as Eldwin, leaving Roweena to issue instructions in her place, letting those in the castle think her ill again and confined to her room.

  Dressed as Eldwin, Gwendolyn would go to a lonely place, far from Radstock, and miles from any people, to sit throughout the night and day in a deep trance, protected by the silver sword. She would let her mind go and would travel the myriad paths of the otherworld, drawing comfort and solace from her feelings. But during the last few months it had become more and more difficult to find surcease from her troubled thoughts. Transcending everything was her driving need to be with Miles again.

  She had traveled, with the use of the silver sword, to the far reaches of the world. But try as she might, she had been unable to find Miles as she floated on the planes above the earth. She had called to the priestess for help, but had been unable to find her.

  She had taken to learning more and more of the strange powers the sword had given her. She became strong within her mind, confident that she could control it. Yet, there always seemed to be another force watching her, holding her back, and shadowing everything she did.

  "My lady," called James.

  Gwendolyn lifted her eyes from the stalks to gaze at the youth.

  "It is getting late; we must return to the castle."

  "I know," she whispered.

  A few moments later she was mounted and the three were riding toward home. They were a mile from the castle when Gwendolyn suddenly reined in her mount. James and Roweena came alongside, but she didn't see them. Darkness spread through her mind, washing everything from her sight. Something was wrong. Something was wrong with Miles. A dizzying wave attacked her and her stomach twisted painfully.

  Swaying in the saddle for a long moment, Gwendolyn tried to clear her mind, but she failed, and the darkness claimed her even as she fell.

  James and Roweena reached her side a moment later, and Roweena screamed when she saw her mistress's chalky white face. But it was James who acted quickly as he lifted her.

  "Help me!" Roweena instinctively reacted to James's command, and together they put Gwendolyn on her horse. With James mounted behind her, holding her unconscious body to his own, they rode quickly into the castle.

  At the castle, the sight of the stricken Lady Delong brought immediate response from the people. Two minutes later Gwendolyn was safely within her bed. Once James had cleared the chamber of everyone save Roweena, he tried to awaken her. But it was to no avail. Roweena was desperately worried, afraid for her mistress's life.

  James, again, acted decisively. Noting Gwendolyn's pale features, and the barest movement of her breasts, James tried to comprehend what was happening within her body. He knew Gwendolyn was unlike any person-man or woman-he had ever met, and he knew how physically strong she was. This was no normal illness.

  ''I'll call a leech," Roweena whispered.

  "No! Stay by her side. Do not leave her. Do not let anyone come in!" he ordered. Moving quickly, James went from the bedchamber to the anteroom where Eldwin's arms were hidden. There, letting his intuition guide him, he lifted the silver sword and returned to Gwendolyn.

  When he stepped into the chamber, he paused. Roweena was kneeling on the floor, her hand holding Gwendolyn's.

  Tears fell from the servant's eyes and low sobs rocked her body.

  Gently, James lifted the girl to her feet and stared into her face. "She will live," he proclaimed. "Stand by the door. Let no one enter. "

  When Roweena did as he ordered, James stepped next to the bed. He drew down the coverlet and exposed Gwendolyn's unclothed body. Since the day James had become Gwendolyn's squire, he had banished all thought of her sex and had accomplished the impossible. When he gazed upon her nakedness, he saw not a woman, but the body of his lord-his knight.

  Carefully, he placed the silver sword on her body. The hilt rested between her breasts, and the tip of the blade was on her knees. He took both her hands and placed them on the hilt, and only then did he step back.

  He watched carefully. A minute later, he sensed a change in the room. Warmth emanated from everywhere, and his eyes were drawn to Gwendolyn's body. He saw it then and was reminded of that long ago day in Windsor when Eldwin had held the silver sword
aloft and it had glowed within the tent. Once again the sword glowed. A low silvery light flickered along its length, spreading slowly until it encompassed the sword. Then the glow grew, and, before James's eyes, Gwendolyn's body took on the same illumination.

  She seemed to become iridescent and shimmering, but rather than being frightened, James breathed easily. He realized that he had done the right thing. Somehow, the sword would help Gwendolyn, and he would wait until it had done its work.

  An hour later Roweena returned. She gasped when she saw Gwendolyn, but James waved her to silence, and then left the chamber with her.

  "What is happening?" she asked.

  "I do not know, but our mistress will be better."

  "When?"

  "I do not know that either."

  "No one must see her this way," Roweena said. "You must see to that."

  "You will stay with her?"

  "Yes."

  "Then guard the door so I may bring you food," Roweena ordered quickly. Before James could reply, she was gone.

  When she returned, James reentered the bedchamber and sat on the rush mat near the bed to begin his vigil.

  Patiently, with love and devotion, both he and Roweena watched over Gwendolyn, caring for her while she slept in her trance.

  Chapter Seventeen

  DARKNESS. Swirling, thick darkness engulfed her every sense. In the space of a heart- beat the distant castle slipped from her sight, hidden within folds of seeping darkness.

  Gwendolyn fought this attack with all her strength, but no matter how she battled, she sensed her heart slowing. Her breathing seemed to stop, held back by the thickening blackness. Then there was nothing. She sensed movement, and in the part of her mind that still functioned, she knew she was being brought to Radstock. But nothing penetrated the veil of darkness she floated within.

  For a long while she could feel nothing, and sensed she was losing something of value. The emptiness she floated in called for her surrender, but she fought its alluring song, trying to focus her mind and cry out for her sword. Then a pinpoint of light broke through the blackness in her mind, and she felt the warmth of the sword spread through her body. She realized, with the coming of the small dot of light, what she was losing. Miles! Something had happened to Miles!