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  “Mosul came upon me in the garden. He boasted of plans to turn against you once we leave Antioch. The soldiers guarding your caravan to Aleppo are all loyal to him. They are Moors from Sicily. They hold no particular allegiance to the Seljuk Turks, or to the House of Khan. They plan to ambush the royal caravan and take me a prisoner. If we leave Antioch in the morning without the Seljuk cavalry, I fear for your life, your family, and my own life. He also is holding a slave girl named Aziza a prisoner, and he seeks my slave-boy, Jamil, who has proven loyal to me.”

  Prince Kalid stared at her. For a moment he said nothing, then his jaw tightened, and the black eyes gleamed like marble. “Mosul told you this in the garden tonight?”

  “He did. He intends to take me to Syria and hold me for ransom. My uncle will be asked to pay him in gold.”

  If Kalid believed her, he did not show it. His face was immobile. After several moments of silence in which she heard nothing but the pounding of her heart, he walked to where she stood and gazed long into her eyes.

  Suddenly he turned his back and walked across the chamber toward the door. Helena darted after him, throwing herself against the door.

  “I’ve told you the truth.”

  “I believe you. Fear not, you will not be going with Mosul to Syria.”

  “There is one thing more. There is something I wish you to do for me.”

  His eyes were cool and mocking. “Your favorite slave again? The bodyguard Bardas?”

  She hesitated under his scrutiny. Caution. Kalid looked to be more suspicious of her “bodyguard” than Mosul. She grappled for something to say to divert him. “With the crusaders about the walls, it will not take them long to capture the Castle of Hohms. Marriage to me will no longer give you control over its favorable location. Why not permit me to return to Constantinople? Neither of us are immature enough to believe that love is the binding cord of any vows we make.”

  He remained unmovable. “Within a year the barbarians will weary of their futile drive eastward. In laying siege to Antioch, they meet their doom. They will starve to death before the Turkish commander surrenders the city. If the barbarian horde of locusts are wise, they will see their error and return to the West where they belong. When they do, I shall return to Antioch and lay claim to the Castle of Hohms. There will be no army to aid your emperor.”

  “The Normans will not leave. They are as iron-willed as your own people.”

  “You appear to know too much about the Norman will, Lady Helena.”

  She ignored the subtle insinuation. “Then you still insist I depart with you for Aleppo regardless of Mosul’s plan? In spite of defeat staring Antioch in the face?”

  “I made a bargain with your ignoble aunt, Lady Irene.”

  “My aunt is dead. So is her son, Philip. The bargain too, should be dead.”

  “How do you know they are dead?”

  She understood her blunder and tried desperately to shrug it off as nothing. “Bardas told me.”

  “Ah? News reached me when I was at Aleppo that it was Irene’s own bodyguard Rufus who slew her. No one seems to know who it was that killed Philip in a duel at the Hippodrome …. Your Bardas could not have known about Philip.”

  Helena shrugged again and turned away as though the discussion were nothing but a hindrance to important decisions. “Nevertheless, the Lysander family has seen much tragedy. It is Nicholas Lysander, my uncle, you must deal with now. If it could be arranged to turn me over to him—”.

  His laugh silenced her. “Ma’sud spared the life of your bodyguard at the castle because he is a man of honor. He could see you cared for him and wished to show a kindness. But, Helena, by now you must know I will do what I must to see my plans enacted. We will speak no more of the matter. We will marry at Aleppo.”

  Then there was no way of escape, she decided. Kalid would not relent for he refused to see defeat at the swords of the Normans. She saw her last opening and drew in a breath. “May I request of you a favor?”

  “Bardas lives, does he not? What more do you wish?”

  “I have warned you about Mosul and his guards. In return for my loyalty, I ask that my eunuch slave leave with me on the caravan, also the boy Jamil and his sister Aziza.”

  He paused and watched her so carefully that she could not keep the pink from rising to her cheeks. I am making blunders! she thought. He knows…he guesses. Oh fool that I am!

  “Tell me, Helena of the Nobility, this bodyguard of yours—this heroic man who rode to contest fifty Seljuks to claim you—this ‘eunuch’ you concern yourself with—who sleeps as a pet in your chambers—just why does he mean so much to you?”

  She did her best to sound calm. “It as I told your uncle Ma’sud Khan. Bardas served my father. He has been loyal to me since I was a child.” So far she told the truth about the real Bardas. “And I fear for his life. Mosul will try and kill him.”

  His smile scorned her words as though they were vain. “From what you tell me, Mosul is out to kill us both.”

  “He is, I tell you!”

  “Then…since you have warned me”—his black eyes turned cold—“your bodyguard must also be warned.”

  Her eyes searched his. They told her nothing.

  “I will go at once,” she suggested.

  “No, it is I who will go to warn him.”

  Her eyes widened. “No, you must not.”

  “Why? Because you do not wish for me to see him?”

  “Mosul will follow you there.”

  “Mosul is in no condition at the moment to follow me anywhere.”

  “But—his loyal guards are watching your every move. Kalid, please, trust me.”

  “Trust you?” he mocked. “Should I?”

  “If you permit my bodyguard to come with us on the caravan, unbeknown to Mosul and his guards, I will see to it that he protects you against Mosul.”

  Kalid’s expression changed. He was cold and alert. “Indeed? Interesting. I now wish very much to meet this beloved bodyguard of yours. He sounds like a warrior of no equal. Could it be that he and I have met before?” He turned on his heel, his hand reaching for the door

  “Kalid! Where are you going?”

  “Your demands I do not appreciate.”

  “If you insist upon seeing Bardas, take me with you. He will listen to me.”

  He threw open the door. “Your presence will not be required. Guards!”

  “Kalid, wait—” but he strode ahead, leaving her behind.

  The two guards appeared at once. Prince Kalid gave them a hard appraisal, his hand near his sword. “See to it my future princess does not leave this chamber until the caravan leaves in the morning.”

  “You make a grave error,” she cried.

  He whirled. “Silence!”

  Helena had no choice; the two guards watched her.

  Kalid turned back to the guards. “In the morning bring her to the caravan. I will meet you there. There has been a change in plans. See that your Captain Mosul rides with us from Antioch. I will need him in Aleppo.”

  “As you wish, Eminence. Shall we send word to him now?”

  “By all means.”

  The heavy chamber door shut against her and the outside bolt slid firmly into place. She heard the footsteps of Prince Kalid echoing down the marble hallway.

  She fell against the door, despair welling up within her.

  Helena sank to the cushions, her heart uplifted in prayer to the Lord God.

  Outside in the hall, all was quiet. The night held the threat of danger, and death. Come the breaking of dawn, only the strongest warrior, or the most clever, would still be alive.

  Behind the Veil / The Royal Pavilions book3/ Linda Chaikin

  Chapter19

  Firouz’s Revenge

  The moon had already set. Where was Jamil?

  Dressed in black, Tancred anxiously paced the chamber. He could fade into the shadows should he need to seek Helena and Jamil. Anything could have gone wrong! And most likely, something h
ad!

  He would not wait. With weapons concealed, he belted on his scabbard and moved toward the door. Suddenly it opened, and Jamil darted in out of breath, his eyes wide.

  “News of great importance, Seigneur!”

  Tancred caught him away from the door, setting him down on an ottoman. “Speak!”

  “Mosul plans to kill Kalid on the road to Aleppo and bring Lady Helena to Syria! He says he will become Prince Kalid Khan.”

  Tancred gritted with anger. “Where is he now?”

  Jamil grinned. “I knocked him unconscious. I took his sword and two daggers. The sword I hid in the garden, because I was afraid one of the guards here might see me carrying it, but the two daggers—” he produced them jubilantly from under his tunic and held them out to Tancred.

  “Well done, Jamil! You left Mosul in the garden then?”

  “Yes, the mistress and I moved him into the shrubs. We heard his guards coming and escaped.”

  “Where is Helena now?”

  “She went to the women’s chambers to find Aziza. She bid me come quickly to warn you. Kalid’s caravan leaves in the morning to escape Antioch. And there is more—the Armenian named Firouz suspects evil done to his wife by none other than Mosul! And, Firouz is full of anger over the dishonor. For us it is good news, yes? Surely you will make something of it, Seigneur!”

  Tancred restrained his anxiety over Helena long enough to grasp the importance of Firouz. “You are sure of this? How do you know?”

  “I overheard. His wife was crying and blaming Mosul. She confessed to Firouz that he’d been the one to treat her with disrespect, then scorned her. I heard every word. Firouz spoke bitterly of the Muslims and vowed that he would avenge her.”

  “Ah!” Tancred had thought it might be so, but he had not suspected Mosul. “Did Firouz speak of how he would avenge her?”

  Jamil’s eyes gleamed like lighted pools. He whispered, “He has heard of your Prince Bohemond. Firouz seeks a contact with him. He may betray the Seljuks into the hands of the Normans.”

  Tancred grew still. Then, grabbing the boy, he hugged him. “Brilliant work! I will adopt you in Sicily as my son.”

  Jamil sucked in a breath. He stared up at him then burst into sobs. Tancred hugged him again, then pretended to grow stern. “Enough, a growing knight must stay strong. Listen, I must speak with Firouz tonight.”

  “I…I will hide in the shrubbery near…near his quarters,” Jamil quavered, tears welling in his eyes, though he blinked hard. “Tonight when h—he returns, I will somehow tell him you wish to see him.”

  Tancred squeezed his shoulder. Jamil swallowed his emotions and said more calmly, “There is a trail winding up Mount Silpius, near the great Citadel. We can meet there unnoticed. I often go there.”

  “Well done. Tell Firouz to come alone. You are free to tell him who I am. And better take one of these—” he handed him one of Mosul’s daggers, but then thought better, and instead gave him his own dagger. “We do not want anything of Mosul’s to be found with you. Remember, Jamil, use a weapon only if in mortal danger.”

  “I vow it.” And he slipped silently away.

  Tancred looked after him and smiled.

  ***

  The gray stone wall, thirty feet high, stood above him, hardly visible in the darkness. On the southern section of the city, the far part of the wall was situated up among the hills and had only small postern gates, which opened onto narrow footpaths. It was too dangerous for an army to station itself within these ravines to attack Antioch. Normans, under Bohemond’s nephew, also patrolled the hills, cutting off supplies being brought through these gates by Syrians. Meanwhile, the armies of the feudal lords were camped on the plain north of Antioch.

  The silence was interrupted by the faint stir of wind rustling laurel trees near the mosque. As soon as darkness fell there came a flurry of movement among the guards in the city. If anything went wrong and Firouz was discovered to be a willing betrayer, none of their lives would be worth anything by morning.

  As Tancred silently made his way toward the mosque, he heard a rush of commands coming from Seljuk captains on the street, followed by running feet of soldiers hasting to obey orders. He saw the flash of torches and the Seljuks mounting swift horses to ride in the direction of Mount Silpius.

  Farther ahead in the darkness at the end of the street was a dome-covered building and several tombs. Tancred crept ever closer to meet Firouz. A few white-turbaned hadjis were in the galleries. Tancred caught the odor of burnt-out candles. He paused and waited.

  Firouz crept from the night shadows, his round face tense and anxious. They met, walking in silence through the court while Firouz began to talk in hoarse whispers.

  “You serve the Norman, Prince Bohemond?”

  “I am distantly related. I have an audience with him.”

  “Then listen well. You will never take Antioch by siege alone. Though the Byzantine emperor sends his artillery to destroy the walls, Antioch will stand impregnable. There is only one way for your army of crusaders to get inside Antioch.”

  “I am listening.”

  “Did you pass the sixty-foot Tower of the Two Sisters?”

  “I did. The Tower was impregnable.”

  “Yes, but nothing remains impregnable to him who has the key to the gate. I,” he whispered firmly, his voice shaking with rage, “Will see that Bohemond is let in.”

  Astounded, Tancred remained silent for a moment. He could see by the offended man’s face that he was determined.

  “What do you expect in return for this deed?”

  “Vengeance!”

  Tancred imagined what it would mean for unsuspecting Antioch to suddenly have the gate opened and nearly a hundred thousand swords turned loose. His mind went back to the fall of Biblical Babylon and ancient Assyria.

  “You shall indeed see vengeance,” Tancred warned.

  “I wish to see it!” his voice shook.

  “Your wife—”

  “Do not speak of my wife! They have insulted and shamed her! I want Mosul killed! Do you understand?”

  “When the fighting begins, there will be few who escape. Bohemond will need surety that you speak the truth.”

  Firouz was undaunted. “He may hold my son as hostage.”

  “How shall I get out of the city?”

  “It will be all arranged. Horses will be waiting. I will bring you there tonight. We must move swiftly. You must meet Bohemond and return by tomorrow night to take the city. Will you bring word to your Norman liege?”

  If he did so, he would need to leave Helena to Prince Kalid until the Normans entered Antioch. Dare he wait? Anything could happen before he reached her again. Suppose Kalid moved her to another location? Suppose the rabble following the crusaders reached her before he did? Once the Normans stormed the gate, he had no doubt what would happen. Tancred wanted no part in the battle, nor was he yet recovered enough to fight for hours. And Helena could be mistaken for a Moslem princess.

  “I will deliver your message, but Helena Lysander must come with me tonight. And I have the boy to think of. I cannot leave without them. Can you arrange it?”

  “No, impossible. There is no time for that! I will see the boy is safe. But Lady Helena is under guard by Kalid. His soldiers surround her. If you go there now it will mean the end of our plan and your death.”

  “Never,” Tancred stated. “I cannot leave her to him.”

  “Kalid has no plans to leave Antioch tonight. News came that Kerbogha comes with a Turkish cavalry, and so Kalid is certain to wait.”

  “No, anything could go wrong.”

  “Then I will see to it that my spies watch her chamber until your return. If anyone should seek to move her elsewhere, I will use the power of intrigue to thwart them.”

  “Thwart them?” Tancred scoffed. “How?”

  “I can thwart Kalid,” he said with contempt. “There are ways. But if you wish Antioch—you must go tonight.”

  Tancred gritted, weigh
ing the outcome of his choice. If he stayed, there was little chance he could get Helena out of the palace and away from the guards, whereas access to the Norman camp might mean that he would locate Nicholas, Hakeem, or Leif. Their swords, added to his own, would better ensure his success in rescuing her. He could also confirm the need for an ambush on the road to Aleppo, just in case something went wrong and either Kalid or Mosul managed to escape with her.

  “Very well. What we do, we do tonight. Firouz, your name will go down in history.”

  “Let history record my deed—and the defeat of the Moslem Turks. Let Bohemond and the Normans ride into Antioch!”

  “He shall. And the result will long be remembered. What plans do you have for Bohemond?”

  “Tomorrow let Bohemond sound his trumpets of war and gather his forces, then ride off toward the east as if marching to confront Kerbogha. As soon as night falls, he is to double back. Have him gather his knights silently under the Tower of the Two Sisters. Wait until the patrol of Seljuks make their round of the wall with torches. When the torches are gone”—he paused—“and a rope ladder is seen hanging over the wall. I will be in the Tower. The invincible Bohemond must come up first with the Normans.”

  “After the first three towers are conquered, the gate can be opened for the host. The Muslim city of Antioch,” he stated with coldness, “will belong to the Normans.”

  ***

  True to his promise, Firouz had horses waiting in the hills. He scanned Tancred uneasily. “You are strong enough to do this? Jamil says you were near death.”

  “I’ve recovered,” Tancred claimed, but he would not say how weak he felt. “How do you expect to get me through the gate?”

  “There is a trail along Mount Silpius that leads to the shepherd’s gate.”

  Tancred was not sure he knew what he was doing. “There are many gates. Why is this one different? Surely it is guarded.”

  “It is guarded. But it opens each morning to permit the shepherds to leave with their goats. While an army of crusaders would easily be spotted nearing the gate, one shepherd coming and going is a customary sight. The shepherds are deemed of little threat to the Seljuk guards. Often the shepherds bring them gifts of wine, cheese, and figs from the small Armenian villages in the hills. Your clothes are waiting.”