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  They were far outnumbered, and at last Philip’s sanity seemed to rouse itself. “Circle behind them, you fools! Trap them like wolves in a pen!”

  Norris was in deadly trouble with three soldiers closing in upon him. Tancred tried to help, his blade exchanging furious blows, when he heard Norris gasp as a spear pierced his chest. Norris grasped it, falling to his right knee.

  “I want Tancred alive!” Philip shouted.

  Tancred did not hear him. At that moment, little else mattered when he saw Norris dying among the dew-drenched flowers into which he had fallen. Tancred knelt beside him, wiping sweat from his eyes in order to see. Norris was slipping into unconsciousness, blood on his lips. A final breath, then stillness—It was over.

  Tancred’s fist clenched. He heard nothing but the thudding his own heart, like a war drum, in in his ears.

  Lord God, he prayed, broken in spirit, Norris, my cousin, like a brother….

  When he became aware again, soldiers had surrounded him with pointed blades, their breathing coming hard, their sweating faces grim. Bardas was sprawled on the ground holding his shoulder where blood soaked his sleeve.

  Philip strode up and pushed his way through his men, his dark eyes cold and brittle. He refused to glance at Norris’s body.

  “It is you, Tancred, who are to blame for his death, not I.”

  “As if you care. You will pay for this, Philip.” His voice came as deadly as a sword thrust.

  “Bah! You Redwan, will taste the shame and humility you have forced upon me!”

  From behind them there was a scuffle as soldiers were bringing someone from the cottage. Tancred heard Helena’s muffled cry of outrage. His reason rushed back as he understood she had been captured inside.

  “Tancred!” she struggled to break past Philip, but he blocked her.

  Tancred stood. His emotions, having ebbed to the bottom in watching the death of his Redwan cousin, now turned with fury. He struck Philip a savage blow that toppled him backward into the men behind him. Blood streaked down his cut mouth as he stared with dazed eyes at Tancred.

  Helena was still trying to twist free from two soldiers who held her arms, but seeing Tancred, she soon sank into hopeless silence, her eyes darting down to the body of Norris. She winced and turned her head away, and a pitying sob came to her throat.

  Philip recovered and stood glaring at Tancred. He took a white handkerchief from his purple vesture and blotted his mouth. He managed a contemptuous smile. “I could kill you, but not before Helena. You will not die yet, Redwan. That would be too easy for you. And she would hate me for it.”

  “Let him go, Philip,” she demanded. “If you touch him or Bardas further I will loathe you till the day I die.”

  “Let your arrogant boast of becoming emperor prove itself here and now with your sword,” Tancred challenged Philip. “If the created stars are your trust to bring you greater glory, surely they will fight for you now. You put your trust in Zeus! Let him show himself on your behalf! Or are you afraid to show your soldiers that you are a miserable coward hiding behind the silk skirts of Irene?”

  Philip’s hollow laughter rang among the tree tops as he tossed his dark head back and drowned out the song of a twittering bird, convincing the men that looked nervously on that the garden lurked with evil.

  “I have nothing to prove, Norman. It is you who will prove what you are made of. Senator Lucian has more at his summer house than fountains and roses. Take him to the dungeon. String him to the whipping post!”

  “Philip!” Helena cried, “You have gone mad!” She broke free of the guard and before they could stop her, reached Tancred. He embraced her. “It is all right,” he whispered. “Don’t be intimidated.”

  She trembled, her eyes sparking with fear and tears. His touch sought to radiate courage and confidence.

  “Take her away! Philip demanded with fury.

  Tancred looked into Helena’s eyes, they saw only each other.

  “I will live,” he whispered for her alone. ”Whatever happens to either of us, I will return for you one day.”

  Her eyes clung to Tancred’s as the soldiers took her away.

  Behind the Veil / The Royal Pavilions book3 / Linda Chaikin

  Chapter5

  Hope Deferred

  Tancred concentrated on the narrow stream of light that trickled through the bars on the dungeon window. The guard lashed him repeatedly as the whip cracked. He gritted his pain into silence as Philip looked on with smug satisfaction. Tancred had no idea what had befallen his cousin Leif or Bardas. Had they been able to escape? Where was Nicholas? He assumed Philip had brought Helena back to the Sacred Palace, or perhaps to the family villa in Athens.

  “You might as well beg for my pity,” said Philip. “If not, it shall go worse for you.”

  “If ever a doubt remained as to whose son you are, you have at last crawled from your aristocratic den.”

  The remark increased Philip’s temper, for he boasted himself to be wise.

  “Where is Helena?” Tancred asked again.

  “That is none of your concern.”

  The Byzantine commander paused the whipping and stepped forward. “My suggestion, Noble Philip, is to spare his health. What good a slave if half dead? You would gain a goodly price for this barbarian.”

  Slave? Tancred looked at Philip.

  “If you intend to sell him to the baron, he must be fit for the galley.”

  “Yes,” Philip said. “He must be able to pull an oar on a dromond for the rest of his life.”

  Furious, Tancred avoided any reaction that would please his captor. “I will find you one day, Philip, no matter where you send me.”

  Philip gave him a measured glance, then tossing his purple cloak over his shoulder, strode away.

  Later that day the baron arrived and was escorted to Tancred’s cell by the Byzantine commander. The baron was a soft and colorful dandy with a protruding belly that appeared to accommodate a greedy appetite undaunted by the sight of unpleasant things. He was garbed in an embroidered white silk shirt and black leggings, with a fine red cloak draped over his shoulders. A servant stood beside him with a bowl of fruit. The baron devoured purple grapes, his bulging eyes measuring Tancred’s worth as he lay on foul-smelling hay.

  The baron tossed the grapes back into the bowl. “Am I to pay Philip a good price for a skinned wolf?”

  “The muscle remains, Baron,” said the commander, “And he has a good wit. He is not your usual slave. He is a Norman, a warrior-knight under Prince Bohemond.”

  “Bohemond! Would you have him on my trail for capturing one of his men?”

  “He knows nothing of his capture, nor will he. The warrior who was with him, another Norman, his cousin, will not speak. He is dead.”

  “As long as a man can row, I do not pay a single besant for his wit. It is less trouble if his tongue is cut out.

  “This one may prove of more value to you than a rower. He is learned in languages; he worked in the Royal Library translating Latin and Greek. He is also a student physician.”

  Tancred glanced at the commander. Why was he giving recommendations?

  “A Norman, you say? The last Norman I bought has served me well for the past ten years. Pity the Turks if the Norman armies arrive at Antioch. Very well, I shall take him, but do something with his wounds.” He turned away. “When he recovers and his back grows some skin, deliver him to me in good condition. And tell Philip if he expects to sell me any more slaves, to keep his whip from their backs! A wise owner treats his beasts well. “I need a strong rower soon on one of the Venetian galleys.”

  Lying awake in the dank dungeon that night, Tancred consoled himself by making plans. If Bardas had escaped and managed to contact Nicholas and Leif they might form a band of brigands to waylay them on the road. He would find Philip—somehow!—and when he did…he would taste justice. And Helena? He would find her again if it took the rest of his life.

  Weeks crawled by and Tancred was aga
in on his feet and able to wear his clothes in spite of the tenderness of his back.

  “In a few days,” the Byzantine commander informed him, “A garrison of men will bring you to the wharf. You will be placed under the supervision of the baron’s chief captain. A man named Hadrian.”

  The restless days passed on. There was a delay in the trip to the wharf, and no word from his allies. What of Nicholas? Had he fallen to the grip of Irene after all? When Tancred questioned the guard, sullen silence greeted him.

  “I wish to see your Byzantine commander,” Tancred told the guard.

  “He has no time for prisoners.”

  “Where is Bishop Nicholas, and Lady Helena’s bodyguard, Bardas?”

  “You ask too many questions.”

  “When am I to be brought to the captain Hadrian?”

  The guard did not answer, keeping his attention on the wood carving he was whittling in his hand.

  Tancred wondered about Bardas. Had he managed to escape? Philip would never trust Bardas again after he had brandished his sword beside him and Norris. Was he even alive?

  “Answer my questions,” Tancred said, “and when I am free I will see you rewarded.”

  The guard turned his shoulder and walked to the other side of the guard chamber.

  Tancred dare not press for more information. The afternoon shadows fell across the barred window darkening the dungeon. Soon the guard exchanged duty with yet another silent soldier. Then at evening, the door above the steps opened and the Byzantine commander came in with several guards.

  “Am I free to go?” Tancred asked in sarcasm.

  The commander’s eyes searched Tancred as he spoke. “The eunuch slave has escaped.”

  “Ah! A smart fellow, Bardas. May he find a ship with wings!”

  “The only ship for you, Norman, is the baron’s galley.”

  “How did he manage to escape?” he asked with seeming disinterest.

  “He escaped with one of my guards. I can only think Bardas must have promised him some bribe, though he was searched before being put in the dungeon.”

  Of course. Helena’s jewels sewn in the garment.

  “We trailed them toward Athens.”

  Athens? Had Bardas tried to locate Helena and Philip? Or was she even with Philip now? But after two months, she’d more likely have already been sent to Antioch to Prince Kalid.

  “You caught the eunuch slave, no doubt,” Tancred said casually.

  The commander’s eyes again measured Tancred. “We will. No rebel will get far for long. What do you know of this?”

  “How could I know anything, locked away for the last two months with the rats? I will remember this ill treatment, Captain. I do not lightly waste so much of my life.”

  The commander smirked. “Do not complain. If you did not have the respect of men in the Varangian Guard, you would be dead by now. Rebels who displease the Noble Philip and Lady Irene are hanged or thrown to the leopards.”

  “I am not a rebel to the Byzantine Empire. I am a Norman. A captain and knight in the service of Prince Bohemond.”

  The commander gave a nod of respect at the mention of Bohemond. “They say he and the crusaders are marching slowly but steadily toward Antioch. There is news that one named Baldwin has taken Edessa.”

  Baldwin was the brother of Duke Godfrey, and the news of a victory did not surprise Tancred.

  “Bohemond will be insulted by the treatment I’ve received from your arrogant minister of war, Philip,” Tancred warned, exaggerating the truth, hoping his talk might draw the commander to more favorable conduct.

  The commander grew more curious. “If you serve with the Normans, then why did you return to Constantinople to anger the Noble?”

  “For the love of a woman,” Tancred said easily. “A knight often finds himself involved in causes not his own. I speak the truth when I say I care not who sits warming the throne of your emperor, either Alexius or Philip.

  “The Lady you speak of, Helena of the Purple Belt, was expected to marry Philip the Noble, but is now openly being given in marriage to Prince Kalid in Antioch.”

  “Not by her choice.”

  The commander studied him. “You might be right, Redwan. I wondered why the Noble despised you so. Jealousy would be reason enough, but I dare not involve myself. I am to bring you to the baron late this night. I will report to him what you have said. Perhaps he will show you more consideration. Hadrian has no liking for Byzantium. He is a Roman.”

  “If you would, can you tell me any news of Bishop Nicholas Lysander?”

  The commander hesitated, and glanced toward his guards but they were some feet away. He lowered his voice. “He too, like Bardas, escaped—with help from some who respect him. Where he is now, I do not know other than he remains here in Constantinople.” He added ruefully, “No doubt trying to hatch a plan for your escape as well. But do not hope, Redwan. Philip has more hatred of you than either Bishop Nicholas or the eunuch slave. He will make sure his most devout soldiers turn you over to the baron and his ships.”

  ***

  That night a dozen high ranking Byzantine soldiers serving Philip came to his dungeon.

  “Am I to be brought to the wharf?” Tancred inquired.

  “No, to the baron’s fortress.”

  “Am I not to sail as a galley slave?”

  “Are you anxious to do so?” the captain mocked.

  “It is better than dining with rats.”

  “The order came to bring you to the baron’s fortress. Captain Hadrian’s new crew will assemble there until the Venetian ship arrives.”

  Outside, horses awaited them, with a new group of soldiers under the Roman captain, Hadrian. As they trotted forward, the gate opened, then shut firmly behind them. Tancred could only wonder how cousin Leif had escaped the garden alive. He recalled the death of Norris. He turned in his saddle and looked back in a moment of tribute. Farewell, my Redwan cousin. Your short-lived friendship was cherished.

  With the death of Norris Redwan, son of Walter of Sicily, came the conviction that his uncle would hold Tancred responsible for more than the assassination of Tancred’s half-brother, Derek. His burdens were compounded, for Bardas and Helena were the only witnesses to what had happened.

  The horses’ hooves broke the silence of the night, and the startled shriek of a nocturnal bird passed them as it soared across the grass into the chinar trees. After months in the dungeon, even the chill wind was received as a refreshing breath of spring to Tancred. The harvest moon was up, bright and bold.

  Hope lived again. Could Bardas have contacted Leif or Nicholas? Might a band of mercenaries wait to free him down the darkened road? Would his many prayers for help and freedom be fulfilled this night?

  They were now miles from Constantinople and nearing a bend in the route with a vineyard ahead. This, Tancred thought anxiously, would be the spot to enact an ambush. The sounds of battle would not reach the Byzantine captain back at the summer palace, and they were still too far from the baron’s fortress to receive support from Captain Hadrian’s other men

  Tancred’s eyes and ears sought some sign of movement ahead in the darkness of the vineyard—some token of a rescue attempt. Farther on, the sight that greeted Tancred, angered and repulsed him. There were two dead men, each on a gibbet in the outer courtyard of the baron’s residence. For a stark instant he envisioned Nicholas and Leif—but thankfully, his mind’s worst fears were not realized!

  Captain Hadrian drew his horse to a stop below the gibbets, and Tancred rode up beside him.

  “Know them?” Hadrian inquired bluntly.

  The rising autumn wind carried the harbinger of a dark and bleak winter. He felt Captain Hadrian’s hard and searching gaze.

  “No,” Tancred shot back.

  “They were caught hiring mercenaries to free you on the road. If you wish to know the fate of Bishop Nicholas Lysander and your Redwan cousin, Leif—”

  Tancred’s cold gaze shot to Hadrian’s.

&n
bsp; Lady Irene has Nicholas imprisoned in the Sacred Palace. And your cousin escaped to find his uncle Walter of Sicily. It is reported they ride with Bohemond.

  Tancred’s anger must have revealed itself in his even stare, for Captain Hadrian said no more. He gestured for his troop to ride forward into the baron’s compound. As he did, Hadrian added, “Bardas is here, in a dungeon.”

  Bardas. So they had caught him as well.

  As they rode through the inner gate, the baron came out of a doorway and stood surrounded by his personal bodyguard of five burly-looking men. The baron looked Tancred over with the keen eye of a businessman, a satisfied look on his round, sweating face.

  “Ah! A Norman warrior indeed, Commander Hadrian! I see his back and his strength have healed since the lashing. Such a man is worth his price. See to it you put him to good use. And the eunuch slave with him…strong as an ox.”

  Hadrian did not smile. “A wild Norman wolf is not easily tamed, Baron.”

  “But worth the effort. Yes, yes, worth the effort. I wish to speak to you about that lazy Venetian Captain Rainald. Come inside. Bring the Norman with you.” He turned and went back into the doorway.

  Tancred judged from the scornful twitch of Hadrian’s cheek that he disliked the baron. He would keep that information in mind for any future opportunity.

  Inside the fortress hall, the baron was seated on a divan of comfortable cushions while silent, and sullen slaves waited on the baron, bringing an assortment of meats and flagons of wine.

  The baron appeared to be in good mood and motioned for Hadrian to sit and help himself to the goods.

  Hadrian declined. “We ate on the march. I am anxious to put the Norman away. I shall have my men take down the body of my guard and be on my way.”

  “Ah yes, the traitor was one of yours, wasn’t he? A regret.” He made a careless clucking sound with his tongue, then took a large swallow of wine. He sighed, then patted his bulging stomach with satisfaction. “There is no mercy for betrayers. He and the traitor with him would have hired mercenaries to free slaves, ones I have bought with hard-earned money.”