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  “So I have heard.”

  “And the one named Bardas?” Tancred asked, though of course, no one expected a new slave to dare speak unless first spoken to.

  The baron turned a calculating look on Tancred. “The wolf has recovered from his ordeal with Philip the Noble. You are a strong one. I can use you well. There will be no whip if you cooperate. But first, you must prove your loyalty to me. Now, you mention Bardas—” he took another swig and reached for a chunk of roasted meat. ”He too, seems useful to me, so I have spared him. He is in confinement now. When he discovers you are now my slave—he will undoubtedly bow to my will. We shall leave it at that for now.”

  Ah. If he could get together with Bardas….

  “Pardon, Seigneur,” Captain Hadrian said, “But it takes no loyalty to be chained to the oars of a galley. I assume you want both Redwan and Bardas on the Venetian vessel—”

  The baron looked at Tancred. “Hadrian is captain of my corsairs. He is looking for men willing to fight freely for a share in the bounty. Yet to be trusted with a sword a corsair must prove he will not turn against his captain. Hadrian is wisely cautious about the corsairs he sails with.”

  For a moment Tancred could taste the freedom of the sea and the wind if he sailed a corsair….

  “The Norman is not to be trusted yet,” Hadrian said bluntly. “At first opportunity he will jump ship to search for Lady Helena Lysander.”

  Tancred shot him a glance of restrained anger. So, then, Hadrian was not likely to assist his escape.

  The baron turned back to his table of plenty. “He is in your hand, Hadrian. The decision is yours. Such can be your future, Norman, if you serve loyally. If not, you shall find your overseer grim indeed.”

  Tancred had no doubt. Without friends, it would be impossible to escape the baron’s fortress. But escape, I will, no matter how many miserable years it takes me!

  Tancred was led to a small chamber with a long table. He sat down and waited, with two emotionless guards at the door. An hour must have passed before the door opened and Hadrian stepped inside. The two guards left, and Tancred stood.

  “The baron is a greedy man,” Hadrian stated. “He sees in you a warrior to aid his ever-increasing ambitions. He will not free you, not ever.”

  “Did you ask him to?” Tancred asked wryly.

  Hadrian met his even gaze, unoffended. “I offered to buy you.”

  “I am moved,” Tancred said coldly.

  Hadrian’s eyes were equally cold and hard. “Only when you have my trust will I be able to help you. That may take a week, a month, or a year.” He turned to walk out.

  “Wait.”

  “The captain looked at him, unmoved.

  “I cannot squander such precious time. Aid my escape now and I am able to see that you receive a fortune.”

  “I do not take bribes; I fight for a reason. The ships I prey on with my corsairs are noted for carrying slaves and arrogant Greek Byzantines.”

  “You scorn Byzantium, yet are you not a Roman? Rome once held more arrogance and slaves than even the Queen City of the Eastern Empire.”

  Hadrian shrugged his strong shoulders. “Times change. Kingdoms fall. Only ideas live on.”

  “Truth lives forever. Ideas change.”

  “And what is truth?” Hadrian scorned.

  “Ah. The question of another Roman, one named Pilate who basked in power. Truth stood before him in sinless flesh, and Pilate compromised truth to retain a vain moment of political power. In fear of giving up his paltry throne, he gave the order to crucify the Son of God.”

  Hadrian stared at him. Then asked, flippantly, “Are you a bishop also?” Then he changed the subject with a brush of his hand.

  “I am a free man,” Tancred said. “I am no citizen of Byzantium. What law, then, authorizes my being sold as a slave to the baron?”

  Hadrian said distinctly, “The law of Philip the Noble. He makes his own.”

  “One day he will also die by his law.”

  “You shall see to that, I suppose? Listen to me, Norman. The baron also has vested authority.”

  “Self-imposed. He is a pirate and worse, a murderer. He did not have authority to execute the two men on display in his courtyard.”

  Hadrian grew silent. “I cannot talk now. There will be other days.”

  “The fortune I promise depends on the help of another, Bardas.” Tancred walked across the chamber until they stood eye to eye. “Bring him to our next meeting…the three of us. We have the jewels of Lady Helena.”

  A minute must have passed before Hadrian spoke. “What if I wished to keep the jewels?”

  “What choice have I but to trust you?”

  Hadrian considered, then smiled reluctantly. “I see you are a gambler also.” He walked out and the guard bolted the door after him.

  Behind the Veil / The Royal Pavilions book 3 / Linda Chaikin

  Chapter 6

  Hope Restored

  A week had passed since Tancred had been brought to the guardhouse and kept in one of the cells. Nothing was resolved concerning Captain Hadrian. Nor had Tancred seen a glimpse of Bardas. As for Tancred’s lot, he worked in the baron’s fortress under close supervision of sullen guards with angry dispositions. Tancred had a view of horsemen coming and going through the gate. Daily he rehearsed his escape, but the opportunity had not come. He had learned the names of others anxious for freedom who could handle a sword—if they could get their hands on one. And, as usual, there were wretched women kept by the baron who dreamed of release, and who eyed Tancred with hope, but he could never get close enough to speak to them. For a time Tancred thought that Bardas may be among them, but he was not. Evidently the baron preferred using strong warriors, instead of a eunuch for guarding the enslaved women.

  Several more weeks passed, and his hope that the baron would place him on a ship failed to materialize. Was it possible that Hadrian had already gone to Bardas and forced him to talk about the jewels? Tancred had taken a chance with Hadrian, and it began to appear as though he’d made a serious error. Bardas could be dead by now.

  Guards were posted at his every turn, watching his every move. The winter rains came, far off, thunder rumbled, and the Mediterranean winds were rough.

  Where was Helena…had she become the wife of Philip, or Prince Kalid in Antioch?

  One night some of the slaves spoke in whispers of a ship from Genoa on its way to Constantinople. How they had discovered this, he did not know, but evidently there was at least one, or even two guards, who offered bits of news to one of the slaves.

  “The vessel from Genoa has harbored from a stormy sea at the local port.”

  Tancred knew of the Genoese. They were a small but privileged colony of Italian merchants in Constantinople who were given special trading concessions by the emperor, and they had a reserved quarter at the Golden Horn where they lived and traded. They were a constant irritant to the Byzantine merchants, who resented them, jealous of their prowess on the sea and in the guilds.

  Tancred’s opportunity came unexpectedly a few days later. He and several other prisoners were needed to carry cargo from the Genoese galleon in trade with the baron. The ship’s captain stood on the dock with several of his own seamen, and Tancred could see that the captain was watching him. His name was Rainald, and he had the arrogance of an ostentatious monarch. He was darkly handsome and boasted a fine-clipped mustache. His hat bore a plume, and his cape was decorated with gold brocade and gemstones. As far as Tancred was concerned, Rainald looked every inch a corsair rather than the captain of an honest merchant vessel.

  The captain continued to watch Tancred with intense black eyes, then turned and swaggered away with his equally adorned men to meet with the baron and Hadrian.

  In the ship’s hold, Tancred’s suspicions were aroused when he noticed that certain of the baron’s barrels and crates were not unloaded but kept separate from the wine and silk. In a moment, while unguarded, he made certain of his suspicions. Grabbing
a bar, he carefully pried open the lid on one of the crates and looked inside. Weapons! Stacks of them. This was no ordinary merchant ship. He reached his hand through the small opening and closed his fingers around a Toledo sword, glancing about to make certain no one could see him. His desperate attempt was foiled.

  “You!” the seaman called from the steps above Tancred’s head. “Why do you linger? Get away from there!”

  For the rest of the afternoon Tancred worked on the dock reloading the Genoese ship. If only he could get hold of one of those swords.

  By late afternoon the sky was changing; lowering clouds and a damp wind promised rain. A drizzle soon turned into a heavy downpour.

  “Move!” Hadrian commanded the slaves. “We haven’t much time!”

  Drenched and hungry, Tancred and the other slaves at last had the Genoese ship loaded with cargo. And just where were those weapons going?

  Hourly he fought his frustration as he was kept from the section of the hold where the weapons were stored. What was he doing as a slave to a greedy, foolish baron? Why could he not free himself? Why did his prayers appear to go unanswered? Where was his wit, his courage to out-maneuver his captors? Somehow there had to be an opening, if he only had the sense to see it!

  The day ended with little hope. He’d not been permitted below deck again, and the guards with their whips had watched him and the other slaves too closely for Tancred to inform the others of the weapons. Without swords they could not overcome their captors. Most of the prisoners were now defeated in spirit and would have cowered from such a bold endeavor that held so little possibility of success.

  I will not give up, he thought. I will never give up. I will continue to trust that the Living and True God of Heaven is able to deliver.

  He would live for another day, another opportunity. And, there was still Hadrian and the tunic with Helena’s jewels—if he could only get in contact with Bardas! While Hadrian had not mentioned their brief discussion, Tancred believed that he had not misread the character of the man. He was a soldier, and as such, he had detected an equal respect coming from Hadrian, who knew him to be a warrior.

  After he and the other prisoners were hauled back to the baron’s fortress, they lined up before the huge cauldron of steaming broth to received their portion of boiled mutton.

  One of the guards appeared in the courtyard. “You, Norman, come!”

  Tancred followed him through the bailey. He was tempted to jump him and take his weapons, but as usual two other guards with blades drawn appeared.

  The baron stood before a hearth. To Tancred’s surprise, Captain Hadrian was also there, and next to him Captain Rainald of the Genoese ship.

  “Is this the man?” the baron inquired.

  Captain Rainald looked at Tancred. “This is the one.”

  The baron scowled. “I have other slaves you could hire, Captain Rainald. The Norman is untrustworthy. He will jump ship.”

  “I will have him guarded. He is strong. How much?”

  Still, the baron was reluctant. “For how long?”

  “Two—three months.”

  The baron emptied his mug of wine. Captain Hadrian stepped beside him and spoke in a low voice. The baron’s brows rushed together. “Very well. Take him. But I expect generous trade with the Genoese merchants for this favor,” he told Captain Rainald.

  “Ah, you will surely get what you deserve, Seigneur.”

  “Then take him and go.”

  “In this rain! The Genoese captain said with exaggerated alarm. “No, no, surely not, Seigneur, why—I will get my fine clothing ruined! I will wait until morning. Hadrian will take care of the Norman slave. Is that not so, Hadrian my Roman friend?”

  Hadrian was stone-faced. “Just so, Captain Rainald.”

  The baron gestured roughly for a guard to lead Rainald and his bodyguards to a chamber for the night.

  Outside in the drizzling rain, Tancred turned to Hadrian. “Do I have you to thank for this?”

  “Not now. There are spies everywhere, anxious to get in the baron’s favor.”

  Their horses were brought by a soldier, and Tancred and Hadrian mounted. The feel of the saddle brought a surge of freedom to Tancred, and he leaned over and gave the wet mane a pat, wondering about Apollo, the horse Helena had given him.

  They rode from the fortress through the gate and raced along the wet road for perhaps a mile before Hadrian slowed. Tancred turned the horse to face him, the rain wetting their faces.

  “Rainald has no intention of holding you. Go first to his ship. A word of advice: Do not return to Constantinople. I understand your desire to confront Philip Lysander, but he has the advantage of hundreds of soldiers and a city on his side. Ride on to find Bohemond.”

  “I owe you,” Tancred said. “But I cannot take your advice yet. Philip has control over two people I care deeply about. And maybe a Norman cousin as well,” he said thinking of Leif Redwan. “I must return.”

  “It is your neck.” Hadrian reached into his saddlebag and pulled out the tunic once belonging to Bardas. It had been cut evenly in half.

  Tancred tensed and looked at him but saw nothing in his eyes to disturb him.

  “Bardas is alive. He willingly turned the tunic over to me after I arranged his transfer to Captain Rainald’s ship two days ago. He is there now waiting for you.”

  Ah, then. Bardas was also alive, and again free.

  With a smile Hadrian held both sections of the tunic out for Tancred to choose.

  Tancred smiled and took one half of the garment. “And you, Hadrian? Where do you go? Not back to the baron! If he discovers what you have done—”

  “No. Never back to the baron. But surely not to join the armies of the western princes either! I am through with war, with corsairs, and men like the baron.” He turned his horse and gestured to freedom. “If you ever return to Cordoba,” he suggested with a slight smile, “You may find me relaxing in one of the famed coffee houses, studying poetry—or, perhaps the words of Truth!”

  “A wise plan. Then, seek first the abbey of Monte Casino. There, you will find the words of Truth to read. It is where I first saw the Scriptures.”

  Tancred folded the torn tunic and stuffed it inside his ragged garment. “A pleasant and prosperous future. Farewell.”

  They lifted their hands in salute and rode their separate ways through the wind-driven rain.

  Tancred approached the Genoese ship expecting the men aboard to refuse him entry, but instead Bardas appeared, showing relief and enthusiasm.

  He strode up newly garbed in clean sea garments given him. “Seigneur Redwan, God be thanked, you are safe!”

  “Well Bardas, you look to have survived, my Friend!” He gripped his shoulder and lowered his voice. “I owe you much for your loyalty. It was wise to trust Hadrian with the tunic.”

  “When he told me you trusted him with it for our release, I felt that I, too, could trust him.”

  He had won Bardas’s trust, and Tancred was pleased. “We live to fight another day, and we have our duty laid out before us.”

  Bardas frowned with worry. “I have heard that both Master Nicholas and my mistress Helena are in Constantinople under Philip and Lady Irene.”

  “Yes. And we will soon make new plans.”

  “May the true God prosper them. This way, Seigneur. I am to bring you to the captain’s cabin.”

  A suit of clean clothing was waiting; a shirt of the finest smoke-blue silk, black leggings, leather boots of the highest quality, and a mantle of the same fine wool as the suit, embroidered with silver. A bath in the cold water from the harbor came first, and Rainald’s valet trimmed his shoulder-length hair to the masculine cut he preferred as a Norman warrior. The one thing missing was a good sword and dagger! Now that he had jewels, he would not wait long to visit an armory and choose the finest that money could buy. One day he would repay Helena from his own resources as the true Redwan heir of the Sicilian dynasty—if he could capture Mosul and prove his own innocen
ce.

  It was early the next day when Captain Rainald boarded his ship, as elegant as ever. His dark eyes raked Tancred.

  “The foul-smelling slave is now fit company for the honor of Rainald!” he stated, his eyes twinkling with humor.

  He pulled a flagon of wine from his drawer and two exquisitely carved glasses from Venice.

  Tancred imagined that the “fit company” of Rainald was not always easy to endure, for he reeked with self-conceit, though some of his manner may be his way to display humor.

  Tancred offered a deep bow, his own way of showing friendly humor. “Your generosity, my Captain, will be acclaimed throughout all the Norman camp!”

  Rainald grinned. “My generosity, Norman, will be rewarded by means other than acclaim.” He toasted Tancred. “The tunic of Bardas,” he inquired smoothly, “You do have it with you?”

  So he knew about the jewels. “Ah, the famous tunic. So Hadrian told you.”

  This time the captain gave a debonair bow. “Why else would I risk my handsome head, so remembered by charming ladies?”

  “Why indeed?” Tancred smiled. He liked the conceited dandy. “I shall pay for your services. How much do I owe you?”

  Rainald mused, pursing his lips. “The baron will be upset when he learns of your unfortunate escape—it may cost me future business in trade. And there are many dangers to my neck in bringing a man wanted by the Lysander family back to Constantinople.”

  Rainald was not only vain but a polished schemer.

  “My generosity in buying your services for three months did not come cheaply,” Rainald continued. “Therefore, my Norman friend,” he gestured with his glass, “It seems but fair and equitable that the tunic should be divided again.”

  “It seems I have no choice.”

  “We will divide now.”

  “So you can throw me over the ship and take all? Not so, my fine Captain.”

  “What!” Rainald placed a hand against his heart. “You would accuse Rainald of such vile treachery?”