Behind the Veil Page 9

  Nicholas looked up from his cup to meet Tancred’s gaze. Tancred remained silent.

  “We bring you dark news,” Nicholas told Norris quietly, and went on to explain Philip’s further treachery in making Tancred a slave to the baron corsair, and the death of Norris near the summer house. “He and Tancred went to a bungalow near the summer house thinking to aid Rufus and his son Joseph. It was a well-laid trap. They were met by swords and spears from Philip’s guards. Norris was slain.”

  Leif’s sense of loss was great, for he and Norris had grown as close as brothers with Tancred.

  “I will avenge Norris,” Leif gritted, forming a fist. “And for what he did to you, Tancred!”

  “There is no need. Philip is now dead,” Tancred stated flatly.

  “The duel took place in the Hippodrome,” said Nicholas.

  Tancred stood and left the tent. The memory brought him no satisfaction, but rather a determination to find Helena, then to leave the fields of death behind, and to return to Palermo—if he could ever clear his name in the death of his half-brother, Derek Redwan.

  Behind the Veil / The Royal Pavilions book3 / Linda Chaikin

  Chapter10

  Kerbogha’s Cavalry

  As the famine worsened, bands of ribald French vagabonds, who were poorer than most of the stragglers following the army of knights and soldiers, began to feast upon the dead carcasses of the Turks outside the walls of Antioch. They would disperse and hunt out several bodies, then bring them back to their encampment to pound them with flails and skin them. The vagrants would boil the meat in caldrons over their cooking fires. The smell of simmering human flesh wafted to the tops of the walls, where Turkish soldiers looked in disgust.

  When the news of the “feast” reached Bohemond, he and several lords went to investigate. Tancred and Leif walked with them to the ragged encampment of vagabonds.

  They came upon the ribald King Tafur and his followers seated on the ground, who mockingly complained in French, “But there is no bread!”

  Others laughed, “Voici mardi gras!” ‘This is a party!’

  The feudal lords, wearing their fur mantles, watched them in silence.

  “How do you feel?” Bohemond inquired.

  Tafur responded, “I feel revived. If only I had something in the way of wine to go with this!”

  A lord laughed. “Sir King, you shall have it.” He sent his servant at once to fetch a jar of his own good wine for the monarch.

  Tancred caught the eye of Leif and gestured to the summit of the gray wall of Antioch where the Turkish sentries stood watching the cannibalism. They shouted down in anger.

  “What do they say?” King Tafur asked.

  “They say your fine taste in food compels them to show you a kindness,” Tancred interpreted.

  “A kindness?”

  “They will execute all barbarian prisoners tomorrow, and catapult their heads over the wall for you to eat as well.”

  ***

  In the days ahead a decision was made to travel farther from Antioch in search of food. Nearly twenty thousand knights gathered to ride with Bohemond and Robert of Flanders on a desperate foraging expedition. Tancred rode ahead of the army to scout. Hakeem must have found it safe enough to join him, for he approached Tancred from a distant rocky area.

  “Hakeem, there may be trouble at the Castle of Hohms. Rolf Redwan has not been seen since Bishop Basel came from Constantinople with Helena and her mother, Adrianna.”

  “I will go and spy it out.”

  “Send me word if there is any news of Helena’s presence. I will come.”

  Hakeem took his falcon and was about to turn and ride when they saw a massive army of Seljuk Turks proceeding toward them.

  “I have never seen so many Turks,” Hakeem whispered.

  Was this the army led by Kerbogha for the relief of Antioch? Tancred wondered, his energy rising as he speculated whether Kalid was with them.

  He turned to leave when Hakeem shouted, “Bohemond has ridden ahead!”

  Robert of Flanders had also ridden forward, oblivious to the danger. Tancred and Hakeem drove hard toward the knights.

  “Escape!” Tancred shouted at Hakeem over the wind. “The knights will take you for one of Muslims!”

  “I will not desert you, Jehan!”

  “Depart, friend! Ride to the castle! It is there I need you!”

  Hakeem hesitated, then signaled a salute and headed off toward the distant rocks from which he had come. The falcon soared after him.

  The Seljuks came as if from a desert mirage. They were a force composed entirely of horsemen, carrying strong short bows and scimitars and their curved stabbing knives, called yataghans. Each of them handled his mount with the ease of a master horseman. They weaved back and forth as if to music, moving in formations that were strange to the skills of the western knights. A charge by Robert’s men was impossible as they were engulfed and taken by surprise. A barrage of arrows struck, followed by a charge. Tancred smashed his sword into a rider who leaped past him. The Seljuks kept coming, pressing them, dividing their ranks, and in the distance the drums beat and the high shout of “Allah! Allah!” rang through the hills. Robert’s knights of Flanders were falling, yet they fought on tenaciously, in spite of overwhelming odds. As men were struck from their mounts, others grabbed fallen weapons and swung them savagely into the Muslim charge. Tancred struck again and again, and still the Seljuks sent fresh cavalry into the battle. The men of Flanders held. The minutes stretched. The Seljuks came and came again, and Tancred was caught up in an endless struggle with his sword to stay alive. Arrows whizzed; knights fell only to pass their weapons to the foot soldiers, and they fought on, but still the Seljuk cavalry came. Tancred was knocked from his horse and fought on foot. Men died beside him, and then as if in an dream, he heard distant shouts as Bohemond’s Normans rushed to the fight.

  Kerbogha’s cavalry saw them coming and the attack broke. The Muslims withdrew for the moment.

  Bohemond’s crimson standard was raised.

  The echoing shout of the Normans grimly challenged the Moslems: “God is with us! God wills it!”

  With this, Bohemond led the charge, their great swords swinging above their heads and scattering the Seljuks in a push forward. Like thunder, the impact sent a breach into the Turks, now falling over the heaped-up bodies of the knights of Flanders. But from the hills on both flanks, Tancred saw new groups of Turks. The wave of bowmen galloped toward them, their arrows striking with deadly accuracy, followed by riders swinging scimitars. The two forces collided in bloody hand-to-hand fighting. The Normans fought savagely, unrelenting, like wounded wolves cornered and determined to break free. The long swords of the knights struck, smashing bones; the scimitars slashed heads from bodies. Neither side would yield. They persisted stubbornly. Seeing a riderless horse, Tancred swung himself up and rode to the side of Bohemond, and as he did, his own scimitar removed the head of a Turk who had leaped past, expecting a notorious kill. The fighting line of the Normans held, and because it did, the onslaught reaped a devastating harvest from Kerbogha’s cavalry. The grim leader, fearing to lose any more of his men, was quick to command a retreat, and the attack broke as they fled back toward the hills.

  The men of Flanders were exhausted. Robert, somber and silent, rode past his knights in wordless tribute to their stand. Leif rode up to Tancred; both were too weary to speak. They joined Bohemond and rode back toward Antioch.

  The foraging expedition had been a failure, and good knights and horses were lost. The Seljuks from Aleppo had been beaten back with heavy losses, but Kerbogha was not ready to give up. Tancred believed he would return with more fighters to relieve Antioch. A greater and more bloody battle waited yet another day.

  ***

  That night he and Nicholas rode through the camp when a commotion near the tent of Count Raymond of Toulouse drew them aside. They had a prisoner from Antioch. At once Tancred recognized that the Turk was no ordinary soldier, so he rod
e up to Raymond.

  “That man may be of use to us, Seigneur. He is an emir. If you would bring him to your tent we could question him.”

  “Yes, a wise thought.” Count Raymond ordered the emir brought inside and motioned for Tancred to follow. The emir’s dark eyes moved from Count Raymond to Tancred.

  “Who is your commander?” Tancred asked in Arabic.

  “Yaghi-Sian.”

  “A strong leader. And Prince Kalid?”

  “He is with Kerbogha at Aleppo.”

  “Was it not Kerbogha’s warriors we fought?”

  “You fought with a contingent of his cavalry from Aleppo under Ma’sud Khan. But Ma’sud came not to fight you. He waits for a million Moslems from the East! He was riding to the Castle of Hohms to bring his nephew’s bride to Aleppo when you came upon him.”

  His nephew’s bride—is with Ma’sud Khan—who is bringing her to Kalid!” Tancred was aware of Ma’sud Khan, and had heard that he was more honorable than Kalid.

  “Ma’sud Khan turned back. The losses were heavy on both sides,” Tancred said with deliberate calm. “How long has Prince Kalid been in Aleppo?”

  “Since before the siege began.”

  “Then how could the ceremony of marriage to the woman of Byzantine nobility have taken place?”

  “It has not yet taken place.”

  Only Nicholas who had joined them earlier understood the intensity of emotion behind Tancred’s pause.

  Count Raymond watched Tancred with a curious frown. “You mentioned the name of Prince Kalid. You know him?”

  “He is a cousin.”

  Raymond appeared shocked. He looked over at Nicholas, who lifted both brows.

  “Tancred’s mother was a Moor,” explained Nicholas. “But Tancred has come to understand that Jesus Christ is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and that no one can come to the True and Living God but by Him. Tancred is also the son of Count Dreux Redwan. Rolf Redwan at the Castle of Hohms is his uncle.”

  The emir scanned Tancred. “You are Jehan, grandson of al-Kareem?”

  “I am. And I seek Kalid and his bodyguard Mosul, another cousin—the assassin of my brother Derek Redwan.”

  The emir made no reply but watched him steadily.

  “How did you find this man?” Tancred asked Count Raymond.

  One of Raymond’s captains explained. “The Turkish commander, the one you call Yaghi-Sian, slipped through the gate and launched a night attack against my men who were north of here, near the Orontes. They intended to ambush us, but our night guard alerted Count Raymond, who reacted promptly. He came out of the darkness, taking these wretched Turks by surprise. We routed them in no time and chased them back across the river to Antioch. We nearly succeeded in taking the open gate into the city!”

  “We would have entered the city,” spoke another with a sullen face, “if this emir, as you call him, wasn’t thrown by his bolting horse! The incident threw our group of knights into confusion.”

  “The grand moment was lost, and the gate was quickly shut,” Count Raymond sighed.

  Nicholas drew Tancred aside, his hand on his shoulder. “If Ma’sud rides to the castle to bring Helena, it is likely Basel is there with Adrianna.”

  “Yes, so I intend to leave tonight,” said Tancred.

  “And I with you. See if the emir knows of Rolf. We must not ride into another trap. It is likely that Walter and your Norman cousins are about.”

  Tancred was so encouraged with the news about Helena that he’d discounted the danger of Walter and his Redwan cousins. He spoke again to the emir, but he denied knowing anything about them.

  “Are not this Bohemond and his barbarians from the Norman kingdom enough?” the emir inquired with contempt. “You encamp about our city like starving locusts. Do you need this Walter also?”

  “Hah!” Count Raymond’s chief captain snarled back with equal contempt. “Listen to his injured dignity! Have you forgotten where you Seljuk Turks first came from? Antioch was never yours until you warred against the Greeks and stole it for your empire! We are taking back what once was the Eastern Roman Empire under Constantine the Roman Emperor!”

  Nicholas touched Tancred’s sleeve and gestured his head toward the tent opening. “Let us depart.”

  Behind the Veil / The Royal Pavilions book3 / Linda Chaikin

  Chapter11

  Goodbye … My Love

  The afternoon sun grew glaringly hot in the azure sky, bearing down on the rugged, barren countryside. With the oncoming evening, the sky became an awesome stage displaying the handiwork of the Creator, with stars and planets burning white. A rush of wind came through the hills and swept the valley floor.

  With the golden dawn the restless winds had ceased, and upon a ridge of rocky gray slopes stood the Castle of Hohms—solitary, formidable, with arched windows, battlements and bulwarks carved from the natural rock which formed many of its chamber walls. A long flight of steps bounded upward to the main bulk of the castle, where its roof touched the brightening sky.

  Tancred and Nicholas drew rein, with Leif, Rufus, Bardas, and Demetrious holding their mounts. In the vast expanse of the plain, rimmed with mountains, came the undeniable glint of armor.

  “Soldiers,” Tancred warned, “hundreds, a great distance away, they ride toward the castle.”

  He turned his gaze from the soldiers to the castle main gate. It stood partly open!

  A group of Byzantine horsemen, perhaps twenty, emerged from the gate, and the man in the lead carried a white flag with a crimson cross.

  “They surrender?” Demetrious scoffed. “Is this the great Seigneur Rolf Redwan I have heard you boast of, Leif?” Do you not say that fifty men serve him? Why, then, are they not on the bulwarks?”

  “The man in the lead is not our uncle,” Leif said with a scowl.

  “He is correct,” Tancred stated. “Rolf would rather die than surrender without a battle.”

  “I have served under Seigneur Redwan,” Rufus spoke up. “There is none better than he, or more courageous.”

  “Who then?” Captain Demetrious’s abhorrence for soldiers who would not stand and fight, even though outnumbered, flared.

  Tancred’s blue-gray eyes glittered in silence.

  “The man in the lead wears the garb of a bishop,” breathed Nicholas. “Who else but my enemy Basel!”

  “And—is that not—a woman who rides guarded?” Bardas spoke up, his voice excited. He looked at Tancred. When Tancred did not respond, Bardas turned and reached over to clutch his arm. “It is Lady Helena!”

  “Yes.”

  A rider galloped toward them from scrubs on the hills behind the castle. Some of the men reached for their swords, but it was Hakeem. He came up beside Tancred. “Bishop Basel rides with the entourage of guards leaving the Castle of Holms now. He will bring Helena to the Seljuks.”

  Tancred looked toward the castle again, trying to estimate the number of guards with Helena and Basel.

  “Adrianna, what of her?” Nicholas demanded.

  “Ah, she remains behind. Nor could I locate Seigneur Rolf, but! Beware Tancred! Walter of Sicily is at the castle, and others from the Redwan clan.”

  So! At last! Tancred looked back toward the gate of the castle….he and Nicholas exchanged glances. Both Helena and Basel!

  “Yes,” said Tancred, “And there are about twenty guards riding with Basel,”

  Nicholas was deadly silent, the wind touching his black hair sprinkled with gray.

  “Look how many Seljuks come to receive her,” Rufus breathed, awed. “Five hundred?”

  “A thousand!” Captain Demetrious corrected with deadly calm. We must avoid them, we are but six warriors.“

  “Seven,” Hakeem spoke up. “Where Jehan goes, I too go, with my scimitar.”

  “We are worth thirty of Basel’s guards,” Rufus said, his dark face contemptuous. His powerful arm flexed with muscle as he reached toward his sword.

  “But we are outnumbered, about three to on
e,” Demetrious stated.

  “You, who just scorned our uncle Seigneur Rolf Redwan for surrender without a battle, now retreats behind his words?” countered Leif. He gave a mirthless chuckle to goad Demetrious. “Come, my Greek warrior, do you measure up or no?”

  Captain Demetrious gripped his sword and threw down the imaginary gauntlet. “Have you forgotten my ancestor? I may be no Norman, but I come from Alexander the Great!”

  “Then?” and Leif and the others all looked at Tancred. “What will you do, Jehan?” Hakeem asked watching Tancred knowingly.

  Tancred could think of nothing except Helena. “Do? I will not allow Bishop Basel to betray her to Prince Kalid,” he gritted. “I will kill him first.”

  Nicholas laid a firm hand on his arm. “Basel is my enemy, son. He has been from the day he arranged to have me banished from Constantinople to the West. It is I who must deal with the so-called Bishop in sheep’s clothing.”

  Tancred gave a nod of understanding. He shaded his eyes, looking far off into the distance toward the Seljuk Turks, then back to Basel’s entourage riding to meet them on the plain.

  “What do you have in mind, cousin?” Leif asked.

  “Attack the bishop’s entourage, then make for the castle gate. There may be just enough time, but it is be seven against twenty. As you say, I do not see my uncle Seigneur Rolf among them, which tells me he is either not there or being held captive.”

  “Remember, Seigneur, Walter of Sicily is there!” Bardas said anxiously.

  “The gate to the castle grounds will soon close,” Hakeem told Tancred in a low voice. He then pointed toward the rocky hills behind the castle. “I know the area well. There are secretive place to conceal ourselves. The Seljuks will not follow; it is very steep.”

  Hakeem was right. The best recourse was a swift flight toward the rugged hills. “It may be that not all who ride with Basel are loyal to him,” Tancred said.