The hearth was so vast that four or five men could have easily fit into it. There was a big fire in the center with bread ovens built into one side while on the other side, sitting on low-burning coals, were a variety of iron pots on iron arms hanging over the heat.
Peter peered into the pots; one was strictly hot water so that the manse would always have a ready supply of it. But the second pot was some kind of soup. Peter located a big, wooden spoon and stuck it in, sipping at the hot broth. It was exactly that – some kind of plain animal broth with nothing else in it. Beef, he thought. With that, he rushed around to collect cups and scooped up the broth.
“Here,” he said, coming over to Marcus and David as they bent over Christopher. “It’s beef broth, I think.”
David took it gladly, two cups of it, while Marcus took a third cup. David set his cups aside, however, as he leaned over his brother.
“Chris,” he said. “You should not sleep. Let us help you to sit up and you can take some nourishment.”
Christopher’s eyes were closed, slowly opening as David spoke. He didn’t say anything for a moment as his eyes moved around, looking at their surroundings.
“I do not remember coming here,” he said, sounding a bit more lucid than he had when he’d first awakened. “I fell off the bridge in Kington, you say?”
“Aye,” David said.
He got in behind his brother and with Marcus in front of the man, between the two of them, they manage to push the man into an upright position. Christopher groaned, holding on to Marcus tightly.
“Christ,” he muttered. “Everything is moving.”
“I know,” Marcus said. “It will go away. Just breathe, Chris.”
Christopher continued to hold on to him as the world swayed. “I must lie down.”
They ended up easing him back against David so that he was reclining. David held the cup of broth and Christopher sipped at it timidly. Peter had found the remains of a half of a loaf of bread and he tore off pieces, giving them to the men to soak in the broth. They ate, they warmed themselves, and they gave thanks for the shelter they had.
On this night of nights, it was a miracle.
Christopher knew that. Honestly, he was still quite fuzzy and his head was throbbing, but given what he’d already been told, he knew he was damned lucky to be alive. Everyone’s clothing was laid out on the hot stones, drying out, indicative of the men who had risked themselves to safe him.
Outside, he could hear the snow howling against the old stone walls. But in the kitchen, it was peaceful and warm, as if they all hadn’t been in a fight for their lives only moments before. Truly, it had been a most unexpected night.
But Christopher wasn’t thinking about that.
He was thinking about his family.
“We must send word to Lioncross,” he said, his voice sounding weak and hollow. “They will wonder what has become of us.”
Marcus shook his head. “You can hear the storm outside,” he said. “No one is going anywhere tonight, Chris. We can’t risk it.”
“Cabot and Max saw us all go into the river,” David said. “They will return to Lioncross and tell them what they have seen.”
The implication was obvious; men falling into a snowy river during a storm didn’t usually survive. If the water didn’t get them, the cold would.
“I have been dead before,” Christopher grunted. “I hope that Dustin will not believe I have perished until she sees my cold, dead body, and thanks to you three, that will not happen. Still… I wish I could send word to her.”
It was a sentiment reflected by them all, but that wasn’t going to happen, not tonight, so there was no use dwelling on it. It was David who finally changed the subject, gesturing to his nephew as he hovered over the three older knights.
“It was Peter who saw you fall in,” he said. “Had it not been for your son, things would be markedly different.”
Christopher turn his head slightly to see the big lad standing over him. “You have my thanks,” he said, reaching out to grasp the young man’s hand. “I remember… I remember watching you fight next to me. I do not think I’ve ever been so proud of anything in my life. In fact, I was distracted by it, so being caught off-guard was my fault. After that… I remember nothing. Everything is a blur.”
Peter squeezed his father’s hand. “You were hit in the head with a club and it knocked you over the bridge,” he said. “You hit your head on the bridge as you fell.”
“And you went in after me.”
“There was no question, Papa.”
Christopher squeezed Peter’s hand again before letting it go. “You have my eternal gratitude,” he said quietly, grunting in pain when David pressed another snow-filled rag against the bump. He sighed heavily. “I’m so weary. I must sleep.”
Both David and Marcus shook him. “You cannot,” Marcus said. “You must stay awake, Chris.”
Christopher closed his eyes. “Truly, I cannot,” he muttered. “Just let me sleep a little. My head is paining me greatly.”
David jolted him from behind. “No sleep,” he said again. “We shall help you stay awake. Let us speak on the days when the weather wasn’t so cold, when we were on the sands of The Levant. It was hot and sunny, unlike this wretched weather. We have a thousand tales from that distant land.”
“I do not want my son to hear most of those,” Christopher muttered.
Marcus latched on to David’s idea. “I remember one,” he said, ignoring Christopher’s comment. “Do you recall when we were in Sidon about a year before the fall of Acre? Do you remember the woman Marwah?”
David immediately started to giggle and Christopher even opened his eyes. The mere suggestion of the story had the desired effect. He was certainly awake now.
“Tell this story at your own peril,” Christopher growled.
Marcus ignored him. Like it or not, he was going to tell the tale.
“The heat was wretched, with golden sands radiating warmth as if the earth itself was on fire. Sidon, at this point in time held by the Christian armies, was a small but sturdy city unto itself, self-sufficient and prosperous in spite of the battles it had hosted.
It was also a den for a ring of spies from Ascalon who were reporting on the Crusader movements.
King Richard and his advisors suspected where the spies were getting their information but no one could prove it. In the center of town, near the large open-air market of El Habash that had been established centuries before, was a large compound housing the family of a merchant who had the largest stall in the market.
His name was Ezz al Samak and the man had lost three sons to the battles of the Muslims against the Christian armies, leaving him with seven daughters who were desperate for husbands. Most of the young men from Sidon had been recruited for the war against Christianity, meaning all of the young women of Sidon were rather desperate for men.
This was where King Richard and Christopher knew they could do some damage.
At six inches over six feet and a godlike muscular body, Christopher’s skin had turned brown under the brutal sun of The Levant while his hair, which went to his shoulders in those days, had turned the lightest shade of blond. He still kept his beard, which was a habit he’d had since he could first grow hair on his face to cover up the scars of skin that had been rife with pimples in his youth, but the beard was kept quite trim to keep his face from getting too warm.
And the women of The Levant went mad for the man with the golden beard.
Dhahabiat wahida, they would call him.
The Golden One.
That was only from the women, however. From the men, Christopher had a much more warlike name, The Lion’s Claw. With King Richard called the Lionheart, Christopher was the man’s claws. Everyone knew a lion was hardly dangerous without his claws, and The Lion’s Claw was extremely dangerous.
Intelligence in The Levant wasn’t difficult to come by if one knew how to find it.
Christopher knew.
; Ezz al Samak had seven daughters – Amira, Marwah, Eman, Enara, Fatima, Jaliah, and Hessa. Seven beautiful daughters, in fact, and the young women would prowl the wall walk of Ezz’s fortified home near the market, walking upon the white walls and waving to passing men. They were properly covered up, of course, with scarves over their faces so that just their eyes showed, but that titillating view drove men mad. Ezz had to kill more than one man who tried to scale the walls.
And Christopher knew that going into it.”
“Marcus, enough,” Christopher muttered. “I told you not to tell this tale in front of Peter.”
Peter was hanging on Marcus’ words, irritated when his father stopped the man.
“Why not, Papa?” he asked. “Let him tell the story. I want to hear about this adventure. You have never told me of your time in The Levant, not really.”
Christopher grunted. “There is a reason for that.”
Marcus fought off a smile as he continued.
“The prettiest girl was Marwah, a raven-haired beauty with eyes like jewels. Since it was suspected that Ezz was the one passing intelligence to the Muslim armies, Richard sent Christopher to feed false information to Marwah – if he could get close enough to her.
That was the key.
So, David and I and several knights watched Ezz’s compound, waiting for the moment he would leave to go to the open market. He was very predictable, leaving at the same time every day, and on this particular day he did not disappoint. He departed his white-stoned compound and headed off to his merchant stall, and that was usually when the daughters came out to wave to passing men. Ezz knew they did this, but he could not stop them, even when his wife took a switch to them. Somehow, the girls would always reappear.
This day was no different.
Marwah always wore red. That was how she differentiated herself from her six dark-haired sisters. She would wear the traditional scarf over her nose and mouth, but she would wear clothing that would show glimpses of flesh among the folds of fabric. She would hang over the top of the wall so men could see the swell of her breasts, just enough to drive them mad.
Marwah was in full bloom on this day as Christopher came out of his hiding place and headed towards the fortified manse. She saw him, as he was difficult to miss with his enormous height and blond hair, and immediately she gravitated towards him, waving a demure hand.
Christopher was cunning. He stood at the base of the wall and motioned to her to come down, to let him in. They didn’t speak any words, but they didn’t need to. She knew what he wanted, and he knew what she wanted. Leaving her sisters on the wall, Marwah came down and opened a small postern gate that was away from the main gate of the compound. She admitted Christopher and as he entered the gate, he put his arms around her so that she forgot to lock it.
That was when David and I slipped in to follow.”
“Stop,” Christopher commanded softly. “Marcus, I swear that when I am feeling better, I shall beat you senseless if you continue this story.”
David, still behind his brother and acting as a back rest, was already silently laughing. “At least you have not gone back to sleep,” he said. “The more Marcus tells the story, the angrier you shall become and no one can sleep when they are so angry.”
Because David was laughing, Peter was grinning as well. He looked at Marcus. “Is the rest of the story so terrible?” he asked.
Marcus shrugged, wisely moving out of Christopher’s long arm reach. “That depends,” he said. “For me, it is not. For your father…”
“Christopher had pulled Marwah into a type of covered shelter that was in the bailey of the property. It was away from the main house and had been used to shelter her father’s men, who had accompanied Ezz to his stall. Once Christopher took her in there, he used the usual tactics one did on a woman who was like a cat in heat – he would kiss her gently on the neck, the shoulder, and told her he wanted his last taste of a woman because, alas, he was moving out with his army to the south into Tyre.
He fed her false information under the guise of seducing her. We could hear Marwah groaning and moaning. Since the shelter was relatively secluded, Christopher was able to lay the woman down on a stone bench and have his way with her.
And that was when we heard the main gate open.
Fearful of being caught, David and I raced back to the postern gate, staying out of sight. We saw Marwah’s father enter, alone, as if he had forgotten something. He was moving quickly, shouting to the servant who opened the door to his home. But no sooner did the door open than at least two of Marwah’s sisters began screeching at him, pointing to the shelter.
Marwah’s father produced his scimitar and went on the hunt.”
“Did he catch him?” Peter demanded, unable to contain his apprehension.
Marcus held up a hand to silence him.
“David and I tried to call out the warning to Christopher. Marwah’s father was drawing closer and that beautiful scimitar of Damascus steel was gleaming in the sunlight. David finally whistled between his teeth, very loudly, and Marwah’s father saw us. As we ran from the gate, Marwah’s father entered the shelter just as Christopher was coming out. He had one leg out of his breeches, but that was the only part of his body that was covered. It was clear what he had been doing.
After that, the chase was on.
A crazy man screaming in Arabic was chasing after Christopher, with David and me caught up in the frenzy. We were all running as fast as we could, down the dusty avenue with that damned sun beating down on us. It was very hot and there was sand everywhere. We somehow managed to run straight into that open market, dodging people, leaping over dogs, and charging through stalls as Ezz slashed the scimitar behind us.
All the while, Christopher only had one leg in his breeches, holding them up just enough to protect his modestly, but his white buttocks were hanging out. Had I not been running for my life, I would have laughed so hard that I am sure I would have choked. Now, every time I mention Sidon, you will know the story behind it. The three of us running for our lives as a crazed father chased us around the marketplace with his scimitar.”
Behind Christopher, David was still giggling and Peter had a hand over his mouth, holding back the laughter.
“What happened?” Peter asked. “He didn’t catch any of you, did he?”
Marcus shook his head. “He did not,” he said. “But it was not for lack of trying. I am fairly certain Chris ran half-naked through that market for the better part of an hour before we managed to escape. In the end, it turned out that Ezz was the leak of information as Richard had suspected. What Chris told Marwah made it to the Muslim armies and we were able to route them in our next engagement.”
The only one not laughing was Christopher. Even so, the chatter had the desired effect; he wasn’t sleeping. He was very much awake as he remembered that particular adventure with more humor than he should have. Ezz nearly cut off everything dear to him with that flying scimitar. Leaning back against his brother as the man held melting snow to his head, he grunted.
“I wish Ezz had caught you and cut out your tongue,” he mumbled. “That way, you would never tell that story again.”
Marcus grinned. “It is not the first time the de Lohr brothers have been caught without their breeches on,” he said. “Remember that time at The Lion and the Lamb in Cotherstone? Back when we were serving Juston de Royans. David nearly had his… well, something cut off from a woman’s husband. And we didn’t even know the wench was married.”
David wasn’t laughing so much any longer, but Christopher had a grin on his face. “Trying to ride a horse with his manhood stiff… Christ, I cannot believe I just said that in front of my son. This wound on my head has taken away all sense of propriety.”
Peter, caught up in the laughter and camaraderie, laughed as he slapped his uncle on the shoulder. “Is that the worst of it for you?” he said. “Why, I’ve had…”
He suddenly stopped as three pairs of eyes looked at him expect
antly, waiting for the rest of that statement. Sheepishly, Peter grinned.
“I’ve had no experience at all in any such thing,” he said innocently. “Papa, I swear to you that I’ve never been chased around a marketplace by an angry father with a scimitar.”
The three older men looked at him as if they didn’t believe him at all. As big and as handsome as he was, that was not the truth. Finally, Christopher snorted.
“Then you are not my son at all if that has not yet happened to you,” he said. Then, the smile faded as he tried to get comfortable, leaning against David as he was. “I must sleep. My head is about to fall from my shoulders.”
David opened his mouth to tell him, once again, that he should not sleep but the creak of an opening door interrupted him. The men looked to see Andra entering with her servant and another woman, who was a good deal older.
The Lady of the House had arrived.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE STABLE
It was an unusual Lady of the House, indeed.
The older woman was dressed in a dirty linen robe and her white hair was well past her buttocks. She had a rather wild-eyed look about her, enough so that Peter stood up as she approached. He was prepared to defend his father and the others to the death, even against a woman with a crazed look to her eyes. He frowned, the old woman frowned, and the forward movement came to a halt.
Uncertainty filled the air.
“This is my mother, Sianet,” Andra said, tugging on the old woman’s arm. “She has come to see how badly injured your father is.”
Peter cast a long look at the filthy old woman before finally backing away. Andra, cautiously watching the big, young knight, pulled her mother all the way forward, indicating Christopher as he leaned against his brother.
“This is the man I told you of, Mam,” she said. “He hurt his head. I told them to keep cold compresses on the bump, but will you look at him?”
A Blessed de Lohr Christmas (de Lohr Dynasty Book 9) Page 5