by E L Russell
Two crew members held Helena’s arms and two more held her legs spread wide. Dagg crammed a wad of cloth into her mouth so she couldn’t scream and Arno stood between her legs so she couldn’t move. “You’ll be begging for more when I’m through with you, you slut.” He loosened his pants and threw back his head and laughed. “You want this, I know you do.”
“Get on with it, you fool,” Dagg hissed. “The sun will be up before the rest of us get a chance.”
Finna struck like one possessed. Before Arno even registered her attack, she’d yanked his head back and slit his throat. With his life’s blood draining, she shoved him aside like a cat leaves a dead rat and launched herself at Dagg, driving his grin to kingdom come with a knife strike through his heart.
Screaming like a woman possessed, she attacked the next bastard and with both hands gripping her short sword, she slashed the man to her left and followed with a step to her right and a deadly slash to the man still kneeling there. The remaining two men stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment.
Finna stepped toward one. Rotated and slashed the neck of the other. The last man dropped to the deck in fear.
“Yes, be very afraid, you bastard.” Still holding the short sword with a two-handed grip, she lowered its tip to the man’s face. Although she stood above him on wobbly legs and her arms shook with weakness, she was not satisfied. Her heart pumped blood through her veins like the floodgates had opened and she’d operated like a killing machine.
Her hostage scooted back and raised his hands in a slobbering plea for life.
“I don’t speak your language, pig.” With a flick of her wrists, she removed his right hand.
He howled in pain.
“Hurts, does it?” She wished she’d hurt the others more.
A throaty growl of rage from Helena alerted her she was free of her bonds. “We need him. Don’t kill him.”
Helena grabbed the arm descending on the man’s throat. “He must live a while longer, so he can beg for his life while telling the evil these men did. It is the only way we can be exonerated for defending ourselves.”
“Where’s Cecilia?” She lost her breath as a new dread suffocated her.
Wordlessly, Helena pointed and Finna rushed to the side of the ship, hoping for a miracle, hoping to find her friend, her angel, treading water. Instead, her hands met sticky crimson blood on the railing and Cecilia’s torn, bloodstained shirt impaled on a splinter of wood halfway down the hull. In anguish, Finna dropped to the deck and howled to the heavens. Her heart hurt and rage filled her soul.
“We don’t need him now,” she said pointing her chin back toward the bleeding man. “We have Cecilia’s shirt for evidence. Black-hearted pirates deserve to die. He’s all yours.”
When Helena walked toward the man, Finna turned away, gulping great sobs. Why hadn’t she awakened earlier? Why hadn’t she awakened in time to save her friend? She turned deaf ears to the screaming man and watched the rising sun put the stars to bed.
11
Antioch
Decisions
With the savage death of her friend, Cecilia, Finna felt the hand of God crushing her and she collapsed in a boneless heap on the deck. Remembering Cecilia’s encouraging words, her laugh, her friendship she wanted to lash out. She wanted to hit and kick. She wanted to huddle into a ball and cry. Rubbing her bloody hands together, she gazed at them as if they belonged to someone else. To take a life was not natural and the killings weighed heavily on her spirit, yet once again, a storm built within her and she wanted to kill again.
And then there was the queen. Reckoning with her could be irrevocable. Since she and Helena were the only living witnesses, she feared they might not be believed.
“We did the only thing we could,” she said, locking her eyes with Helena, who sat beside her. “They killed Cecelia, the sodding bastards. They deserved what they got. Who knows how many other woman Arno and Dagg would have raped before we made land or killed because they were unwilling?”
Helena turned her head to the sea. “Cecelia was defending me from Arno and he struck her with his fist, knocking her out. Then the son of a whore pitched her overboard like some worn-out rag doll and turned and turned and glared at the other men. ‘No one mentions this. She got careless and fell into the sea.’ The fucking bastard.” Helena held her hand to her mouth, but couldn’t hold back a sob. “You saw what he did next.” She stared out across the sea.
Finna guessed she was in shock and snorted with no humor and swore into the wind. “May the bloody bastards rot in hell. They earned their punishment and that cutthroat pirate would have made a rotten witness with nothing to gain in telling the truth.” She shivered when a large cloud scudded overhead and the breeze that had not cooled her anger now turned cold.
“We need to get to the queen,” Helena said. “She needs to hear the story from us before rumors start to spread and she wonders why Arno and the male crew fail to appear.”
Finna rubbed her hands across her eyes. Weak from inactivity and weary to the bone, she didn’t know where the strength had come from to defeat the sarding bastards. She’d had nothing to eat in days and she was drained empty. Although word of what happened couldn’t get off the boat until they made contact with another boat or land, Finna was sick at heart. She wanted the affair over. “How can we catch up to the queen’s ship?”
The answer was plain in the frustration written across Helena’s forehead and the deep grooves beside her mouth. “Who among us knows how to sail?”
Ignoring her pessimism, Finna pressed her questions. “When we were leaving port, I overheard one of the men complain that while traveling in formation was safer, it was also slower. Someone mentioned that tacking would help. Do you know tacking?”
“Whether I do or not doesn’t matter. From my experience, the best thing we can do is make a run for it.”
“You intend to run away as if we were guilty of something? The only thing we are guilty of is protecting our lives. Besides, where would we go? We’d be running from every bounty hunter eager for coin.” While Finna waited for that to sink in, she considered her vows to the crusade. They had been so passionate. Where was that passion now? She didn’t know. She was numb, “We can’t ignore our commitment to Queen Eleanor.”
Long moments passed before Helena responded. “I guess you are right. Better not to face desertion charges. All right then, when you make your appeal to Queen Eleanor, pray to the gods she is understanding in her judgment.”
“We must figure out a way to catch up with her ship, but without a proper crew, we’re like a fish without fins.
* * *
Had she dozed? Finna wasn’t sure. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. Helena sat against a barrel sound asleep. Her face in repose looked relaxed, carefree. Finna tried to remember when she’d last felt like that.
The voice entered her head.
“You again. Leave me alone.”
< You can’t sail this thing by yourself. You have women from fisherman families. Ask if they can sail.>
“Show yourself, you scurvy knave.”
“Program?”
That spurred her into action. It was the opposite direction of the rest of the fleet.
“Helena, wake up. We need sailors.”
They quizzed every soul aboard in search of women who had ever sailed a boat of any kind. They found five who believed they had basic skills, although it didn’t bode well that three of the five looked with uncertainly at the large sail flapping uselessly in the breeze.
They were out of options. When a stiff wind sprang up and the ship listed alarmingly, it was with great relief that the two knowledgeable women reacted immediately. They untied the lashings on the sails t
he ship righted itself. Helena appointed Fayette the sailing captain and although she was small in stature, she had a commanding voice she was not afraid to use. She barked orders to the other four and when the main sail caught the wind, the ship skimmed the waves. Finna breathed a sigh of relief. It would be all right.
They placed women with the best eyesight on the bow of the boat to search for the convoy and toward the end of the afternoon they gave the long-awaited shout. “French fleet on the distant horizon.”
Finna didn’t know if she should sing for joy or shrink in fear. Whether it was her fervent prayers to St. George or the natural order of things, the winds picked up and two days later, the women sailors approached the queen’s ship.
Finna hailed it for permission to board.
With an invitation to do so, Helena rowed Finna in a small boat that rocked and bobbed and scared her senseless, the short distance to the larger craft. She did not like the sea, not the color of the water, not the rocking of the waves, or even the speed with which it carried the crusaders to their destination. It was intimidating, unpredictable, and dangerous. The queen’s men anchored the craft and pulled them aboard. Once on deck, Finna locked her knees and stood motionless a full minute before trusting her legs or her equilibrium to follow a woman to the small royal quarters. The room was in chaos. Half a dozen women surrounded the monarch and all talked at once.
Finna was hesitant, for once the story was told, it would no longer be her secret. Moreover, she didn’t want to share it with anyone other than the queen. Mercifully, Eleanor clapped her hands and dismissed everyone else. The door had no sooner closed then the monarch demanded an explanation of her visit.
“Out with it. Why are you here? What happened?”
As Finna haltingly unfolded the morbid tale, the monarch listened without comment or change of expression and Finna found herself doubting the wisdom of reporting what she’d done. Helena may have been right in suggesting they flee.
At the end of the tale, the queen rubbed her chin in thought and said nothing. Surely the she would see that men were pigs.
Surely.
“Did any of the bastards lay a hand on you?” the monarch finally asked.
“No, Your Majesty, but I had no doubt I was next on their list.”
Again, the queen held her hostage in silence.
Damn.
She wished the woman would make a decision before she died while waiting.
“I’m sorry for the loss of Cecilia.”
Finna could see the sincerity in Eleanor’s face and was pleased she recognized the horror of her friend’s passing. The loss was a terrible blow. Tima and Danielle’s death were unbearable, but she couldn’t even imagine going on the crusades without Cecilia.
“You protected my vassals well. Once we land at the port of St. Simeon, you and Helena will become part of my personal guard.”
The queen’s statement took her by surprise. Maybe she could go on. Maybe. The cramp in Finna stomach eased, yet she didn’t dare relax completely. If she had learned anything in the last five months it was that a good thing never lasted.
Queen Eleanor tented her fingers and spoke through them. “My first concern is to see that you and our ship of women warriors arrive safely. In a day or so, we should make land. Return to your ship and have your female sailors sail directly behind me. After the riverboat from St. Simeon takes us to Antioch, I will have knights meet you on the docks and escort you and all the women to my quarters. Until I can sort this out and make it unequivocally clear to the men in my command that if they touch a woman, they are in peril of death, I will keep you and Helena under my personal protective guard.
“Upon arrival at Antioch, get a good a meal and a good night’s rest. The following day, you will leave us. I have new plans for you and Helena. You will rise with the sun and go to the royal stables where you will be given Persian warhorses by a trusted Templar. He will give you a sealed message with details for a secret mission you will undertake. Dress as merchants, take your weapons, and prepare yourselves for two weeks on the desert.” She paused and waved her hand. “Go with God.”
12
The Quest
Unexpected Opportunity
As directed by the queen, the first morning in Antioch, Finna woke Helena and the two silently made their way to the royal stable to collect their Persian horses. They were smaller than her destrier Trueblood. They had compact bodies built for strength and beautiful slim legs built for speed. They were bred for the desert and Finna couldn’t wait to ride one.
“Guiscard?”
He was as unexpected as he was welcome. The Templar stood by the entrance to the building that housed the horses and although she had spent little time with him, she felt safe with him “How did you get here ahead of us?”
The warrior acknowledged her presence with a slight bow of his head and shoulders and then a smile. There was no explanation forthcoming.
“I am here at your service, my lady.” He handed her a sealed message. “This is from Her Majesty, Queen Eleanor. I was instructed to give it to you before we mount.” With no more explanation than that, he turned to Helena. “I give you greeting.”
While the two introduced themselves, Finna took the message and ran her finger over the embossed wax seal. She always touched new objects in this fashion. Her father had taught her do so with any stone they were about to fashion. A small smile caught her lips at the memory. Her father and home were far away and she missed them both. Guiscard brought had them back.
Reluctant to tear the paper or destroy the seal, she used her sharp knife to carefully slit the envelope. The message inside was short and direct. Finna, Helena, with the knight, Guiscard, were to enter Aleppo disguised as merchants with their weapons hidden. They were to purchase two extra horses to carry what they obtained from a spice merchant, their contact in Aleppo.
A small street map indicated the location of his vending stall where they were to identify themselves to him by saying, “We require a sack of saffron and bags of Y and J.” It was not until after the peddler complied that Guiscard was to hand the merchant a message he carried. Much was at stake, not least of all, their lives. At the bottom, the queen had written an ominous warning, “Be careful, we have few friends in the desert.”
That was cryptic and who were Y and J. If the knight knew, he wasn’t talking. He handed her the reins of a sleek mare saying it was hers. Finna patted the horse’s long neck and rubbed her forehead.
“Thank you for dressing our beautiful horses, Sir Knight.” With gentle hands, she coaxed the animal from the line of other horses. “I take it you know the road to Aleppo. Are you to lead us there?”
“Yes, I’m to be your guide and your protection. However, because the Muslims hold the town, it is unsafe for Templars to enter Aleppo. Furthermore, the queen forbids it because she wants no conflict there. Thus, the guise of a merchant.”
Helena had laced her bags on the horse’s rump and mounted. “How far is it to Aleppo?”
“Normally, three days, but the passage is fraught with dangers. We must travel at least a day to the east before we dare stop for food. Aleppo is at the western end of the Silk Road and enjoys more Muslim protection than other cities.” He swung a leg easily over his mount and his stallion spun around and danced in place until he settled the high-strung beast. “Ready?” Not waiting for their response, he urged his horse into action. “We go with God’s blessing.”
They scrambled to follow him.
* * *
The following day, Finna pulled up next to the knight and Helena flanked his other side. “Tell us, Sir Knight, what is it you do for the queen?”
“I have been assigned by the Grand Master to guard and protect her majesty.”
Finna grinned. “So she is best protected by your absence?”
He laughed with good humor. “When I am not assigned to her guard, I protect her majesty’s interests.”
“You know of our mission?”
; “I know it is a noble and honorable task. I am pleased to assist in any way possible.”
“We are fortunate to have you with—” He raised a hand indicating they stop.
“What—”
He put a finger to his lips and calmed his horse. “Listen. Sword on sword.” The knight dismounted and indicated they do the same. “There’s a small oasis directly over that small rise. Sounds like a skirmish.” Handing the reins of his mount to Finna, he said, “I’ll take a look.” He melted into the sand.
Finna and Helena traced him with their eyes as he stole toward the top of the dune. Suddenly he dropped to the ground and removing his sword, waved for them to join him.
Finna mounted and galloped toward Guiscard shouting over her shoulder to Helena. “Ready your sword.” On the fly, she passed Guiscard the reins to his horse and cleared the dune’s sharp rise.
Nine mounted Persian assassins, dressed in black, surrounded three Templar Knights on foot. Racing down the sandbank, she counted three dead Persians and one dead Templar. Four horses tethered to a young palm completed the picture. The Templars had obviously stopped to rest and been ambushed by assassin. A grim smile turned up the corners of her lips. It was time to return the surprise.
Attacking as though the three had long trained together, Finna drove to the right flank while Helena aimed for the left, leaving the middle to Guiscard, who closed the distance from behind. Screaming like a dozen men, they killed three Persians on the first assault and wheeling their mounts in unison to charge again. Three furious warriors met them halfway and the crusaders paired up one-on-one while the Templars, quick to assess the battle, took on the remaining three.
Finna kept her enemy on her left and knocked him to the ground with a powerful swing of her dominant arm. As she turned her horse from the kill, she saw Helena deflect her opponent’s skilled thrust with her short sword, then sharply twist in her saddle, to impale him.