by S A Monk
“Madam de Châtillon,” the sultan said at last. “I am al Nasir Salah al Din Yusuf ibn Ayyub.” All that was given in Arabic, then he switched to perfect French, startling Gabrielle with his knowledge of it. “Your people call me Saladin.”
Gabrielle immediately dipped into a bent kneed bow. When she straightened and raised her eyes to him, she could see that her deference had amused him. She had never expected him to be such a tall, lean, handsome man. Beneath his dark mustache, his lips curved into a half smile, one that matched the congenial glimmer in his dark eyes. Gabrielle understood, after meeting him, why he had become such a great leader among his people. There was a powerful charisma that emanated from every inch of him. He radiated authority and command.
Turning to the man standing beside him, Saladin introduced him. “This is Muzaffar al Din Gökböri, lady, one of my most esteemed generals.”
Beside her, she heard Lucien murmur quietly, “The Blue Wolf.”
Ah, the Blue Wolf. Gabrielle had heard of him by that title. The Blue Wolf was one of Saladin’s most trusted and feared commanders. A Turk by origin, he had been born the son of the governor of Irbil, in northern Iraq, in Khurasan. He and his father had first fought for the great Zangi, then Nur al Din. This man had then defected to Saladin and served him loyally ever since. For several years, he had been the governor of Harran in Edessa, northeast of Antioch.
Gabrielle had heard Reynald mention his name frequently, and she had overheard her father talk about him even more frequently. For some reason, Armand reserved a particular hatred for the Blue Wolf. It seemed to stem from his days living in Antioch with her mother. Gabrielle recalled asking her mother about the man after her father had hit Simone when she had mentioned him. The strangest look had come over her mother’s face as she had told Gabrielle that the Blue Wolf was one of the greatest warriors in the kingdom, referred to by his people as the Lion of the Desert. Gabrielle remembered thinking it strange that Simone would refer to an infidel as a great warrior. It had all been so long ago, she had nearly forgotten about it.
She saw that in the ensuing silence, General Gökböri was staring at her even more intensely than the sultan had, his dark eyes focused on her facial features in particular. It didn’t seem to matter that she was partially veiled, he studied every feature, even those lightly screened by her sheer head scarf.
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Gabrielle,” the general said at last.
Gabrielle was at a loss as to why these two men seemed so fascinated by her as the sultan motioned for them all to sit. She and Lucien were not being treated as enemies or even captives. When the sultan urged Lucien and her to partake of the food and drink on the table, Gabrielle knew they would not be harmed in any way. Once such hospitality was offered, one was assured of being free of harm.
While a servant scooped up ice shavings into the four goblets, then poured a dark red juice into each, Gabrielle studied the man called the Blue Wolf more closely. Something about him unnerved her, disturbed her. Though he was very tall and strongly built, she was not afraid of him, as she thought she should have been, from the things her father had said about him.
He was an impressive, hard-to-forget man. His hair was jet black and razor straight, falling down his back thickly to nearly his waist. At both sides of his face, it was braided. He looked to be close to two score and five, at an age close to the sultan. Like his commander, he was a handsome man, with a strong square face and sharp features. Heavy dark brows rose above remarkable blue eyes that were nearly black they were such a dark blue. His face was more tanned than swarthy, and he wore no beard, simply a dark thick brush of a mustache. His long sleeved dark red leather surcoat was adorned with gold braid, and it fell only to his knees, split up the center for riding and ease of movement. Beneath that, he wore fitted heavy grey leggings. His dress revealed his Turcoman origins.
“Lady, allow me to put more ice in your cup,” Saladin offered. “It will not keep for long. No use in letting it go to waste.” Gabrielle held out her goblet, and then the sultan turned to Lucien. “You, too, Lucien de Aubric. Accept my humble atonement, please, both of you.”
Lucien was at as much of a loss over the whole affair as Gabrielle appeared to be. He did not know what to make of the sultan’s personal hospitality, but he suspected it had a great deal to do with Gabrielle.
Before she had arrived, the sultan had confided to him that he knew who he was, and that he was quite distressed to learn that the Chief of Intelligence for the Temple and King Guy had been held in the citadel’s dungeon and been mistreated.
Mystified, Lucien had said nothing. As then, he now let Saladin control the course of the conversation, hoping silently for some explanation that would make sense to him.
“Madam de Châtillon, I must beg your forgiveness most especially for your abominable treatment. I have removed the prison guards and replaced the head jailer. I understand you informed him who you were and he failed to believe you.”
Gabrielle nodded, and Lucien knew that he could not let her become a hostage for her husband.
Seeing Lucien’s sudden disquiet, the sultan hurried on. “I have no intention of using you to capture your husband, madam. While it was a noble attempt to rescue your friend here, I cannot barter you for Reynald. You, quite frankly, are worth ten of him.” He held up a hand to forestall her comment. “I have indeed heard of all you have done these past five years for Allah’s little ones. That you rescue them and find homes for them is most admirable. That you find Muslim homes for them is most unexpected. That you follow in your husband’s wake to ease the harm he does makes you extraordinarily special to all of us. Knowing your husband’s reputation, you are a most courageous woman. I could never repay that bravery and compassion by using you to capture him.”
Overwhelmed by the profuse and unanticipated praise, Gabrielle bent her head in gratitude. “Thank you, my lord. Your esteem is worth much to me. I have witnessed my husband’s wickedness for far too long, and I ….”
Again the sultan raised a hand. “I understand completely, lady. Allah will see justice done in time.”
“May I ask how you knew Sir de Aubric and I were in your dungeons?” she ventured.
Amir Gökböri responded by withdrawing her mother’s necklace from inside the breast pocket of his surcoat. He held it to the light for along moment, studying it rather peculiarly, then handed it to her.
“This came to my attention last night as I walked by the barracks and noticed it being wagered in a game of dice.” The general’s French was not nearly as good as the sultan’s, but Gabrielle understood him.
“Thank you,” she whispered, fighting back a surge of grateful tears. “It was my mother’s and it means a great deal to me.”
“But maybe not as much as this disavowed monk?” the Blue Wolf speculated.
Lucien was amazed that they knew that he had left the Order.
Gökböri saw his surprise and laughed. “You are not the only one with a reliable network of spies, Lucien de Aubric. And I was at Cresson.”
Despite his admiration for the renowned warrior, Lucien’s jaw tightened, remembering good friends who had died there that day. “I cannot hold it against you, general. You only defended yourself against a suicidal attack, but it was a day of great sorrow for me.”
“Indeed, it was a sad unnecessary affair. You have done well to leave the service of your Grand Master. He is a man without honor.” They had slipped into Arabic because of Gökböri’s poor command of French. “You have also gained our notice because of your protection of my….Madam de Châtillon.”
“I understand your mother was Arabic?” the sultan inquired of Lucien.
“Yes,” Lucien confirmed. “Her family was from here originally. They were of a Bedouin tribe in the region that migrated to northern Africa and then southern Iberia. I was adopted by the Temple after both my parents died in a siege.”
“Yes, I have heard that.”
The sultan’s
interest was now focused on Lucien, as was the Blue Wolf’s. Gabrielle hoped it was an interest that would lead to his release. They had inferred hers, but said nothing of Lucien’s.
“Your well-informed sources have no doubt told you why I am in Damascus,” Lucien said in effort to discover if he was going to be allowed to go free or held in further captivity.
“They do not need to tell me,” Saladin announced with a small smile. “An ex-Templar spy in my city means only one thing. I would expect no less of you, on the eve of war.”
“War cannot be averted?” Lucien asked hopefully.
“I am afraid not. We cannot allow Christian domination of our land, the closing of our trade routes, the defilement of our scared places.” All congeniality had disappeared from the sultan’s face, to be replaced by the determination and tenacity he was admired for. “But you can do us no harm, Lucien de Aubric. It matters not what you know. It will make no difference. You and I both know that with King Guy on the throne, there will be no effective resistance.”
Lucien had long feared this, but it was still hard to hear the Christian fate of Palestine predicted so bluntly. He had to retain the hope that he could steer the king down another path that would avert war.
The sultan read his face too accurately. He laughed sympathetically. “Follow the path God has set you upon for now, disavowed monk, but know that when we meet again, he may have another path for you to follow.” He stood at the conclusion of his enigmatic comment, prompting all to rise with him. He looked at Gabrielle, then again at Lucien. “You are both free to go. I have enjoyed this meeting for I have been most curious about you both. I cannot say all my curiosity has been satisfied, but you and I have tasks that await. If Allah wills it, maybe we will meet again. Lady de Châtillon, you have my full support for what you are doing for the young victims of this struggle. Lucien de Aubric, General Gökböri and I wish you to continue to ensure her safety. We thank you for what you have done thus far for her.”
Lucien bowed his head and wondered why it seemed to mean so much to these two men.
“Thank you,” Gabrielle said one final time, looking from the sultan to the general. “For your hospitality and our freedom.”
The Blue Wolf stepped forward. To Gabrielle’s surprise, he took her hand and brought it to his lips. When he lowered it, he retained it for several long moments, staring into her eyes with the strangest look in his dark blue ones.
“Your husband’s contract with Rashid al Din Sinan has been rescinded, Lady Gabrielle.” The way the great warrior said her name was distinctively touching. “You need have no further fear of any attempts on your life by the Isma’ili Assassins. Go to Jerusalem. Reynald de Châtillon and Armand Chaumont will march with their king soon, and no longer be a threat to you.”
Another veiled message? Gabrielle stared into the handsome face of the Blue Wolf and wondered at his meaning.
After the two men took their leave, Lucien and Gabrielle were escorted to a quiet side gate of the citadel and released. At the first opportunity, Lucien found a deserted alley and pulled Gabrielle into his arms. His head bent to her in a long possessive kiss.
“My God, that was a strange ending to this ordeal,” he exclaimed when he lifted his head and readjusted her veil.
“I do not know what to make of it, myself,” Gabrielle admitted. “They knew so much about us both. It makes little sense to me why they would be interested in me, at any rate.”
“Well,” Lucien mused, rubbing his beard. “A good spy knows as much as he can about his enemies.”
“But we were not treated like enemies.”
“No, we definitely were not.”
“General Gökböri’s behavior was the most strange of all,” she remarked as they exited the alley and headed down the street, away from the citadel. “My father has always spoken of him with such loathing. He struck my mother once for mentioning him. It seemed very personal for him. I had expected the Blue Wolf to be a terrifying man. Instead, I found myself strangely drawn to him.”
“He is a legendary warrior, and a completely honorable one. His loyalty has been questioned by the sultan’s power-hungry nephew, but Saladin has always shown complete faith in him. He transferred his loyalties from Nur al Din to support the sultan early on in his rise to power. Gökböri has fought hard for Saladin, and it is said they are like brothers. Though he is originally from Irbil, in northern Iraq, he is a Turk.”
“That explains his eyes and lighter skin color.”
At the end of the street, Lucien spotted Nephrim sitting in an outdoor café. It had been a designated meeting place for them, and he assumed his friend was hoping that Lucien would return to it if he escaped.
When Hazir’s nephew spotted him and Gabrielle, he rose from his table and strode to greet them. An arm flew around Lucien. “Allah be praised!” he exclaimed jubilantly. “I thought never to see the two of you again!”
Lucien winced when Nephrim patted his back. It would be some time before the lacerations there would heal completely, though the sultan’s doctors had attended to every bruise most competently.
“We must fetch Omar and be on our way as soon as possible,” he told Nephrim. “I do not want to tempt fate and the sultan’s good will by over-staying our welcome.”
“Omar is nearby. Will we go back to Farouk’s?” Nephrim asked. “He and his wife have been worried about both of you.”
“I cannot afford to involve them any further. I will send them a note while you find Omar. Then we must depart.”
“Farouk has sent all of your belongings to the caravansary where we left our horses,” he informed both Lucien and Gabrielle. “He thought you might need to leave quickly.”
Gabrielle was most relieved to have her things returned to her, especially the magnificent purple head scarf Lucien had bought for her.
Lucien nodded his approval, then guided Gabrielle to a secluded table in a far corner of the café. “Go fetch your brother, while I send a missive to Farouk.”
By late afternoon, they were on their way to Jerusalem.
CHAPTER 20
The gates to the royal palace in Jerusalem were closed and secured when Gabrielle and Lucien rode up to the entrance. Dressed in Arab garb, it took a few words from Lucien before the soldiers on duty raised the portcullis and admitted them. Outside, they parted company with Nephrim and Omar. Lucien thanked the brothers and dismissed them from his service. With war a heartbeat away, he had no intention of further involving his Arab friends.
Once she was notified of their arrival, Queen Sibylla met them inside the great hall and immediately led them to a private sitting room. “Oh, Lucien, I have heard all that has happened to you and Lady Gabrielle. There has been much happening here, as well,” she said, clearly distressed as she motioned them toward three thickly cushioned chairs positioned in front of a low round brass table. Before she sat, she clapped her hands and ordered two female servants to fetch wine and a light repast. Then she turned and dismissed the two burly guards standing sentry at the door.
“I take it the king is not in residence,” Lucien asked as he pulled out a chair for Gabrielle, then the queen. “His banners were absent from the walls.”
“He is on his way to Acre to meet with the barons. You will be going there next, won’t you?”
Gabrielle listened with a sickening drop of her stomach. She looked to him and saw the inevitability in his fathomless brown eyes. It was time for their love to give way to duty, however much each wished otherwise.
“I will be there,” he quietly assured the queen.
She smiled in relief, and smoothed the sumptuous silk material of her skirts. Sibylla was a striking woman, and Gabrielle became acutely aware of how dusty and travel worn she must look sitting next to her. She preferred the way Muslim women dressed. It was practical and comfortable, particularly for riding astride, which was her preference. It was also cool and allowed much greater freedom of movement. But it was not always as elegant and lavish as th
e layered gowns, kirtles, and robes that the more affluent noblewomen wore.
The queen looked at her sympathetically, studying her expression. “You will both stay here tonight,” she insisted with a gracious smile. “I will give you rooms adjoining a private bath and have clean clothes delivered. Gabrielle, I imagine you had to leave much behind in Tiberius. Lucien, will you require armor and weapons?”
“Nay, lady, I have what I need, but I’m sure Lady Gabrielle will be grateful for your offer. She did have to leave nearly all of her personal belongings in Tiberius.”
Sibylla nodded. “I understand Master de Ridefort was threatening to arrest both of you.”
“It was not safe for Gabrielle there.”
“He is a pompous ass,” the queen declared with a disdainful sniff.
Gabrielle could not help but laugh. “My sentiments exactly, your highness.”
“Sibylla,” she corrected her friend. “Here, in this room, we are all just friends, and in the coming months, I am afraid I am going to need every bit of that friendship.”
The serving women returned with trays of fruit, sweetmeats, dates, bread, cheese, and chilled wine. While they arranged everything on the gleaming table in front of the queen, no one spoke. When they were alone again, conversation resumed.
“Count Raymond came here to pay public homage to Guy several weeks ago,” Sibylla informed them. “The king received him graciously, while Master de Ridefort grumbled and complained to Guy about coddling a traitor. You have no doubt heard that my husband ordered an arriére ban at the end of May.”
“I assumed he would.” An arriére ban required all able-bodied men to answer the call-to-arms. The moment Lucien had seen how deserted the streets of Jerusalem were, he’d known the king had issued one.
“Master de Ridefort has given Guy most of the money the pope required King Henry II to give the Templars as penance for his part in the murder of Thomas Becket. Guy used it to recruit mercenaries. They are riding under the English banner.”