by Ann Turner
Neither Rowena nor Aubrette saw much of Simon as he battled alongside his king. When he did manage to see them, it was to ensure that his pregnant wife was safe and so his visits were brief. He preferred to remain with his men in the fight. Rowena attempted not to show her worry, as bad thoughts could harm her unborn child. Her husband was an accomplished and skilled soldier, but it still worried her that she may one day receive the news that he had been captured or killed. She tried to keep herself busy with tending the injured soldiers.
There was another raid on the Christians’ camp. As the sounds of the fighting closed in on the tent, sounding much fiercer than before, Berengaria realised that she could be the target. She would, after all, be a valuable hostage for Saladin to bargain with. The Cypriot princess, as the youngest woman there, was instructed to hide behind furniture and not to reappear until told to, while Joanna, Rowena and the other women stood in front of the queen as a shield. For the first time, the women were concerned for their safety.
Aubrette pushed her sister aside. ‘Think of the baby,’ she said, urgently, and Rowena moved behind her into a group of women cowering in a corner. They could hear shouting and screaming along with the sound of swords clashing outside. It sounded too close for their comfort and all the women began to fear where this assault could lead. One of their guards fell backwards into the tent, dead and with blood gushing from his chest, making the women scream and huddle together for safety. Another guard backed in, thrusting his sword forward at the intruders, then he too fell back screaming as a scimitar sliced off his hand. Still gripping the sword, it fell severed to the floor, as the same scimitar cut a bloody swathe across his stomach. Two Saracens then burst into the tent and halted, both panting hard, to look at the frightened women. They quickly exchanged frantic words, as if trying to establish which one was their intended quarry.
Joanna stepped forward, courageously. ‘I am Joanna, Queen of Sicily, and I command you to leave,’ she said, bravely.
Momentarily confused, the two men stopped and looked quizzically at her. The closest one to her then punched her hard in the face and Joanna fell back, holding her bleeding nose. Berengaria and Rowena went to catch her, while Aubrette stood bewildered by the sudden violence. The second man snatched her wrist and dragged her toward the opening of the tent. Aubrette screamed for help, struggling to break free. The women turned from Joanna and tried to pull her back, shouting in panic-stricken alarm, but the Saracen holding her wrist growled at them, while the other raised his scimitar shouting, threatening them. They all shrank back watching helplessly as Aubrette disappeared from the tent.
Outside, the man at her side crumpled as a broadsword came down on the back of his neck, almost decapitating his head from his shoulders. Aubrette, stunned into muteness, looked on terrified as he fell in his own blood onto her and then the ground. The other Saracen, still holding her wrist, spun round and swiped his scimitar, sending the crusader wheeling back, screaming, his hands covering his mutilated face as his Christian blood spurted outward to mingle with Saracen blood.
Aubrette was thrown unceremoniously across a horse’s back and her kidnapper leapt up behind her. The others in the guerilla group rode frenetically through the Christian camp, slashing their scimitars at anyone who got in the way and felling soldiers either side of them. Aubrette tried to struggle, but the Saracen pulled at the back of her dress to position her more firmly on the galloping horse’s back.
The horse was felled by a spear in its heart and went down screeching in pain. Aubrette and her captive fell into the fracas of fighting men. She seized her chance to turn and escape back to the tent, but became confused as to which direction to turn. Her soft leather shoes were not made for running over dead men and horses, and she stumbled and tripped in the effort.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw another Saracen riding full pelt towards her, leaning forward over his horse’s neck. Though she attempted to run, she felt him scoop her up and they galloped away from the Christian camp.
Eventually, they cleared the fighting, and the Saracen reined his horse into a canter and a trot. From her position across the horse, Aubrette looked to where she was being taken. She suddenly realised that they were heading towards the infidel camp, but for what reason she did not know. Had they been attempting to take Queen Berengaria? This was most likely and they had instead snatched her in the confusion.
They rode through the infidel camp, passing soldiers who looked at her with interest and others who cheered. Her captor received the greetings with a triumphant salute. She heard the shouts aimed at her, and watched as the foul-mouthed and crude comments were followed by what looked like acts of fornication aimed towards her. The rider sprang from his mount, pulling Aubrette down to her feet. She was shaking both in fear and from the rough ride, and was afraid of what would now happen to her.
The man held her arm tight and, try as she might, Aubrette was unable to shake herself free. She felt his fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her towards a large pavilion guarded by fierce-looking men, whose scimitars were drawn and held across their chests. Her captor spoke to the men and they parted, allowing entry.
The floor was carpeted with exotic rugs and gilded furniture, which was tastefully arranged. A table held enormous bowls of fruit and dates, alongside pitchers of cool fruit juices. Slaves were slowly waving fans of ostrich feathers for soldiers, who positioned themselves around the opulent setting and watched the pair with suspicion. Aubrette’s attention was drawn to a group of men standing around a second table. They were talking animatedly together, pushing and positioning small wooden figures over a map spread out on the table. One was gesticulating as he talked, pointing to strategic positions on the map. He must be the leader of these men, and the one ultimately responsible for Aubrette’s mistaken abduction.
The rider spoke aloud and the men stopped there talking, and all turned to look. He bowed low and pushed her hard in the back, making her fall to her knees in front of the leader. He was tall and well-built, with a swarthy complexion and an aquiline nose. His thick, long black beard was groomed, he wore a loose garment tied at the waist with a sash – through which he wore a scimitar, and on his head, a turban. His eyes were fierce, black as jet and smouldering as they flicked onto Aubrette. She felt herself shrink in his intense silent stare. This was a man to be feared. He spoke to a soldier, pointing at Aubrette, and the soldier replied. At first he spoke to her in his own language; his voice sounded cultured, but harsh in its tone. Aubrette lowered her gaze. She was afraid to look up, afraid of what could happen and afraid of what was to become of her.
He reached down and pulled her up, but still she kept her gaze down. He then cupped her chin in a hand, forcing her to look into his face. He regarded her, his hostile eyes scanning her features and drilling into her brain.
‘You are not how I imagined you would look,’ he observed, slowly. He looked up to the man who had brought her in and they spoke. Their conversation was brief and aggravated. In a sudden and violent movement, the man unleashed his scimitar and cut the soldier down. Without a word, guards came forward to drag the inert body away. Aubrette screamed at the sudden ferociousness and savagery of the act. The leader snatched at her arm and pulled her close to him. His hand struck her face, immediately halting her hysterics.
She stood gasping for air, stunned, but eventually found her voice. ‘When King Richard knows you have kidnapped me, he will send his men to rescue me.’ Her voice was full of attempted bravado, but her trembling gave away her terror.
The man smiled coldly at her, his teeth pearls in his bearded face. ‘I do not think your Christian king would risk his men to save a maid like you,’ he answered. ‘I sent my warriors to bring me Richard’s queen and the imbeciles brought you.’ He released her. ‘Now, what is to be done with you?’ he mused, turning away and pulling at his thick beard.
‘Let me go, please’ Aubrette whispe
red, hopefully.
The man turned back and stroked her cheek, still red from the slap of his hand. He brought his face close enough for her to smell a earthy fragrance on him, mingled with intoxicating spices, and she stiffened in fear.
‘You could be of some use to me. You shall remain here until I decide your fate,’ he surmised, signalling to one of the guards. The leader gave instructions.
Aubrette was taken by the arm and led from the pavilion outside, before being led through rows of tents. More men shouted obscenities about her and her religion, and she was dragged towards another tent. It was small, but fitted a crude bed, table and single chair.
‘What will happen to me?’ she asked.
The guard looked contemptuously at her and she assumed he could not speak her language. She was amazed, therefore, when he made a reply.
‘My master instructs me to watch you and you shall be held as bait to lure Christians to their deaths.’
‘You mean once my saviours have rescued me, they shall send you to hell for what you do,’ Aubrette answered, crossly.
‘Feeble words cannot scare me. You shall stay here, and food and drink shall be supplied. You shall not talk to me.’
‘That will be easy, as I would not wish to talk to a heathen like you. I will ask just one question; who is your master that you obey so blindly?’
‘Sultan Saladin.’
The answer sent an icy finger down Aubrette’s spine. She had heard stories that he was inhumane and cruel, that he swallowed newborn babies whole and bathed in the blood of his enemies, skinning them alive before setting wolves on them. What would he do to a single, unimportant Christian woman alone in his camp?
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Berengaria sent a message to the king to come and speak to her on an urgent matter, but Richard chose to ignore the request. Joanna did the same, telling him of her assault and hoping that the explicit message would be received with more interest, but this too was ignored.
Infuriated by his lack of concern, Berengaria, ignoring the protests from her women about leaving her accommodation, marched alone from her tent to where Richard had his headquarters. Tenaciously waving the guards aside, she entered the tent to speak with her husband in person.
Richard, Simon, Hugh and other captains were standing around a large table with a map spread across it, plotting their next assault. At first, no one noticed the small woman waiting for them.
‘Richard!’ Berengaria said, loudly, and they all looked at her, surprised to see her.
The king looked up, annoyed at the interruption. ‘Madam, you know not to cross the camp unaccompanied,’ he said, ‘and you know I am not to be disturbed for anything. Also, you know how to address me when others are around.’
She was not to be bullied today. ‘Both your sister and I sent word to you. Why have you not replied to us?’ she asked.
Richard came around the table to stand in front of his wife, still irate. ‘This crusade shall not succeed on its own. I prioritize my deeds and actions.’
‘Is my safety not important to you? We watched as two of the guards sent to protect us were murdered before our very eyes. Did you not even consider the possibility that us women might have been raped and murdered?’ the queen snapped back.
The king could not answer the question. His men looked between him and his wife, intrigued by the argument brewing between their king and queen.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Berengaria, you are my wife and are very important to me.’
‘Then where were you when my women and I were attacked yesterday?’
‘I was told you were safe and that the assailants were dealt with. That was all I needed to know,’ he answered, turning away casually. Too much time had already been wasted on this pointless conversation.
The colour flared in Berengaria’s cheeks. ‘Your sister was assaulted and Aubrette was kidnapped by Saracens!’ she shouted.
Simon raised his head quickly. Hugh’s eyebrows raised slightly, but he barely glanced from the map. Richard’s face grew scarlet with anger. He looked again at his wife and then his men gathered around him.
‘Why was I not told about this?’ he shouted. ‘Is she unhurt?’
‘Who? Your sister or my woman?’
‘My sister, of course.’
‘She sent a message when you ignored me, saying what had occurred and you even ignored your precious sister. If you can tear yourself away, come and see her for yourself – see her bruised face and black eyes. What will you do about Aubrette?’
‘Joanna was always prone to exaggeration, she is excitable. There is nothing I can do about your maid. It is regrettable, but that is the fortune of war. I will not mount a rescue for one woman. It would be ineffectual and a waste of manpower.’ He excused himself.
Berengaria gasped in astonishment. ‘I have few enough women to attend me. You will just abandon her to her fate?’
‘I will not rescue her,’ Richard repeated, firmly.
‘If it were him,’ Berengaria pointed an accusing finger at Hugh, who paled white and hid behind Simon, ‘you’d have gone through sandstorms, floods, arrows and disease!’
‘How dare you speak to me like that!” Richard answered coldly. His wife stared at him directly in the eye and refused to back down – gone was the subservient, obedient wife. ‘A good soldier is hard to find. These men are my best; I will not risk their lives or the safety of my soldiers on such a foolhardy escapade.’
Or any of those who share your bed more than your wife, Berengaria thought, bitterly.
Richard continued, ‘You shall return to your women and not leave the safety of your accommodation until I decree otherwise. Your guard will be doubled.’
She looked around at the men gathered, wanting for one of them to put himself forward as her champion. From behind the king, Simon mouthed: “I will think of something.” She nodded slightly and, after another look of blazing anger towards her truculent husband, walked out, wanting to scream in frustration over his reluctance to ensure her safety.
‘Let me escort your grace back,’ Simon volunteered.
The king carelessly waved a hand in dismissal, already turning back to the table to resume the war council. Hugh had returned to Richard’s side and they exchanged quiet words, their heads bent close together.
Outside, Simon hurried to catch up with the queen. ‘If I had known, I would have tried to stop them taking Aubrette.’ The queen smiled, reassured at his honesty. ‘We heard something had happened, but the king would not halt his plans to see whether you were safe. None of us could change his mind. He commented that it was another raid to try to steal weapons and horses, and that the men around the camp would deal with the attack.’
‘I noticed the amount of concern Hugh Fulbert showed about his wife’s safety,’ sneered Berengaria. ‘Aubrette did tell me that theirs is an arranged marriage and she is most unhappy when they are together.’
Simon, as the co-instigator of that marriage, remained silent, before continuing, ‘Rest assured, madam, as soon as I am able I shall do all I can to rescue her.’
He stood aside to allow Berengaria to enter her tent, then followed her in to see Joanna sitting on a chair, her nose bruised and her eyes swollen. She looked sullenly at him as the other women bustled around her, attending her. Rowena came over to Simon and offered him wine and a dish of dates for refreshment.
They sat quietly aside and Rowena explained the events that had led to Aubrette’s abduction. She assured him that there had been no harm to her or the baby, and that it was Aubrette who had made her move aside. Just as he had assured the queen, Simon made a pledge to his wife to do all he could to bring her sister home. He would go behind the king’s back if necessary to plan a rescue. To recover his lover, Simon was prepared to risk the wrath of his Plantagenet king.
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&nb
sp; Aubrette asked again how long she was to be held, but her guard did not answer, refusing to communicate with the prisoner. This resulted in an uncomfortable silence for both, and she remained seated until night fell and the temperature dropped. Exhausted, she moved slowly, not taking her eyes from the guard from the chair to the bed. He had watched her movements; his dark, unblinking eyes following her. Pulling the coverlet up to her chin, she lay watching the man approach her. He pulled the coverlet away from her, ignoring her small scream of alarm and produced a chain from the folds of the tunic he wore, attaching one end to the leg of the bed, looping the other end around Aubrette’s wrist and tightening it, restricting her movement. If he was going to assault her, she would be helpless to resist.
‘What is this for?’ she complained, shaking her wrist.
He glanced briefly at her. ‘To stop any thoughts you may have of escape.’ If he was going to molest her, he would have done so by now, so the chain was not there to immobilise her during a sexual assault.
She scowled. ‘My husband and my king shall rescue me,’ she warned, as this guard did not know the truth about her husband. For all he knew or cared, Hugh could have been the bravest warrior on earth.
‘Then you should prepare yourself to become a widow,’ he turned away as he answered, silencing her.
She lay down, her eyes not leaving the back of the guard until sleep finally overcame her. She slept well due to her exhaustion and awoke refreshed to a fine morning, with sunlight filtering through the fabric of the tent onto her. For a moment, she forgot where she was and stretched as a spoilt cat in its pleasant warmth. Then, realising her location as the chain reached its length and jarred her arm back, she bunched up, looking over to her guard. A different man now sat in the chair watching her, but he was no less threatening. Seeing she was awake, he unchained her and pointed at the small table, on which stood a plate of fruit that had not been there the previous evening.