by Ann Turner
Aubrette agreed reluctantly, against her better judgement. She loved her sister and would not do anything to cause her harm.
As Simon’s wife, Rowena found she was cared for very well by the followers. They knew she was a lady of good breeding and decided that it was very romantic for her to embark on this adventure. She and Aubrette were given the freshest food and extra drink from the rations and their sleeping arrangements were cosy, with extra furs and blankets during the cold nights.
‘See, Aubrette, we done right by coming along,’ Rowena cheerfully stated.
Aubrette had to admit that though the conditions were not luxurious, they were as comfortable as they could possibly be.
Rowena did not complain once during the jolting ride in the wagon, which threw her and the other women around. Aubrette could see her sister was uncomfortable and in some pain, and suggested that she take one of the supply ships back to Acre. Simon would not stop her, she was sure. In fact, she knew he would actively encourage it. Rowena must think of her unborn baby; this pregnancy was progressing to its conclusion and none of the previous had continued as long. However, this made her all the more determined to stay. She had come this far, and she would not concede and give in now. Rowena mulishly refused all pleading to return to Acre.
At the end of each day, Rowena would climb stiffly from the wagon to stretch her limbs and help tend to any wounded soldiers. The women had been considered little interest to the Saracens and were generally left alone during the attacks, which Aubrette was grateful for as she had no desire to be abducted again.
When possible, Simon would visit his wife to ensure she was managing the arduous journey, and to ask after her health and the condition of the unborn child. He would be battle weary, occasionally wounded, though luckily the wounds were slight and not enough to debilitate him. Rowena would bustle around him, washing his cuts. He could see the pain she secretly suffered, through her reassuring words that she was fine, but still she would not leave her husband. She told him that she had come this far and was determined to deliver her child with him. She was so sure that she would have a son, and that he would be born within the walls of Jerusalem.
Simon also talked to Aubrette, beginning to win her trust again slowly. She would sit near him, but not too close. Though he wanted to bed her whenever they conversed, he could see that she was still not ready and he was not prepared to force her. He had satisfied his lusts with other women in the camp with loose morals, or women from the villages that they passed through. Even so, his head and heart still belonged to both Rowena and Aubrette.
The air was cold at night, causing many to develop fevers after the heat of the day. This was a Godforsaken place, and if it was not for the glory of winning Jerusalem from the infidels, many of the men would have chanced an escape to return to Acre. Some had already deserted the fight, boarding the supply ships that followed the coastline between Acre and the crusaders. Others who were bolder stole horses during the night and rode towards Acre. If Richard’s supporters caught deserters, his retribution was swift. They would be executed as a warning to others. Still the trickle of deserters continued.
There were constant attacks from the Saracens lead by Saladin. They would come hurtling down from hills, or burst from the cover of trees and create havoc with their skilled archers. Their cavalry hacked their way through the Christian lines on fast, small horses, slaying crusaders in surprise attacks, before vanishing as speedily as they had appeared. The crusaders fought bravely, with the king leading from the front on Great William. The horse was as seasoned at warfare as his royal master, and together they created a magnificent sight at full charge, which inspired his men and struck terror into the souls of the Saracens.
The crusaders were crossing a plain, north of the city of Arsuf, when they were set on with more vicious hit-and-run attacks by the Saracens. Javelins and arrows darkened the sky, raining down on the men, who responded to Richard’s roar of instruction not to counter attack. His plan was to let Saladin’s men exhaust themselves and deplete their weaponry. His commanders urged the king to relent and to order the attack, but Richard resisted. He was an experienced leader and watched as soldiers and horses were felled by the munitions at a horrifying rate. Even Great William suffered an injury, when an arrow embedded itself in his powerful rump. Turning in his saddle, the king extracted the missile, flinging it aside. It would leave yet another scar on the body of the mighty horse. Finally, Richard ordered the attack and his men gladly turned their fury on the enemy, who were spent of their weaponry.
By the afternoon, the crusaders were entering Arsuf – still being harried by the remnants of the enemy force. The Hospitallers were now positioned at the rear and were mounting successful counter attacks, driving away and felling the exhausted enemy. The king’s command been successful. As dead and dying men littered the approach to Arsuf, it was marked that the majority of the dead were Saracen.
Women from both sides and opportunists scoured the battlefield. Anything of value was removed from the dead or stolen from the dying, regardless of their religion. Richard also sent men into the battlefield to remove any armour and to finish off any of his men who lay wounded beyond saving, plunging their swords into their hearts and so sending them to heaven and glory.
After the victory, Richard watched the prisoners being led, manacled, back to the crusader camp to await their fate. They were the usual bunch of surly, defiant soldiers and frightened, dejected citizens of Arsuf. One young lad caught the king’s attention; he was a long-limbed boy of about fifteen years, with full pouting lips and limpid brown eyes. The king silently watched as the boy slouched in line. He spoke quietly to the captain by his side, asking him to unchain the boy and bring him to the tent later for a more personal interrogation.
A few hours later, Richard was lounging on a daybed in his tent when the captain pushed the boy into his presence. The king dismissed his man and beckoned the boy forward to stand in front of him, so that he could study the lad in more detail. He was tall for his age, a gangly colt of a youth that was still not fully grown. He had beautiful, smooth olive skin and large eyes framed by thick eyelashes, and a shadow of juvenile hair on his upper lip. His black hair hung loose, shoulder-length, and he kept absently brushing his fringe out of his eyes. He was irresistible to Richard, who questioned the lad on subjects that made the boy nervous.
The questions were too intimate for the boy to fully understand, and when the English king put out a hand to stroke his downy cheek, he wanted to turn and run – but there was nowhere for him to escape. He would be killed if he fled from the king’s tent, so he stood rigid with fear while Richard’s hand moved over his torso deliberately slowly, coming dangerously close to his loincloth.
Richard paused and asked the boy’s name. He answered timidly that it was Kamal. The king slid his arm around the lad’s waist and drew him close, his free hand stroking back his fringe and speaking words of allure to him. The boy was locked in his enemy’s arms, unable to free himself from the slow and deliberate exploring of his body by the royal hands. He now realised what the king was expecting from him and knew doing so was the only way he would remain alive.
Richard became misty-eyed while regarding the young Muslim. His religion seemed not to matter and all he wanted to do was kiss those full, innocent lips. He was desperate to keep Kamal close to his side as his companion, his little pet – not another hostage to be bartered or executed.
Richard ordered the camp blacksmith to come and instructed him to remove the chains the boy wore. He then commanded the smith to make a neckband, wrist bands and a chain in gold for the boy to wear to keep him close. This meant that whenever a diversion was needed, his pet, Kamal, would be there for him. He would not be his captive, but a pampered slave. He was there purely for the amusement of the mighty Lionheart.
Hugh became insanely jealous of the king’s growing affection for Kamal. Whenever
he got the chance, he would taunt the young Muslim with the threat of a very long, slow and painful death if he succeeded in stealing Richard away from him. Kamal, now growing in self-important confidence under the protection of the king, cursed him back. Richard sat back to watch his two lovers squabbling, finding it highly amusing to be the cause of so much hostility.
Kamal was giving him a brief respite from the worries of the crusade. He would not want to relive or enquire after a battle, ask of the casualties or the fatalities, and would simply fetch a bowl of fragrant herb-infused water. Then, with a soft cloth, he would wipe Richard’s face gently, cleaning away the grime and spatters of blood from the day. His long and elegant fingers would massage the king’s shoulders, relaxing him, or hold a comb and draw it gently through his hair and beard, smoothly drawing out knots and tangles. Such a delightful and delicious boy, who demanded nothing in return for his master’s affection. He was so different from the bejewelled and increasingly arrogant Hugh.
One evening, Hugh casually walked into the king’s tent with his usual familiarity to spend time with him. He was shocked to find the king and Kamal laying close together on his bed, and Richard stroking the Muslim boy’s stomach affectionately. Kamal looked up at Hugh lasciviously, and deliberately blinked his thick lashes slowly and proactively. He blew a kiss in Hugh’s direction and his full pouting lips twitched at the corners in a mocking smile. What disturbed Hugh more than the boy’s audacity was that Richard seemed not to have noticed him at all. He was too intent on nuzzling Kamal’s slender neck.
Infuriated, he stormed out past the amused guards and headed blindly for the rear of the camp, towards the accommodation his wife shared with her sister. Aubrette looked up as he burst in unannounced. In his dazed angriness, Hugh halted, not realising where he was. He stood looking around at the surprised women, who looked back at him equally confused. He fixed his gaze on his reluctant wife.
‘The king!’ he raged, pointing vaguely in the direction of Richard’s tent. ‘I want to talk, so walk with me.’ This sudden summons was so out of character. After ensuring that Rowena would not be left alone, Aubrette followed him wordlessly.
They walked silently around the camp, with Hugh deliberately avoiding the royal accommodation. If he had wanted to talk, words now failed him. Aubrette was cautious being this close to her husband. She kept sliding a sideways look at him and his expression. He was looking so miserable that she had to inquire why.
‘What is all this for?’ she asked.
Hugh sighed, heavily, before answering. ‘My king has a new favourite and I feel deserted. It is a Muslim boy, a pretty Muslim boy.’
Aubrette did not know whether to laugh, but seeing him looking so mournful, she almost felt sorry for him. His relationship with Richard was widely known, as was the fact that the king had favoured him above all others, including the queen, and had promoted him beyond his own talent. This had caused much resentment, leading him to be openly disliked by every man in the camp.
‘Could this be just an infatuation for the king and he will turn back to you before long?’ Aubrette asked, amazed at her own gentleness. He needed this reassurance and she was strangely glad he had turned to her at his lowest moment.
‘I am nothing without Richard. Everyone detests me, even you. I know what everyone says behind my back, and sometimes they even threaten me to my face.’ This was a man at his lowest ebb, who felt utterly alone. Aubrette tucked her hand into his arm, moving close to him in a sudden moment of affection. He looked back at her, unsure of this simple action. ‘You have never touched me because you wanted to,’ he observed.
She moved closer. ‘Neither of us wanted this marriage and I resented you because of it, and because of the way you lead your life. However, I also know what it is like to love someone who treats you thoughtlessly,’ she answered, thinking of her first muddled feelings for Simon, and realising in that moment that despite all she had endured, all he had forced upon her, she still held a deep love for him. ‘You and I could try to be friends at least, nothing more. We would both be happier for it when we are together.’
Hugh stopped walking and turned to Aubrette. ‘I need a friend,’ he agreed.
They stood looking at each other, a strange impetuosity crackling between them, and suddenly, unexpectedly, Hugh kissed her lips. To both their surprise, Aubrette returned the kiss without questioning the reason. It felt the right thing to do. Their kiss became quickly frenzied.
‘Where can we go?’ he asked, breathlessly, responding instinctively to a sudden and unexpected desire surging through his body.
Looking around to be sure that no one was watching, but not caring if they were seen, they hurried behind the tents and came together in a rush of primal lust that equally stimulated and overwhelmed them.
‘Sweet God, what happened there?’ Hugh asked, as he shrugged back into his jerkin, watching Aubrette as she smoothed the crumpled hem of her dress back into shape. She could not explain either, as she too had been overtaken with sexual desire. This left her confused, feeling a heady mix of repugnance and arousal.
‘You mounted me and I did not resist.’ Her reply was very frank in its honesty, attempting to hide the fact that she was shaking inside. She had not realised how much she had missed the firm feel of a man burning into her. Everything inside her told her this was not right and that Hugh was not a man not to be liked, but at that moment of intense arousal and culmination, neither had been unable to keep silent in their united lasciviousness. In that moment, there had not been another man in the world that Aubrette had wanted to be with more.
Hugh stood and held out a hand to help her to her feet. They stood awkwardly in front of each other, neither able to look the other in the face.
‘Shall I accompany you back?’ he asked.
She nodded wordlessly. After the thrill of their carnality, she now felt ashamed that she had been drawn in by his emotive vulnerability and promised herself it would not happen again. Hugh must be having similar thoughts.
‘Shall we part as friends? Tolerable in each other’s company, but no more intimate than that?’ he suggested.
“That shall be fine for me. We cannot undo what has just occurred, but it was not what I wanted or planned,’ she answered, quickly.
He nodded. ‘Just two lonely souls united,’ he commented with a feeble smile.
With no further conversation, and without touching the other, they returned to her tent where he left her to be questioned by Rowena. Hugh then wandered alone through the camp and wondered whether he should go into Richard’s tent. The guards stationed watched him silently, distrustful of him. They had allowed him to pass through earlier, knowing Richard was entertaining Kamal and that the spectacle would upset him. No, Hugh thought to himself, too much has happened to me tonight. I will speak with the king tomorrow.
He wandered away, mulling over in his mind the events of the evening.
42
During Richard’s infatuation with Kamal, Simon asked for the king’s permission to be excused from the battle. Rowena’s labour had began at the calculated time, and he felt his attention should be with her. Usually the king would have denied the request, verbally damming the inclusion of women in his army, but he was now pleasantly mellow and granted his captain’s absence. He would be expected to return to his duties as soon as the child was born, reinvigorated by fatherhood. Richard gave Simon permission for him to remain in the camp, as he wanted him to continue to coordinate the encounters against the enemy. The king reminded him that when the final push to Jerusalem happened, he would be required to fight alongside him – whether the child was born or not.
Even after successfully reaching the conclusion of her pregnancy, Rowena was still afraid that there might be no baby to show her husband. Aubrette assured her sister that the child inside her was alive, well, and would be delivered safely.
The
tent was a hive of activity. She had been in labour for two days and there was still no sign that the birth was imminent. Aubrette and the midwife walked her up and down the tent in an effort to hasten the birth.
‘Saint Margaret, help me. Saint Margaret, help me,’ Rowena chanted, exhausted.
‘Trust in God, He shall help you,’ Aubrette offered, as she felt the weight of her sister in her arms as another contraction rolled through her body. Still, she did not feel ready to push the baby out.
Rowena shook her head. ‘He doesn’t want to come; he is stuck, I feel it. I know it,’ she panted, refusing the constant walking and putting her hands on her belly.
The midwife went to her bag and brought back a small pot that contained an ointment. She pulled Rowena’s skirt up, and proceeded to rub the salve on Rowena’s belly. ‘The baby is the wrong way round. I can feel the head,’ she said, rubbing the top of her belly. With no successful result from the ointment, the midwife suggested another idea. ‘Lie on the bed so I can feel inside you and I will try to turn the babe.’
Prepared to endure anything to quicken the birth, Aubrette led her sister to the bed. The midwife spat on her hands, wiped them dry on her apron and rubbed into them a mixture of flaxseed and chickpeas. She then examined Rowena and felt for the baby. ‘Aye, he’s breech. I can feel a foot. Can’t turn him; he is having none of it,’ she announced.
Rowena wailed at this. She was tiring, weakening and a decision would have to be made quickly.
‘We must toss you in a blanket – that should encourage him,’ the midwife announced. Even though Rowena begged her not to, the midwife pulled the blanket from the bed. With her assistant and Aubrette, they loaded Rowena into its centre. Between them, they flipped the blanket up again and again, throwing Rowena into the air. She screamed for it to stop, it was causing more pain, every toss adding to the agony of each contraction.