by Ann Turner
The two knights kindled a small fire and spread blankets on the ground for everyone to sit on. They unpacked the food they had brought with them, so that they could eat and drink, allowing Simon time to rest and recoup after the ride from Jaffa. Even in the moonlight, it was obvious to see he was ashen and his hands shook as he held his cup of wine. Aubrette kept glancing towards him, worried that this venture may have been too much to tolerate. He remained determined to achieve this ambition and kept reassuring her that he was well, just tired. She was not to worry.
They sat and talked quietly, looking up at the Golden Dome. Richard appeared humbled to be so close to the Holy City, and talked with passionate conviction of his dream. The enthusiasm as he spoke was unmistakable. He admitted that the crusade was proving more difficult than he had first imagined and he had lost more men of all ranks than he had anticipated, though he would not admit this in the camp. He was the mighty Lionheart, and his men looked on him with god-like adoration. The only consolation, he insisted, was that the men had died serving Christ and would go to heaven.
‘Better to die young for Christ, than to die an old man in your bed having never served Him,’ Richard commented.
Simon looked at him with some distrust. ‘What of us who have been maimed?’ he asked.
The king returned the look, admiringly. ‘Be grateful your impairment was caused in a righteous quest,’ he replied, passionately.
‘I am no further use to you like this, as I can no longer fight by your side. I am useless now and will be thrown on the dung heap to be forgotten.’ Simon angrily jabbed a finger at his eye patch.
‘You have done your duty with bravery and shall be remembered for it,’ the king argued.
Simon was about to reply with a heated retort, but saw Aubrette’s pleading expression. ‘Please, do not argue tonight – not here, Jerusalem. You wanted to come and now you are here,’ she reminded.
Simon sighed in resignation and looked again at the Golden Dome, still bathed in moonlight. ‘You are right,’ he admitted. ‘Should I die tomorrow, at least I have seen Jerusalem.’ He heard a small gasp escape from Aubrette at the mention of his demise and hastily added: ‘Not that I intend to die tomorrow.’
‘My lord, we must think of returning soon so we can be safe in the camp before sunrise,’ suggested Bradburn and the king agreed.
Simon unbuckled a small pouch attached to the belt he wore and filled it with soil and small pebbles. ‘I shall have Jerusalem with me wherever I now go,’ he explained, as the king helped him to his feet.
The fire was extinguished and Bradburn assisted Simon onto the king’s horse, before Richard swung up behind him once again. Bradburn then mounted his own horse and Jeremy cupped his hands so that Aubrette could get up into the saddle with her knight. Jeremy then mounted his own horse. They wrapped their hijabs around their faces. Once they were all ready and with one final look at the Golden Dome, they began the long ride back through the early morning coldness.
As they bypassed the Saracen camp, they were challenged by an early patrol. Aubrette lowered her head as she had been advised to do so on the outward journey. Jeremy, with his knowledge of Arabic and his convincing accent, greeted the men and explained to them they were pilgrims returning from the Holy City. Simon had been wounded, and his horse stolen, which explained why he was riding with a companion. He said that they were now heading for the coast and a passage to a port further along the coast, away from the enemy, and were travelling this early to prevent detection by the Christians, of whom he made a derogatory comment. Luck was on their side, as the men on patrol believed that no Christian would be foolish enough to be this close to their camp at such a ridiculous hour. They allowed the small party to continue.
By the time they had passed the sentries at the exterior of the camp and rode wearily through the rows of tents and sleeping men, the moon had disappeared below the horizon and was replaced with the first glimpses of dawn. Simon had grown weaker with every change of horse and he was swaying intensely, slumping forward onto the horse’s neck. He would have fallen had Richard not held him and shouted for assistance. Bradburn and Jeremy jumped from their horses, and night guards ran over and caught him as he fell in a faint. Aubrette scrambled from the horse and, ignoring the complaining muscles in her legs, stumbled to him. Richard, who had also dismounted, ordered him to be carried into his tent and onto his bed. He instructed Aubrette to fetch his physician as quickly as she could, waking him if necessary.
When she arrived back with the king’s physician, Simon was lying on Richard’s own bed, tossing and turning, delirious in a fever. His brow was damp with sweat, but his skin was cold to touch. The physician managed to get Simon to swallow enough liquid to calm him, before attempting to reduce the fever. Richard paced the floor, demanding the man to cure Simon of this malady. He did not want to lose his half-brother to a fever, after surviving so many battles and going through the arduous journey of the night before.
Simon was bled in an attempt to restore the humours, while other remedies were administered to bring him out of this fever. The king allowed Aubrette to remain, though he departed to Jeremy’s sleeping quarters to rest before the day’s business recommenced.
Later that morning, Queen Berengaria came to see her, accompanied by Joanna. The dowager queen wanted to know how the night’s journey to Jerusalem had progressed and whether it had been a successful venture. They had also been informed about Simon’s illness and wanted to see if he was responding to the treatment. As the two women entered, they saw Simon motionless and unconscious, with Aubrette, still in her disguise and asleep with her head on her arms, at the side of the bed. The night had been long and tiring, and she had finally succumbed to exhaustion.
‘Aubrette,’ Berengaria gently said, shaking her by the shoulder.
With a sudden snort, Aubrette sat up quickly. She was confused at first, but then realised where she was. Instinctively, she touched Simon’s brow and watched as his chest rose and fell slowly as he slept.
‘How are you feeling?’ the queen asked. ‘Word has spread that you went to see Jerusalem last night.’
Joanna had not talked about the adventure of her brother and half-brother, but gossip had spread in the camp and almost everyone now knew what had occurred during the night.
‘We did. It was Simon’s desire to see the city before he is sent back to England,’ she explained. ‘The king was generous and arranged for us to ride to the walls, and we saw the beautiful golden dome in the moonlight. It was beautiful. Thank you, madam, for speaking to your brother.’ She nodded at Joanna, who smiled.
‘The king, generous?’ Berengaria echoed, with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
Joanna turned to glance reproachfully at her. ‘To those he loves, yes. Simon is our base born brother and Richard has an affection for him, and for his service in this crusade.’
Berengaria refused to be drawn. She had not come here looking to argue with anyone; she was here to see a woman that was loyal to a brave crusader. She came and stood by the bedside, leant over the bed and placed a light kiss on Simon’s cheek.
‘Get well, Sir Simon, and recover quickly,’ she whispered in his ear.
To everyone’s amazement, he murmured several inaudible words and his eye moved behind its closed eyelid. The three women gasped and Aubrette shook his shoulders. She began to talk to him to attempt to rouse him into wakefulness. Simon’s eye briefly fluttered open and he looked around, not able to focus on the shapes clamouring around him. He mumbled incoherently and his eye shut again. Then, the sickly pallor of his skin paled even more and what colour had been in his face drained away. He became short of breath and rasped painfully. The physician, who had been sitting at the back of the tent and dozing in a chair, woke with a start.
‘You sleep while this brave man dies under your care!’ Joanna shouted at him, as he scrambled to his fee
t. ‘If he dies, you die.’
Apologising, he pushed forward through the women to take over, using all of his medical knowledge to save Simon’s life. He knew the dowager queen would keep the promise of his demise. Aubrette stood back, trembling with fear, shaking her head and pleading with the physician to do all he was capable of to save the life of the man she loved. The queen put her arm over her shoulders, giving her some reassurance.
The physician turned to face the women. ‘Go now, there is nothing you are able to do to help. I shall do what I can, but do not raise your hopes too high,’ he said, gravely.
Aubrette gave a small moan of pain and would have collapsed had it not been for Berengaria and Joanna supporting her. She was assisted from Simon’s side, but kept looking back over her shoulder at him, complaining that she wanted to stay by his side. He lay inert in the bed, occasionally mumbling in an indistinct voice between agonising gasps. Joanna shot a warning look at the physician as he turned back to his patient.
Outside, the intake of fresh air cleared Aubrette’s head. She was feeling desolate. Her life would not be worth living if Simon died. Berengaria was speaking to her, but she didn’t hear the gentle words. Her whole world circulated around the man lying at the edge of death; his insistence to visit Jerusalem had aggravated his weakened condition and the words spoken outside the walls of the Holy City rang loud in her mind: “Should I die tomorrow, at least I have seen Jerusalem.” Did he instinctively know that the injuries he attained were the precursor to his death? He had only lost an eye; it was not a life-threatening condition and others with similar wounds had lived. But then Aubrette remembered bandaging the deep scars on his body and leg, and began to wonder if the scimitar had penetrated deeper than first realised? Had the blade sliced into one of his organs? Was he slowly bleeding to death from the inside?
Aubrette shook the comforting hands of Berengaria and Joanna from her shoulders. ‘Please, let me be. Thank you for your concern, but I want to go back to the infirmary and help again.’
‘Is that wise? You have been awake all night. Let Joanna take you to your bed and I shall fetch a sleeping draft for you,’ urged Berengaria.
Aubrette shook her head. ‘No, if I am alone I shall keep thinking about Simon. Helping the others will take my mind away from him, even if it is just briefly,’ she insisted.
Berengaria was going to protest, but saw the pleading in her friend’s tired eyes and knew it would be useless. Joanna gave a small laugh. ‘That is the best remedy,’ she assured, smiling.
They first returned to Aubrette’s tent, where she climbed out of her boys clothes, washed and changed back into a more comfortable dress. After, the three women linked arms in a show of unity and strode towards the infirmary.
It was later that night when, mentally and physically exhausted, Aubrette left the infirmary and headed for her quarters. Without stopping to eat or drink, she fell onto her bed fully-clothed and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
Aubrette awoke the following afternoon and her first thoughts were of Simon. Quickly, she changed from her dishevelled clothes, splashed water on her face, pulled a brush through her knotted hair and hurried to the king’s tent. The guards outside eyed her suspiciously when she explained why she was here. The physician heard her voice from inside the tent and appeared, telling the guards to allow her admittance. Tentatively, Aubrette approached the bed where Simon lay. He was asleep, and his breathing was deep and rhythmic. Warily, she put a hand on his forehead and he felt cool to the touch. The fever had broken. She looked at the physician, curious to hear what he had to say.
‘Sir Simon has responded to the medication and, as you can see, he is sleeping now.’
‘So he will live?’ Aubrette asked, carefully.
For the first time, the physician smiled and nodded. ‘As the fever broke, he kept repeating your name. I think that kept him from giving up.’
She felt her legs give way and she was helped into a chair by the physician as the tears welled up in her eyes. She would patiently wait by his bedside for him to wake.
King Richard also checked on his half-brother and, seeing Aubrette’s calm and happy face, knew that Simon would recover. He came and sat by her side. Although she was grateful for his help in getting Simon to Jerusalem and the unmistakable love he had for his brother, she still felt uncomfortable being this close to him.
‘I thought I would lose him,’ she said.
Richard rubbed his bearded chin, gazing at his brother sleeping. ‘Apart from William Marshal, Simon is the only other man I trust entirely to be honest and undoubted in his loyalty to me and mine,’ he replied quietly.
Aubrette glanced at the king. He was looking jaded, and for the first time, she noticed how haggard his face looked. He had said that the venture to free Jerusalem was proving to be more formidable, and since Philip had returned to France, Richard had alienated many of his allies. The entire weight of the Christians’ expectations lay on his shoulders alone. It was too much for one man, even the Lionheart, to carry, though he would never openly admit to this. She had promised never to repeat his words, as the myth of the mighty Lionheart must not be tarnished with thoughts of failure.
Silently, the brother and the lover continued to watch Simon. Both had other duties to attend to, but neither wanted to leave. Both wanted to be there when he awoke. His breathing was steadier and a small sigh occasionally escaped from his lips. Under his closed eyelid, his eyeball was moving. Aubrette urgently called his name and took his hand in hers, holding it tight. The king rose to his feet, expectant, hardly daring to breath. This game between the man laying unconscious in the bed and those who loved him continued throughout the day.
Eventually, Simon’s eye opened and he looked around, seeing the two shapes swimming into and out of his vision. He could hear distorted voices, but was unable to distinguish who they belonged to – or even whether they were male or female. He attempted to speak, but his mouth and lips were dry and his tongue felt large in his mouth. Aubrette took a cup of wine and put it to his mouth. Simon was able to swallow several small mouthfuls, though trickles ran down his chin. He panted and licked his lips.
‘Where am I?’ he managed to ask, weakly.
‘The king’s bed.’ Richard said, boldly.
‘What do you remember, Simon?’ Aubrette asked.
He thought hard. ‘A golden dome, riding with someone, falling – nothing else,’ he answered, slowly.
‘Jerusalem. We took you to Jerusalem,’ she reminded him, quickly. He thought hard, attempting to remember. Vague, jumbled images flashed and sprang into his mind, but there was nothing sharp or solid to centre on.
The physician stepped forward. ‘He needs to rest. Please leave him alone now and you can talk again when he feels stronger,’ he said, ushering Aubrette away and attempting to persuade the king to depart.
For once, Richard allowed himself to be moved away, with a command to Simon to recover his strength.
Simon’s recuperation was slow, even with the best care from Aubrette and the king’s own physician. It was painfully evident that his fighting days were over, and when he was considered well enough, he would endure the journey home to England. With Aubrette accompanying him, and other crusaders being returned home, they would sail to Cyprus and then onto Marseilles, through Richard’s empire in France and finally across the Narrow Sea to England. Once there, they would travel to Romhill.
Simon had received a letter from Lady Petronella some time before, telling him that her husband, Lord Oswyn, had died during an outbreak of plague that had run riot through Essex, and had scourged the village. Through his marriage to Rowena, Simon was the rightful heir to the estate. His sons, Eustace and Raymond, had been sent to live with their grandparents, and had, by the grace of God, not succumbed to the plague. Petronella was holding the estate in his name and Simon would need to go to Romhi
ll to claim what was his by right.
48
It was a surprise to everyone when King Richard ordered Queen Berengaria and Joanna to leave Jaffa and return to Normandy, where they would await his return once he had reclaimed Jerusalem. Berengaria was resigned to this command; she would be out of his way and he would not have to feel guilty about his neglect of her.
Occasionally she would see the prostitute Wahiba being escorted from his tent, who always looked embarrassed if their paths crossed at the entrance. The whore would cast down her eyes, unable to meet the queen’s frosty expression. Berengaria would stare harshly at her, wondering why her husband favoured her company instead of his wife’s. She could still count the number of times he had been intimate with her since their marriage. It was obvious he had no desire to sire an heir, while he had a nephew in Arthur and a brother in John. Irresponsible, she thought. Not the behaviour of a king.
She had felt so excited, apprehensive, even unworthy at the thought of marriage to such a magnificent and handsome man. He had the appearance of a god and could make any woman’s knees tremble, such was the legend that had preceded his name. However, the truth behind the legend was void in consideration of his dismissal of her. And at first, she had defended these actions. Here she was, Berengaria, an insignificant princess married to a god of a man –obviously he would not be as enthralled by her as she was in him.
The gradual realisation of his true nature had began to dawn on the young queen when he had started to make excuses to avoid retiring to bed with her. Her bed would always be a lonely place without him, it seemed. She was destined to be an unmarried woman with a husband, or a widow with a husband – such a peculiar situation. She was married to an invisible husband.
So, she was being cast aside, but what point was there in arguing with him? Richard would never change. She told herself to concentrate on the journey ahead. She and Joanna were to sail to Brindisi in southern Italy and travel across Europe to await his return. She was sceptical about this. Why would he suddenly show her any interest when he returned to Normandy? Could it be that once he was back in his domains, he would be more willing and more prepared to do his duty? There did not have to be any feelings of love – of that, there would never be – but at least there could be finally a chance for her to conceive and carry a child. She would love the child with the whole of her heart, and the little infant would return that love.