‘I need to see Steph – the Comte de Chalais.’ She clutched nervously at the sheet that covered her, conscious that she was wearing a long-sleeved, high-necked linen shirt that did not belong to her. So someone must have dressed her in it, yet no one was supposed to know she was a woman. This man unfortunately clearly did. ‘Please.’
‘I will summon the comte, Lady de Moreville,’ the man said soothingly. ‘Or would you prefer that I call you Edwina?’
How did they know who she was? She remembered the letter of safe passage Berengaria had insisted on giving her, which had been concealed in her saddlebags. The queen thought it wise to carry it just in case she came upon a Saracen patrol. Salah ad-Din was known to be a noble leader and had always made a point of releasing ladies of rank when they had been captured by mistake. Yet that no longer mattered now. She had to ensure that Stephen was not blamed for bringing her here. She knew how much the Templars disliked being forced to come into contact with women. For goodness’ sake, they even refused to allow their knights to innocently kiss their own mothers once they had made their vows.
‘Call me what you wish,’ she mumbled thickly as she licked her dry lips, but there was little moisture in her mouth. ‘Do you have any water?’
‘I have a soothing drink that will quench your thirst,’ the man replied. He gently lifted her head and held a goblet to her lips. Edwina drank greedily of the contents, which had a refreshing fruity flavour.
‘Thank you,’ she said as he lowered her head to the lumpy pillow again. ‘Will you call the comte now – I must speak to him.’
‘Soon,’ the man said in a soothing voice.
Edwina strangely began to feel a little sleepy again for some inexplicable reason. ‘What is wrong with me?’ she asked, trying to force herself to stay awake.
‘An ague brought upon by the desert heat,’ he replied, moving away from the bed.
Edwina heard the sound of a door opening. Her head felt incredibly heavy as she turned to see who had entered, hoping that it was Stephen. Unfortunately it was not him, it was the master, Bernard le Motte. His presence made her feel uncomfortable as his cold dark gaze flickered over her for a moment. ‘You have confirmed?’ he asked the old man.
‘As it said in the papers, it is she,’ he said softly.
Edwina strained her ears to hear as Bernard said, ‘One of the Turcopoles claims that she followed them and was spying on them as they made camp. What could cause such foolish behaviour? King Guy will be very concerned.’
What had Guy to do with her presence here, Edwina wondered in confusion. She wanted to sit up and ask for an explanation and then demand to see Stephen but she just didn’t have the strength. Wearily she closed her eyes for a moment, and she was still trying to think of exactly what to say when sleep overwhelmed her senses again.
9
Clearly he had a hangover. This was Stephen’s first thought as he struggled back to consciousness. There was a terrible pounding in his head and his lids felt as though they were glued together, while every muscle in his body screamed in pain. As clarity sliced through his muddled thoughts he realised that he was upright, or as upright as he was able to be. No wonder his arms and shoulders were protesting so much, the entire weight of his body was hanging on them.
He straightened his legs and that helped relieve the agony a little as he became aware, with a chilling blast of consternation, that he was chained hand and foot. What the hell had happened, he asked himself, as he looked at the rough stone walls of the small cell. There was a slight chill in the air so doubtless it was a dungeon somewhere below ground, and no wonder he felt rather cold as he was not wearing a stitch of clothing.
Was it possible that the Saracens had at last managed to break into the fortress and he was their prisoner? That did not seem likely but there was no other explanation for this perilous conundrum. Edwina, he thought with rising fear, what had happened to her?
Confusion mingled with his concern and magnified. Nothing made any sense as he could not figure out who had brought him here and confined him while he was unconscious. He’d no idea what time it was but judging by his aching muscles he had been hanging here for some time. Presumably he was still in Sarak, yet even so there were so many questions he could not answer.
Stephen tried to move his feet but his ankles were manacled and the chains attached to them were fixed to rings in the floor. He looked up. The chains attached to the manacles around his wrists were fastened to a pulley arrangement, so that they could be tightened or loosened at the will of his captors, whoever they happened to be.
He tensed as he heard the rattle of a key turning in a lock. Now he would have answers. He stiffened his resolve, fearing that whatever was to come would be far from easy. To his amazement, Bernard walked into his cell and whatever apprehension he had was replaced with white-hot fury. ‘Master Bernard,’ he shouted, ‘why have I been confined in this humiliating fashion? You’ll pay for this,’ he added, pulling angrily at his chains.
The cold dark eyes looked him up and down with utter derision. ‘We Templars abhor heretics.’
‘Heretics!’ Stephen exclaimed. ‘I am no heretic, this is insane.’
Bernard glanced back at the Templar who hovered by the door. ‘Leave us.’
The man disappeared and, as the door shut, Bernard smiled evilly and walked towards Stephen. ‘You are confined here because the ‘knights and brothers believe you to be a heretic.’
‘And my accuser is?’ Stephen challenged, trying to show no fear. Even to be suspected of heresy was troubling enough as it could lead to torture, perhaps even death,
‘Your perfidy was revealed by our king, Guy de Lusignan.’
‘So this is Guy’s doing,’ Stephen sneered. ‘His words are generated by malice, nothing more. There is no truth in his insane accusations. Release me and I will prove it to you.’ Bernard said not a word, so Stephen added, ‘You know full well that his accusations are not true, don’t you?’
‘Truth is in the eye of the believer. I informed the members of my order that you were a heretic and they believe me.’
‘I have no idea why Guy did this. We disagree over military matters but that is all,’ Stephen argued in frustration.
‘You deny then that you plotted with others to wrest the throne from my king.’ Bernard circled Stephen like a predator might his helpless prey.
‘Of course I deny it – that is as ridiculous an accusation as heresy.’ Stephen was greatly troubled by his sheer helplessness. It wasn’t a situation he was accustomed to and in this citadel he was surrounded by Templars who answered only to one man, Bernard le Motte. There was no one he could call on for aid apart from Edwina, and he had no idea what had happened to her. Unsure if Bernard yet knew the truth of her gender, he said, ‘About my squire.’
‘Yes, your squire, I was coming to that.’ Bernard now stood so close they were almost touching, and the way he was looking at Stephen made him even more discomfited by his nudity. ‘You bring a noblewoman here disguised as a squire and then you proceed to violate her in our guest quarters.’
‘Violate!’ Stephen exclaimed. ‘I did not violate her.’ His voice was trembling with indignation. ‘She will tell you that herself.’
‘Lady Edwina is not in a position to deny the accusations. And even if she were I would have no intention of questioning her about them. It would be far too upsetting for a noble lady to be made to recall such unpleasantness, especially one whom King Guy intends to marry. Her efforts to accompany you here were foolish and lacking in judgement but you had no need to conceal her identity from us so that you could force her to share your room.’
‘I didn’t force her to do anything,’ Stephen shouted. ‘And she is not marrying Guy, she is marrying me.’
‘You live under great misapprehension, comte. The lady is to become our queen and you violated her.’
‘If you believe that then why did she not cry out?’ Stephen challenged. ‘She had every opportunity to ask for yo
ur help.’ He knew that he was getting more and more embroiled in Bernard’s lies.
‘For all I know you drugged her, or used some kind of witchcraft on her to make her accede to your vile lust. After all no woman would choose you above a king. I intend to send her back to King Guy as soon as possible,’ Bernard said. ‘While you, of course, will remain here as my prisoner.’
‘No!’ Stephen tried to lunge forwards but he was jerked back by his chains as the iron manacles dug into his ankles and wrists. However, he welcomed the pain, which didn’t even come close to the agony in his heart. ‘She will never marry Guy,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘That is no longer your concern, there are other matters you now have to contend with.’ Bernard stepped to the door of the cell and flung it open. ‘Come,’ he called.
A tall muscular knight entered the cell and in his hand was a whip with knotted leather strands. The man looked Stephen up and down quite impassively. ‘He looks strong, he will probably be able to take a fair few lashes. Do I continue until he confesses?’
‘No.’ Bernard pursed his lips. ‘Just a dozen strokes to soften him up a little. I want to take this investigation very, very slowly.’
Isabella was not happy, but then why should she be? Nothing was going to plan and it was all her husband’s fault. She shivered at the mere thought of Conrad de Montferrat. She loathed him intensely and rued the day she had married him. Not that she’d had any choice in the matter; she had been coerced into it. Conrad was an old man in her eyes and a grizzled, remarkably unattractive warrior, with rough ways and little delicacy in his manners. He was no fit consort for a princess, let alone a queen. Why couldn’t she still be married to her sweet charming Humphrey? Admittedly, he had no real interest in her physically as he was not attracted to women in that way, but he was charming, well read and very sweet natured. They had got on well together and she considered him her very best friend in the entire world.
She looked around her unhappily as she rode into the bailey of the castle of Sarak. It had an unpleasant, melancholy air about it. Although built on similar lines to Kerak it was a very different place. She knew Kerak well; she’d resided there from the age of eleven when she had been sent to the castle to live with the family of her future husband Humphrey de Toron.
Conrad should have taken her to Acre with him but he had stubbornly insisted she stay safely in Tyre. In truth he knew nothing about women because as soon as he had left she had made plans to join him. She was curious to meet the great Lionheart everyone was talking about Amalric, the captain of her personal guard, had insisted that it would be safer to travel by sea and she had been quite happy when they set out because her journey would take less than a day. All was proceeding to plan until they’d spotted a large number of Saracen vessels. Knowing he would be unable to outrun them, the captain had insisted on taking refuge in the small natural harbour nearby, while she sought protection from the Templars of Sarak.
She jumped down from her horse and strode towards the steps of the keep. Waiting for her at the door was a very sinister-looking Templar knight. Isabella frowned; she had never been at ease among the Templars, mainly because they were still loyal to her despicable brother-in-law, the infamous Guy de Lusignan.
‘Princess.’ The sinister-looking Templar bowed and then smiled politely at her. ‘I am the Master, Bernard le Motte. We are honoured by your presence.’
She was convinced that he was lying. Most probably he greatly resented her unexpected arrival. ‘I trust you will only have to endure it for a short time,’ she replied very coolly.
‘You may stay as long as you wish. I have arranged suitable quarters,’ Bernard said. ‘Nevertheless, we live very simply here so there will be none of the luxuries you are used to.’
Over the last few years she had lived a relatively nomadic existence, so she had brought most of what she needed with her. ‘No doubt it will suffice,’ she said, regally inclining her head.
‘I will have food and drink brought to your room,’ Bernard said, and she noticed how strange his eyes were – flat, dark and cold. He made her feel uneasy and she certainly didn’t trust him. She would leave here as quickly as possible. ‘I trust you will also provide suitable accommodation for my soldiers and Captain Amalric?’
‘Of course.’ Bernard looked towards a plump balding man in a plain black habit. ‘Brother Gerard will take you to your room.’
Nodding, Isabella turned in a swirl of turquoise silk and strode into the keep. The interior was dark and surprisingly cool after the intense heat outside. It appeared that her chamber was on the second floor. She followed Brother Gerard up the wide stone staircase, conscious that he began breathing a little heavily before they even reached the top. He led her along a wide corridor and into a large, airy but rather sparsely furnished room.
‘This will be perfect.’ She smiled sweetly at Gerard who was now panting with exertion.
‘If you have need of anything you have but to ask,’ he said breathlessly then left, passing Isabella’s maid Maria in the doorway.
‘Mistress.’ Maria looked curiously around the chamber, appearing a little uneasy. Isabella didn’t find that surprising as Maria had not served her long and had never been away from Tyre before. Walking to the bed, Maria touched the plain, rather rough woollen blanket. ‘The bed is soft enough but the linen will have to be replaced.’
‘At least I’ll be comfortable although I doubt anyone could rest easy in this place.’ Isabella wandered over to the window. ‘When the baggage arrives, find the blue silk coverlet and my soft blanket, and put some pillows on the bed as there is nowhere comfortable to sit.’
As Isabella looked down onto the large, remarkably empty bailey, she heard Maria say softly, ‘This place has a most unpleasant air about it, don’t you think?’
Isabella glanced back at her. ‘It has, we will not be staying long. As you know the Templar knights make me feel uncomfortable.’
As she spoke two of her soldiers heaved a large wooden trunk into the room. Maria hurried to open it and began sorting through the contents as Isabella glanced out of the window again. She noticed a couple of men step out of what she thought were the stables. However, they were not Templars; they were dressed in the gaudy uniform of the Turcopoles. ‘Did not Captain Amalric say that the only occupants of Sarak were Templars?’
‘He did, no other troops at all,’ Maria replied rather distractedly as she pulled the blue silk coverlet from the trunk.
‘Strange,’ Isabella said thoughtfully as she leant out of the window a little further. Walking out of the entrance of the keep she spied two brothers in dark habits carrying a litter. Was the person they carried ill, she wondered curiously.
As a couple more Turcopoles left the stables, leading a string of horses, the brothers carried the litter past her window and she saw the wounded person more clearly. To her amazement she saw long blonde hair and it became obvious to her that this person was a woman. It appeared to her that they intended to fasten a horse to each end of the litter, presumably so that the woman could be taken from the citadel.
‘Princess.’ She heard Amalric’s deep voice and she turned and smiled warmly at him. The handsome man had been the captain of her personal guard for a number of years.
‘Amalric, I need you to do something for me.’ She hurried over to him. ‘There are some Turcopoles down in the bailey with a woman.’
‘Woman? Who?’ he exclaimed in surprise. ‘Would not something have been said about her when we arrived?’
‘I want you to go down there right now and question the Turcopoles, find out who she is. I have a feeling something strange is going on around her. If you have any problems making them answer questions send them to me and don’t let the Templars stop you doing what I ask.’
Stephen was fast losing hope, which was unlike him, but he had never found himself in such a powerlessly perilous position before. It was not easy to remain positive when one was chained naked in a dungeon, a captive o
f the insane Templar Bernard le Motte. His muscles were cramping from the discomfort and there was no respite from his torment. After a time, to relieve the pain in his legs, he had been forced to relax and put most of his weight on his arms again until the agony became too much to bear, and then he’d stood for a time again.
The whipping had been bad but not quite as terrible as he had expected because Bernard had limited it to a few lashes, purely as a precursor for what was to come. Stephen knew that a torturer played on his victim’s fears – the anticipation of pain was almost as bad as the torture itself. Fortunately during his punishment he had managed not to cry out, which was good as, judging by Bernard’s expression, he enjoyed watching his victims endure pain. He was a zealot of the very worst kind and used the excuse of his religion to carry out his own perverse plans.
Stephen had been in dangerous situations before and always found a way to escape but he could see no way out of this. There was no point on relying on Richard to rescue him, no doubt he was too busy at Acre, and if he did not return it would be presumed that he’d been killed by a Saracen patrol. Salah ad-Din was known to be a very noble man and Stephen thought that at present he would rather be in his hands than in those of the Templar Master.
Once again he let his knees relax, gritting his teeth as his arms and shoulders screamed complaint, while the tension made the skin on his back pull against the lash wounds. His only comfort in all this was that Edwina was at least safe while Bernard believed that Guy wished to marry her. With his fanatical loyalty to his king, he would do her no harm and would ensure that she was safely returned to Acre.
Yet there was no way he would let her marry Guy under any circumstances, so he had to find a way to escape. She was a determined woman so she wouldn’t marry the man willingly but she would be forced to if her liege lord, Richard, ordered it. It was possible that if he did not return, Guy might find some way to persuade the Lionheart to let him make Edwina his wife.
Templar Prize Page 17