Behind the Veil

by Linda Chaikin

  Helena turned briefly in her saddle to look back. She could see Tancred now. He was unconscious and bleeding as they secured him to the back of his horse. The sight cut to her heart. She prayed for the mercies of Christ to aid him. Peril was at every hand. He would need much time to recover. She found herself desperately praying for his protection—and a way of escape.

  Tancred would be helpless inside Antioch. What could she do? What could either of them do now? Kalid too, would recognize him at once. Tancred was trapped between Mosul and Kalid, And she had not seen the real Bardas since Philip had betrayed them at the summer palace. She was without a friend.

  They rode toward Antioch, fighting the wind and sand.

  Behind the Veil / The Royal Pavilions book3/ Linda Chaikin

  Chapter12

  The House of Khan

  As the caravan advanced toward Antioch, she wondered where she would be brought. Would she have her own chamber? Helena determined to stay alert for any means of escape, though at present it was impossible. She knew Tancred would wish to know anything she could discover—if she could ever speak with him alone. Could she manage to have him brought to her chamber? She knew that wherever there were women kept, there were eunuchs who had charge over them. So far, they believed that Tancred was her eunuch bodyguard. Perhaps a request to have him nearby, as she’d had Bardas in Constantinople, would be deemed acceptable for a woman of the purple belt.

  Despondency swept over as she gazed upon Antioch’s thick walls. How would it even be possible for the western feudal princes to take this city? Until just recently, she had not concerned herself with the crusaders. The expedition to take Jerusalem back from the Moslems had been simply an ambition of the western branch of the church in Rome, and a political concern of Emperor Alexius who saw his Byzantine Empire shrinking. Now, however, the future and freedom for herself and Tancred was bound up in the victory of the crusaders. She despised the idea of marriage by force to the Seljuk prince, but her liberty could come with the fall of Antioch and the arrival of Bohemond. I thought I’d never long for the arrival of the Normans!

  Tancred! The very thought of him brought a fresh wave of respect. There was no other like her beloved. But even if he fully recovered from the wounds of battle, how could he escape the notice of his enemies? And with Mosul in the city, and perhaps even in the palace!

  As the caravan neared the Gate of St. Paul, it swung open to admit the prestigious entourage. She thought of the Apostle Paul entering this gate with Barnabas over a thousand years ago before the first missionary journey with the news of the Savior to cities about Antioch and the Roman Empire!

  As a matter of choice she veiled herself to keep away prying and curious eyes, though unlike Arab women, Turkish women did not always, as a matter of edict, veil themselves.

  Although not up to the splendor of Constantinople, Antioch, under favorable circumstances, would have proven a pleasant city. In the distant past, under the iron rule of ancient Rome, Caesar had once sat in its theater. Herod, in the days of Christ, had sections paved with marble for his own enjoyment. The Roman General Titus who destroyed Jerusalem and the Jewish temple in A.D.70, had watched the chariot races here. And the Byzantines, from the time of Justinian in the sixth century, had created the beautiful hanging gardens among myrtle trees and running fountains.

  Her eyes passed over the disciplined Seljuk cavalry lining the route to the palace. As the caravan wound its way down the stone street toward the Moslem palace, the Seljuk’s fell in around her. Lord, I’m afraid, she prayed, Help me be brave, for You are ever with me.

  At the palace their horses were led away by slaves, and Helena was delivered to more Seljuk guards. She wanted to avoid speaking to Mosul, and her eyes sought for the older uncle of Prince Kalid. At first she thought he had departed, but he appeared, followed by Mosul and another top guard.

  “You will first be taken to the emir, the prince’s grandfather. The emir wishes to see whether or not you are worthy of his grandson.”

  “And my bodyguard?”

  He turned indifferently and spoke in his native language to the elite soldiers. “He will be brought later,” he told her briefly.

  Later? What did they expect to do with him? What if Tancred became delirious with fever and called out her name?

  Would they tend to his wounds? She would have protested but it would alert them to suspicion. She must not seem more interested in Tancred than was called for.

  “Prince Kalid has arranged for your comfort. His servants will see to your every need. I am his uncle Ma’sud Khan.”

  She believed Ma’sud a warrior of some honor, else he would not have spared the wounded man he thought to be Bardas. She wondered where Kalid might be—though not at all desirous to see him. Still, it was unlike protocol for him to not have met her upon her arrival. In fact, now that she thought about the matter, he should have been the one to meet Bishop Basel’s entourage to escort her back to Antioch instead of his uncle Ma’sud. Had something happened?

  Thinking momentarily of Basel, she wondered how the dreadful battle outside the gate of the Castle of Hohms had gone. Was her own uncle Nicholas alive? And the real Bardas?

  “If you need me, you may send Captain Mosul, or one of the other palace guards, with a message. As Kalid’s proud uncle, I wish you peace and prosperity among us.”

  Helena did not forget her position and lowered her head in a gesture of gratitude. He strode away with Mosul and the inner guards, and she was turned over to slaves. When would she meet the emir? The slaves bowed and gestured a wide arm toward a shadowed colonnade bordering a fragrant court.

  Oh what a miserable situation I am in! How could all this have happened to me? Lady Irene, she thought bitterly, and Bishop Basel! And where is my poor mother? What of the baby she was expecting? Had she given birth yet? It would seem so. Poor mother! Things have gone astray for her!

  Helena followed the slaves through the court, then across exquisite rugs, soft and thick beneath her feet. They were not of the celebrated Persian designs, she noted, but of Turkish knot, tufted with floral patterns and colors ranging from sapphire blue to yellow. They looked to be made not only from wool but also silk. There was a glitter of gold and marble everywhere, and the fragrance of flowers.

  Ahead, the slaves stopped, their backs toward her. They were bowing in the direction of an elderly man who was seated on cushions on a dais in the far corner of a splendid chamber. Helena found herself before the emir, one ruler among others who held authority in Antioch. His name was Oman, the grandfather of Kalid. His brown wrinkled face was contemplative, his slanting black eyes, vigilant.

  Helena stood in silence, waiting. At last he lifted a jeweled hand toward a slave, who then came to her.

  “He will see you closer now. Come forward.”

  Helena approached and bowed in respect. “Greetings, Your Excellency. The most noble emperor of Byzantium sends his wishes of favor and peace.”

  Emir Oman was aided to his feet. “Welcome Lady Helena Lysander of the Nobility. Welcome to Antioch, and to the house of Khan. It is with regret that my grandson, Prince Kalid, could not ride to meet you and the Byzantine entourage, but I trust my son Ma’sud has made your arrival one of welcome.”

  Then the emir did not know yet of the fighting. Helena lowered her head and said nothing.

  “Kalid has ridden to Aleppo to meet with the sultan. The great locust-army of the West has been sighted.”

  Helena veiled her profound relief. Kalid was not in Antioch. His departure meant a postponement in the ceremony of taking her as his wife.

  “He will return in a few weeks. Until then, you will refresh yourself. Your slaves will see to your wishes.”

  At his handclap, the slippered slave reappeared and led her away across the palace to a far assemblage of chambers that she surmised to be the women’s section.

  Here the floor was veined marble with magnificent rugs, and in the marble arches there were gold mosaics from a far earli
er time in Byzantine history.

  The voice of the chief eunuch could be heard shouting his dissatisfaction over some failure of the slaves, and a moment later Helena had her first look at Assad, a Turk who was nearly half as wide in the middle as he was tall. He ushered three girls forward to meet her and a young boy of perhaps fourteen.

  “Your slaves, Princess Helena!” he announced breathlessly. “A gift from the wise and noble Prince Kalid!”

  The young girls were dressed in silk that covered them from ankle to shoulder, and sheer pantaloons that billowed out about their legs and arms. They bowed low while the chief eunuch, Assad, looked on with a fastidious scowl, judging their performance. His scowl eased and he seemed pleased, then he turned with a deeper scowl to the boy, ushering him forward as though he expected a blunder of the most provoking sort.

  The handsome boy had mischievous brown eyes, and olive skin polished with oil. He came forward on sandaled feet and, with extravagant fanfare, bowed deeply. “Welcome, O most lovely among women!”

  Helena couldn’t refrain from smiling, and Assad, too, appeared relieved and pleasantly surprised. “Quickly, Jamil, my boy, quickly!”

  The boy proceeded to bring her an armful of costly silk garments.

  “From Prince Kalid,” he said. “Greatest of all living warriors.”

  “I am sure,” she said innocently.

  The three young girls then came forward one by one, bowed again, and extended lavish gifts of jewels, gold bangles, and carved ivory containers of perfumes: musk, ambergris, and spikenard. There followed other rare gifts, even animals: a large cat black with white paws and gold eyes, and a bird of red-and-green plumage, but the gift that caused her heart to skip was the promise of a thoroughbred horse.

  “Ah, Princess,” Assad crooned. “Most noble Kalid had hoped to present the stallion to you, but urgent business in Aleppo has detained him. The horse is magnificent and has won all races this past year!”

  Helena envisioned the sleek stallion, seeing speed…and freedom.

  “I am most pleased, Assad. You have made my coming indeed welcome…and when may I see this matchless stallion?”

  “As soon as tomorrow, if you so wish, my Mistress Helena.”

  “The day after tomorrow would please me well.”

  Assad turned to the boy. “This should make you most happy, Jamil. You will go with your new mistress when she is ready.”

  The boy’s eyes glittered like ripe brown plums as they focused on Helena. “He is a most wondrous horse, Your Loveliness! I helped train him myself.”

  “Did you indeed? How fortunate for me, Jamil.”

  The pride showed in his winsome smile. She already knew she was going to become attached to the boy.

  He bowed a second time. “I will prepare him well, Mistress. He is the most handsome of the prince’s thoroughbreds. I am sure you will like him. I was given the honor of naming him, but you may change the name if you wish.”

  She smiled at him, her mind racing with the horses. Would it be possible to escape with Tancred while Kalid was away? Would the boy know of some secret route to take them from Antioch? What eager young boy did not know of such things? And one glimpse of Jamil said he was full of adventure.

  “I am sure I will like his name. Jamil, you must show me everything in Antioch.”

  He beamed. “I know every trail, every tree, every gate, Mistress.”

  “You and I will become good friends,” she said smoothly.

  “Then can we go early tomorrow and spend the entire day?”

  Helena thought of Tancred. She expected him to be brought to her by the next morning.

  “Not tomorrow, but soon.”

  Jamil tried not to show disappointment but wiped his face clear of expression when Assad scolded him with his eyes. Jamil bowed.

  “When you would see your horse, Mistress, you have but to speak. I will never be far away.”

  Behind the Veil / The Royal Pavilions book3/ Linda Chaikin

  Chapter13

  Valley of the Shadow

  It was the evening of Helena’s arrival in Antioch. Her ten-course meal delivered by Jamil, sat untouched on the long, low table. Helena paced in her chambers, a grouping of four elaborately decorated rooms. Her stomach remained tense and her hands clammy. Her fears raced mindlessly out of control. If matters were progressing well, then where was Tancred? Why had he not been brought to her as Ma’sud Khan had promised? What if Mosul had discovered who Tancred was? He could put a dagger through his heart while he yet slept.

  She opened the door of her outer chamber and found Jamil perched like a pet bird on the top of the latticed terrace, munching from a bowl of purple grapes and figs that she had refused.

  “Is there any sign of the physician yet,” she demanded, as she had several times earlier.

  “No, Mistress, but I shall go again and see, if you desire.”

  “Yes. And send, too, for Assad,” she said of the chief of eunuchs. “Tell him I do not care if it means my head; I shall go in search for Bardas if I must.”

  Jamil’s winsome brown eyes widened. He swallowed a lump of fig with difficulty. “Mistress—you would show disobedience?” he added with horror, “In public?”

  Helena narrowed her gaze. “If my faithful bodyguard is not brought to me this night, I shall make a noise the emir will long remember. Go!” There! That should stir up the beehive!

  Jamil tossed the remaining fruit aside and disappeared in flight. She heard his bare feet slapping down the steps and his shout echoing in the court: “Assad! Assad! It is true what they say about Byzantine women!”

  Within minutes, Jamil came racing back up the outer steps, followed by Assad, who labored with heavy tread, puffing his indignation all the way up. When he saw Helena he gasped and blustered his alarm.

  “You cannot behave this way! You must never go out without proper chaperon. You must show grave honor to the most noble Prince Kalid.” He waved his finger under her nose. “Obedience, obedience!”

  Helena pretended indifference. “Nay! Unless the Byzantine is brought to me this night, I shall take to the armory myself to find my bodyguard.”

  “Ai, ai!” he nearly wailed. “And disgrace the son of the emir? The greatest of warriors? The auspicious prince?”

  Helena folded her arms and raised her head. “I wish to speak to Ma’sud Khan.”

  “He cannot come at this time!”

  “Then I will see the physician who has attended my bodyguard. I want the Byzantine brought to me now!”

  “The Byzantine cannot be moved! It is the wise physician’s orders.”

  “Then my guard is alive?” she interrupted. “He is being attended, safely? Where?”

  Assad wrung his hands. “In the military quarters, but—”

  Assad could be intimidated, she could see as much, and took heart. He seemed constantly caught between pleasing her and offending the rules, customs, and regulations he must uphold. It wasn’t her ambition to harass him further, but it was the only way she could command attention in such a cloister.

  “Then I will go there at once,” she said, and her show of determination nearly convinced herself.

  Jamil appeared enthralled with the scandalous situation, and rocked to and fro on tip-toe as he watched first Helena, then Assad.

  Assad raised his eyes to the ceiling, folding his hands together nervously. “Your Loveliness, I beg of you—”

  “Jamil! Bring me to the military sleeping quarters.”

  “At once, Mistress,” his voice cheered. ”I will get your cloak.”

  “Wait, Your Loveliness, wait,” Assad said with a sigh. He sat down hard on the seat, one hand held to his chest.

  Jamil produced a feathered fan and with a deep bow cooled him, enjoying the scene. Assad mopped his brow. “May Allah see my burdens,” he groaned.

  “Allah already has many burdens of his own,” Jamil cautioned. “Master Assad, shall I hasten to the wise physician and bid that he bring to our mistre
ss her bodyguard?”

  “Yes, yes! Go, and may your feet fly with the wind.”

  Jamil glanced at Helena and smiled. She covered her smile and turned away.

  “Wait, Jamil, you should not go alone,” Assad said pushing himself to his feet, evidently changing his mind. “I had wisely come with you.”

  Some time later she heard them returning. The chief eunuch was trying to explain his ordeal to the pompous physician as he rushed along beside him trying to keep up with the physician’s long stride. Jamil hung on every word spoken, watching the two men with the excitement of a duel.

  “It is not wise that he be moved!” the physician was stating. “If he bleeds to death I will be held responsible to the Emir!”

  The physician swept into the room with gray brows furrowed, seeing the female who dared to interfere with his instructions. When his gaze collided with Helena’s determination, his lips tightened into a grim line. He was very tall and slim, wearing a smoke-blue turban and a knee-length embroidered tunic tied with a fringed silk sash. In his thin hand he carried a satchel. He stopped. His head lifted and his shoulders went back.

  “Lady Lysander, such uncomely behavior from a woman is unheard of! What will Prince Kalid say to your actions?”

  Helena’s gaze swerved to Tancred stretched out on a palanquin carried by two slaves. “Bring him into the adjacent chamber.” She led the way into the smaller room where Jamil rushed to throw back the silken bedcover. He snatched up a huge feather fan and began fanning Tancred to convince the others he should stay to view the panorama.

  “Your Loveliness,” the chief eunuch Assad cried, exasperated, “is it wise to have so ill a man here in your favored chambers? Even if he is your bodyguard from youth, but—”