by K. M. Grant
Kamil dismounted and helped Ellie on, telling her how the mare disliked too tight a rein and how she must sit for better balance and security. After a while Ellie rode off, alone, toward the castle. Will hesitated, then jumped onto Hosanna and caught up. When the two horses were side by side, Ellie turned and her face seemed lit from the inside. “Oh, Will,” she whispered, stroking the proud silver neck, “It is like riding a piece of silk.”
“Remember Elric,” Will said shortly. “She may feel like silk, but she’s dangerous, too.”
But Ellie was in no mood for caution. “Of course, Earl William,” she said demurely, then her face dissolved into a wide grin, “only last one at the table gets rats’ legs for dinner!” At her command, Shihab shot toward the castle, with Hosanna thundering beside her. Once in the courtyard, Will and Ellie tumbled off and Ellie picked up her skirts and ran. When they both banged their fists on the table at the same time, Will took this as a good omen.
The next day, with Elric waving wanly from his window, Kamil, Will, and Hal, together with half a dozen men at arms, left Ellie and Alan Shortspur in charge of the castle. Hosanna and Sacramenta strode out strongly together with Hal on Dargent just behind. Many knights saved their warhorses or destriers only for battle but the de Granvilles were unfashionable and didn’t care who knew it. Will always rode Hosanna and this morning, when the last winds of summer were blowing lightly over the heavy leaves, he rejoiced in his horse’s supple strength. How lucky he was!
Once they reached the bigger, more well-traveled route that led eastward, Will gave Hal charge of the baggage wagon while he and Kamil abandoned the road for the heathery moor and soon the two red horses were leaping from tussock to tussock like ballet dancers. They would speed ahead to Whitby because the quicker they got there, the quicker they could assemble their portion of the ransom and begin to prepare for the long journey to the imperial court. On this perfect day, with the horses chasing the streaking clouds and racing over the springy turf, Will was suddenly, wildly happy. He and Kamil shared their food and dared each other to leap over the ditches and streams. Though anxious to expedite his business, Will felt sorry when they arrived at the abbey and not only because the abbot fussed about like an old woman, relieved that Will and Kamil, being young and persuasive, would find it easier than he did to part people from their money.
Kamil spoke to Will just as normal, but every day now, and most nights, he found himself dreaming of two things: Ellie and his home. When Richard was ransomed, he would speak to Ellie alone and tell her that his time in England was over.
7
Back at Hartslove, Ellie was busy. There was much to prepare before Will and Kamil returned and they all left for Germany. Marie and Old Nurse, nursing Elric between them, sorted out food and linen while Ellie looked to horses and wagons, armor and weapons and made up a small trunk of the medicines they would carry. It pleased Ellie very much to do this. She particularly liked the rattle of the armory keys. Marissa hung about, getting in the way and pushing Ellie’s temper to the limit.
In the afternoons, Ellie went to Shihab. The silver horse resented being left behind and showed it. It did not help that at first Ellie was too busy to ride. However, once the organization took shape, she ordered the groom to saddle up the mare. Their first outing was not a success. Shihab was bolshy and either bucketed about or refused to move at all. The second day, scarcely was the mare ready when Amal appeared as if from nowhere, making Ellie jump. He bobbed and bowed as Ellie mounted. “Brave—alone?” he ventured.
Ellie did not like being patronized. She gave him a regal look and rode down to the jousting field more quickly than she meant to. Today the silver horse was quite different, pulling hard and always wanting to bend in the direction the others had gone. She was no longer silk but steel, tense and hard. Ellie had difficulty keeping control and wished she had brought a switch. That was what Kamil had said: The mare had to learn who was master. Still, she would not give up and battled on, occasionally fearful that Shihab’s sudden, twisting wrenches would unseat her. She remembered Will’s warning and unwelcome pictures of Elric flashed in front of her eyes. She was just wondering how long she could go on when she noticed Amal had followed her and was watching her struggle. She clamped her knees tighter into the saddle.
Now Shihab began to buck, great rhythmic heaves, and Ellie was pitched violently up and down. But she couldn’t give in now, she just couldn’t. Then Amal approached and shouted at the horse in Arabic. At first Shihab took no notice, but as she grew tired, she pricked her ears and listened and, with Ellie’s white cheeks pink with humiliation, the old man was at last able to take the mare’s reins and lead her about until she was quiet. Ellie did not know what to say, but Amal seemed to expect nothing. He simply showed her how to hold her reins more delicately and then touched her legs, light as a bat’s wing, to show her how to use them more effectively. He neither smiled nor spoke. He simply made signs and nodded or shook his head. Despite herself, Ellie began to follow his instructions, and to her delight the mare responded. Soon the mare seemed docile as a lamb and Amal stood back. Yet even as she rode, Ellie remembered how Hosanna disliked Amal and tried to maintain her reserve. It was impossible. With the red horse away, there was nothing at all to keep her suspicions sharp, and by the time Ellie had finished riding, Amal had vanished. The next time Ellie saw him, he was sitting by the fire reading. It would have been rude not to acknowledge him, so she nodded. He nodded back but did not try to be her friend. In spite of herself, Ellie could not help respecting him for that.
The following day, when she took Shihab to the mounting block, Amal was with her again, and again he helped her. They fell into a pattern, which both, by instinct, kept secret. At noon, Ellie would ride far away from the prying eyes of Marissa, a recuperating Elric, and Old Nurse, with Amal riding a courser behind her. It pleased them both when he began to teach her to ride short, Arab length, and to show her some riding tricks. The only thing Amal regretted was getting carried away one day and revealing that even an old man could still throw himself off without injury and how to train a horse to wait so that the rider could vault on again. Ellie loved the idea of this although it took her a few days to muster enough courage to try it herself. She practiced on a chair in her room and then took Amal by surprise by doing it at the walk. It was an inelegant but admirable start and soon she could do it with ease, only occasionally hurting herself. Now she wanted to learn how to sweep somebody up from the ground, something she and Will had once spent a whole summer trying unsuccessfully to perfect with a fat packpony. Amal could hardly not show her.
In the afternoons, when the horses were resting, Ellie took parchment and quill and made him teach her to write Arabic letters, pointing to various items—saddle, tail, mane, stirrup—and repeating the Arabic word. Amal did not like this at all, for it seemed to spell danger rather than pleasure. But Ellie made it impossible for him to refuse, and it both alarmed and thrilled him when she proved to have a quick ear. One morning, she greeted him in Arabic and his heart leaped, the Old Man temporarily forgotten. Cautiously happy, he began to look less gaunt and his cheeks filled out. He even taught her a little about the medicines of his own people and Ellie drank it all in.
Old Nurse was not fooled for long and scolded Ellie soundly. “It’s not right for a good Christian girl to spend time with one of those Saracens,” she muttered darkly. “It’s not natural.” But Ellie ignored her, and at night practiced her letters with meticulous care. She carefully inscribed Shihab’s name as Amal had taught her and thought that one day she would show Kamil.
In the great hall, tucked into the space he had made his own, Amal sat up late reading his Koran. Now when he took out his little book during the night, he would turn first to his daughter’s page. Perhaps she and this Christian girl were alike. How would he know? It was when he closed the book that the Old Man’s dedication would catch his eye. Then his cheeks would grow taut again and he would bury the book away. He was as conte
nt as he could be but he knew this could not last. Soon, even though thousands of miles stood between them, the Old Man would send him a message. All Amal had to do was wait.
He did not have to wait long. Just before Will and Kamil were expected back, a traveling silk merchant appeared. Ellie had him spread out his wares and she, Marie, and even Marissa exclaimed over them as they held the cloth against the light, imagining beautiful gowns. When Ellie sent him away, regretting that she could not buy more, she did not show him to the gate herself, so she never saw how discreetly he slipped something into Amal’s sleeve as they passed on the steps or witnessed Amal start with surprise. Only when he was quite alone did Amal unroll the parchment and begin to decipher the crude code. If he had any doubts as to the letter’s authenticity, they vanished when he lifted it close to his face. Though it had come through many different hands, it still carried the scent of the Old Man’s oranges. Amal brought the candle very close as he worked and one name caused him to blink. He had not expected it. It seemed that Kamil’s punishment was to be part of a greater plot, the details of which the Old Man was divulging little by little. As Amal read on, he pulled his cloak more closely around the angles of his frame. He did not like what this task was turning into. But the smell of the oranges lingered, and through it Amal could see the Old Man’s currant eyes and hear his voice. He sighed as he went to the fire and watched the parchment smoulder and shrivel into nothing. When all this was over, he would insist on retiring. Vengeance was a young man’s game.
8
Toward the end of September, as the horses’ coats began to thicken in preparation for winter, Will and Kamil clattered back across the Hartslove drawbridge. At once the camaraderie that grew so easily between them when they were away became a little stiffer. Both knew it but neither remarked on it. It was just how it was. Elric was up and about and in among his chatter it was easy for Ellie to hug her own secrets to herself, not wanting to reveal them just yet. She was grateful that Amal did not seek her out anymore once Will was back. When they met she did not slight him, but it was clear to both of them that their lessons were over.
And Amal had other fish to fry. While Will waited to hear from Queen Eleanor that he should set off with the ransom now coffered up and waiting at Whitby, Amal was exclusively intent on making himself indispensable to Kamil. He made it clear that he had little desire to return home for, as he told Kamil with apparent regret, there was nothing there to keep him. Deftly and unobtrusively, he took on the role of servant until not only would it have been rude of Kamil to reject him, but Kamil began to like him. Amal knew how to do things the Arab way. He took trouble to spice Kamil’s food and to keep his clothes scrupulously clean. Sometimes they discussed parts of the Koran, and Amal recited Islamic poetry to which Kamil listened with rapt attention. Through all this, Amal was careful to avoid Hosanna. He knew the horse mistrusted him, so he scurried about only with Sacramenta and paused, occasionally, to stroke Shihab’s nose. He grew almost invisible, so that Will and Kamil, without realizing it, often discussed the route the ransom was to take in front of him. Kamil sometimes wondered if this was wise, but Will did not think about it at all, for it never occurred to him that Amal might understand more than he let on.
When word came that the Hartslove contingent was to leave for Germany without further delay, Will asked everybody to come to the great hall and hand over his or her contribution to the king’s ransom. He had put this off until last, but could put it off no longer. Everybody, he told them, had to give what they could, and he stood, stone-faced, as all the de Granville silver was placed in a chest. Nothing was left out, not the chalices and candlesticks from the chapel; not the silver washing bowls that his mother had brought with her for her dowry; not the jewel-studded sword hilts, tankards, domestic bells, ceremonial knives, and all the presents of any value that he had ever received. All were to be given to the German emperor in exchange for the king.
Fighting back tears, Old Nurse gave Will six silver thimbles that his father had given her the Christmas before leaving on crusade. Then Hal and Marie together gently dropped in the rings they had shyly and secretly exchanged. For a long hour, the rings lay haphazardly on the top of the pile, and Will forced himself to harden his heart and not pick them out. The only thing he would not accept was Ellie’s green jasper necklace, her last, most precious relic of his brother. When she brought that forward he stopped her. “It is not valuable enough,” he said a little lamely, his eyes begging her not to argue. And she did not, but tactfully and gratefully slipped the stones into a little bag at her waist.
Next came Marissa. She did not complain as she parted with the ruby brooch, but she wanted something in return. She waited until Old Nurse had chivvied Elric to his bed after dinner, then launched her assault. It began quite simply. “Why can’t I come, too?” she complained to Will. “Why should Ellie be allowed to see something of the world whilst I have to stay here? Please let me go with you. I won’t be any trouble, I promise. Please. After all, I did give the ruby brooch and Ellie has kept her necklace.”
Ellie looked up, horrified. She would almost rather give up her necklace than have Marissa come to Germany. To her relief, Will refused point-blank. Then Marissa played her trump card. “I might as well go to a convent then,” she said dramatically so that everybody could hear. “I shall be a nun. In fact, I want to take the veil at the royal abbey at Fontevraud, and I want to do it now. If I can’t deliver the ransom, I can pray for it.” Her announcement silenced the hall. A vocation was much to be admired, even if announced in this rather unorthodox fashion. Will heard a small flutter of applause.
He did not applaud though. He laughed. “I don’t think you would suit monastic life, Marissa,” he told her. “I really can’t see you in the cloister. You’d be like a vixen among hens.” He meant it as a compliment but touchy Marissa chose to take it otherwise.
“Are you saying I am not holy? That God doesn’t want me?” she demanded, pushing her trencher away. Conversation in the great hall, which had resumed, stopped.
“Of course not,” Will replied. “I’m just saying that I can’t imagine you in a habit, telling your beads and being instantly obedient. You’re just like Elric. You argue over everything. Look at you now!”
“Well, I want to take the habit. And, as my guardian, it’s your duty to help me.”
Will began to lose patience. “Don’t be so silly, Marissa. Even if I thought this a good idea, which I don’t, I can’t take you at the moment. You know I can’t.”
“Because you have more important things to do, like delivering Richard’s ransom!” She made it sound as if rescuing the king was a game.
“Of course delivering Richard’s ransom is more important,” interrupted Ellie. “You know that perfectly well, Marissa.”
“More important than a vocation? More important than settling me in a convent so that I can pray for the king’s well-being? More important than God?” Marissa’s voice grew louder.
Kamil looked on with detached interest. Although he and Marissa had been thrown together when he had first arrived in England, they had never got on and now seldom spoke. He found her taunting, unforgiving independence too abrasive. Marissa had none of Ellie’s sweetness. But he had come to admire her. If she were a man, he would want her on his side.
“Oh, come down off your high horse,” said Will, glancing around, embarrassed for the girl. “Fontevraud is in completely the wrong direction for us. It will add weeks to our journey. You can’t expect us to trail down to Anjou just for you. Not at this time.”
But nobody was surprised when Marissa refused to listen. She went on and on, with no respite. Will tried to reason with her. He even told her that once Richard was home and things were more settled, he would give her such a dowry that husbands would come flocking. Still she refused to give up. “I don’t want your charity,” she said, setting her jaw. “I don’t want a dowry. I want to go to Fontevraud and I want to go now. And if you refuse, Will, you will
be disappointing God, so he may well wreak his vengeance on you. How will it be if the ransom goes to the bottom of the sea in a storm cooked up especially to punish you? Wouldn’t it be better just to take me, then you can go off and deliver your precious ransom with God’s protection and my prayers? Think about it, Will. Can you risk setting your face against God’s wishes?” Marissa knew just what she was doing. Will might look completely disbelieving, but she had succeeded in sowing doubt among the soldiers and men-at-arms who would accompany him. For many of them, God’s wrath was a real and dreaded possibility. Already there were those who were looking questioningly at Will.
In the end, although it was growing dark, Will sent once again to the monastery, but this time for Abbot Hugh. He would have to sort the girl out. However, the abbot, when he arrived, was unsympathetic and blinked at Will from under his cowl. “But, my son,” he began with what seemed to him was the obvious drawback in Will’s argument, “perhaps she really does have a vocation.” Will snorted but the abbot was unmoved. “If you think you know God’s ways better than God himself, then you are foolish,” he said, making his voice unusually stern, “and whilst you are young, I did not have you down as foolish.”
“Father Abbot,” Will said, losing his temper bit by bit, “I don’t profess to know God’s ways, but I do know Marissa’s. Her sister, Marie, has settled here well but Marissa wants something she cannot have. It’s her way of causing trouble to declare, at this most inconvenient time, that she has a vocation and must go at once to a nunnery. If she does have a vocation”—Will’s voice rose triumphantly—“it won’t disappear before I get back, will it? Waiting could be a kind of test.”