by K. M. Grant
In moments, the mercenaries found themselves surrounded, the archers facing alternately inward and outward, an impregnable defence from attack from all directions. Now that they were trapped, the brigands became noisier than ever. Their leader kicked away his rival and held Marissa as close as he might have held his wife. She would be his ticket out. Will hovered on the edge, unable to get near.
Kamil, still mounted, narrowed his eyes. For a moment Will was visible, then the mercenaries stopped fighting each other and turned on him. Though he swung sword and axe, Hal could not hold them off and the wagon rocked, the roof cracking under the unaccustomed weight. However, though they fought like wolves, the mercenaries’ fighting skills, dulled by drink, meant they were clumsy and soon, one after the other, they thumped onto the ground, crawling away into the undergrowth until their leader was quite alone.
The man realized at once that he was doomed and, half strangling Marissa, he brandished his dagger. Now Kamil whistled through his teeth and taking careful aim, he let his stiletto fly. It flew true as a dart, the blade almost invisible and Kamil held his breath until a flurry of red spouted from the man’s throat, soaking his beard and splattering Marissa’s hair. The dying leader’s arms shot into the air like a puppet’s. Now Marissa screamed even louder and staggered backward, but her captor fell awkwardly and brought her down with him. At once Will was scrambling frantically toward her over wood made treacherous with blood. Kamil called that he could take his time for all was well. But Kamil was mistaken. He could not see what Will could see, which was that the stiletto had fallen from the mercenary’s throat and, in the chaos of limbs, had found another mark. It was not only enemy blood that was dripping onto the grass. “Marissa, Marissa!” Will was crying. “Hal! Kamil! Help me! Oh, quickly, for God’s sake.”
Kamil was off Shihab and onto the wagon in a trice. He hauled the body of the mercenary away and dumped him over the side, uncaring that the last twitches of life were not yet extinguished. Hal already had Marissa in his arms and everybody could see that the blade was lodged between her ribs. The girl’s expression was of stunned surprise rather than fear. The only time fear took over was when she saw Will’s unsteady hand ready to pull the stiletto out. But Kamil got there first. White-faced, he pulled and when the blade emerged, scrutinized it. ‘Thank God,’ he said abruptly. “Look,” he showed Will, “the blade is almost clean. Marissa is hurt but nothing is severed. We must bind up the hole and keep her still. I have seen men with deeper wounds than this survive.” He tried to say something to Marissa but she buried her face in Will’s sleeve and held his arm as if she would never let it go.
Though Will hurried as fast as he could, it seemed to take ages to get Marissa back to the camp. She lay on a makeshift stretcher carried by four men, the wagon being too bumpy, but even so, every step caused her eyelids to flutter and her pulse to weaken. Kamil remained obstinately optimistic. “Her silk dress saved her,” he told Will as they ran. “Silk helps blades to come out smoothly. If she was going to die, she would have done so already. I know she would.” But his face betrayed a terrible doubt.
Will tried to comfort him. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “You saved her, Kamil. It was still a brave throw.” It was true, but Kamil, usually so calm and detached, grew flustered. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Will. You do know that, don’t you? I know Marissa and I are hardly friends but I wouldn’t want to hurt anybody from Hartslove. Anybody. You know that.”
“Of course I do,” Will reassured him, surprised at Kamil’s vehemence. Glancing over, he caught a look in Kamil’s eyes that he had never seen before. Only later did he remember that look. For now, all he could think of was Marissa.
By the time they laid her before the fire, she was so white that Ellie thought her already dead. Elric brought Ellie’s little trunk of medicines and she and Amal did what they could. What a dreadful, dreadful end, Ellie thought. Kamil hung back, scarcely able to look anybody in the eye. Eventually he went and stood by Hosanna. He approached tentatively, wondering if the horse would sense the darkness in his soul and reject him, but when Hosanna did not, Kamil buried his face in the fiery mane and remained there until Hal called him to some other duty.
As soon as Amal said it was safe to do so, Will wanted to get back on to the river and press on to Arnhem. News of the attack would be everywhere and others would come to try their luck. With Ellie at his side, he conferred with Hal and Kamil. Kamil seemed strangely tense but Will put this down to worry about Marissa. Ellie noticed too and spoke to Kamil privately. When Will saw the way Kamil looked at her, though this was hardly the time, he felt his old jealousy rising. He hated himself for being so childish yet he couldn’t seem to help it.
The few days it took to reach the convent were the worst Will could remember. It was a different kind of nightmare from the forced marches on crusade. At least when marching you were doing something. On the river, he stood for hours in the nose of the barge, his legs itching to feel Hosanna gallop underneath him. Never had a journey seemed so slow. And then, on crusade, Will had not been in charge. Any mistakes could be blamed on others. Here, everybody looked to him and though Hal and Kamil were always there to support him, it was on Will that the final decisions fell. Elric’s unbounded confidence in whatever Will judged to be best felt like the heaviest of burdens. “How on earth do I know?” he found himself snapping when Elric asked an innocent question and then hated himself for stamping out the spark in the boy’s eyes, even though it never took long for Elric’s cheeky optimism to re-ignite. Will wanted to confide his fears to Ellie yet he held back, torturing himself as he watched her trying to draw an increasingly silent Kamil back into the companionship they had all once enjoyed. Why was it, he thought, that love could be both the best and the worst thing in the world? His love for Ellie had destroyed his relationship with Gavin and now it was eating away at his friendship with Kamil. He tried to imagine his father scolding him for being so silly and stayed for hours beside Hosanna. Though the horse continued to be worryingly sickly, his velvet breath could still soothe. On the rare occasions that Will slept, it was on the straw at Hosanna’s feet.
Marissa was just about conscious when at last the walls of St. Martin’s could be glimpsed, rising steeply up about a mile from the river and Will gave orders for the wagons to be disembarked on the wide landing stage. Ellie touched his hand as they followed the horses being led ashore. “Remember that Marissa asked to come,” she said softly. “Whether she recovers or not, it was her choice.” Will’s hand burned though Ellie’s fingers were freezing. He did not trust himself to reply.
It was not until they were almost inside the convent walls that Marissa realized where she was and then she gathered together all her strength, rolled over on her wooden stretcher, and became violent with agitation. “No, Will, no! Don’t let them take me.”
Will ran to her. “Never mind about anything else, Marissa. The nuns can help you. You’re hurt.”
But Marissa would not listen. Ellie was quickly by her other side. “Don’t be silly, Marissa,” she told her, “you’ll die if you struggle. You’re bleeding!” But Marissa ignored her. “I’m not ready, Will,” she begged, her voice high and pleading. “Don’t leave me here. Please don’t leave me. If you do, I’ll certainly die.” Her face, already ghostly, crumpled like tissue paper.
“They are just going to look after you, Marissa.” Will gave panicky reassurance, almost undone by her terrible distress. “The nuns aren’t your enemies.”
“They are, they are,” sobbed the girl.
They reached the gate where the prioress was waiting with Hal. She was pleased at the thought of an addition to their numbers and cautioned Will. “It is often like this when novices first come,” she said, her smile sweet but steely. “Best not to listen too hard. Let us take care of her and patch her up.” She summoned six lay-sisters to take the stretcher from Will’s men. “You go to our guesthouse. You can see the young lady again later perhaps, when she is calmer.�
�� Before Will could reply, Marissa was gone, her screams fading as the door of the reception hall closed behind her.
They did not see her again for several days for her fever raged high and even Elric looked worried. To steady himself, Will concentrated only on Hosanna. It was still a mystery to him that his horse had sickened so, but he put it down to some kind of ship’s disease. Often, when Marissa’s cries grew unbearable, he would find Ellie, too, hiding in Hosanna’s stable, usually bearing a basket filled with all manner of medicinal herbs. Hosanna stood patiently, eating out of their hands. These moments were inexpressibly comforting to Will. There was something about tending the horse together that smoothed the wrinkles from his heart and, despite Marissa, helped him to feel young and hopeful again. Ellie understood this, but said nothing, though she wanted to. With Marissa so wretched, to speak to Will about their own feelings would have felt like crowing. Though she knew that Marissa would never have shown such consideration had their roles been reversed, Ellie still resisted. There would be a right time, she knew that for sure. One day it would come and she wanted it to be perfect. Nevertheless, with her remedies gradually dissolving the glaze from Hosanna’s eyes and with the red horse’s coat beginning to shine under Hal and Elric’s grooming, she allowed herself, very occasionally, to hum one of Old Nurse’s tunes.
Kamil, however, could not be happy and grew more and more uncomfortable within the convent walls. When he should have been planning, his head was filled with images of the mercenary he had killed. At least it looked like the mercenary from behind. But when Kamil mentally rolled him over, it was Ellie’s face he saw and his scalp would prickle with dreadful premonitions. At such moments, he forced himself to think of Saladin and even his dead father and mother. Surely he could both save his people and make sure that Will and Ellie were safe?
One morning, as the bells tolled to summon the religious to Matins, he woke Amal. The silver, Kamil had decided, must be stolen before the German guards took over at the border. Will kept his soldiers constantly on alert but he had a limited number. Once over the border, the imperial troops would be many and much more heavily armed. “We will need decent men who will obey orders,” Kamil said over and over again. “No blood must be shed. They must meet us just before the border dressed as German soldiers. If Will thinks they are imperial troops, he will hand the money over without any questions. The Hartslove soldiers will then leave. They are not going to travel all the way to the imperial court.”
“And the Earl of Ravensgarth and Mistress Eleanor?” Amal sounded as if he really cared, which in his own way, he did.
Kamil clasped his fingers together. “Is it better to take them with us or leave them, bound but safe, for the real imperial soldiers to find?” It was a question of the utmost importance. “They must not be suspected of treachery, Amal. King Richard and the emperor must be left in no doubt that Will is innocent of any wrongdoing.”
“I will find a way,” said Amal, his voice confident and comforting. He was glad, however, that Kamil could not see his face, for it was full of neither confidence nor comfort. How complicated this task was turning out to be! Enemies should be kept at arm’s length, for once you grew closer to them it was impossible for your heart to remain completely cold. Sometimes Amal wished he could slink away. Yet he could not falter now. He had his own family, living under the Old Man’s shadow, to consider. “You must trust me, Kamil,” he said softly. “Have I let you down before?”
He jumped as Kamil pressed his arm. “You have not,” the young man said. “Now, we must also send for a ship to meet us down on the French coast.”
“Yes,” Amal answered, relieved, “there will be no difficulty. The ports are full of Saracen brothers. I will send ahead for what we need.”
But Kamil was still unhappy. “I don’t know, Amal. Can we really be sure Will and Ellie will be safe?”
Amal’s voice came back, thinner this time. “You must not worry. I know this is not easy. The trouble is that you have been so long among the Christians your loyalty is divided.”
The barb stung. “My loyalties are not divided,” Kamil said at once, “but I am not a barbarian, who lies and steals without scruple. I know what I must do. But I also know what I must not do.” He lit a candle and Amal could see the skin over Kamil’s cheekbones drawn tightly enough to tear. It was then that the old Saracen realized just how effective the Old Man’s punishment was.
When Marissa was fit to be propped up, the nuns made a sickroom in the visitors’ lodgings. Then Will went in to sit with her, with Agnes, a gentle woman glad to have news of Abbot Hugh, as a chaperone. Marissa was very frail. No longer weeping, she seemed smaller, somehow, as if she were crumbling away from the inside. She refused to see Ellie and frequently declared to both Will and the prioress that she refused to take the habit. Will did not know how to answer but the prioress was quite ready. “Men have died to get you here, my sister,” she said serenely, with Agnes nodding in the background. “God must want you very much.” She took no notice whatsoever of either Marissa’s tears or her curses.
By the Feast of All Saints, Marissa was on her feet again and Will knew there was no reason to delay their journey any longer. Hosanna was now fully recovered and Richard would be getting impatient. He dreaded telling Marissa and left breaking the news until the evening before their departure, when he took her to Hosanna’s stable, chivvied Elric out, and hung up a lantern. The horse’s coat reflected dappled burgundy. To give himself something to do, Will began to brush Hosanna’s shoulder with long, sweeping strokes. “We are leaving in the morning,” he said. He could think of no way to dress up this news so that it would be less bald. He braced himself.
However, Marissa said nothing, only pressed her palms against Hosanna’s star.
Will went on nervously. “We have to get the ransom to Germany as soon as we can.” Marissa still said nothing. Will stopped brushing. Nerves were hopeless. He must be bold. “What is it you really want, Marissa?” he asked her, then added quickly, “and don’t say me, because as I’ve told you a million times, that’s impossible. I know I said there was no going back, but do you want to go home? Perhaps, if Marie marries Hal, you could go and live with them.”
He began brushing again so that he did not have to look directly at her. She made him feel horrible and he couldn’t understand why, since he knew he didn’t love her except as he supposed he might have loved a sister, had he ever had one. Marissa made him wait but she answered in the end. “I don’t want to go with them,” she said shortly, “and if I go back to Hartslove, I’ll turn into Old Nurse.”
“I think that most unlikely,” said Will, trying to lighten things.
Marissa began to plait Hosanna’s forelock. The horse pricked his ears toward her but shifted away so that she dropped his forelock and started on his mane. The strength of the long, smooth hair as she neatly divided it up and wound it around her fingers made her unexpectedly honest. “I’m just a misfit, Will,” she said at last. “I don’t really belong anywhere. Even if I had lands, or even if you were to give me a dowry, I still don’t want to marry any of the people who might want to marry me. You know the truth, Will, even if you don’t like it. If I can’t marry you, I don’t want anybody else. That’s how this whole convent thing began. It seemed the only option—and it meant I could be with you at least a little longer.”
Will leaned against Hosanna’s flank. “You make me feel so guilty,” he said, “and that’s not how I want to remember you, Marissa. When you’re not goading Elric or being contrary, you’re as strong and brave as”—he was going to say Ellie but just stopped himself, and although Marissa knew, she did not want to bark at him now so she let it pass—“as the best of us.” Will began to brush again and was suddenly quite sure what he should say. “God needs people like you in places like this, you know. I know I said you wouldn’t make a good nun when we were at home, but you could, if you wanted to, and although ordinary nuns may not count for much, abbesses do.” He looke
d directly at her now although he never stopped brushing. “It would make me very proud to think of you as an abbess, running a convent and frightening the bishop.” He smiled uncertainly and Marissa smiled wanly back.
“I would like to count,” she whispered, “it’s just that I don’t feel called by God.”
“Perhaps the prioress is right and that will come,” said Will slowly. “It might, Marissa, if you let it.”
Marissa’s smile disappeared. “I don’t want it to,” she spoke loudly. “I want to choose what I do, Will, not just settle for something to make you feel better. It’s—” she stopped. “What’s this?” She peered at Hosanna’s neck. “Elric should take more care,” she said sharply. “He has nicked Hosanna with a knife.” She pushed Hosanna’s head around so that the nick caught the light. Then she gave a small exclamation. “How strange! Look, Will. It’s the same shape as the scar between my ribs.”
Will peered closely. “Are you sure?”
Marissa nodded. “I’m quite sure,” she said. “It’s that triangle shape, the shape of Kamil’s knife. Does Elric have a knife like that, too?”
“No,” said Will slowly, “he doesn’t.” He let Hosanna’s mane drop. Outside, the air was suddenly full of the bells for Vespers. The sound disturbed the bats and as one darted down, Marissa seized Will’s hand, the scar forgotten. “If I refuse to stay here, will God punish you to punish me, Will? I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.”