by K. M. Grant
Will did not try to shake his hand free. Instead, he took Marissa’s other one. “Of course not,” he said firmly. “God’s supposed to love us, not just to look for ways to make us pay if we do things he doesn’t like.”
“But we do pay, don’t we?” Marissa was more fearful than Will had ever seen her.
And he could not answer her question. “Look, Marissa, if you hate it, when the ransom is delivered you can leave,” was all he could say. “God won’t mind.”
Marissa gave a small sigh, which Will found harder to bear than anything. “Ah, Will,” she breathed, bending her head, “I did not have you down as a torturer. The only way to enter an abbey properly is to close the door behind you.” She disengaged her hands, said something to Hosanna, then slipped out, leaving Will feeling unexpectedly bereft.
The admission ceremony took place early the next morning. It was very short and simple. Marissa stood quite still as Will handed over the gold he had brought as her convent dowry. He had been generous but when he looked at Marissa’s face, his generosity seemed coarse and unfeeling, as if he were thanking the abbey for taking something unpleasant off his hands.
The girl stood like a lonely flower at the edge of the sanctuary. She did not join in the prayers offered up on her behalf, only kept her mind on the one last thing she had to do. And she knew just how to do it. As the prioress approached to lead her into the cloister, Marissa turned. Will and Ellie held their breath. Was she going to run out, screaming, at this late stage? But Marissa neither ran nor screamed. Making no noise, she walked swiftly to Kamil and plucked the knife that had nearly killed her out of his belt. She held it up high and it’s reflection caught the white of her throat. An inarticulate cry escaped from deep within Will’s breast. Marissa looked him straight in the eye, then grasped her corn-colored plait, pulled it out behind her, and hacked it off. It was a moment of such violent despair that Will almost doubled up with the shock. Marissa herself remained proudly upstanding and dropped her plait at his feet. It was only as it fell to the floor, stray strands floating free, that tears began to flow and they were not Marissa’s, they were Ellie’s. The familiar weight of her own auburn braid suddenly felt like a burden of guilt. I should have done more for Marissa, she wept, I should have done more. I could have spoken up for her. Ellie moved forward, wanting Marissa to see that she did care. It was what Marissa’s mother would have done, Ellie was sure. But it was too late. Marissa neatly evaded Ellie; wordlessly handed Kamil back his knife; and, following a porter carrying the small chest that comprised all her worldly belongings, gave one small, almost imperceptible shake of her head, and was gone.
11
For hours Will and Ellie could not stop seeing and re-seeing that little head shake. It dug into their hearts like a needle no matter how many times they told themselves that Marissa would, eventually, be content. Surely she must be. “Even somebody as stubborn as Marissa can’t be unhappy all her life,” Ellie kept saying, and was angry when Elric said he was glad to see her go. “That’s not the kind of thing any squire of mine should even think,” Will told him, backing Ellie up. Elric began to argue but Will’s face silenced him.
As Will oversaw the silver, stores, and horses being reloaded onto the barges, he almost asked Kamil about the triangular nick in Hosanna’s neck, but Kamil was deep in conversation with Amal. Will watched them for some time. His discomfort at not being able to understand what they were saying was now acute, yet eventually he moved on without interrupting. Perhaps Amal would leave once they got to the imperial court. He hoped so. He had reason to be grateful to the old man but he didn’t like him. Will found Hal instead and showed him the mark, and Hal asked Elric. Elric thought it was an insect sting. He had noticed it only after they had left the ship. Hal clicked his tongue. “You should have said something, Elric. That’s a groom’s job.” Elric looked crestfallen even though Will made light of it. “Hal’s right,” he said, “but still, it’s probably nothing.” Yet he wondered, and wondered more when Shihab picked up a stone in the corner of her hoof as she fooled about and Kamil expertly extricated the stone with his knife. The shape of it, which Will had hardly noticed before, now sent a chill through him.
Early in the morning of the Feast of St. Vitalis, the barges sailed toward the emperor’s Rhine border. Although he disguised it well, Kamil became agitated and pressed Amal more and more often for information about the soldiers who were to help him take the silver. Where were they? How many would there be? The whole scheme now seemed harebrained and when Ellie smiled at him and told him she was going to take Shihab off the barge for some exercise, and would he like to bring Sacramanta, Kamil felt dirty and dishonorable. Even the red horse seemed to look at him in a different way. Hosanna knew. Kamil was sure of it. Amal’s whispered words began to chafe his nerves unbearably. What must be done should be done quickly. What was the delay?
A mile before the actual border, Will ordered the barges to stop and pull into the bank. Heavy rain was making visibility poor and the river treacherous. “We don’t want to lose the silver at this last moment,” he told the men as, amid a few protests, he made them roll the wagons off onto dry land and posted a large guard. He was angry with the mutterers. “Look, tomorrow the silver will no longer be our responsibility and most of you will be going back to Hartslove,” he said. “You will all be rewarded.” There was a small cheer and Ellie’s heart gave a great thump. So here they were. Soon she and Will would see the king.
It was before dawn the following morning when they heard the unmistakable thumping and jingling that denoted many men riding in armor and full of purpose up the road toward the river. The Hartslove archers formed a protective barrier and Will was immediately on his guard. They were not at the border quite yet. Ordering the archers to kneel and prepare their bows and his soldiers to set their lances, he told Ellie to stay behind, then called for Kamil and Hal to flank him. The advancing soldiers were soon in sight and clearly wearing the colors of the Holy Roman Emperor. Still, Will did not relax. The emperor was impatient. Will had been told quite clearly that he would be in charge up to the border and they were not at the border yet. He strained his eyes for evidence of a trick but the banner displayed the imperial two-headed eagle, and when a trumpeter in a surcoat of the emperor’s household came to a halt in front of Will and presented him with a rolled parchment bearing the emperor’s seal, although Will could not read what was written he was reassured. The commander of the force, a thickset knight who rode heavily on his horse, waited courteously for Will to roll up the parchment again. Behind him, his men waited, too. Nobody spoke until Will, satisfied at last, sent Hal to order the Hartslove men to stand back for the new escort.
“My steward, who did the tally of the ransom and should count it out for the emperor, is dead,” Will told the commander flatly. “You are welcome to count it yourself. The wagons are not yet loaded onto the barges.”
The commander nodded. He did not seem bothered. “Traveling is full of trouble,” was his only comment. Will did not recognize the man’s accent but the imperial lands were broad and he could have come from anywhere. He turned around but what he saw stopped him in his tracks.
An imperial knight, clearly of some rank, was not talking to his own men or even to Kamil. He was talking to Amal and, from what Will could hear, he was speaking Arabic. Will frowned. What would an imperial knight have to say to an Arab servant? He looked for Kamil and saw him standing nearby. He could read nothing from the expression on his face. Will glanced about. The Hartslove men were chattering as they put away their weapons, only too happy to be relieved of their duties sooner than they thought. Elric was grinning from Dargent’s saddle. Hal was holding Shihab. Behind them, the river ran dark. Will began to walk rapidly back, unable to control a terrible shiver running up his spine.
He had just reached Hal when the chattering of the Hartslove men was eclipsed by Elric’s high voice. One of the German sergeants had deliberately tripped him and laughed as the boy sprawle
d in the mud. Livid, Elric scrambled to his feet and squared up, daring the sergeant to fight him. Ellie tried to intervene. The sergeant leered at her and said something in guttural French at which Ellie colored. That was enough. Bleating with fury, Elric launched himself at the German, fists and elbows flailing. It should have been a joke, with tiny Elric against a man who could have swatted him aside like an insect, but the response Elric got was a sword drawn and leveled at his throat. Nothing daunted, Elric drew his own short sword and began to fence, now shouting all the rude words he knew. “Nobody insults Mistress Eleanor in my hearing and gets away with it. Apologize, frog-face! Apologize!” The Hartslove men laughed to start with. Little Elric! What a lion! But when the German did not put his sword down, the farrier spoke up. “Hey, stop that,” he said, “he’s just a boy, a cheeky boy, maybe, but you shouldn’t have insulted Mistress Ellie.” The German spat and insulted Ellie again, provoking Elric to yet more foolhardy heroics. Uncertain what to do, the farrier watched until the German suddenly lunged forward and drew blood from Elric’s cheek. Then he drew his own sword. “You’ll stop that right now,” he ordered, pulling Elric away although the boy was still slicing and thrusting. To his horror, this did not pacify the German at all. Instead, he stamped his foot and immediately more than a dozen of his compatriots were in battle mode. Astounded, the Hartslove men grabbed their own arms, and seconds later a vicious scrap had broken out.
Will ran forward. “NO!” he cried. “What are you doing? This is no time to fight! Put away your swords! For the sake of God and King Richard, don’t be so stupid.” He gestured sharply for the German commander to control his men but the knight did nothing.
In less than a minute, the scrap had escalated into a full-scale riot. The Hartslove men were hesitant at first but the Germans were not. Swiftly, they spread out and with their infinitely superior numbers, surrounded the whole Hartslove contingent, including the ransom wagons. Yet still Will had not drawn his own weapon. Instead, increasingly frantic, he appealed to one imperial knight after another, pulling their surcoats. This was madness. It could not be the emperor’s wish. But they brushed him off until Will found himself almost trampled underfoot, his voice completely drowned out. Now everybody was fighting, some with swords, some with fists. He could not see either the farrier or Elric. Knocked sideways and having lost all control, all Will could think of now was getting, as fast as he could, to Ellie.
Though the Hartslove men did their best, they had no chance. Many archers did not even have time to set more than one arrow before being cut down with axe and mace. Now it was kill or be killed, and Will found his sword in his hand, hardly aware that he had drawn it. Barging through, he caught a glimpse of Ellie avoiding the German captain by swinging herself onto Hosanna. Though he knew she could not hear him, he bellowed at her to flee. Where was Kamil? Surely he was nearer and could get to her?
There was no time for chivalry. Will fought as best he could, slashing, slicing, tripping people up and knocking them over whenever he saw an opportunity. He hardly realized that he was still shouting “stop” as the twin howls of those fighting and those dying engulfed him. He lunged and parried automatically, wielding his sword like a battering ram, but even now, when he could see the blood, feel the heat, and smell the fear, he could not believe it. He took on every comer who came near yet hesitated before plunging in the deathblow to men he could not consider enemies. There would be hell to pay for this. As one man fell at his feet, instead of finishing him off, Will broke his sword. It was only when the man came for Will again that Will impaled him. The feel of the man’s flesh was hideous, quite different from the enemies Will had killed on crusade. This felt like killing his own kith and kin. Will felt sick.
It was only as he increasingly heard the cry “Allah Akbar,” and, at last, found Kamil, that Will, with a shock more violent than the blow of a lance, began to understand. Kamil was not fighting. He was being restrained by two men and he was arguing not with the German commander, but with Amal. Amid all the physical tumult, it looked extraordinary. Had Kamil gone mad? But suddenly the word traitor rang around Will’s head like a bell. Traitor, Kamil. Kamil, traitor! I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it! He kicked a German’s feet from under him. But amid the heat, the chill he had felt when Kamil had taken the stone out of Shihab’s foot and when Amal and Kamil had been conversing alone almost paralyzed him. This was no haphazard quarrel. It had been carefully provoked and Kamil had something to do with it. These German troops were not as they seemed.
Will’s paralysis did not last. Instead, an anger grew within him such as he had never felt before. The hurt would come later. He let himself go completely. Now he roared as he fought, every muscle and every sinew filled with rage so pure that his sword, which only moments before he had wielded unwillingly, could hardly keep up with his ferocity. Nobody in his path survived. He wanted to reach Kamil but that would have to wait. He still had to get to Ellie. At the edge of his vision, he saw Hal forced to abandon a panicking Shihab, and a bemused-looking Elric climbing onto Dargent. The boy had lost his sword but used the horse as a battering ram. Though Will could hardly bear to think of Elric in the midst of this, he could not help him. Dear, brave, impetuous Elric! If only he had not rushed in. But how could Will blame him? Nobody who insulted Ellie should get away with it. He just saw Elric reach down for Hal’s arm and Hal’s head rising up through a sea of bloody weapons before both disappeared. At least Hal and Elric were together. It was small comfort but the only one on offer.
He could see that Ellie was still on Hosanna and that despite the horse’s best efforts as he reared, kicked, and struck out on all sides, he was losing. Each time he shook off one enemy, another took his place. An endless supply of devilish hands were grasping at him. Snarling, Will climbed onto a wagon, then leaped from his perch using bodies and heads as a jagged human carpet in his efforts to reach them. It could never have worked but even as Will sank, he carried on clawing his way through, calling out Ellie’s name and urging Hosanna to stand his ground. Then he heard shouting and as if by a miracle the crowd parted before him. He had just a second to look up before something heavy hit the back of his head and everything was black.
It was pain that dragged Will back into consciousness. He was sure there was somebody felling a tree in his skull. When, eventually, he opened his eyes, he could see nothing and, for a terrifying minute, thought he had gone blind. But he had not. Pressure on his forehead told him that he had been thrown onto his front into a cart and it was not only pain that prevented him from moving. He had been stripped of his armor and his arms and legs were shackled together. The cart was not moving fast but every jolt seemed to find new places to bruise for Will’s only cushion was the pool of blood in which he was lying. For several minutes he had no coherent thoughts at all until, inside his battered head, the world took shape again. Ellie! Oh dear God! What had they done to Ellie? At once he began to struggle though his throat was burning and he began to choke. Then, as if from very far away, he heard Ellie speak.
“Will, Will,” she was repeating, her voice a tiny croak. “Oh, thank God. I thought you were dead, too.” She strained toward him. “I can’t reach you, Will, I can’t reach you,” she cried, her voice stronger as she beat her own shackled hands against the side of the cart, “and I haven’t anything to help you. They’re all dead, Will. Dead. There were just piles of bodies. Piles and piles of bodies. I’ve never seen bodies like that. How can people do it? They wanted to kill us all.” She shook so hard that her chains rattled. “Why did they do that, Will? We brought the ransom. We did everything right. Why did they do that?”
Will scraped his cheeks on the planks as he tried to turn his head to see her. At first his voice wouldn’t work at all. He could feel his own blood on his tongue. But he was desperate to speak. “Kamil,” he tried to say it clearly. “Kamil.”
Ellie heard what he was saying but misunderstood him. “I didn’t see Kamil’s body,” she told him, leaning forward
as far as she could. “He must have escaped. He’ll come and help us, Will. I know he will.” Her voice rose with her certainty.
Will tried to shake his head. “Not help—with them.”
“With whom?”
“Soldiers. Not emperor’s troops. Trick. Must be Saracen men.”
Ellie almost wanted to laugh. The bang on his head had made Will mad. If Kamil was with anybody, he was with them. He loved them in his way. Ellie knew that as well as she knew anything. The idea that Kamil could be behind such a massacre was as ludicrous as believing that Will had engineered it himself. “Not Kamil, Will,” she said gently. “Not Kamil.”
In the gloom, Will could see Ellie’s face shining white but she could not see his, for it was stained dark. His silence was more frightening to Ellie than any words. “No, no, Will. What’s wrong with you? What’s happened to you? It’s wicked to accuse Kamil. He’s a man of honor. How many times have you told me that? How can you accuse him, of all people, of treachery?”
For a few moments Will wanted to believe that he deserved Ellie’s scorn. Anything would be better than the truth. But the vision he still had of Kamil arguing was too vivid. He knew it was real, as real as the agony in his legs. He made a huge effort to speak clearly. “It’s true, Ellie. I saw him just before the attack. Him and Amal.”
“Amal? But Amal’s just a servant.” Ellie’s voice grew louder as her nerves began to jump like firecrackers. “I know we didn’t like him to start with but he’s just a servant, Will. Just a servant.” Her eyes seemed to take over the whole of her face as her voice petered out. She was desperately searching her memory for something to show that Will was wrong. But in all the terrible images of the past hour that she could conjure up, she realized that none contained Kamil. He had not come to rescue her. He had not gone to rescue anybody.