by Traci E Hall
She’d never seen such happy beasts. No mountains with treacherous trails, no crazed heathens in plumed turbans shooting at them, and all the grass they could munch. Life should be so simple. Gaston and Jacques had fallen asleep immediately, their stomachs filled with fresh fish and hot bread.
Sleep. Someday. Nodding to three French knights patrolling the area, Catherine kept her hand on the hilt of her sword as she monitored the area again and again.
Shadows, oleander bushes, single trees, nothing large enough to—
Did that bush just move?
Squinting for clearer vision, Catherine knew she hadn’t imagined such a thing. She stared harder.
There!
Her body tensed. A twig snapped, and she froze where she stood, trying to listen over her rapid heartbeat. A small animal scampered in the grass, and a bird sent out a mournful call, but the loud insects were suddenly silent. Was someone hiding in that bush? She regretted leaving her bow and arrow in the tent.
The leaves on a tall bush some thirty yards distant shook as though buffeted by a strong wind. She wet a finger and lifted it. No breeze on the still air.
The hair on the back of her neck rose as she scanned the area.
More leaves stirred.
Would the Turks dare sneak into the corral? Were they after the horses?
The three knights were on the other side of the camp. She couldn’t run and look for them without giving away her position.
She couldn’t throw her sword far enough to flush out an intruder either—if one was actually there. It could be a rabbit. Or a bird.
If she threw a rock, she would have her answer. She bent to search for stones the size of a fist.
“What are you doing?”
Her heart, already racing, stuck in her throat. “You actually snuck up on me that time,” she told de Montfer, annoyed. “I think we may be surrounded.”
“By what? Mountains?”
“I am serious. We could be in danger.”
He peered into the dim field. “I don’t see anything.”
“Those bushes moved.” She pointed to the one in the middle.
“The wind?”
She turned toward him, her hand on her hip. “What wind?” Catherine palmed the stone. If she was right, there would be one chance before pandemonium.
Standing behind her so he could see what she saw, Payen breathed out, his warm breath tickling her cheek. “Nothing is there.”
She hoped she was wrong, knowing without reason that she was right. She aimed for the heart of the bush and hit it.
A man yelped, and the bush lowered, revealing dark curls, a green turban over black brows, and a bronze curved sword.
“Mon Dieu,” Payen whispered. He pulled his sword from the sheath and ran toward the startled Turk. “Get the men!”
Her first reaction, to follow Payen into the melee, was not the right course. Her duty to protect the queen came before fighting Turks. Catherine put her fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly.
The crusaders burst from the tents fully armed. Traveling among the enemy, the soldiers were prepared to fight at a moment’s notice. They grabbed spears, arrows, and swords as she pointed toward the corral, where Payen and the Turk clashed swords. The French soldiers engaged the surprised Turks, knocking them back and away from camp.
Payen, a skilled lord with battle experience, was in his element. She left him to his duty and ran toward the queen’s tent, calling for Mamie. Her friend and fellow guard met her outside, her sword drawn and ready.
“Mamie, we are under attack. Turks in the corral. Where’s the queen?” Catherine drew a deep breath.
“Inside the tent, getting dressed. I heard you whistle.” Mamie looked in the direction of the field, hidden around a corner. “The others are awake too.”
Eleanor, Fay, Sarah, and Larissa all clustered at the front flap of the tent before coming out single file.
“How did the Turks get so close to our camp?” Sarah asked, placing a hand over her belly.
“They hid behind bushes. Our soldiers are fighting them. There were about a dozen. But who knows what waits beyond the hill?” Catherine lifted her chin as she thought of Payen attacking the unsuspecting enemy. Pride, not fear, warmed her. He knew battle strategy, and his cool head would ensure he emerged the victor. “Hopefully not an ambush. We surprised them before they could rally. They fell back.”
“How did you know?” Fay held her bow, the quiver of arrows over her shoulder. Her brown hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I walked the camp. I just felt . . . odd.” Catherine sighed, seeing their questioning looks. “I can’t explain better than that.” She looked to Queen Eleanor. “If the others will stay with you, I will get Gaston and Jacques.”
“I’ll go,” Mamie offered. “You stay here and finish your tale.” She dashed off, not waiting for anyone to tell her no.
Catherine’s body quieted in the midst of crisis.
“I would witness the battle,” Eleanor declared, helmeted and holding a sword.
“Wait.” Catherine looked at each of the armored ladies, pausing at Eleanor. They all wanted to join the fray, but keeping the queen safe meant staying away from the enemy. “It will be easier to guard you here should the Turks get beyond our army.”
Eleanor drew her sword high, her eyes flashing. “Our army will not be bested by heathens dressed as foliage. Let us go, Catherine.”
It was an order from her liege. “This way, my queen. Ladies of the guard!”
They’d not gone far when they met Mamie with Gaston at her side. Catherine’s stomach plummeted. Where was Jacques?
“Jacques followed Lord de Montfer into battle,” Mamie said.
“He said it was his place to help his lord,” Gaston repeated in thin tones. “He wanted to fight the Turks! Jacques told me to find you, Lady Catherine, but I found Lady Mamie first.”
“Good enough, Gaston.” She took a deep breath and tried to be as calm as Payen in this situation. “You did the right thing. Jacques has been training as Lord de Montfer’s squire for a long time. He knows what he’s doing.”
The boy’s gaze searched hers for truth.
She touched his shoulder. “Jacques will be fine. He’ll make sure that Lord de Montfer is fine too.”
Gaston relaxed.
Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. Now she just had to listen to her own advice and perhaps the knot in her belly would dissipate.
“Did you see any fighting, Gaston?”
“No. Our army had them screaming for mercy, but it was too far away for me to see anything good.”
Catherine blinked down at the bloodthirsty seven-year-old. “Anything good?”
“You know.” With a finger, he traced his throat. “I have bad dreams sometimes about the Turks cutting off my head while I’m sleeping. Better them than me.”
What was the pope going to do with this boy? Catherine had serious doubts the church would be the right fit. Unless Gaston became a Knight Templar. Bloodthirsty and religious.
She took Gaston’s hand. “Stay with me. We can see from afar what is happening.”
“You may stand next to me, young Gaston,” Eleanor said.
Gaston, eyes wide, nodded. “I will protect you.”
Catherine turned to hide her smile.
Once they reached the edge of the grassy area, the sun began its ascent over the mountain. Purples and oranges, pinks and gold illuminated the field. Horses chewed grass, oblivious to the few dead Turks, some still wearing leaves and twigs. Gaston remained unaffected by the carnage, understanding it was them or him.
If Catherine tried hard, she could barely make out the sounds of skirmishing, but the army, beyond a hill and around a curve, was too far away for them to help. She hoped Payen found Jacques and kept the ambitious squire from harm.
Her confidence wavered as doubt assailed her. Waiting. Waiting. What if Payen was injured, like Ragenard? Dying, bleeding from a belly
wound? Her stomach plummeted to her toes, and she swayed, ill. Shaking her head to clear the image, she said a prayer for his safety. He loved her. She hadn’t told him she felt the same. What right do I have?
“It sounds like we are winning.” Mamie grinned, her green eyes sparkling in the dawn. “Did you hear that? Vive la France!”
The women cheered, Queen Eleanor the loudest.
Catherine turned around. Where was Fay?
The sun was barely up when they returned to camp. Payen noted that the corral was clear of bodies. They’d been stacked to the side of the field. Five dead Turks. If not for Catherine and her feelings, there would be French casualties too. Instead, he and the other soldiers had chased the Turks out of the corral and over the hill. Right into a few dozen mounted heathens.
Payen grinned and stretched his sword arm. It felt good to finally catch the elusive pagans and show them how a real soldier fights. Not shooting arrows while hiding behind a rock but sword to sword. Fist to face.
Catherine and Mamie stood behind tables of food and pitchers of ale, helping Cook serve the returning soldiers.
“Well done, Lord de Montfer.” Catherine poured him a mug, taking glances at him from his head to his toes. Was that a sigh of relief? “To victory.”
“One for Jacques too,” Payen said. “He fought well today. This was the first time the Turks have tried to fight us in hand-to-hand combat.” His pulse still pounded in his ears. “We let them taste the bite of French blades.”
Jacques nodded, his eyes dazed as he accepted the ale.
Catherine looked him over next, pausing at the bloody scratch on his forearm. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t make a fuss. “Gaston, bring a wet towel.”
“How did you get that?” Gaston said, peering close.
His squire was tongue-tied, Payen realized with a burst of empathy, remembering his first real battle. Payen began the tale. “I was locked in combat with a Turk. He had to be about the size of a house, oui?”
Jacques bobbed his head and sipped his ale.
“I thought I was done for, but then Jacques tossed me my sword, which I’d dropped in the skirmish. Well, the fight was over after that. Your first taste of battle, Jacques, and you did very well.”
“Will that need a stitch or two?” Catherine said in a casual tone.
“No,” Jacques quickly assured her. “It’s fine.”
“And what of you, de Montfer? Any battle wounds?” Catherine’s smile warmed him from the inside out.
“Nothing worth mentioning.” The aches and pains would come later, after the euphoria of the fight disappeared.
King Louis sauntered over, and Mamie served him a mug. With a bruise over one eye and a huge grin, the king looked like a regular soldier. Not a sign of the cleric as he drained his ale.
“Well done, Jacques,” King Louis told Payen’s squire. “We will make a knight of you in time.”
Jacques turned a bright shade of red and nodded, staring at his boots.
“Payen, may I have a word?”
Payen followed Louis away from the group. “He did better than I in my first battle,” Payen said. “I swear I almost pissed myself.” Laughing, he looked back at his men and the ladies, all making a fuss over his squire.
“Having been at every battle with you, I know that isn’t true,” Louis said. “You’ll be knighting him soon enough. Don’t rush it. I have a favor.”
“Anything.” Payen spread his arms wide.
“Someday you will quit saying that.” Louis scratched at the hair on his chin.
“When I’m dead, perhaps.”
King Louis chuckled. “A Greek messenger arrived while we were fighting. Emperor Manuel has ships in the harbor, and we are welcome to board and purchase what we need. I refuse to haggle over price. We need to eat.”
Meaning that Louis was forced to do business with Manuel, though he didn’t like it.
“The prices are too high? Emperor Manuel has not been true to his word during this entire crusade.” Payen stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Normally, I would send Odo for supplies, but his hatred for the Greeks makes it impossible for him to be polite. They would kill him before he was through, then throw his body to the sharks.” King Louis tugged his blond beard. “Thierry twisted his ankle, so he can’t go. And the secretary is sick.”
“I will ride to the ship,” Payen said. “Arm me with a list, and I will see it done. I speak fluent Greek. Besides, I want to send my father a letter.”
King Louis released a sigh. “That would ease my mind. I trust you, Payen.” He cleared his throat. “There is also the matter of Conrad.”
“What’s wrong?” He hadn’t had the chance to discuss Catherine’s fears with Louis. He’d seen nothing untoward. “He bravely fought the Turks. Revenge, I heard him shout.”
“Conrad reinjured the wound on his back. I fear for his health. Though we argue over politics, I would see him fit. He says he is fine, but his face is as pale as a corpse.”
“Should I send Lady Catherine to him?”
She’d helped Emperor Conrad before. The opportunity might arise for her to search his tent. He could not in good conscience help her more than that.
Louis looked relieved. “Ah, the perfect solution. He won’t accept the aid of my physicians. Pride. But the lady? I can always count on you, my friend. Odo has the list.”
Louis turned to leave, then stopped, pivoting on his heel. “Have your squire pack your things while you are gone. The skirmish this morning makes it imperative we move to the Valley of Decervion. It will be easier to protect as we celebrate the birth of Christ. We’ve earned a rest.” He snapped his fingers. “I owe Lady Catherine a debt of gratitude for sounding the alarm this morning. What can I do for her?”
Payen shrugged, proud of Catherine and knowing Louis meant well. What Catherine craved most could only come from the pope. “She serves her country as loyally as I. That is all the thanks either of us needs.”
“Oh-ho, so you think you can speak for her?”
Feeling his face heat, Payen quickly amended his statement. “I cannot, no. In this one thing, however, I am certain we feel the same.”
“Was she ecstatic at your news? Did she agree to wed you and give you beautiful children?”
“No.” Payen swallowed hard. “She insists on finishing this pilgrimage. And even then, she isn’t certain.”
Louis held out his arms, his brow lifted. “She loves you?”
“I think so, though she hasn’t said the words. She is stubborn. But I can feel it.” He knew she did. Their love was as tangible as the soft feel of rabbit fur or the taste of crisp ale.
“And you love her.”
“Most definitely.”
“It is unlike you to risk anything for a woman, and yet you risk all.” King Louis crossed his arms, looking as confused as Payen felt. “Is pride the issue?”
“She wants to do the right thing by a man she feels she has wronged.”
The fact that Catherine le Rochefort was beautiful did not matter after all. It was her courage, her spirit. Her that he loved.
“Sometimes we must learn to forgive ourselves,” Louis said. “I am learning that lesson too. Though today’s victory over the Turks gives me hope we will continue strong and win Edessa. Come see me once you return from the ship.”
Payen watched Louis amble away, a thoughtful and pious man, a man he was honored to call king. And friend.
Payen had to hurry to finish his errands before dark, though he hoped to talk to Catherine about the emperor.
He spotted Lady Fay. Dressed in a sunshine yellow tunic, black-and-yellow hose, and a black cloak, she marched past the royal tents. A sword was strapped to her side, now a familiar sight on the female guards.
“Good morning, mademoiselle,” he said.
She looked up, startled. “And to you.”
“If you see Lady Catherine, will you ask her to tend Emperor Conrad? He has reinjured his back,
and she is familiar with the wound.”
“Of course.” Fay smiled.
“I am going to the harbor,” he offered by way of explanation.
“I will let Catherine know.” She dipped her head.
“Merci.”
Having taken care of that errand, he went to his tent, quickly bathed the battle dust from his body, dressed in fresh clothes, and told Jacques and Gaston to pack the tents.
At last he found Odo for the supply list. An hour or more passed by the time he rescued his black stallion from the fortified corral and rode to the harbor.
While glad to do the king’s bidding, he was even happier to send the missive to his father, describing his epiphany and letting the man know he’d have to look to his daughters for those boring grandchildren. Any children he had with Catherine were bound to be a handful.
She could make him wait all she liked or never make an honest man of him so long as they were together. He grinned and tied his horse at the post, patting his pocket to make sure he had what he needed. This morning’s victory had given him the boost he needed. He’d faced death, and his choices or lack of them were suddenly clear. In life and love, he’d been safe, observing things from a distance, far too long. Jumping into the madness felt good.
He boarded the ship, pummeled by the warring scents of spices and fish. It did not take as long as he’d feared, going down the list of supplies. “Smoked eels, salted herring, wheat, pepper . . .”
The prices for such staples were high, but Payen was in no position to negotiate.
“I hired two carts outside the dock, if you would deliver the items there,” Payen told the supplier. “And could you direct me to someone to take a letter to France?”
“Those priests are returning to Paris,” the man said, his thick, black mustache completely hiding his mouth.
“Thank you.”
Payen introduced himself to the tallest priest, anxious to be done with the debt his father felt he owed. He explained his request, his shoulders lighter as the priest nodded.
“Gladly, my son,” the priest said, holding out his palm.
Payen understood he wanted coin as well as the sealed parchment. He provided both with a clear conscience.