The Knights Dawning (The Crusades Series)

by James Batchelor

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  William was flat on his back with the giant standing over him, sword poised. He knew this was the end. “The head of a Dawning will make an excellent trophy,” the giant roared exultantly and brought his blade down with both hands. William involuntary closed his eyes as he awaited death. But the death blow never came. Instead he heard clamoring and swearing in two languages in front of him.

  William opened his eyes slowly to see John rolling on the ground, grappling with the assassin. The giant threw him off and they both regained their feet, facing off, circling each other. William looked desperately for his weapon, but could not see where the giant had kicked it. He looked for anything with which to defend himself, but before his search yielded any means of defense, his plight was noted by others on the battlefield. A small group of farmers began to push through the melee in order to reach William while he was vulnerable. John saw what was happening even before William was aware of just how dire the situation was about to become. John wanted to rush to his aid, but was locked in a heated dual with this man whose size was proving to be a problem, as he was even bigger than John.

  ”Richard!” he shouted, his voice cracking with the force of the sound, “Thomas, get William! Get William!”

  Hearing this, William, who was still on his hands and knees in search of a weapon, looked up to discover that he was being closed in on while still completely defenseless. He searched desperately for anything he could use to defend himself but to no avail. Though this once-peaceful fallow field was now littered with bodies, weapons, and armor of all shapes and sizes, this particular patch of ground was barren. William cursed his luck. A hundred dead men on the field and not one of them had dropped a weapon within his reach.

  Still on the ground, William began frantically looking for an escape. But he could not risk getting too close to any enemy soldiers, for if he was attacked, he would be helpless. What are you even doing here? He found himself wondering. In the training yard war was a sport, a game where he always tried to be faster and better than the other opponents that he repeatedly challenged until he learned their weaknesses. He could afford to attempt overly elaborate moves, for if he failed it only cost him a match and a tongue lashing. But this was no sport. It was not fun, and William knew fear he had never imagined in the safety of the training yard.

  Three angry-looking rebels were striding purposefully toward him, weapons ready. John had his hands full with the giant, and neither seemed to be gaining the advantage at the moment.

  William climbed slowly to his feet to face his destiny. He was not sure what he was going to do, but if he was going to die, it was not going to be crawling around in the dirt like a dog.

  He felt faint as he got to his feet and noticed his whole left arm was covered in blood from the gash the giant had inflicted. The world swam before him, and he felt nauseous. He wanted to lie down, but instead assumed a fighting stance, standing in profile to the approaching foe to create a smaller target. He spread his feet wide, knees bent slightly and tried to exude a strength and a confidence he did not feel.

  The first of the three farmers came into range, and William leapt forward and slammed his foot into the farmer’s unsuspecting stomach, taking the rebel off-guard. He doubled over and stumbled backward. But the exertion of the strike sent the world swimming for William even worse than before. His knees gave way and the ground came up and hit him in the face. He could feel darkness closing in as the farmer he had just hit straightened up, angrier than before. The farmer’s two friends caught up to him and advanced into William's dimming peripheral vision.

  Then Richard was there, hamstringing one of them as he ran from behind to interpose himself between William and the enemy. Unfortunately, with him came another complement of men that he had been engaged with when he was called to come to William's aid. He was also now in the very disadvantageous position of being limited in how far he could move about the field lest he leave his younger brother vulnerable. If he stepped aside too far, he would expose William to danger, but if he stayed put, he was trapped.

  The first person that ventured too close to him got a section of his neck cut out and collapsed in a bloody mess. Recognizing their advantage, the seven men began to coordinate their movements with each other. They reasoned that he could not defend against them all at once.

  William’s vision was blurring and the blackness was pressing in around him. He blinked and could scarcely open his eyes again. Then Thomas and Henry were there, standing shoulder to shoulder with Richard, and now John appeared and they formed a protective ring around their fallen brother. If anyone was going to get to him they would have to cut through all of the brothers first.

  The greater portion of the remaining rebels concentrated their force on this small cluster of brothers. They rushed them, and there was a great clashing of steel as blackness closed in on William…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “When will I meet these friends of yours?” John asked, not quite suspiciously, but annoyed that he was obviously being put off.

  Anisa smiled at him and patted his hand. “Why John,” she said. “If I did not know better, I might think you jealous.”

  “Why would I be jealous?” he demanded, sounding more defensive than he meant to. Anisa made her face appear slightly injured, and John quickly backpedaled. “I only mean that if I am to rely on others for my ascension to power, I would like to know them and know what their interest is in my success.”

  Anisa’s hurt expression only deepened. “Do you consider my motives suspect as well?”

  “No. I know you are a true friend to me,” he said quickly. “The only friend I have left,” he muttered to himself, but Anisa caught it.

  “Then you think me incapable of looking after your interests?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then you intrinsically do not trust us, as we are Saracens?”

  “Now you know I do not share in my countrymen’s prejudices,” he said defensively.

  “So you do trust me, then?”

  “Of course I do!” John assured her, sounding not entirely convinced himself.

  “Then trust me when I say you will meet them soon enough, Sir Knight.”

  “It matters not, lady,” John said gallantly. In truth, he was so relieved to not be the object of her anger that he swung to the opposite extreme. “I know that you are a better custodian of my welfare than I myself am.”

  She gave him a warm smile and touched his face. It thrilled John when she touched him, and she had been touching him with increasing frequency. “Where did you get this scar?” she asked, touching the jagged line on his chin that he had received at the hands of his brother so many years before.

  “You know,” he said looking into her eyes, “I don’t really remember.” John’s heart was beating fast at being so close to her.

  Anisa shrugged and started to depart. On impulse, John pulled her to him and kissed her solidly. Anisa resisted at first, but then melted into his embrace and returned his kiss passionately. After a long time, she disentangled herself and stepped back with a mischievous smile.

  Wordlessly she disappeared into the trees to meet her friends. John resisted the powerful urge to go after her as he watched her disappear into the night the way he had so many nights before. But now he knew. He knew that her affection for him was not simply platonic. She was interested in him as a man, too, and that changed everything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Anisa snatched a sprig of pine from a tree and began nibbling on it. She was desperate to get the taste of swine out of her mouth. She had made many sacrifices for her people: she had forgone all chance for a normal life, she had done many things she preferred not to remember; but of all of them, this was testing her the most. This was trying her not just physically and mentally, but emotionally as well. But, she reminded herself, that is why this would be the most rewarding of all.

  “How long can you keep that up?” a voice came to her in th
e darkness.

  “As long as it takes, Khalid,” she said, not the least bit surprised as a tall, dark-robed and hooded figure fell into step beside her.

  “I cannot stand to see his hands on you. My blood boils to dispatch that miserable Christian!”

  “And destroy all we have worked for?” Anisa rounded on him, her eyes blazing in the moonlight.

  The corners of Khalid’s thin lips turned up behind his black beard as he looked down at the beautiful woman. “Would you put a dagger in my heart?” he asked.

  “If you hurt John Dawning,” Anisa said neutrally. “You best pray that I finish you off before Amir finds you.”

  “Speaking of Amir,” Khalid said, changing the subject abruptly and resuming his walk toward the cave they had been using for their meeting place. “We have received word from him.”

  Anisa breathed a sigh of relief and was surprised at how tense these meetings with John were actually making her. “It’s about time!” she said. “What word?”

  Khalid, gliding silently beside her, like death himself in his dark merchant robe, was silent for a moment. “He says the message has been delivered and we should do nothing until the Dawnings have departed.”

  “Nothing until the Dawnings have departed?” Anisa demanded. “And what do we know except that John Dawning will accompany them?”

  Khalid looked down at her, his hood a mask of shadow in the darkness. “I’m sure someone with your unique… charms will find a way to convince him to remain behind.”

  They reached the cave, and Anisa looked around at the four other men present in the dim light of a single-hooded lantern. Each of them was stationed around the countryside, acting as various merchants, servants to nobles, and even vagrants. They were all united in their efforts and were focused on the same single goal. “What news?” she asked simply.

  “Nothing from Braddock,” said Rafiq, the personal servant of Baron Braddock. “The fool continues to bluster incessantly about the Dawnings and how he cannot wait to cross swords with them; but then he refuses to act."

  “Mmm, that was Amir’s report as well,” Anisa confirmed. “What do you think it will take for him to be convinced to move against them?”

  “A sure thing,” Rafiq shrugged. “For all that fool’s blustering, I believe he is genuinely afraid of these ridiculous Dawnings.” There was a ripple of laughter through the cave.

  “Enough!” Anisa barked suddenly, and the laughter died away. “Make no mistake about this, the Dawnings are men to be feared. Their father rode at will through all of Damascus and the Holy Land. Each of them is cut from that stock, and each of them in his turn has proved himself worthy to be called a Dawning.”

  “If they are such men of power,” Rafiq challenged, “why choose this family on which to execute this plan?”

  “Though fierce warriors, the Dawnings are replete with vices and weakness that make them easy to exploit. Each one is stubborn and proud, and a great rift has opened in the family. That is the weakness we are here to exploit. Do not make the mistake of underestimating the wrath of these men should they unite against us.”

  “Isn’t that exactly what Amir is laboring to prevent? Their galvanizing against us?” Najid asked. Najid was employed as a servant in Dawning Castle and was frequently privy to sensitive pieces of information.

  Anisa nodded. “That is why we must do our part to ensure they do not realize their plight until it is too late. If we can keep them divided long enough, Amir will dispatch half the family, including Richard, who is our biggest threat to John becoming baron. Any leftovers that may arise at that point will be easily dealt with.”

  “We would like to believe you, of course,” Khalid assured her in his easy, deep voice. He looked every inch the Saracen merchant that he portrayed to the locals. This cover allowed him to move from place to place as needed, interact with the locals, and hear many things. Anisa wondered how many of the locals who frequented his mobile stand of exotics would have any idea that he was a ruthless assassin. “It is only that we are not comfortable with a plan that places so many important pieces out of our control.”

  “You want assurances of success?” Anisa demanded. “Then do your jobs! Najid, they have received the message, that means they will be in council shortly. Find out what they are planning and get word to Khalid or me. Rafiq, push that great cowardly mass of a baron into action. Even if he will not directly attack the Dawnings, any disturbance he makes during this critical time will work to our advantage. The rest of you get out there and be ready to be called on at any time. When the moment comes, we may have to act quickly to capitalize on an opportunity.”

  With that they all dispersed into the trees going their separate directions. Anisa watched from the cave entrance as they all departed, wending their separate paths through the forest as they could not risk being seen together. When each had disappeared from view, she found her way to a nearby trapper’s hut that she used for shelter. There she built up a fire and removed her bulky robe that was damp from the forest. She was hanging it up to dry when a dark figure appeared in the doorway.

  “You made it,” she smiled slightly without turning around. “I feared you would not.”

  “I could not risk the others’ seeing me; I had to wait until there was no chance of my being observed,” the deep voice said from the behind her. He spun her around and pulled her to him with a passion that threatened to consume her. It took a moment for Anisa’s natural strength to surrender to Khalid’s commanding presence. But it did now as it always had in the past. And she let him take her, excited by his strength and by the danger this forbidden liaison represented.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “I knew he was too young, I knew he should not have been out there yet.” Martha Dawning’s voice broke through the darkness. William cracked his heavy eyelids to see John setting him in his bed with his worried mother looking over him in the lamp light.

  “Mother, he is fine. He just lost some blood, but he will be fine in a few days,” John assured her, only slightly trying to hide his smile at her overreaction.

  “He wasn't ready,” she reiterated, looking down at William, whose eyes were closed again. “He is so much smaller than the rest of you. I knew it was not ti—”

  “He did great. He fought like a lion! He was just unlucky, that's all. He was....”

  William drifted off into oblivion again. When next he opened his eyes, his room was lit up with the afternoon sun. The chair next to his bed was vacant, but there was a tray of food sitting next his bed that was still warm, indicating the chair could not have long been empty.

  William felt very weak, and his stomach was unsettled. He sat up in bed and picked up the bread next to the bowl of soup laid out on the tray, took a small bite, and set it back down. The emotions of the battle came flooding back in: the rush of excitement and fear, the helplessness of having to be rescued like a child. The shame of it weighed him down. His first battle was supposed to be glorious, but he was miserable. He had studied all his life to be a warrior, and yet he had to be rescued from farmers with rusty swords.

  “You're up. How are you feeling?” His mother walked into the room wearing a grey dress with black lapels and cuffs, her dark widow’s cap in place over her once dark brown hair. She had always worn very drab colors for as long as William could remember. He had only one vague memory of her in a vibrant red dress, and he could not even remember the occasion.

  William managed a weak smile for her. “You need to eat something; you have to regain your strength.”

  William didn't move as his mother took the tray from the bedside table and set it on his lap. Despite his disinclination to food at the moment, William did not want to worry her. He slowly raised his head from his hands and started to nibble on the proffered food.

  “All of Dawning Court is talking about the mighty warrior prince, you know. So when you feel up to it, you will need to appear in public.” There was no trace of the worry that filled her voice the n
ight before.

  William swallowed the bite he was working on. “The warrior prince?” he asked, then not waiting for a response, “Is everyone all right?”

  “Your brothers? Of course. They have been telling everyone what a hero you were. How you were cornered by twenty men and single-handedly fought your way out of them.” She gave him a sidelong glance as she folded some bed clothes across the foot of his bed. She was watching his reaction.

  ”Some hero,” he said, dropping his head back into his hands. “They had to carry me off the field like a child. I don't even know what day it is.”

  His mother resisted the urge to remind him he was a child and instead said, “What? You think heroes never get hurt? Heroes never lose? You think your father was never carried off of a battlefield?” When he didn't respond, she continued. “A hero is someone who gets out there and fights despite the fear and pain. Your father was often wounded, often outnumbered, but he did what he had to do, regardless of the consequences. He did not think of himself, only what had to be done. That is a hero.”

  William's father had been a great warrior in the Crusades, leading many of them for the Pope himself. He was widely regarded as a hero. He was even declared a saint after his death for his service to the Church and his many great victories.

  His family had a much different opinion of him than the public at large, however. At Dawning Court he was a harsh taskmaster, short-tempered, and occasionally even violent towards his older children. But Braden Dawning loved little children, and because William had been so young when he died, images of his father shared two places in William's memory. One was of feeling his father’s thundering hand for some wrongful deed and the other was of being bounced on his knee.