William had ridden fifty yards into the trees and could not hold the body of his friend on his mount any longer. It was a dead weight now and rolled and flopped with each bounce, threatening to fall off the back or either side of his horse. “I have to secure David… David’s body,” he called to Neil. Neil flashed a sour expression at him but did not say a word. They heard the Moors crashing into the trees behind them. It sounded like they were approaching from every quarter. William's horse leapt over a protruding root, and he lost his hold of his friend's body as it bounced off the back of his horse. William started to rein in his mount to retrieve it as Neil came soaring by. He saw what was happening and grabbed onto the bridal of William's slowing mount. “Keep going, you fool!” he ordered, jerking the bridal and the horse back into a run.
They crossed a clearing in the trees, and a rope snapped up behind them at thigh level. It was wound around two trees and held by a mounted knight on either side. A moment later the fleet-footed Arabians came crashing through the trees after them, the three separate lines converging on their target. With a horrible sound the first and second line of horses hit the rope and collapsed in a terrible mass of bodies rolling and crushing each other. The horses’ cries mixed with those of their riders in an unholy noise that signaled to the knights the success of their trap. They tied off the ends of the rope and disappeared into the trees.
The Nizari lines continued the pursuit as best they could only to find arrows whizzing around them. They plinked off their armor and pierced the flanks of their generally unprotected mounts. They turned to identify a specific archer only to be assaulted from every other direction with a barrage of arrows, making it impossible to focus an attack on any one target. They were equipped only for hand to hand combat and had nothing prepared with which to return fire. It did not take the Nizari long to realize they were in a losing situation. It was only a moment later that Abdul sounded the retreat. The Nizari turned and fled from the forest graveyard as fast as they had come, several of the riders pausing only long enough to pick up now horse-less comrades.
With the Nizari routed for the moment, the last of the English knights fled the forest after the main contingent of men.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
“One of you must have tipped them off,” Bashir shouted at Ibrahim. “How else could they have known where we were? How else could they have known about the ransom?”
“I don't know how they knew those things. I do not even know who they were!” Ibrahim persisted. “Those were not our men. Were they Jews, renegades, outsiders, who? That is the important question.”
“You imbecile!” Bashir shot back. “They could be nothing more than mercenaries. What matters is who in our house has turned on his brothers for the love of lucre.” Bashir snatched a long dagger that had been stuck into the wooden table top and slowly paced the room looking closely into each face of the survivors. To a man they nervously looked at the floor and then back at Bashir for fear of looking guilty; then, afraid meeting his eyes would be construed as a challenge, they again lowered their gaze.
Bashir suddenly seized Mustafa by the hair and yanked his head back. “Why have you done this thing? You will die for your infidelity!” Bashir drew the dagger back. “Now I send you to Hell with all liars, and you will never see a pound of that silver!”
“Stop, you fool!” Amir yelled from the doorway. He stepped into the dark room and slammed the heavy door so hard it reverberated through the chamber. Amir’s massive bulk filled the landing by the door. He could not even stand upright until he had descended the three stairs to the main level. “You look for enemies where there are none while the real enemy casually strolls out of our land with our money and our erstwhile prisoner, laughing at us.” Amir brought the heavy English broad sword with the antique leaf blade crashing down on the table.
Everyone stared in silence at their leader. “They were English! The bandits were English!” The room immediately broke into a clamor of questions and murmured conversations.
Bashir stepped forward. “Why, because one of them had an English sword? The Europeans have made so many unholy crusades into our land, English weapons are easier to acquire than our own.”
“A-an-and” Ibrahim added hesitantly, hoping to ingratiate himself with Bashir without angering Amir, “I did see the knights fighting with the bandits.”
Amir rested both palms on the table, trying to control his anger. “Did any of you,” he asked in a deadly quiet voice while casting his eyes about the room, “did even one of you see a bandit kill a knight or a knight kill a bandit?”
Each of the men in the room looked at those around him to see if anyone was volunteering. “No, but—”
“Did you?” Amir roared. The room fell silent. “Well, I killed a bandit. The same one who donated this sword.” He began pacing the room, looking into each of the exhausted faces individually. “And I looked into his eyes. He had blue eyes! We were duped, and we stood by and did nothing! Instead of three dead Dawnings, we have lost men of our own and given them back the one brother who can and may make a serious claim for the throne.” Amir snatched the sword and cleaved several large chunks out of the table with the heavy blade. “This could destroy everything.”
“So what do we do, Amir?” Bashir asked his brother. “Do we go after them?”
“It’s too late for that. We have to change the plan. And we have to ensure there are no more mistakes! I will go to England personally and stick this sword into the hearts of those English dogs, one by one.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
The next evening Henry’s small band met up with Anthony, Richard, and their knight escort, as well as the large group of bandits with the chest. When Henry arrived in camp, the others were already celebrating their victory with copious amounts of liquor. William and Neil had caught up with Henry and the others earlier that day.
Anthony came forward to meet them, grinning broadly. “I cannot believe that worked,” he said slapping William on the shoulder as he climbed out of the saddle. “That could not have gone better,” Anthony continued to the weary and solemn knights.
“David did not make it,” William said simply as he handed the reins of his horse over for care. “Now, where's my brother?”
Anthony’s countenance fell instantly. “My deepest regrets, William… Richard is in my tent. He is under constant supervision. He… is not well,” he warned.
William put a hand heavy with fatigue on Anthony’s shoulder. “You performed nobly, my friend. My sincere thanks for everything.”
Anthony looked embarrassed. “It was no more than my duty,” he said modestly. William made his way immediately to Anthony’s tent while Henry began barking orders at the celebrating men. “We are not safe yet! We are still on enemy soil, and they could still be in pursuit. I want the guard at each post doubled. All other non-essential men are to bed down immediately. We leave before first light.”
“But Sir Henry,” came the protest, “we are only taking a bit of wine for a job well done.”
“The job is done when we are back in England. Then I will celebrate with you, but not before!” The men grudgingly obeyed.
“Uh, Sir Henry?” Timothy hesitated from behind Henry. Henry turned to face him. “Sir Henry, what shall we do with the chest?” Timothy was one of the knights that had been charged with the safe delivery of the chest. Two of his comrades had been in the foremost ranks on foot when everything broke loose and had been wounded in the resulting skirmish. Henry stared at him blankly. “The chest, sir,” Timothy repeated, unsure of what more needed to be said. “We were charged with its delivery, which charge we have honorably fulfilled, but now we have it back. What is our obligation?” he asked delicately.
“Bury it,” Henry ordered simply.
“Sir Henry?” Timothy asked in confusion.
“Bury it,” Henry repeated.
“But sir, all that money—”
“Is worthless,” Henry cut him off. “The chest is full of
scrap iron. You are welcome to it, if you are so inclined, but it is up to you to convey it back.”
“I do not understand. We risked our lives for scrap iron?”
“No, you have risked your life on the Baroness of Dawning Court's behalf, as a knight sworn to her is obliged to do.” Henry stepped up close to Timothy, a full head taller than he, and stared sternly down at the younger man.
Timothy took half a step back unconsciously. “But the Baroness lied to us,” he said without thinking.
“I would guard my tongue carefully if I were you,” Henry warned dangerously.
“She told us the ransom money was in there.”
“Not at all. What she said was exactly the truth. She told you Richard Dawning had been ransomed for a hundred thousand pounds sterling. All the payment that would be offered was in that chest. The Dawnings do not submit to extortion. And we do not pay the enemies of the Church from the family’s coffers.”
“But she could have told us,” Timothy protested, unconsciously taking another step back as Henry's ire rose.
“Would you truly have been willing to die for a chest full of lead? Of course not!” Henry answered his own question. “We needed men who would defend that chest with their lives, and that would only happen if it was believed to be valuable. You have done a marvelous job in protecting it, for which you may be justly proud of your feats. And I assure you, your service will not be forgotten.”
“I understand,” Timothy replied, dropping his eyes to the earth. “We will leave it here.”
“Apparently your understanding is yet lacking. You will bury it.”
“But why?”
Henry pinched the bridge of his nose with one gauntleted hand and tried to quell his impatience at being questioned. “Sir Timothy, what were our objectives on this quest? What was the entire reason of this elaborate charade?”
“One was to get your brother back safely,” Timothy said hesitantly as Henry ticked off each item on the fingers of one hand. “Two was to retain control of the chest.” Henry flipped up a second finger, still rubbing his nose with the other hand. “And three was to keep the Moors from ever knowing we had duped them.”
“Correct. Therefore, if we drop the chest here and they find it, even if they had never realized the Moor bandits were actually English knights, they will know we never had any intention of paying them. Do you wish to make our family and lands the focus of a Nizari grudge?”
“No, sir. But if I may say so, sir, it looks as though it may be too late to prevent that.” With that, Timothy walked away to find help to dig a large hole.
Henry found himself alone and for the first time pondering upon what the long-term ramifications of their actions might be. All the hours in the war room, all the long days in the saddle, all the idle discussions that passed between them, they never considered the probability of retaliation, largely because they did not think they were up against a group that was capable of moving outside of their present sphere. He now realized they were at odds with a group large enough to project their influence all the way to England. Simply returning home was no guarantee of safety. It would not be an invading army that would follow; this group didn’t work like that. It would be something much more insidious they would have to watch for... something he now feared the Nizari may be unveiling already. Perhaps Richard's kidnapping was never the goal at all but merely a distraction to remove the Dawnings and their knights from Dawning Court.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
William walked into the dimly lit tent. The only light was provided by what little sunlight filtered in through the cracks in the tent. There was a mound enveloped in shadow in the center of the floor that he took to be Richard's body. Another shadow sitting nearby quickly rose when William entered. “How is he?” William asked quietly so as not to disturb his brother.
“Not well, I'm afraid, William,” the figure in the shadows replied. William could not make out who it was in this light, but it really did not matter. “He is disoriented and confused. He does not say much, but what he does say is incomprehensible. And to make matters worse, he is running a fever. It is not too extreme yet, but given his weakened condition and the urgency to keep moving, I greatly fear complications.”
William nodded his understanding. All knights had some training in the healing arts. It was a necessary part of their training that enabled any knight to look after a fallen comrade. “Has he eaten anything?”
“Very little, and then only with much coaxing. He does not seem to feel he needs to eat.”
“You have my thanks. I will stay with him for a while,” William said, stepping up closer to the mound in shadows on the floor. “You should rest.”
The shadowy form nodded and withdrew.
William checked carefully around him in the darkness to make sure the ground was clear and sat next to Richard, leaning back against a pile of gear. He surveyed the tent as his eyes adjusted to the low light. It was not much to look at: just an old, fading tent, the white canvas walls yellowing with age. There was a pile of equipment in the corner, some of which was currently serving as William's back rest. He inspected Richard’s long form lying prone before him. Even with a blanket blurring the lines of his actual shape, William could scarcely believe this gaunt, frail figure that lay before him was his mighty brother. Richard had always been larger than life. Though William did not necessarily care for many things about Richard, he had never known him any other way. It was difficult to conceive how this situation came to pass.
Two dark circles glimmering in the darkness near Richard’s head gave William a violent start. Richard’s eyes were open and staring directly at him. “Richard?” William said quietly, sitting upright. “Are you awake? It’s me, William.”
“William?” cracked a dry, weak voice that did not resemble the Dawning men's deep, booming baritone at all.
Richard sighed weakly and pulled the blanket up to his chin. “You are not really William, of course. You are just another reminder of where I failed as a brother and as a person, no doubt. Well, I am very sorry I was not there for you.”
“Do not worry yourself over such things,” William said dismissively. “How are you feeling?”
Richard stared at him for a long time. “You really do not harbor any malice toward me?” he asked incredulously.
“Of course not,” William assured him. “Stop talking nonsense.”
“Then what are you still doing here?” he asked. “Perhaps you cannot go until I have forgiven myself.” Richard stopped suddenly, the dark, glowing orbs of his eyes growing large. “Unless you, too, are here. You, too, are in Hell.” He began to shake his head, and his voice cracked with emotion. “Oh no, not you, William. Not here. What did you do? How did it happen?”
An eerie chill crept up William’s spine as he listened to Richard's ramblings. “I do not understand, Richard. Nothing happened to me. We rescued you from the Moors. We are taking you home to Dawning Court.”
“Then you don't know? I suppose it took me a while to figure it out too,” he said to himself. “Were you involved in a big battle recently? A battle that you narrowly escaped?”
William shrugged. “We fought today and it became… chaotic at one point.”
Richard slowly moved a clammy hand onto William's. “William, if you are here with me,” he said slowly, “you did not survive the battle today.”
The chill washed over William again. “Richard, where do you think you are?”
“Why, William…” he said, a tear on his cheek glistening in the lamp light, “we are in Hell.” Richard drifted into unconsciousness again, leaving William alone with the eerie images he had conjured.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
The rain kept coming. The world was soaked and cold. Everyone had retreated to the safety of their tents to wait out the weather. Only those on guard duty and the occasional unfortunate occupant of a tent that had given way to a small flood were exposed. All sound was muffled by the sizzling rain drops bla
nketing the land.
Loneliness had settled on William, who was not ordinarily subject to the pangs of solitude. He valued peace and quiet very much and under normal circumstances he might have been grateful for the respite, but not today. Today the absence of David was palpable. He had tried his best not to think about David since that dark day, but now his mind was filled with nothing else. He felt very alone.
Even Neil had kept his distance since that day, and William was grateful for that. Neil had a curious knack for saying the wrong things at the wrong time, and William was not emotionally prepared for that. Though Neil had proved a valiant friend, David had always acted as a buffer in their personal relationship. William could not help but wonder if Neil blamed him for what happened. Of course he blamed himself, so why would Neil feel otherwise? If he had just left David in his personal detail, where he was originally stationed, he would still be here. But then someone else would likely be in his place. Did that make it less regrettable?
William sighed over the sea of questions that had no answers. Nevertheless, that did not keep him from being mired down in them for the rest of the solitary day.
In the silence of his tent, the chill pressed in. He half expected to step outside and find himself back in time. The air was the same. The rain, the smells were similar except for the sea air. There was no smell of the sea here now. Just for an instant William wondered if he could step out of his tent and find David there all those years before on that fateful trip to the seaside…
The Knights Dawning (The Crusades Series) Page 42