The Dragon and the Jewel

by Virginia Henley

  A palace servant reentered the room to usher the three men to the room where they were to dine. When he came face to face with his host, Simon found that he could not unclench his fists. It took all his control not to smash the sultan in his beautiful white teeth. In his mind he knew he had to place his wife at one side while he focused upon Selim and the goals he must accomplish.

  They sat cross-legged upon huge cushions before low tables inlaid with lapis lazuli. The gold medallion that hung upon a chain about Selim’s neck was probably worth more than Simon would be able to accumulate in ten years.

  Selim’s sly eyes had been watching for what would pass between the de Montfort brothers as they sat at such close range, but the Earl of Leicester seemed totally indifferent to the presence of Amauri. Selim was amused to see the war lord’s body servants who sat flanking him taste everything before their master did. If they suspected poison then they had no idea how desperately he wanted this truce. He veiled his eyes and forced himself to patience. He would not broach the subject until they had dined and enjoyed watching his dancing girls perform. He was impressed with the Earl of Leicester’s courage in coming with only two attendants; he had expected him to bring at least a dozen guards.

  The men in the room seemed mesmerized by the undulating rhythm of the gyrating females. Their finger cymbals clashed in time with the pounding of the blood in the men’s veins. Their transparent skirts revealed their naked bodies while their yashmaks concealed their faces, which was most erotic. When the girls, one by one, walked upon their hands and their skirts fell about their heads, it confirmed what the men had suspected. They wore no undergarments whatsoever. Selim hid a smile as he leaned toward his guest. “I offer you one of my precious jewels. Feel free to chose.”

  Simon’s eyes flicked over the women and came to rest upon the tallest. Though her hair was golden, her skin was dusky. “Have that one remove her veil,” ordered Simon. When he saw that the female had an attractive face, he nodded his head in acceptance. At a sign from the sultan, she slid to the floor beside the war lord.

  Selim knew he must broach the subject of the truce for he knew instinctively that the giant before him would outwait him if it took the rest of eternity. “I offer the return of your brother Amauri without ransom. What do you offer if I renew the truce?” he asked smoothly.

  Simon’s deep laugh rolled about the room. “I offer nothing and in truth you offer nothing,” he stated.

  “You consider the life of your brother nothing?” Selim asked.

  Simon looked squarely into Selim’s eyes. “He is worth more to me dead than alive. He is a sovereign prince in southern France … I stand to inherit.”

  Selim drained the goblet of forbidden wine he had ordered served because his guest observed no taboos against alcohol. The negotiations inched forward as Selim realized de Montfort was determined to drive a hard bargain. Whatever he offered was refused out of hand, and the war lord made a counteroffer. When Selim offered camels, de Montfort shook his head and demanded Arabian horses. When Selim offered gemstones, Simon demanded gold. Simon had drugged Selim’s wine and needed his signature on the truce documents that the emperor had drawn up before its effects were fully realized.

  Simon’s eyes flicked to an arched window to see if any light remained in the sky. When he saw that it was full dark, he knew his men would be slipping silently from the earthenware jars that concealed them. He pressed Selim for the first time. “Our terms are generous. We ask that you open trade routes that have been blocked by the Turks.” When he produced the document bearing Frederick the Great’s signature, Selim signed it immediately. Simon raised his goblet.

  Selim signaled for more wine. “The accursed Turks are a scourge upon the land. Perhaps if we joined forces we could eradicate them.” Selim fought a battle to keep his heavy eyelids from closing, but he was slowly losing that battle. Suddenly a bloodcurdling war cry filled the air and forty black-clad, knife-wielding Turks descended upon the diners. Selim’s worst nightmare had become a reality; his summer palace would be destroyed by the mad Turks. He pitched forward into blackness.

  It seemed that every honeycombed passage became filled with a panic of servants, slaves, scantily clad females, eunuchs, and palace guards. Hysterical screams and smoke spread through the halls of the palace as its inhabitants fled from the attackers’ bloodlust.

  Eleanor became aware of the pandemonium long before her chamber door crashed inward. The sound of her screams blended with others as a black-clad figure descended upon her and slung her across his shoulder. Smoke swirled in the door, but it did not hide the sight of the slumped bodies of the eunuchs who had been guarding it.

  All was confusion; the din deafening. Acrid smoke caused her to choke and her eyes to sting painfully until tears streamed down her face. Through a blur she saw bodies and blood, yet no one seemed to be fighting back. The attack had taken all by surprise and uppermost in every mind, male or female, slave or guard, was the thought of fleeing.

  The Turks’ heads and faces were wrapped with black scarves so that only their wild and terrifying eyes were visible. Eleanor was passed from one to another until she was outside in the palace courtyard. A sudden explosion sent the iron gates of the palace crashing through the air and she heard herself half sob, half scream as a black-clad giant ran with her through the dust and smoke. Her captor handed her up to a man astride a destrier, and as he did so his black sleeves fell back to expose dragons tatooed upon his forearms. Her heart lurched as she realized who had rescued her. She swiveled her head to learn the identity of the man who now gripped her so tightly and stared into the eyes of her brother Richard. “By the beard of the Prophet, Cockroach, Simon will beat you to a jelly for the trouble you’ve caused him this night.”

  When Simon de Montfort was satisfied that the summer palace at Ascalon would never again be used by the Sultan of Egypt, he stalked back to the dining salon in search of Selim. Flanked by Guy and Rolf, Simon found the enemy he sought still slumped upon cushions in a drugged sleep. They carried him to his golden throne, stripped off his voluminous trousers, and laid him across that throne like a naked sacrifice upon an altar.

  Simon de Montfort observed everything through the red haze of bloodlust. Very deliberately he pulled the chain from about Selim’s neck and secured it tightly about the sultan’s scrotum like a ligature. He intended to geld him for violating his wife. The operation was a simple enough procedure, which he’d performed on many war horses. All one had to do was slit the sac, then pop out the balls. Suddenly a mental picture of what he must look like came to the Earl of Leicester, and he felt a sickening distaste for the whole unsavory business. It was not his style to maim an unconscious man while his lieutenants held him trussed for the slaughter. He was near torn in half by his need to take revenge upon the swine who had dared to covet what was his, but he had hesitated and knew he would not go through with the abomination. His knife slit Selim’s sac to leave his mark upon the man, but he did not geld him; he left him intact. With an obscene curse he sheathed his weapon and signed for his two squires to quit the place, but not before he slipped the gold medallion beneath his belt.

  Safe once more in the rooms she occupied at the Templars’ stronghold in Jaffa, Eleanor slowly recovered from her ordeal. She quaked inwardly whenever she contemplated the moment she would come face to face with her husband. Praise God that Simon had rescued her from the fate of sharing Selim’s bed, but she knew he would be enraged over her interfering in what he called “men’s affairs.” He was the most renowned warrior of the age, and she could see his fierce black eyes and hear his deep voice demanding of her “Did you not have enough faith in me to renew the truce and effect the release of my own brother?”

  She felt shame, remorse, and repentance. She must chose her words very carefully to make him understand her impulsive behavior. Damn this heat, she could bear it no longer; and damn Henry for the sniveling coward he was to let Winchester control him. She wanted to be in her own coun
try, in her own home. She felt she could not bear to be separated longer from her first child and be forced to bear her second child in exile. With tender hands she cupped her belly and felt very sorry for herself.

  Most nights she found that sleep eluded her. When Morpheus did claim her, her dreams were marred by such horrific nightmares she was apprehensive about going to bed. She knew what would cure her. She needed Simon in the bed beside her. She needed his strong arms to pull her down to him when she started up from a bad dream. She needed his big body to cover hers and blot out the world. She needed his long, thick manroot to fill the terrifying emptiness inside her.

  Eleanor felt cold. Though the heat was stifling, a cold hand seemed to grip her heart. Her maids had informed her yesterday that Simon de Montfort had arrived with his brother Amauri. She had awaited him breathlessly, but he had not come to her. She reasoned that he would be closeted with Frederick for long hours, then when he did not come she told herself it was only natural that he would spend time with his brother, but when midnight came and went she knew that Simon would not come.

  She felt haggard from lack of sleep when she dragged herself from her lonely bed the next day. She bathed, spent hours choosing her prettiest gown, then changed three times before she was satisfied with her appearance. She was just past the halfway point of her pregnancy and had begun to show. She decided to go down to the dining hall for the midmeal of the day. She would not be able to eat a thing, of course, but she would confront her husband who would be loathe to create a scene in front of the emperor, Richard, and Amauri.

  The color of pale-yellow silk falling in soft folds about her tiny figure was most flattering to her sun-kissed skin and her cloud of black hair. Frederick came to greet her immediately. “You look as lovely and cool as an English spring, my lady. I swear you grow prettier every time I see you.”

  At the end of the hall she could see her brother talking with a large man who could only be Amauri de Montfort. Between the two men was a veiled woman. She caught her breath. Damn Richard to hellfire; he was even bringing his concubines to the dining hall now. She breathed a small sigh of relief that Simon had not yet arrived.

  When she approached Amauri de Montfort he gallantly took her hand and brought it to his lips. He was obviously cut from the same cloth as her husband, though he was somewhat older and did not have Simon’s devastating looks. His dark eyes held a teasing light as he said in heavily accented English, “You could only be the infamous Eleanor.”

  “Infamous indeed,” said a hard, implacable voice behind her. She whirled about, and it was as if his face had been chiseled from stone. He towered above her, his black eyes boring down into hers. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep himself from striking her. He knew that he could kill her with one blow. He stepped back from her, bowed curtly to the company at large, and rasped, “Excuse me.” Then he turned on his heel and quit the hall.

  Blood of God, he’s made it plain to all he cannot bear the sight of me, thought Eleanor. Her cheeks were stained crimson. She swept her brother and the veiled female with a look of contempt. “How could you?” she demanded.

  “She’s not mine,” he defended.

  Eleanor drew her dignity about her like a cloak and walked from the room.

  In the evening she tried to eat something, but she could not. She picked up a date, but the stickiness on her fingers made her shudder. Then she began to peel an orange, but its aroma was so strongly piquant, her nostrils pinched involuntarily and she knew her throat would do likewise. She poured herself a cup of wine and sipped it reflectively to calm her nerves. She felt like screaming. A storm was gathering about the de Montforts, and she knew she would not know a moment’s calm until it had spent itself.

  At last he came but Eleanor was on her third cup of wine and her mood was as dangerous as his. She took the initiative immediately. “I have never been so humiliated in my life! You did not have the decency to introduce me to your brother,” she exclaimed.

  “You dare speak of decency?” he demanded.

  “Yes I dare. I have never acted indecently in my life,” she asserted proudly.

  “Cavorting naked in the sultan’s pool is your idea of decency?” he thundered.

  “I was washing away his loathsome touch!” she cried. The moment the words were out she could have bitten off her tongue. She knew she had just confirmed his suspicions that Selim had had access to her body. All day she had rehearsed the things she would say to him and she had decided to lie, to swear to him that the sultan had refused to see her. Now she had let the cat out of the bag and she could not backtrack.

  “You will return to Brindisi until the child is born,” he stated flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. “Frederick, Richard, and my brother will be on the same ship and will see you safe.”

  Her chin went up. “And why are you not returning to Brindisi since the Crusade is over?” she demanded.

  “What gives you the right to expect explanations from me, madame?” he thundered.

  “I am your wife,” she cried, her eyes blazing.

  “Too bad you didn’t remember that little detail before you ran off to the Sultan of Egypt.”

  “I went as one royal personage to another thinking to negotiate the release of your brother,” she explained defensively.

  “Did you have so little faith in my abilities, madame?”

  “Blood of God, you were off fighting, while Richard was busy making obscene amounts of money with his endless deals and Frederick was trying to negotiate a truce behind your back. I thought there was none to tend to de Montfort interests, so I took it upon myself.”

  He looked at her with disbelief. She was so very small and he noticed that the child she carried was beginning to show. “Sit down,” he directed, “while I try to get something through to your female brain.” His voice had gone quiet and she knew better than to disobey him. She sat down upon a divan and curled her feet beneath her.

  “I am aware of the fact that you are a princess, but even if you were a queen or an empress I would still be master of my own house. While I live and breathe there is no need for you to take it upon yourself to look after the de Montfort interests.”

  Eleanor bit her lip as he laid down the law to her.

  “Contrary to what you obviously think, I am nobody’s fool. I made sure I was kept informed of every move Frederick made.” Then he added, “And every move you made. I am a man, Eleanor, not a weathercock like your brother Henry: unsteady, unready, unreliable.”

  She stood up and placed her hand upon his chest. “Sim, please …”

  He felt the heat of her touch seeping through his tunic and stepped away from her before he was lost. “Do not think to seduce me with pet names,” he accused. She was crushed at his rejection. “There needs to be a great deal of sugar on the pill when someone else has licked it.”

  Her hurt turned to anger at his crude insinuation. “Get out. I hate you!”

  He ignored her outburst, moved to the window, and looked out into the darkness with unseeing eyes. “The Knights Templars and the citizens of Jerusalem have asked the emperor to make me governor of Palestine.”

  Eleanor’s heart sank. She wanted to beg him to reject the offer, but of course it would bring him the wealth he had never had.

  “I am contemplating the offer, but rest assured, Eleanor, it will be my decision, not yours. Tomorrow you will pack your things for Brindisi. You may take all the servants back with you. There will be another female traveling with you.”

  Eleanor’s mind was like quicksilver. “That veiled creature I saw in the hall? Richard swore she wasn’t his. Don’t tell me she belongs to your brother?” she said with a sneer.

  Simon turned his head from the window to watch her reaction to his words. “She is mine. I chose her from Selim’s harem, Eleanor.”

  For a moment she looked stricken as if he had mortally wounded her. Then she bared her teeth and hissed, “Do not call me Eleanor! It curses me as it did my g
randmother! Is this the stage of my life where you imprison me and take a concubine like your great hero, Henry II?” She flew at him and scratched his face.

  He stared at her as if she was mad. He loved and cherished her. He had given her his heart and his soul. A wide chasm had opened between them. “You are hysterical, madame; compose yourself.”

  43

  Simon and Eleanor gave each other a wide berth until it was time for her to leave. He did not bid her a private farewell, but came aboard with the others and when he saw that she was comfortably accommodated, bade her a formal farewell in front of everyone.

  On the voyage she glimpsed the golden-haired girl only once, but she did not even acknowledge her existence. Upon her arrival at Brindisi she retired quietly to the echoing stone palace by the sea, thankful to be back in a safe place where there were no Saracens, no Turks, and, praise heaven, no domineering husband to look at her with accusing eyes or dictate her every action.

  Eleanor’s attitude toward her sister and sister-in-law was now kinder and far more tolerant, yet inside she seethed that her faithless husband had placed her in their same pitiful position.

  As her birthing time drew closer she told herself how much she hated Simon de Montfort. He was the author of all her troubles. She told herself fiercely that she never should have married him, and never would have married him if he had not taken complete advantage of her and gotten her with child. Her sister Isabella had taken it upon herself to furnish Simon’s slave girl with a suite of rooms, and though the girl no longer wore veils and Eastern dress, everyone knew perfectly well who she was, and Eleanor felt deep shame.

  As a result she became almost reclusive, feeling her pregnancy made her clumsy and unattractive. The last month she fell to weeping, at first only in private, then in front of her maids, finally in the presence of the two Isabellas, who were becoming increasingly worried about her. She suffered recurring bouts of false labor, and finally her sister put her to bed and made her stay there.