The other four boys, ranging in age from eleven to fifteen, ruffled Garrett’s hair and slapped him on the back. Jervais scooped him up around his waist and tossed him upon his shoulder in a celebratory sort of romp—no doubt actually intended to remind everyone that he was the larger and stronger of the two.
Garrett seemed pleased nonetheless.
When the fairylike Lady Sapphira—whose vision had launched this entire crusade—called over, “Good job, Garrett!” he bit his lip and scurried down from his friend’s shoulder like a frightened squirrel.
Randel chuckled. How he loved to watch the interplay between those two. They had been raised side by side, as Garrett was the son of Lady Honoria’s head knight. Sometimes they appeared to be the closest of chums—siblings, almost—and other times Garrett looked as though he wished the floorboards of the ship would open up and swallow him whole just to escape her. Much as he did right now.
Randel flung an arm over Garrett’s shoulder and turned him from the young lady’s appraising eye. “You boys go and get a drink. The bell shall ring for your lessons with Father Andrew soon. After our midday meal, you shall work with Rosalind at daggers.”
“I still don’t understand why we must learn from a stupid old girl,” Jervais said with a snicker.
Randel shot Jervais a quelling glare. “Perhaps when you can actually hit the target such a statement shall not sound so ludicrous.”
“I for one am happy to work with the lovely Maid Rosalind. Night and day, if need be.” The adolescent Lord Humphrey, an entitled and pompous young pup with his head of black curls, winked their way. At fifteen, he no longer pretended to find girls troublesome. He was more than happy to explain the wonders of the fairer sex to his companions.
Randel reached over with his free hand and gave Humphrey a playful thump against his head. “What have I told you about showing respect for the ladies. They are your comrades, and you must treat them as such. Why look, they are training as hard as you are.”
They all turned back around to watch.
The young Lady Lillian, in her kirtle of girlish buttercup yellow, let the dagger fly from a limp wrist. It loped several circles through the air before clattering to the deck short of the target.
Jervais stifled a chuckle. “Oh yes, they are quite skilled.”
Sapphira, dressed in a kirtle of cornflower blue, shoved her friend aside in frustration. “Goodness, Lillian, they shall think us all a bunch of ninnies. Straight and sure. Like this.”
Her white-blond hair wisped about her as she threw the dagger with admirable technique. Still, the weapon merely caught the outer edge of the target. The girls clapped and bobbed up and down like a bouquet of wildflowers in the wind. Only Sadie stood by nonplussed in her earth-toned tunic and boy’s leggings.
But Sapphira was never one to be satisfied with less than perfection. She huffed and stomped her slippered foot upon the deck. “’Tis these insipid shoes, I tell you. I cannot keep my grip on this tilting deck.”
Rosalind shot her a glare similar to the one Randel used with the children. “No excuses, Sapphira.” They had all given up on the tedious lord and lady titles weeks ago. “Your job is to rise above whatever complications you might face.”
“But if only I could practice in my bare feet. . . .”
Sadie grunted in annoyance and flipped her own knife in the air, catching it neatly. “You cannot fight in bare feet.”
“Enough with the bare feet,” Rosalind said. “Your sister would have my neck if I let you traipse about like that. Although, you are more than welcome to wear your ‘ugly old war boots.’”
Rosalind fetched the fallen dagger and handed it to the red-haired Lady Issobelle, who looked no more excited to throw it than Lillian had. She took the knife and held it awkwardly away from herself as if it might bite her. Randel really must find a way to rally these girls.
Continuing to watch the comic display, Jervais whispered. “Thank goodness they shall never go near an actual battle.”
“Nor shall you,” Humphrey said.
“Hey,” Jervais elbowed him.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Randel cut the bickering short. “If all goes well, you youngsters will be kept safe on the back lines to support us through prayer alone. But matters do not always go as planned. We are headed into enemy territory, and we must be prepared for anything.”
These boys were old enough to serve as pages or even squires to the regular knights, but they had all been placed on this ship and in his care for a specific reason. They, along with these girls, would be Sapphira’s special troop.
“You might be called upon to protect the young ladies,” Randel said, “but you never know. They might need to protect you. I for one would happily trust Rosalind with my life.”
“Oh, most certainly you would.” Humphrey’s voice dripped with innuendo. As the heir of the Earl of Haverland, the ranking nobleman on this crusade, Humphrey was far too quick to speak his mind.
“I imagine you would trust her in all sorts of instances.” Jervais wiggled his brows, emboldened by Humphrey.
“Enough of that. Rosalind is my friend.”
“Right. Your very good friend.” Even Garrett dared to tease.
Now Randel suspected his own cheeks had flushed. Of course he admired the strong and beautiful young woman, but he was not interested in romance. “Keep that up, young buck, and I’ll have you spar with Sapphira next time.”
Garrett’s eyes grew wide with horror. His mouth gaped, and they all laughed.
“Go on with you now. Get that drink while you can.” Randel shooed them away.
He leaned against the rail of the ship and took a deep breath of the chilly sea air. When he had signed on for this holy crusade, he had not fancied himself involved in child rearing. But he had been chosen because of his own youth and his love for children. He must admit, the energetic youngsters had turned what otherwise might have been a tedious two-month journey into a rollicking adventure and stirred up his own youthful enthusiasm.
Randel would do everything in his power to keep these children safe and to prepare them for any contingency. He had lost men before, which had been terrible enough, but he could not bear losing even one of these young lives. Many thought taking the children along nothing but a foolish whim, but Randel understood. Though he himself had not yet reached two decades in age, already he had seen far too much heartache and tragedy.
These children brought a sense of purity to their cause.
He watched as frothy waves rippled along the side of their Frisian ship, which stretched to a length of one hundred feet and a breadth of thirty. They were moving at a good speed for such a large vessel, as they had for most of their journey. Often crusaders were waylaid by storms or skirmishes. But God had showed them favor all along this trip. Sails full of wind, minimal rain, and not a single impediment. It seemed almost too easy.
They had left North Britannia with the first breath of spring, and if matters continued on this course, they would arrive at Tripoli in a few weeks. He lifted his face to the sun, relishing this calm moment.
The last year had been a difficult one for him. First being dismissed from the grand castle by the council for helping Sir Allen with his short-lived rebellion, then being rejected by his parents for his continued resistance against joining the church, and finally his stunning defeat at Gravensworth Castle just a few months ago, from which he had not yet completely recovered.
But he did not wish to relive those days. He wanted to move forward into a new season. And he prayed that, once in the Holy Land, he would at last be able to join his own desires and the desires his parents had long held for him. If all went well, after helping with this mission, he would join the Knights Templar as a warrior monk.
A bell rang, jerking him from his quiet contemplation. The children rallied in a circle and sat cross-legged on the deck before Father Andrew. Even Rosalind sat upon the deck alongside them, face upturned, awaiting today’s lesson. Her eagerness made h
im smile. Much like the children, Rosalind had broken the tedium of this trip for him and helped to chase away that darkness that hovered always at the edge of his awareness.
Being a warrior monk might mean that he would have to relinquish certain aspects of life, like any hopes of a future with a fair maiden at his side, but he could bear that. Though he had briefly pondered wedding the Lady Gwendolyn to save her from a brutish husband, he had been reared for a life in the church and a tonsured scalp.
Rosalind shook out the loose locks of her long silky black hair that fell from a braided circlet atop her head. She giggled at something the priest said with her rosebud lips contrasting prettily against her ivory skin. Her blue eyes mirrored the clear sky overhead.
But such enchantments would never deter Randel from his goal.
Chapter 2
Rosalind sat forward to better heed the words of Father Andrew. Though a part of her wished to tip back her head to the warm sunshine and watch the sails ripple above her, she could not let this rare opportunity to better herself slip by. While her own education had focused on the skills required of a lady’s maid, she was yet young and curious and wished to learn.
“Who can name the crusader states of the Holy Land, also known as the Outremer?” asked Father Andrew with his tonsured hair surrounding the shaved spot at the top of his head like an upside-down bowl and his protruding gut finishing off the roundish effect.
Sapphira held up her arm and bounced almost violently, but Father Andrew knew her too well to fall for her antics.
Finally Lillian raised a hesitant hand.
“Yes, Lillian.”
She stood and twirled her soft brown hair about her finger. Looking to the sky as if for answers, she said, “Edessa, Antioch, Tripoli, Jerusalem, and . . . and . . .”
Rosalind had not been familiar with the geography of the Holy Land before this trip, but along with the children she had learned that the Europeans had divided the area into feudal states when they conquered it a century earlier. French lords now ruled the area of Tripoli, to which they were headed.
Lillian mumbled as she struggled to remember the final state.
Sapphira could no longer contain herself. “And Cyprus!”
The typically cheerful priest shot Sapphira a frustrated glance, then turned his attention back to Lillian. “Very good, Lillian. No doubt you would have gotten the last one had you not been interrupted.”
Lillian offered a slight curtsey and sat back down.
“And what might one find surprising about the Kingdom of Jerusalem?”
Jervais’s hand quickly shot into the air.
“Yes.”
“The crusader state of Jerusalem no longer holds Jerusalem itself.”
“Indeed,” said Father Andrew, “although the crusaders held the holy city of Jerusalem for nearly a century, it was lost to the famous Saladin in 1291. But the crusaders still hold much of the surrounding area, including the new capital of Acre, and they remain determined to take back the entire region for the glory of God.”
“If we achieve our goal in freeing the imprisoned crusaders in Tripoli,” Jervais said, “perhaps we can rally them and come at Jerusalem from the north, meeting with the other European forces, which shall no doubt overtake Egypt soon and head to the holy city.”
The young Lord Humphrey stood to his feet and shook a fist at the sky. “And victory shall be ours.”
All the children cheered.
Father Andrew smiled. “Most excellent thoughts, boys. But let us not get ahead of ourselves. Crusades are a tricky endeavor.”
“But God is on our side,” Sapphira said, crossing her arms over her slight chest.
“Of course He is. But has He not been on the side of the crusaders all along? War comes at a high cost. There is no avoiding that, holy vision or not.” He swallowed hard, and a shadow of sadness flickered across his face.
Rosalind recalled that Father Andrew’s young brother had been killed in a skirmish against the Scots, along with most of his troop. Father Andrew understood the cost of war more than most of them. Yet he stalwartly supported their cause.
The priest continued to quiz them about the types of Moslems they might find in the Holy Land as well as their prophet Mohammed, their Allah, and their holy book, the Quran. They were about to enter a whole new world. He reminded them how the Moslems had swept through that region in the seventh century with their reign of terror, taking much territory that had formerly been held by Christians, and even daring to capture parts of Europe.
“I know why we wanted to retake our land in Europe,” said Garrett, “but I still do not understand why we are so determined to rule the Holy Land.”
“It is an important piece of earth.” Father Andrew spoke reverently of the place. “Our Christian roots lie deep in the Holy Land. Christ himself was born, died, and rose again there. We cannot leave it in the hands of Moslem infidels.”
Rosalind searched out Sir Randel to note his opinion. However, he was gazing at the sea, as he so often did during the lessons.
Perhaps he found her silly for wishing to learn with the children. No doubt he had been provided an excellent education as the son of an earl. But he never made her feel foolish. Instead he treated her with the greatest respect as they worked side by side. Initially her job had only been to watch over the Lady Sapphira and young Sadie, but knowing of her skill with weapons, he had recruited her to assist him in training all of the children.
Movement caught Rosalind’s eye as twelve-year-old Issobelle scooched closer to Jervais. She batted her copper-colored lashes a few times before sliding her hand so that her knuckles grazed his. His eyes popped wide with surprise, but he did not withdraw, rather leaned in closer to the lovely young Issobelle.
“Issobelle!” Rosalind whispered, but the girl paid her no heed.
Ugh! Keeping their childish affections in line might well prove the hardest challenge of the entire crusade. Forget pirates and tempests. Battle with the Saracens would seem a playful romp after this. Rosalind scrambled to her knees and reached over Lillian to tap Issobelle on the shoulder.
Issobelle turned to her and bit her lip, snatching her hand back to her lap.
Rosalind shook her head and indicated the empty spot next to her. “Now,” she whispered again, trying unsuccessfully to avoid causing a distraction.
Sadie and Sapphira, neither of whom had much use for boys, both giggled.
Contritely, Issobelle stepped over her friends and settled next to Rosalind. A tear slipped down the girl’s lightly freckled cheek. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.
Rosalind patted Issobelle’s hand. She did not wish to shame her, but a little sting might serve as a reminder. They must stay focused upon their mission. They were a troop, and they could not risk their unity by forming romantic liaisons.
Matters could get messy with women on the journey. But they were not the first crusaders to include women. This holy cause drew all sorts of people. Male, female, rich, poor, fit, and sickly alike. Sometimes whole families. She had even heard tale of the blind and the lame heading off for crusade. Twice in the past decade, hordes of children had followed visionary young adolescents on crusade. And although neither campaign succeeded, the stories had struck the fancy of would-be crusaders throughout Europe.
Rosalind sighed. She would not struggle over romantic distractions on this trip. She had made too many mistakes in that area and would not allow herself to fall into those sorts of temptations ever again.
She had learned her lesson the hard way from Sir Hugh, Gwendolyn’s brother, who had used her so casually, then tossed her to the gutter when she needed him most. If her sins were known, some might consider her unworthy of leading this group of innocent young girls, but Rosalind would guard their virtue with more fierceness than the most stalwart Mother Superior.
Despite her failings. Or rather because of them.
But still . . . a part of her did not understand how parents could risk their children on crusad
e, when she would do anything in her power to bring her own child back.
She had let her thoughts linger around the murky waters too long. The awful waves began crashing over her again. Regret, despair, pain.
A bright red stain of blood . . . that awful night when she had taken the potion at her mother’s prompting and selfishly chosen her own well-being over the life of her unborn child. Except that she had not saved herself. She had nearly destroyed herself along with her child. She pushed the images away and stumbled to her feet.
Unable to focus on Father Andrew’s lesson, she moved toward the rail of the ship and gulped in fresh sea air, focused on a single bird soaring overhead.
Though sixteen might be considered by most to be fully grown and well old enough for marriage and childrearing, in that difficult moment last year she had felt so young and helpless. Far too young to make the weighty decision herself, and so had leaned on her mother’s wisdom. But Mother had led her astray, and now she was hundreds of—or was it thousands, by now—miles from home and all alone.
A gentle hand came from nowhere and brushed her whipping black hair from her face. As she turned toward it, Randel’s crooked grin bolstered her.
“Shh, no crying.”
She hadn’t even noticed the tears that trickled down her cheeks, but now she awoke to the cold bite of the wind against them and gripped tightly to the rail of the ship.
“Push back the shadows. Forward, ever forward!”
Precious words he had spoken to her often during the trip. Randel did not know her secret pain. At least she hoped he did not. But he always noticed when the darkness washed over her—and was quick to offer encouragement.
Likewise she knew he carried some heavy burden, although she never questioned him about it. Perhaps someday they would share their tales of woe. But for now, just being there for each other was enough.
She swallowed back the pain. “Yes, forward. Ever forward.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze where it rested against hers along the rail.
Courageous Page 2