Courageous

by Dina L. Sleiman

  The bishop snickered. “Anyone might have imagined that.”

  Unmoved, Sapphira continued. “The flames flickered all around it. I heard cries and shouts. Then above the din came a deep, strong voice. The voice I so often hear during my prayers.”

  Now her face took on an otherworldly glow. “It said, ‘Set my captives free!’”

  A chill ran up Rosalind’s spine.

  Brother Francis gazed deep into Sapphira’s eyes. For a moment, they seemed to be locked in some communal sort of rapture. Then he blinked and turned to the bishop. “She speaks true.”

  The bishop tugged at his tight collar as his face tinged red with barely concealed rage. “But that could mean anything—or nothing at all.”

  Sapphira shook her head and blinked a few times as well. She appeared to return to the worldly sphere. Rosalind had often seen the youngster lost in prayer, but she had never witnessed anything quite like that in her whole life.

  “I rarely get many words,” Sapphira said. “But the vision was more clear and vibrant than anything I have ever experienced. And the meaning settled deep into my heart, as is often the case. I understood in an instant that I was to help lead a crusade to rescue the captives in the Holy Land.”

  “But why to Tripoli? You said it was not clear to you how you knew the area,” said one of the priests.

  “I just knew. The certainty became clearer as the vision faded.”

  “Perhaps this is just childish wishing.” The bishop stepped forward as well and at last attempted to appear friendly, although he did not quite succeed. “Your sister mentioned that some of your family members were lost in that area. And that your parents have been long dead. No one would blame you if you misunderstood.”

  “I did not misunderstand.” Sapphira was solid, a rock despite her fragile appearance. “In fact, I did not even share the vision for some weeks. I do not relish violence. My sister at long last pried the secret from me.”

  The bishop swiped a hand down the side of his face in frustration.

  “Allow me to ask one more question.” Brother Francis cupped Sapphira’s cheek. “Do you ever doubt? Do you ever wonder?”

  A flash of emotions crossed Sapphira’s face. “I . . . well . . .”

  Rosalind knew Sapphira would speak nothing but truth. No matter how it hurt.

  “Of course I doubt. I am but human, and hundreds will go into battle at my word. A part of me hates that.” She pressed a delicate hand to her breast. “But deep in here, I believe it is true, elsewise I would never allow it.”

  Brother Francis stood tall now. “I am fully convinced. The child has a pure heart and believes every word. She has sight beyond the veil. Whether or not this crusade will prove successful, I cannot say. As we know, visions can be fickle, and they do not always equal victory. But I believe we should allow them to continue on their way.”

  The bishop’s shoulders slumped. He turned his attention to Lady Honoria, and the earls flanking her. “And you say that you did in fact send a dispatch to Rome.”

  “Yes. Months ago.” Honoria was a rock as well. Perhaps that was where Sapphira had learned it.

  “These things do take time. And sometimes the messengers never arrive.” The bishop shook his head. “I hope you will forgive me for trying my hardest to recruit you to our cause. Troops are desperately needed in Diamatta if we hope to capture Egypt and head to Jerusalem from there. The route from Tripoli proved a failure just two years past. We must try a different tactic.”

  “We do understand your desperation.” Lord Haverland inclined his head. “There is nothing to forgive. And if we succeed and find enough soldiers alive, who knows, perhaps we shall rally them and meet you from the northern front.”

  “But warfare alone shall not change hearts and minds.” Brother Francis’s voice now took on a new sort of authority.

  Rosalind felt it reverberate to her very core.

  “We are commanded to proclaim the kingdom of heaven wherever we go. Your call to free captives is a righteous one, but perhaps it has more meanings than the one you presumed. There are many souls in the Holy Land bound by a false religion that keeps them from falling at Christ’s mercy. Remain righteous. Be His witnesses and examples in a place that has gone mad with hatred and ambition.”

  Sapphira stared up at him, clearly fascinated, as was Rosalind herself. “Is that why you travel to Egypt?”

  “Indeed. I hope to speak to the Sultan and to convince him of the love of Christ. It is the only way we shall ever attain lasting change.”

  Again, Sapphira curtseyed before him. She took his ringless hand and pressed a kiss to it, as if he were the Pope himself. “Then I shall aspire to do the same.”

  “With good people like you involved, Lady Sapphira, there might yet be hope for this crusade.” Brother Francis patted the girl’s head and began to turn, but she grabbed his sleeve and tugged him back.

  “Have we done well, to bring the children along? It seemed fitting for me to go and for a group of children to surround me, to fulfill the call that failed on the continent, but I saw nothing about this in my vision. Is it wrong to put them in such danger?”

  Rosalind had wondered the same. Yet each of the children claimed to feel the call, and their parents had seemed so sure that this was right.

  “Though visions can serve to stir us, in the end, it is best to follow God’s still small voice that leads us day by day. There is nowhere safer on earth than in the center of God’s will. Rest assured in that.” Brother Francis smiled. “We should be off. We have delayed long enough, and we have a lengthy voyage yet ahead of us.”

  “Yes, we must continue,” the bishop said. “We wish you well on your journey.”

  The Earl of Haverland nodded. “Thank you, and you also.”

  The group dispersed, and the men headed to the side of the ship to be lowered back to their small rowboat.

  What had Rosalind just witnessed? A wonder to be sure. She had known Sapphira was special, but now she headed toward the girl with a new sort of awe.

  She reached out her hand as Sapphira returned to her and then paused.

  “For the love of all that is holy, Rosalind, do not look at me like that!”

  Rosalind chuckled, relieved to see the normal, strong-willed Sapphira returned to her care. “Like what?”

  “Like I am some sort of ghost who might whisk away.”

  Rosalind poked at the girl’s sides playfully. “I see that you are quite solid.”

  Sapphira squirmed and giggled. “Truly, I am not so special. My gift comes through God’s grace alone.”

  That struck a chord within Rosalind. She and her mistress, Gwendolyn, had often debated the subject of grace. Was salvation a free gift offered at the cross, or must one continue to earn one’s own way through good works, confession, sacraments, and penance? Gwendolyn firmly fell upon the side of grace, but Rosalind felt safer with her rosaries and candles.

  “And please,” said Sapphira, “whatever you do, do not tell the others what you watched transpire between Brother Francis and me today. They think me freakish already.”

  Rosalind took Sapphira’s hand. “Come, we must let them out of the armory.”

  “Must we, really? Jervais has been such a pest today.” Sapphira grinned at her as they headed that way.

  How odd life must be for her. Rosalind knew her well enough to realize that on most any given day, Sapphira merely wished to be a regular girl. Yet she was not. Because of her they were all headed once again to risk life and limb in the Holy Land.

  C

  hapter 4

  From across the decks of their small fleet of ships flickered bonfires and came the distant sounds of music and merrymaking. Randel tapped his toes to the stately tune a small band of the children played aboard his own ship.

  This ship carried all of the women and the children deemed worthy of Sapphira’s special troop, along with the most trusted noblemen and esteemed knights. The other ships crammed in the rest of t
he knights with their retinues, horses, and armor, as well as the foot soldiers, archers, and of course the sailors they had hired. Over three hundred in all.

  And all on their way once again, thank the good Lord.

  “Ah, there you are.” A young woman named Jocelyn, brazen as ever, draped herself against Randel’s side. “We had wondered where you were hiding.”

  Three of her close friends surrounded him like a battalion. The prettiest of the women on this campaign, or so they clearly thought themselves. Most of the females were widowed or married. The convent-bound Anna and Margaret kept quietly separate from the others, and Rosalind stayed with the children much of the time. But this pack of she-wolves was always on the prowl for trouble.

  Randel cleared his throat. “Not hiding. Just enjoying this lovely evening.” He grabbed hold of the rail and turned away, hoping to make his message clear: he meant to stay there, alone.

  Though many of the men aboard this ship were married, surely she could find someone better and more titled than himself to flirt with. Yet somehow he seemed to draw the enticing young woman like an annoying lodestone everywhere he went.

  “Oh fie! ’Tis not fair that you rob us of your company.” She fluttered long dark lashes over her flashing black eyes. But flashing with what? Lust? Ambition? He could never quite decide.

  He kept his own eyes firmly upon hers, for he would not wish to give the wrong impression by glancing down at her tightly laced scarlet kirtle with its low-dipping bodice. He wished she would have a bit of self-respect.

  As he was yet concocting an escape from tonight’s ambush, she took his arm and tugged hard. “Come and dance with me. The children will think you do not like their music.” Her bottom lip pouted so exaggeratedly that it nearly grazed her chin.

  At that he sighed, for she was right. He surveyed Lillian on the pipe, Issobelle on the lute, and Garrett tapping along on a small drum. All nobles were expected to be able to play or sing for occasions like this. But the children were still young and unsure of themselves.

  And with Jocelyn’s friends staring his way, he did not wish to make a scene. “One dance. Only one!”

  “Huzzah!” She gripped her hands to her chest and bounced. The girl had an appalling ability to draw the eye to that part of her anatomy. Although he knew Jocelyn to be beautiful in an aesthetic sort of manner—with her plump lips, dark wavy hair, and hooded eyes—in all practical ways, she repulsed him.

  His glance flicked to Rosalind. A true beauty inside and out. She laughed at the sight of him caught in Jocelyn’s snare. But then, studying his face more closely, she offered him an expression of sympathy.

  At least the tune was elegant and courtly, requiring him only to take Jocelyn’s fingertips. They began moving through the shapes and patterns. Forward and back. Around in a slow promenade.

  “So, tell me of your exploits. I long to hear a story of glory and triumph. And what of Gravensworth Castle?” Jocelyn’s chuckle was deep and throaty, unnaturally so.

  Why must she always interrogate him? He was tempted to speak the truth and shut her up for good. “I have told you. Warfare is a sad and dark subject, not suited for amusement.”

  “You think my ears are not fit to hear it because I am a woman. But I shall soon be involved in such exploits myself.”

  Randel highly doubted that. Jocelyn had not bothered to pick up a sword the entire voyage. She would be left to pray, serve, and tend the wounded. Some of the women might be trusted to fire launchers or even join the archers from a distance . . . but never Jocelyn. “Do you truly wish to hear about battle?”

  “I do.”

  Continuing the dance, he took a deep breath. “It is horrible. Limbs are torn from bodies, and you would lose the contents of your stomach to see what remains. Men tinge to a greyish sort of blue as they die. Their screams and the fear in their eyes would cause you nightmares for months. And the smells . . . I cannot even bring myself to describe them.”

  Jocelyn tinged a pale shade of grey herself as she listened. She swatted him as they turned, but she was not so playful anymore. “Good gracious, Sir Randel. You are no fun at all.”

  Regret washed over him. He should not have said that. Randel knew little of her family, as she was from the merchant class. What if she had lost a family member to war? Then again, she would be forced to face reality soon enough, and he had grown sick of her manipulations.

  She tucked herself closer than the dance demanded. “So then why do you fight?”

  “I do not do it for glory or adventure. I do it because I feel called deep within my heart to protect and defend those who cannot fight for themselves.”

  Once the words were out, he wished he had not shared even that small piece of his soul with this temptress. No doubt she just wished to find more ammunition to trap him with, so that she might marry a knight and go home the daughter-in-law of an earl.

  But why was she so set upon him? There were at least three men on this vessel in line for baronies of their own, not to mention the handsome and fiery Lord Rumsford. Perhaps she imagined Randel was more within her reach.

  She spun a circle under his hand. “I have heard a rumor that your parents wished you to join the church.”

  He would not give her one more bit of himself. “You should not listen to gossip. It does not become you.” He shot her a hard look, and she grimaced.

  Just then, the song ended and the young musicians transitioned into a new piece, this one a rollicking country tune like those he had heard coming from the other ships.

  Jocelyn frowned. “How crass.”

  He chuckled at her uppity merchant-class airs, amused by the ridiculousness of the statement coming from such a false and impertinent woman.

  She latched on to his arm and began tugging once again, not toward her friends but toward the dark and shadowy hull of the ship.

  “Absolutely not!” he said, digging in his heels.

  “Never fear, Lady Honoria is sequestered in her cabin with her maps and her stodgy old matrons again. No one need ever know.”

  Of course she was. These troublesome young ladies never flirted or cavorted under Honoria’s watchful eye. But as yet no one had told tales to their leader. Perhaps the time had come that he must.

  Jocelyn licked her plump lips, then stared at his own, making her intentions all too clear. She dug her nails deeper into his arm.

  “There you are! I have been waiting for that dance you promised.”

  Randel, overwhelmed with gratitude, turned and nearly stumbled into Rosalind’s awaiting arms.

  But Jocelyn yanked him back.

  “We are busy right now. Perhaps later. Or never.” Venom poured from Jocelyn’s eyes.

  Rosalind lifted her chin and stared back without wavering. “I believe that is Sir Randel’s decision.”

  “Why would he wish to dance with a mere servant girl when he could spend time with someone like this?” Jocelyn ran a hand down her amply curved body.

  Again Randel restrained a chuckle, for the girl seemed to have no idea that a cloth merchant’s daughter would be little better in the eyes of his parents, as they had no need of her substantial wealth. Besides, Rosalind was highly regarded by both Duchess Adela and Lady Honoria, which put her a far cut above the average lady’s maid.

  Rosalind raked her gaze up and down Jocelyn’s body. “How nice of you to put your assets on such clear display. Must be your background in matters of business. I hear your father could, and would, sell a painting to a blind man.”

  Now Randel nearly choked. Though a childish part of him wished to let this argument play out, his more honorable side would not allow it. “I do indeed owe Rosalind a dance.” He finally managed to pry his arm away from Jocelyn and offered it to Rosalind instead.

  Rosalind took his arm and they turned to the open area of the deck.

  He fancied steam pouring from Jocelyn’s ears but did not turn back to check. “Thank you so much for rescuing me.”

  “My pleasure.”
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  They faced one another. He held up one hand and one open arm.

  She raised a brow. “You know this style of dancing?”

  “I have not spent my whole life trapped in a castle. Fourth sons have much freedom.”

  She took his hand and allowed him to pull her close, as the fast-moving and spinning dance required. While they hopped and twirled with the wind whipping at their clothes, they both began to laugh. How much prettier Rosalind appeared in her simple tunic and mantle than Jocelyn ever could dream to be. Her slender figure fit nicely in Randel’s grasp. He was thankful to have her as a friend.

  Rosalind tipped back her head and smiled at the sky, which glittered with diamonds of light against a backdrop of black velvet. “Oh, we needed this.”

  “A good romp to chase away our doldrums.”

  “Absolutely! For a moment let us pretend there is only here. Only now. And all is perfect.”

  He could not have agreed more. They continued to skip and spin and laugh. He noted some of the children had joined in for this dance, and they likewise frolicked and giggled to the driving beat.

  Rosalind sang along with the rousing tune in perfect pitch. “‘A merry time we’re having, all is bright and gay. Joy is for the having, come grab ye some today,’”

  “You have a lovely voice. I never heard you sing before.”

  Rosalind lowered her lashes. “I have never been trained at music the way the nobles are, but I have always loved to sing.”

  “Perhaps someday I shall teach you to play the lute.”

  “That would be fun. You know, I’ve been thinking,” Rosalind said. “We should do more fun activities with the children. Perhaps that would help to rally the girls. Sir Allen offers agility training for his men. Tumbling skills mostly. The children would enjoy that. I have only learned the basics, but young Sadie is quite skilled and could demonstrate. That is why she was visiting Sir Allen, to help train his men.”