Courageous

by Dina L. Sleiman

  “My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”

  The words floated up from that place deep within her, although she had lost her way for a moment. They came as if they were not conjured by her own devotion, her own prayers. Rather as if they were given as a free gift. And then she felt more words welling up.

  “For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

  That was it. Within her mind, the two simple lines began to morph into a lyrical chant. She prayed through them three times, loud and clear, before the others caught on and joined her.

  The cloud yet thundered closer and closer, and the shapes of men on horses became clearer and clearer.

  Sir Ademar galloped toward them. “Quick thinking, Sir Randel. We did not see them at first, but when the young men went flying down the hill, we spotted the source of the trouble.”

  “I think they will reach them in time.”

  Sapphira did not stop the chant, but she lowered the volume that they might better hear their instructions.

  “Keep praying.” Sir Ademar waved to them. “It is working. But move down the hillside into archery range and ready your arrows. Whichever side of the prison they pass by on, we must offer support. I love you, son,” he called to Garrett, with what could well be his final farewell.

  Garrett nodded bravely.

  Then Sir Ademar hurried back to the women under his care on the other ridge.

  They all continued the chant as they moved their horses carefully, stealthily closer. They were more exposed now. But looking down the line, Sapphira saw that they all remained focused and determined. She had thought some of the flightier girls might have floundered. But they appeared ready.

  A special sort of charge. A certain hum and crackle. Odd little shimmers of light seemed to surround them.

  Sapphira found the courage to look for Philippe and Humphrey. They had made their way down the hillside and were swallowed into the vast throng of the army. Which, in the next moments, turned outward in two directions as if preparing for the new threat.

  The riders from the Druze village were nearly to the prison now, but approaching from the rear. They parted in two directions. There were more than she might have expected. Perhaps as many as two hundred, although it was hard to say. How had they known? Had someone betrayed them? But it mattered not now. Soon half the enemy reinforcements would pass their way.

  “At the ready,” Sir Randel called.

  Finally, she silenced their prayer. She pulled out her bow and notched an arrow in the string. Thank goodness Rosalind had taught them all so well. As yet they were somewhat hidden by small scraggly trees and a bit of brush. But Randel led them yet closer so that they might fire without impediments.

  Sapphira tensed her muscles and pulled back her string. The men rushing helter-skelter about the side of the prison did not seem to look up and notice them, although they were not far off. She could make out individual warriors now, fierce with their baggy trousers and native head wraps. They wore no armor. Were likely just the regular men rallied at the last moment from their fields and businesses.

  Yet she must do this thing. All of them must, before their own men were destroyed. Before they could reach Philippe or Humphrey or any of their soldiers. They had come this far, and there was no turning back now.

  “Ready, aim,” called Randel, “fire.”

  Sapphira pointed her arrow to the center of the mass thundering their way; she did not focus on faces, only the threatening mob, and she let her arrow fly. Then she reached back and grabbed the next arrow and repeated, again and again, just as she had been taught. Until not a single projectile remained.

  Finally she paused to survey the aftermath. It seemed that perhaps a fourth of the men had been taken out by the arrows before they ever reached the crusader army. That meant dozens of their soldiers might be spared.

  The knights and well-trained soldiers appeared to be quickly mowing down the group of villagers. Looking to the south, she could see that Honoria’s women had admirably dispatched with a good portion of the enemy fighters as well, and their soldiers were taking care of those who remained.

  Sapphira took up the prayer again, but something had shifted. She could sense it. For a moment they had been in true danger. But now she felt a peace, an assurance deep within.

  The battle would be theirs.

  Her thoughts turned to Philippe. There was no way to find him in the midst of the throng, and she did not sense the same peace and rightness when she pondered his name. While the others continued their chant, she quietly turned her prayers to Philippe alone. The boy who had not been afraid of her gift. The boy who had made her feel so safe and so treasured. Who had showered his affections and compliments upon her in a way her tough, coldhearted sister had never thought to.

  If the battle was won but Philippe was lost, would it even be worth the while?

  Of course it would, she told herself. Today they would fulfill the call of God and free the prisoners. She must think like a warrior, a leader. Except she was not at all sure she believed herself.

  Not long after, Sapphira again leaned forward on her horse. The battle was now over, but this time she anxiously awaited any report from the front. Sweat beaded on her forehead and trickled down her back in the searing afternoon sun. Her horse flicked its ear and tossed its head, chasing away a buzzing fly. She pressed her face into its neck despite the heat, and drank in its soothing, familiar scent. Not only did she fear for Philippe’s safety, but for the fathers of many of the children, and even for Humphrey, pest or not.

  “They will be fine, just you wait and see,” said Garrett gently from beside her.

  “And if they are not, you must not blame yourself,” Sadie whispered from close to her other side.

  “Why ever would she . . .” Then looking closely at Sapphira’s face, Rosalind seemed to realize. “Oh, dear, dear Sapphira, you must not take such a burden upon yourself. Every person on this crusade made their own decision, of their own volition.”

  Of course Sapphira knew that, in her head, but a part of her would simply not be convinced. That assurance she had felt deep in her spirit yet warred with emotions that were weighed down by such a heavy sense of responsibility. They had all begged Randel to let them proceed to the valley now that matters had settled. But he had only allowed them to go as far as the path to meet with the ladies and Sir Ademar, who had insisted they wait until he assessed the situation.

  That had been nearly an hour ago, and with each passing minute, Sapphira’s shoulders tensed into tighter and tighter knots, despite how many times she whispered to herself to have faith.

  “Sapphira, please tell me you do not take the pressure of this crusade upon yourself.” Rosalind pulled her horse closer and peered at Sapphira with concern etched across her features.

  Sapphira pressed her lips together.

  Sadie laid a hand upon Sapphira’s back. “She will not lie just to please you, Rosalind. You must realize that by now.”

  Rosalind grimaced but seemed not to know what else to say.

  “They will be fine,” said Garrett again, taking Sapphira’s hand this time.

  She smiled. Garrett had avoided her for much of the trip, choosing the company of the boys instead, but her stalwart childhood playmate understood that she needed him in this moment, even if their changing bodies had created a new shyness between them.

  At long last a few horsemen broke away from the mass of humanity in the valley and headed up the hillside toward them. She made out Sir Ademar with his brown beard. And then Humphrey with his head of dark curls leaning heavily against his horse. Then finally, yes, a knight removed his helmet and she spotted Philippe’s blond hair and even spied his incorrigible grin.

  She blew out a long deep breath she had not known she was holding. Her muscles began to unknot. At last, all would be well. Not that she wished to hear of death tolls among the soldiers, but if the boys were safe, she could survive this.

 
However, as they came closer, her feelings shifted once again. For Humphrey gripped his side. His face appeared pale and his lips tinged blue, as if he were freezing upon this hot day.

  Chapter 15

  With a kick, Randel thrust his horse forward down the hill. “Is he well?” he shouted, but was still too far off for them to hear.

  Sir Ademar lifted his hand and gestured for the rest of them to proceed.

  Randel arrived first, and despite the lad’s haggard appearance, Humphrey managed a weak smile.

  “I did it, Sir Randel. I survived my first battle.” But he looked halfway to death’s door.

  Randel shot a questioning glance to Ademar.

  “He lost much blood, but we’ve staunched the flow. And the wound itself seems clean and not too deep. I believe he shall heal. He just needs time to regain his strength.”

  Randel gripped tightly to the reins and closed his eyes for a moment as relief washed over him. Sending the boys into the fray had been the right decision, he knew that and had reminded himself again and again over the past excruciating hour, but he sent up a silent prayer of thanks that they had not paid with their lives.

  Opening his eyes, he took a closer look at the others. Philippe was covered in dirt and blood, but the healthy glow upon his cheeks proved the blood was not his own. The commander of the Tripolian forces sat beside him, also a mess but otherwise hale and healthy. “And the rest of you?”

  “We are all fine.” The Tripolian commander nodded. “Our losses were not heavy thanks to that warning and the excellent archery support.”

  “You call this fine?” Leo displayed a slash across his cheek. “What shall the ladies think of me now?”

  “I hate to admit it,” Randel said, “but I fear it shall only add to your roguish charm.”

  Everyone shared the first chuckle after this their first battle. Randel smiled as he realized his worst fears had been allayed to the point that he might now jest. It was always an important moment when life began to return to normal. Only Sir Manfred loomed behind the crowd with a scowl upon his face, which seemed to be his singular expression.

  The rest of the children approached now and made appropriate fusses over the injuries while congratulating them all. He noted that Rosalind kept her distance from Leo. Rosalind. Whatever would he do with that woman? But if today had proven anything, it was that he did indeed possess the heart of a soldier, and he wished to continue on his path to become a Templar and protect Christians in the Holy Land.

  Lady Honoria nodded to the commander and to Leo. “You all did a fine job. Thank you so much for your part.” She turned to Lord Rumsford. “So how do matters stand?”

  Rumsford came forward, less grubby than the rest, for he had been leading the troops. “We shall not have the final reports for some time, but Sir Manfred estimates we lost about twenty men, with a similar number seriously wounded. Of course many of the soldiers have bumps and scratches, but taking all into account, a resounding victory.”

  “Excellent results,” said Father Andrew, not wearing his syrupy smile for once. “Not long ago my brother’s entire troop was lost back in our very own England.”

  He glanced to Randel, for the priest knew of the tragedy of Gravensworth from the confessional.

  Randel nodded, although he had never before realized that Father Andrew shared a similar pain. Unease washed over him.

  “I am relieved that our losses were minimal.” Honoria sighed.

  Taking all into account, of course, those truly were excellent results. Still, Randel’s heart clenched for those who would never return home to see their wives and children. How much better to be a warrior monk, without such earthly ties.

  “Some of the villagers fled,” the Tripolian commander said, “but I do not think they shall cause us further trouble.”

  “But they will spread the word that we are here,” Sir Manfred grumbled, glaring directly at Randel, as if that were somehow his fault.

  “That was bound to happen eventually. We did not expect to maintain the element of surprise for long.” Honoria lifted her gaze and surveyed the scene before her. She seemed to be searching for something. “Tell me of the prisoners.”

  Of course, her husband and cousin.

  Rumsford grimaced and shook his head. “They are not here, my lady. We found about a hundred prisoners, but most are weak and sickly. It seems they have not been well fed, and disease festered in the prison. They will need time to recover before we can move onward.”

  “As will our injured soldiers,” Ademar reached out to lay a reassuring hand on Humphrey’s shoulder.

  “Only one hundred, you say? I had hoped for more, especially after finding so many guards.” Honoria held herself firm and straight, though Randel could see the pain in her eyes.

  “The guards kept watch over the whole region. Many of the prisoners have perished over the past two years, and some have been moved to the prisons near Beirut,” Rumsford said. “But I am sure we will learn more as the days go on.”

  “So what do you advise?” Honoria asked Sir Ademar.

  Ademar gestured toward the prison. “We have the perfect defensive fort right here.”

  “I agree.” The Tripolian commander turned his horse in that direction. “I doubt the Saracens will try to regain this area. ’Tis at the very edge of their holdings. Even if they do, it would take weeks to move an army here. Most of their soldiers are occupied in Egypt, as are ours.”

  Honoria sat silent for a moment. Randel could only imagine her inner turmoil. But surely she did not expect to find her husband or Richard DeMontfort at the very first prison. Then again, given the divine nature of their mission, perhaps she had dared to hope.

  “Let us set up camp in the courtyard and around the walls. But not inside the prison itself. At least not until we can thoroughly clean it. And isolate the prisoners until we assess their illnesses,” Honoria said.

  Then she turned to the women and children, who had hung back quietly listening to the official exchange. “Ladies, get your herbs and poultices ready, we have much work ahead of us. And children, watch and learn the healing arts. We all must be ready for whatever might arise.”

  Seemingly bolstered by her own speech, she lifted her chin again. “I thank you all for your valiant service today. We saved many of our men by exposing the enemy before they arrived. Now on to the next step. Let us keep the prayers flowing and determine to lose none of the wounded in our care.”

  She shifted her attention to the Tripolian commander and Leo. “And will you stay with us here?”

  The commander lowered his head. “I am afraid only for a short time, my good lady. We have found the majority of the Maronite prisoners. Though your cause is just, I am afraid we do not share it.”

  Leo shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “We promised to return after this battle. We dare not anger the count.”

  “I dare anger him!” Philippe nudged his horse closer to the leaders of the group. “He is naught but a bully and a blowhard. We should do what is right and not worry of the consequences.”

  “Philippe, enough!” Leo shot a glare at his young relative. “You should not speak of the count in that manner, even if he is your own father. We shall talk of this in private.”

  An uncomfortable silence filled the space around them.

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Honoria started down the hillside, and her ladies followed.

  “Children,” Randel said, “let us proceed to our new camp.”

  His children. In his care. All of them safe and well. Randel was grateful for this opportunity to play the parent, for once established in his new life, he would never have the chance again.

  After their long morning of travel and tense midday of battle, Rosalind spent an exhausting afternoon cleaning and preparing what had been the guards’ quarters for the women and children. She wiped her moist brow, no doubt brown from a mix of dirt and sweat, and leaned on her broom as she examined the area.

  Dust s
eemed to be everywhere in this place. With little vegetation to hold the dirt down, it filled the very air. But the room smelled fresh and appeared tidy. She supposed that was the best they could hope for. Her duties as lady’s maid had rarely required such physical labor. She had been primarily responsible for keeping Gwendolyn’s personal chamber neat and laundering her fine gowns.

  But many of the noble women along for this crusade had no idea where to even begin with such tasks, and so Rosalind had taken charge as everyone who was not tending the wounded, including the boys, had worked like scullery maids to make the place shine.

  “That should do it, children. You can bring your packs inside. Remember that the girls are in the room to the rear and left, and the boys to the front and right.”

  “Keeping us as far apart as possible?” Jervais winked.

  “Always.”

  “But Humphrey is not here.” Brigitte sighed.

  “For that I am sorry.” Rosalind wrapped an arm about Brigitte’s shoulder, which yet felt bonier than usual. “But the physician said he should be fine as long as no unexpected infection sets in. He will be well cared for.”

  One by one the children ventured outside, and Rosalind took a final survey of their new quarters. She had felt odd emptying the place of the belongings of the Saracens, especially the prayer rug. It seemed somehow irreverent, despite the fact that they were infidels. Rosalind had tucked it in a corner to save as a memento of this trip. She picked it up and surveyed the fine stitching and colorful pattern. Someone had put much love into making it.

  But the leaders of their group wished for as many of the troops to stay inside the walls as possible, and as they did not wish to use the disease-ridden prisons—except for their own newly taken prisoners—some had been assigned to the garrisons while others would camp in the courtyard. Only a portion of the foot soldiers of the Cyprians and Tripolians, who would be leaving soon, camped beyond in the valley.