Suddenly, Rabia broke through the gentle lyrical chatter with a sharp command. “Freeze!”
Something about the tenor of her voice demanded that they all obey.
That is when the hissing to Sapphira’s left became clear. She could not determine the distance, but it could not be far. Abu-Wassim had warned them they might encounter snakes, and that the snakes in these caves were deadly.
Sapphira feared that one of the flightier girls would scream and thrash and doom them all, but their training had instilled each of them with self-control, and they sat immobile.
“Wassim,” Rabia called out in that same calm yet authoritative voice. “Viper. Hurry.”
Sapphira had her back to the boys. But hearing the hiss grow closer, she could not resist turning her head ever so slowly to spot the creature slithering just a few feet away.
It raised its diamond-shaped head high off the ground and stared directly at her with its narrow eyes as its long forked tongue continued to hiss. It moved forward inch by inch, clearly with her destruction in mind. Its eyes shouted that she had stepped into enemy territory, and for it she must die.
Sadie looked about to jump on the snake.
“No, Sadie!” Rabia commanded.
Sapphira did not even have time to form words into prayers.
Only cried out the precious name of Jesus in her heart.
And in that instant, so many thoughts flashed through her mind. She could not die this way. Not now. Not after coming so far. Not with her sister and her entire army in danger.
And then she heard a whoosh and felt a cool breeze tickle past her neck. The head of the viper flew free even as a dagger clattered into the wall. The snake’s body fell limp to the ground.
Across from Sapphira, Rabia collapsed against Brigitte.
Sadie moved into a defensive stance in front of Sapphira.
Randel and Rosalind ran over to comfort them as Wassim collected his dagger and tossed the snake’s carcass into a sack.
During that moment, lasting an eternity, when Sapphira had stared into the eyes of the snake, it had been as if she’d stared into the eyes of Satan himself and understood for the first time that she was invading enemy territory, spiritually as well as physically. She was safe, for now, but never before had she felt so vulnerable. It was too much, all too much for one young girl to bear.
As Rosalind’s arms encircled her, she at last unfroze and broke into sobs, sobs she had been holding at bay for months. But there was no holding them back any longer.
Beneath it all, Sapphira was just a normal girl who at times needed to bury herself into a soft motherly chest and cry all her sorrows away.
I pressed against the cool prison wall, putting as much distance as possible between myself and the others. I did not want comfort, did not want the companionship of the many surrounding me. I only wanted out of this dreadful, stinking, disease-ridden place.
It was not supposed to happen this way. I could not fathom where I had gone so wrong, or why I was being held with the rest of the Englishmen when the chieftain had given me his word that he would protect me.
I had still been asleep within the walls that morning when the Saracen army invaded. By the time I heard the screams, rallied myself, and climbed up to the parapet, the prison had already been surrounded by a sea of the enemy.
Perhaps they had nothing to do with my plan at all, for they were not dressed in the fashion of the local Druze but rather a foreign style I had not yet seen. There were scores of them, over a thousand at least. This could not be the small local force I had expected.
Even as I leaned out over the scene, I heard shouts of, “Surrender. Lay down your weapons.” White flags rose to replace the golden Plantagenet lions on their field of red.
Though I hated weakness of any sort, surrender had been our only chance. The Saracen horde had raced toward us from every side, blanketing the very earth while most of our soldiers were outside of the wall training.
Even if they had made it inside in time, we would not have long survived a siege in this foreign land with our limited provisions. No, surrender had been our only option.
This is not what I had wanted, not what I planned. Would it help that we had been kind to the enemy prisoners who survived—that ridiculous Honoria even insisting they receive medical treatment? I had loathed her for it at the time, but suddenly I saw the wisdom. Perhaps it might win us some mercy.
But why had the chieftain not followed my plan? Why had they followed their own agenda? By the time I had looked out over the valley, the area where the children practiced was already swamped by the enemy. Surely they had been taken.
Where was the chieftain? Why did he not come for me?
I rubbed my hands over my sleeves, not cold but exhausted and troubled and frustrated beyond belief. Had he forgotten about me? Did he not know where to find me? Or did he have no power within this vast army?
Just as I was about to despair ever getting out of this nightmare, a burly guard shook the door loose. He pointed directly at me. “You, come.”
I stood and brushed myself off. No need to look a fright, even after my ignoble treatment.
I followed the man through the dark passageways of the prison and out into the starry night. He led me to several imposing-looking fellows, including, thank goodness, my co-conspirator, the chieftain.
“Greetings,” he said to me in heavily accented French.
“I thought you had forgotten me.”
“Of course not,” he snarled. “But your words have not proven true.”
Fear cut through me. “I spoke nothing but truth. Why did you abandon our plan?”
He laughed as if my question was the funniest thing he had ever heard and nudged one of his companions. The stern-looking fellow sneered more than chuckled.
“It was your plan,” the chieftain said. “Never ours. Do you think we would just send your army away to come back and attack us from a different angle? Bah! We are not fools. But I do thank you for so much valuable information.”
“You said my words were not true.”
“We cannot find this girl you spoke of. The heart of this crusade. We have found no group of children at all. Only a few older boys among the fighters. But it matters not now, for we have your entire army.”
His words struck me like a blow to the gut. If he did not have Sapphira, my plan might have failed completely. Already Randel’s death and even her own would be considered more of a sad consequence of this attack than the complete disgrace as I had hoped. But what if he was not dead at all? Everything would be for naught. “Surely you jest?”
“I swear I do not.”
“Then go after them. What are you waiting for? I told you they are the key to defeat. They were here when I returned. They cannot have gone far.”
“Hmm . . . you are the only person in this place who seems to have heard of them at all.” The second man, who appeared to be an authority over even the chieftain, glared at me. “But as I assume everyone would wish to protect such children, I will believe you . . . for now. Stories have come to us from Tripoli of a visionary young woman. So perhaps you speak true.”
“Then will you free me? As you promised? I can help you to look. Or spy among my own people, if needed.”
The chieftain laughed again, his large, round belly bouncing above his loose trousers and wide black belt. “Your boldness is charming. But since you did not quite keep your word to us, we shall not quite keep our word to you. We have our own plans for you now.”
The burly guard clasped me by the elbow and dragged me away.
“Rosalind, could I speak to you alone?” Sapphira whispered from where she crouched over Rosalind, shocking her from the warm haze of sleep.
“Goodness, you frightened me.” Rosalind rubbed her eyes and fought to make sense of the situation. Sapphira wished to speak to her. It must be important, for Sapphira rarely requested anything.
“Please,” Sapphira pled.
“I’m c
oming.” Rosalind struggled to her feet, wrapped her blanket around herself to cover her shift, and followed the girl to the edge of the cave, far away from the others, where they could see a bit in the moonlight. As they walked through the long tunnel, the crisp, still air filtered together with the warm evening and herbal scents beyond their enclosure.
Sapphira sat down upon a boulder and Rosalind tucked in close to her, covering them both with the blanket.
“What is it? I know you had a difficult night. I’m sorry for that.”
“It was awful, and afterward I was determined to be stronger than ever. But instead here I am . . . here I am . . .” Sapphira gulped down a sob.
“Here you are what?” Rosalind asked.
“Missing Philippe.” A tear trickled down Sapphira’s cheek. “I did not expect it to trouble me so.”
Rosalind spied Randel on watch duty beyond the opening of the cave as he stared back over his shoulder at them. She waved his gaze away. He should be on the lookout for the enemy, and Sapphira would want her privacy.
“That is fine, darling. You grew quite close to Philippe while he was here. We all need friends in our lives.”
“But what does this mean? Have I been lured astray from my true calling by this distraction? Should I give up my desire to wed Christ? Maybe I do not want to be so special. Maybe I just want to be a regular girl who marries a regular boy and has a regular family.”
Rosalind chuckled. “I am not sure that anything about Bohemond’s family is quite regular.”
Sapphira sniffled. “You know what I mean. I never imagined I might do such a thing, but I never imagined feeling this way about a boy . . . a young man, I suppose.”
“Have you talked to the other girls about this?”
“No, they would tease me. I spoke to Sadie a bit, but she knows less about boys than I do.”
“Well, these feelings are right and natural, but only you can know what God is speaking to your heart.”
“But what of the . . . you know. . . .” She dropped her whispered voice even lower. “The intimacies of marriage? St. Augustine thought them base and animalistic. I always wished to rise above such matters, like the ascetics.”
“That is ridiculous! Is that what you were taught in church? Is that what your sister taught you, or what your aunt, the Duchess Adela, modeled in her marriage?”
“Well, no, but I have been exposed to many theological writings . . . and as for my sister . . . I have always gotten the impression that she did not much enjoy that aspect of marriage.”
“Sapphira, I promise you that it is beautiful and natural and God-ordained. And when it is with a man you love, it is quite pleasurable.”
“Are you certain?”
“I am.” At least Rosalind was certain about the natural and pleasurable parts, although she had never experienced such intimacy in a God-ordained setting. But she supposed that would change everything. Make it beautiful, rather than leaving her feeling full of shame.
It almost made her wish that marriage was not so far out of her reach.
“The subject frightens me,” Sapphira whispered and closed her eyes tight.
“You are young yet. There is no need to rush. But I think you should remain open to the possibility that God might change the desires of your heart in this area of marriage.”
“Oh.”
“And I promise you that we shall get out of this safely and you shall see your Philippe again.”
“You do not know that.” Sapphira sighed.
“True enough, but we must keep our faith.”
Sapphira nodded, even as her eyelids drooped.
Rosalind placed a kiss on the girl’s smooth forehead. “Do you think perhaps you can get some sleep now? We have a long day tomorrow.”
“I shall try.” Sapphira headed back into the cave, but Rosalind remained for a few moments to think.
It seemed that once again Rosalind could be wise for others but not for herself.
What would she have said if it had been fifteen-year-old Brigitte rather than Sapphira who had come to her with such questions? And what if the girl had confessed that she had already sullied her virtue and rid herself of a child?
Rosalind supposed she would tell such a girl that God is loving and forgiving and longs to give her a second chance. Much as Randel had said to her. But it was not Brigitte who had done such horrific things, nor anyone else. It was Rosalind who had committed the atrocity, and she was not so quick to forgive herself.
At least not yet. Though she must admit, her time spent in God’s presence was shifting something deep inside of her. Awakening her to new possibilities.
Perhaps through this crusade she could yet find her redemption and offer herself a fresh start.
How sadly ironic that when she was finally beginning to open herself to the idea of love again, the one man she might desire to share that love with was determined to become a monk.
Chapter 22
Randel glanced over his shoulder once again. This time Rosalind sat alone, illuminated by cool moonlight in the mouth of the cave. A part of him wished to call her over. The enemy was unlikely to travel at night, and this cavern was well hidden from the trail below. He needed the listening ear of a friend. Today’s events lay heavy upon him.
But if he shared his burdens with her, he might say too much. No, he should not risk it. Nor should he risk being too close to her so far from watchful eyes. Instead he focused on the rippling silhouettes of the rocky mountainside and the rich sky flecked with light.
Over these last few days, so much had happened that he had managed, for the most part, to forget about their kiss. But out here, alone in the moonlight, it had haunted him. He must not allow a woman—no matter how good or beautiful or ideal a fit for him—to tempt him away from his goal.
If all went well, he would meet the Templars within the next few days and be that much closer to joining their ranks.
Yet . . . as he heard the soft crunch of gravel behind him, he did not stiffen. He did not warn her away. He merely raised a welcoming arm for her to slide beneath.
And Rosalind did, fitting perfectly, as always. She snuggled deep into his side and rested her head against his shoulder in a friendly manner. Yet the feelings she stirred in him went far beyond friendship. They were feelings of family, of home, and of much, much more. They sat quietly on the rock, overlooking the rugged terrain and the passage at a distance.
Although he could have sat like that forever and never grown bored, after a time he broke the silence. “Is Sapphira well?”
“She’s fine. Only putting herself through unnecessary angst over her feelings for Philippe. Young girls tend to do such things, you know.”
He chuckled. “Young girls, young boys. Older men and women. I think many of us suffer from this affliction.”
Rosalind glanced up at him from the side of her eye.
Only a few sentences had escaped his mouth, and he feared he had already said too much.
“Perhaps,” she said. “Sapphira had always planned to be a nun, but now she isn’t sure. I suppose you would understand that more than I would. But I fear the girl puts too much pressure on herself. This gift of hers . . . Well, I can see how that might confuse her. But she should remain open to wherever God might lead her.”
Randel removed his arm from Rosalind’s shoulder and put an inch of space between them. Was God leading him to be a monk? He had never heard the voice of God as Sapphira claimed to. “How do you think one knows when God is leading them?” he ventured to ask.
A smile tipped the corner of her lips. “You’ve got me there. I thought the guilt that overtook me so oft must be God’s admonition. But today when we prayed, I sensed His tangible presence for the first time, and I felt no guilt. No condemnation at all. But I do not yet claim to know much about such issues. I was speaking of Sapphira. Not myself.”
“Do you think you might change your mind about your own future?” he asked. “Might God lead you in a different d
irection? Perhaps to marriage and family someday?”
“I have begun to wonder.” She wiggled a bit on the rock, as if wishing to close the space between them.
He surrendered to her unspoken request and gathered her beneath his arm once again. “Good. For you deserve that. More than any woman I have ever known. You will make the best mother in the world.”
A little gasp escaped her. “It still pains me to think of motherhood. But I believe you are right. The path that has brought me here was awful, but despite it—or perhaps, through it—I am beginning to find my strength.”
For the first time understanding dawned. He wished to turn away from the harsh light of truth, but he had already seen it too clearly. If motherhood pained her so much, perhaps she had done more than lose her virtue. Perhaps she had done something to rid herself of Sir Hugh’s child, which would be awful indeed.
Some might say unforgiveable, but he believed God could forgive any sin. And surely she had learned from her error and punished herself long enough. He would not probe deeper into this wound for the sake of his own curiosity.
He gave her shoulder a brotherly squeeze. “You see. I knew it. You shall meet a fine husband and rear a fine family. What about that Leo fellow? He rather grew on me.”
“Leo is not the sort of man I’m looking for,” she said, then sat quietly again.
When he turned to look at her, the moonlight glimmered against her wet cheeks. “Oh, Rosalind, do not cry. What is it now? Have I said the wrong thing?”
“No . . . you have done everything right.” She sniffled.
“Then why are you crying?”
“It just seems so unfair.”
“What is unfair?” His heart broke for her.
“It is unfair that the one man I might wish to open my heart to . . . is not available to me.”
She hung her head low so that he could not see her expression.
He caught her chin with his finger and lifted her face toward his.
Surely she did not mean . . . But who else . . . ? And did he not feel . . . ?
Courageous Page 18