Courageous

by Dina L. Sleiman

  When he stepped into the open air, the most glorious sight met his gaze. A sky streaked with gold, orange, and the brightest pink, even as the bright orb of sunshine settled itself between the mountain ranges. Such beauty did nothing but mock his state of mind. Surely God should not permit such splendor upon this tragic day.

  Humphrey’s death weighed upon him, dragging him down, as if he carried the boy’s limp body across his own shoulders, although he knew it had been buried in Jezeer. Father Andrew had given a brief but heartfelt mass in Humphrey’s honor. There was nothing to do now but move forward so that the boy’s death might mean something.

  Randel joined the children at the campfire. Rosalind scooched over on a large rock to make space for him. She offered him some dry meat and pita bread. “Here, eat. You must be hungry.”

  He was not, but he took the food and bit into the stringy meat nonetheless. Though his stomach protested, he forced himself to swallow. He would need his strength for the battle ahead, even if his heart was no longer in it.

  He glanced about at the children. Who would they lose next?

  Rosalind gazed at him with concern. She rubbed small circles upon his back. “I had hoped sleep might improve your mood. You cannot take this burden upon yourself. You did everything you could to get Humphrey away from there.”

  He would not argue with her. They both knew all the points, on both sides.

  “Perhaps you should speak with Father Andrew,” she suggested. “He is very wise about such issues.”

  “There is nothing to say.”

  He attempted to wipe the frown from his face and choke down a few more bites. Rosalind did not know everything. And it would hurt too badly to recount the tale.

  Randel twisted away from her. To his left, a small group of Templars were sparring with their swords. Those men never wearied. They felt no pain. No sorrow. Yet more than ever he questioned whether he could ever be one of them.

  One thing he knew for certain, he could not continue on his current path.

  Either he must give up warfare, or else he must—as Rosalind had put it—murder his heart like these hardened men. The second option seemed entirely preferable. A part of him yet loved the battle, yet loved protecting the innocent. He merely needed to become better. Stronger. Tougher. And he was tired to death of his heart aching so bitterly.

  That awful Sir Sebastien noticed him watching and strutted over. “Please do not tell me that you still wish to join us.”

  At least he had not punctuated his comment by calling Randel a fool this time. “Shh! The children still do not know.”

  Sebastien jerked his chin toward the children. “They have lazed about long enough this day. What sort of leader are you? Boys!” He raised his voice to beckon them. “Come with me. Training time. We did not let you stop early so that you might waste your time with stories and games.”

  The boys looked to Randel, confused.

  “For goodness’ sake, man,” Randel said. “At least let them finish eating. The twins just woke up.”

  “But those older two have been awake and causing trouble for a while now.” He pointed to Jervais and Garrett, who indeed appeared wide awake and had finished their meal. Although Randel had no idea how playing a game of chess might stir up any trouble.

  “I want to train with the Templars.” Jervais jumped up now.

  “I can give it a try.” Garrett stood and stretched, but he did not look as anxious to join the surly lot.

  “Fine,” Randel said. “But do not tire them over much. They shall need their energy when we reach Beirut.”

  Sebastien smirked. “As if the Templars would let children fight for them. But perhaps with proper training they might turn into decent soldiers someday, unlike other people around here.”

  Randel felt once again as if he might explode. Someplace deep inside of him was growing dark and twisted, but he knew not how to fix it.

  Chapter 30

  As they continued their meal, Jocelyn approached them. She was no longer the arrogant seductress, but rather a quiet, angry young woman. Randel braced himself for the encounter.

  “Might I join you?”

  “Of course.” Randel moved closer to Rosalind to make space for Jocelyn on his other side.

  Rosalind leaned forward to see past him. “Is something wrong?” she asked Jocelyn, with good reason, for the girl had never joined them at a meal before.

  “I cannot stand to be around them one more minute.” Jocelyn glared at her friends and spat out the words. “They think I am ruined now. As if I have a disease and they might catch it.”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” Rosalind said. “’Tis not right that they have added to your pain.”

  “You know nothing of my pain,” Jocelyn spat the words. “Do not make assumptions about me or about what happened while I was gone.”

  “I am sorry.” Rosalind reached across him to pat Jocelyn’s arm. “I do not know the right thing to say. But you are welcome to sit with us.”

  That was generous of Rosalind, especially as she did not trust Jocelyn. But it was clear the girl was hurting. Compassion stirred in Randel’s heart as well. He gave Jocelyn’s hand a squeeze. “Just let us know if there is anything we can do.”

  Sapphira ventured closer from where she had been sitting with the girls. “Jocelyn, I want you to know that I am praying for you. As Randel said, if there is anything we can do . . .”

  Jocelyn managed to gather her features into something akin to a smile. “That is kind, Lady Sapphira. I do not know if I deserve your prayers, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

  They all grew quiet at that, and both Randel and Jocelyn continued to eat.

  A few moments later, their relative peace was broken by Sir Sebastien’s hollering. “Get up, you maggot. Warriors do not weep upon the ground!”

  As the man poked his blunted practice sword at Garrett, pressure filled Randel’s head. The boy held his side and tears trickled down his cheek. Whatever on earth?

  “Stop that!” Randel ran their way.

  “Hold!” Sir Sebastien held out a hand to halt Randel’s progress. “I can handle this. I am the Templar.”

  “You are the bully,” Garrett said, scooching backward away from the man. Clearly Sebastien had grown overzealous in his training.

  “How dare you!” Sebastien pulled Garrett up by his tunic. “I know how to deal with insolent pups. Come with me.”

  The impudent fool began to drag Garrett away toward a copse of trees, an evil gleam glinting in his eye.

  Randel grabbed him back. “Not a chance. Let go of the boy. Now!”

  “Or what? We shall squabble in the dirt again? How could I ever bear it? Easily, you weakling!”

  Randel wrestled Garrett from Sebastien’s grasp, and the boy dashed to Rosalind’s waiting arms.

  “You have gone too far this time, Sir Randel.”

  Randel had had quite enough. He would not suffer this man to hurt his children ever again. He moved close to Sebastien until their faces were inches apart.

  Through gritted teeth he ground out, “You need not like me, for I do not like you one whit. But I swear to you, if you harm so much as a hair on one of these children’s heads ever again, I will kill you with my own bare hands.”

  “Try it,” Sebastien said.

  A fist came flying Randel’s way so quickly, he barely had time to duck, and the blow exploded against his ear.

  The pain awakened something within Randel. A fierceness, a passion to protect, and to fight. A need to vindicate Humphrey. A need to prove himself worthy. All of it welled up in him at once, and before he knew what happened, they were rolling on the ground again. Randel delivered blow after blow, but no longer felt the pain. Numbness overtook him and his blood pumped hard.

  He knew not how much time passed before someone trapped his arms behind his back as another man pulled Sebastien away. But he continued jerking himself in Sebastien’s direction and attempting to fight. Someone needed to teach that
arrogant oaf a lesson.

  “Do not ever touch my children again!”

  “Your children? Oh you poor, delusional idiot. I suppose you convince yourself that they are yours and your fair Rosalind’s. Ha! You are not worthy to shine a Templar’s boots, let alone be one.”

  Red hazed Randel’s vision.

  The man behind him shook him. “Sir Randel, collect yourself.” It was Sir Ademar’s voice. “Cease this at once, or I shall have to lock you in chains for the night.”

  But no one chided Sir Sebastien. Of the handful of Templars surrounding them, he was the ranking soldier.

  Randel shook off Sir Ademar. “I will go to my tent. That scoundrel is not worth my time. Just watch the children. He hurt your son and might have done worse.”

  As Randel stomped toward his tent, he heard Rosalind defending his actions to Sir Ademar. But none of that mattered right now. The pain in that dark and twisted place in his chest had overtaken him. How he longed to be in the throes of battle, where everything would grow numb once again.

  Sapphira strolled hand in hand with her friend Rabia in a circle around their hidden mountain valley. It felt amazing to walk off the stiffness of the day’s long ride and take in the beautiful evening.

  Rabia wore a relaxed smile upon her face.

  Sapphira felt a matching one making its way across hers. “You seem to be in good spirits today.”

  Rabia winced. “Perhaps I should not be. Wassim has not been gone long.”

  “You must enjoy life when you can. Moments of sadness will come for certain, but you need not dwell in them.”

  “I was thinking about the battle. About your Gideon. The trumpets and the thundering shouts. It was amazing. I cannot believe I am friends with such a hero as you.”

  Heat crept up Sapphira’s face. “I am but a vessel. I know not why God has chosen me.”

  “You are quite special.”

  “Only in my willingness.”

  Rabia stopped now and gazed out over the mountains. “Do you think your God could use any willing vessel so? Even a girl like me?”

  “I cannot imagine why not.”

  Rabia just nodded.

  Sapphira wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist and tugged her closer. “I am glad we are friends. Before this trip my only friend was Garrett, and we had grown apart. Now I have Sadie and I have you and the other children. That is special indeed.”

  “I have been thinking a lot about the things you shared with me. About your God of love. And no one could deny the power of your God after witnessing the spectacle at Jezeer.”

  Sapphira held her silence. She did not wish to push the girl.

  “Truly I have never seen anything like that,” Rabia said. “Everyone seems to fight for something called religion, something unknowable that flits in the air. But in that valley I saw a very real God. A God who fights for us, not the other way around. And I have enjoyed your songs and prayers.”

  “I still pray for you every day.”

  “Thank you.”

  Rabia visibly shook herself, as if from some sort of trance. She began to walk once again. “You have not mentioned your Philippe in some time. How are you feeling about that?”

  Sapphira clasped her hands behind her back. The question surprised her, for she had not spoken to Rabia about her feelings, but she supposed they had been obvious to everyone. “In truth, I have not had much time to think about him. He crossed my mind while we awaited word from his father, but not much since then.”

  “That is good, I suppose, since you long to be a nun.”

  “Yes, it is very good. He was the excuse Honoria and Haverland used for not heeding my warning in Jezeer. It is better to remain focused on God and prayer. Especially for a person like me.”

  Though her feelings for Philippe had been natural enough, they had brought her nothing but trouble. For certain she was too young for romance. But looking toward the future, she would do her best to escape its entanglements. She should not allow such weakness into her life ever again. As much as she liked Philippe, she was determined to remain focused on heavenly matters for the remainder of this crusade, and hopefully beyond.

  As they made their way around the circle, they passed by the Templars, who were now saying their evening prayers.

  “I hate that Sebastien fellow,” Rabia whispered. “I cannot believe he was so awful to Garrett.”

  “I aspire not to hate, although I admit, I do not like him either.” She especially had not liked the wicked look in his eye as he pulled Garrett away. “I sincerely hope Sir Randel does not get himself into any trouble over the fellow, but I cannot say I blame him for his anger.”

  “It will just be another day or two now. I doubt we shall delay for long once we reach Beirut. Hopefully the Templars will go home after that.”

  “But if we do not find my cousin and uncle, who is to say? We might keep fighting together.”

  Rabia sighed. “I hate war. I do not understand why we cannot all live in peace.”

  “Sometimes we must fight for what is right. Do you not believe it is right for us to free our people?”

  “That is a worthy goal. But I hope with all my heart you do not continue to Jerusalem. It is far too messy a place. I do not wish to go there.”

  Sapphira took Rabia’s hand again. “Your family should go home after this. I will see to it that you are sent back to Tripoli. You all need time to mourn.”

  “Thank you. But I shall miss you when you are gone.”

  “I shall miss you too.”

  If someone had told Sapphira a month ago that she would make friends with a Moslem infidel and dread losing that friendship, she would not have been able to fathom such a scenario. And yet here she was. Truly, life was full of the most amazing twists and turns. She could not begin to imagine what might be coming next.

  Rosalind awoke to a keening sound in the next tent. She jumped up and scurried in that direction, bumbling in her drowsiness.

  “Randel, Randel, wake up!” she heard Jervais say through the thick fabric.

  When she pulled back the flap, she saw the boys gathered around Randel, who held his head in his hand and shouted, “No! No! It cannot be!”

  “’Tis only a dream,” Garrett said gently, as he shook Randel by the shoulder. “All is well.”

  Randel appeared to snap into the present. “Oh, boys, Rosalind, I am so sorry!”

  She knelt down beside him. “Do not apologize.”

  He dropped his head into his hands again. “I promised myself I would not sleep.”

  “Boys, try and go back to sleep,” Rosalind said. “Randel, you and I need to have a conversation, whether you like it or not.”

  “I suppose I can put it off no longer.” Randel hauled himself to his feet with a huff and followed Rosalind outside into the moonlight.

  She led him away from the tents and to a rocky outcropping with a pleasant view of the dark mountains. They both sank onto the rock.

  “I know you are haunted by past battles,” she said. “But it seems to be worse when you take guilt upon yourself. You must let this thing with Humphrey go. ’Twas not your fault. Lady Honoria and Lord Haverland blame themselves, and quite frankly, I am inclined to agree with them. Humphrey’s injuries were not that dire until he was imprisoned.”

  “But I gave the command that saw him injured.”

  “You sent him as a messenger. A perfectly respectable duty for a boy of his age and training. We might have lost the battle otherwise.”

  “I know.” He shook his head. “I know with my logical mind that you are right. But it is too similar. It is too strong a reminder.”

  She reached over and took his hand. She traced the line of his vein with her finger. “It is clear that you bear a deep pain. Although I have never pushed you to share it, I think the time has come that you must.”

  Randel rubbed at his temple with his free hand. “It . . . was . . . Gravensworth.” He spoke the word as if it were a curse.

  “
What happened at Gravensworth?” she prompted. “I know you lost the battle.”

  “Battle, ha! It was a slaughter. I had been charged with leading the men and protecting the castle. No one expected the Scots to attack. Though it was near the border, the Duchess Adela had recently signed a treaty. But there are too many tribes and factions among the Scots. And we did not have the manpower to withstand them.”

  “So there was no way you could have known, and no way you could have won.”

  “There is always a way. As you so often tell the children, no excuses.” His head drooped. “I lost all eight of my men that night, and those inside the castle were taken captive. I should not have survived, except that I fell from the parapet and stumbled into the woods during the fray. It was a humiliating failure, and my parents did not let me forget that.”

  “Randel, you must let it go. You must forgive yourself. These things happen all of the time.”

  “But I have not told you the worst.”

  Rosalind’s heart clutched and bled for her friend. Good heavens! It was worse? She longed to pull him to her chest and comfort him, but their history told her that such a move would not be wise. Instead she clung to his hand with both of hers.

  “One of my men . . . the youngest . . . a soldier named Anslem Sollers . . .” Randel paused and cleared his throat. “He died at my own hand.”

  “What?”

  Chapter 31

  Randel pulled back to watch Rosalind’s reaction in the dim light. He spied the shock on her face.

  “’Tis true. My sword killed him. It was an accident, of course. The night was dark and foggy. I turned to strike at the enemy, and there he was.”

  Her features softened.

  The words were nearly too difficult to speak, yet he pressed on. “There was nothing I could do to save him. As I stood in a stupor, I was knocked from the parapet. I stumbled into the woods, where I lost consciousness and did not awaken until late the next day.”

  “Oh, you poor, poor man. I am so sorry for you. I cannot even imagine. No wonder you collapsed after so nearly hurting Jervais.”