Courageous

by Dina L. Sleiman

  “Protection. A fresh start at life. That is all.” My knees went wobbly now.

  It was done.

  “Too bad for you, unlike the weak Europeans, I allow no traitors in my midst.” The chieftain jerked his chin again and strode away.

  I did not understand. I glanced about, unsure of what was expected of me. But then strong arms gripped me from behind. I called to the retreating back of the chieftain. “Wait! I came to help you. I belie—”

  Something sharp and cool slid across my neck. Slick, warm liquid seeped down my skin.

  I grabbed at my throat. As my life faded away, I crumpled to the floor.

  Randel leaned forward and gripped tightly to the reins. The Templars were through the gate now, yet the battle continued and the prisoners had not been freed. From his vantage point on the hill, he could tell that the Templars were far outnumbered.

  Should he do something? Send word? He would not risk one of the children. Perhaps he could take the message himself. But even as he considered that, Rumsford took the English army and headed toward the prison gate. Slowly, a group at a time, they fought their way inside.

  His hands unclenched as the tide began to turn. The children at his back yet sang forth their prayers, their voices growing stronger and more poignant in pitch as the sounds of battle filled the night.

  Finally, all the Englishmen pushed their way inside. Fifty Templars and nearly two hundred English knights and soldiers fought a similar number of Saracens. Although the prison courtyard was large and sprawling, the pure pandemonium within was clear. Randel could not believe that the prison kept so many guards. But perhaps they had heard about the crusader conquest at Jezeer.

  Tension filled him now. This would not be an easy fight, and guilt niggled at him that he sat unscathed while the men below risked their lives. But he was fulfilling his assigned role, and he must be faithful to that.

  He glanced over at Rosalind, faithfully fulfilling her role as well. Faithful and good in all things. She prayed every word along with the children, although she remained stalwart at his side. Inspired by her, he took up the prayer as well.

  The fight raged on. Clangs and screams poured over the valley to meet their ears.

  Randel scanned the city beyond, and that is when he saw it.

  A huge mass of torches, blending into one fiery beacon, and heading toward them from perhaps a half mile away.

  “Reinforcements?” Rosalind asked, her voice shaking.

  “How could they know?”

  “Perhaps their guards saw us after all, or perhaps . . .”

  “Jocelyn. It matters not now. I must warn them. You are in charge.”

  Randel kicked his horse forward and hurried down the hill. No longer afraid. No longer filled with false guilt. Yet determined to do his duty and protect his comrades, just as he had always wished to do.

  Once to the gate, he realized he would have to fight his way through to find their leaders. Abandoning his giant war-horse, which would never make it through the throng, he slashed and struck, ducking through holes and pressing forward. A swish to his left caught his attention, and he blocked the blow with his sword by sheer instinct.

  There—a raised platform. He plowed his way toward it. But an enemy soldier blocked his path and engaged him in one-on-one combat.

  Randel remained calm. He drew upon his training as he dodged and parried, struck and spun. He met the man blow for blow, but he had no time for swordplay. In a risky all-or-nothing maneuver, Randel dared to tumble toward the man and knock the weapon from his hand. As he regained his feet, he watched the sword streaking against the night sky.

  Much as he hated to, he delivered the death blow.

  Scrambling atop the platform, he screamed with all of his might in his native English language. “Saracen reinforcements are coming. A huge mob of them. We must hurry!”

  His gaze darted about. They needed to free their people or this would all be for naught. He noticed a doorway that the Saracen guards were particularly protecting. That must be the way inside the prison.

  He dashed in that direction yelling the crusader battle cry, “Deus vult! Free them! Free our people!”

  The energy in the courtyard burgeoned. His men fought harder, stronger, and many of them stormed with him toward the prison door, roaring in their fervor. Then he saw the Lady Honoria running and bellowing at his side.

  Rosalind observed helplessly from the hillside. Though she was equipped with sword, with bow and arrow, with a dagger, and even with a tinder box to light her arrows aflame, she waited patiently with her charges as she had been ordered.

  The speckled mass of undulating fire increased its pace. No doubt the Druze fighters from the city now heard the clangs of battle and rushed to help their comrades.

  “Should we warn them?” She asked Abu-Wassim as tension and tingling fear both gripped her body at once.

  “No. Hold. We should protect the children, especially if the worst occurs. Randel got through. I heard him shouting, and I am certain they are working as fast as they can.”

  Rosalind spotted a group wearing white crusader surcoats and ramming a door. Surely they were on the verge of breaking the prisoners free.

  But the next sight to meet her eyes caused her blood to chill. Men in Druze attire sliding down ropes along the prison wall. What could they be doing? Did they merely wish to escape?

  Then someone tossed down a huge wooden beam, and it crashed on the sandy ground.

  “They plan to bar our men inside until reinforcements come.” Even as Rosalind uttered the horrible words, she pulled out her bow and notched her arrow. But the enemy fighters were too far away. She would have to get closer. Have to leave the safety of her hiding place and leave the children behind.

  Now five men worked to drag the beam toward the gate.

  “We cannot wait! We must help them now or all will be lost!” Abu-Wassim shouted.

  He and Hassan spurred their horses and started down the hill.

  Fortunately the men struggled under the weight of the heavy beam and moved slowly, but now more were heading down the wall.

  “Children,” she called loud and clear, “if things go badly, you must gallop with all your might straight to the ships! Do not stop! Do not look back!” And with that final instruction, she rushed down the hill.

  As Abu-Wassim and Hassan began clashing swords with the men on the ground, Rosalind took aim and worked at stopping those on the wall. She hit one, then two, but they were moving quickly through the deceptive darkness, and several of her arrows missed their marks. Others struck their targets, but did not stop the enemy fighters. She managed to hit a third fighter and then a fourth.

  Abu-Wassim and Hassan had the advantage over the horseless men, but they yet battled on.

  Shooting the last of her arrows, she took out a final man, and he tumbled several feet to the ground. Then she rushed forward to help her comrades.

  An idea struck her, and she stopped briefly to pull flint and tinder from the sack at her waist. She scanned to her right. The sea was at least a hundred feet away. She spotted several of her arrows scattered about the ground.

  Her plan just might work.

  “Ugh! I cannot believe they left us here. We should be fighting.” Jervais strained against the hands that held him in their circle and appeared ready to bolt toward the prison.

  “A handful of young people would not make a difference,” Sadie said practically.

  “And they would never forgive us if we got ourselves hurt. Just look at how Humphrey’s death affected everyone.” Garrett, always perceptive, saw straight to the core of the matter.

  Yet Sapphira ached to be helping as well. She glanced to the dear faces surrounding her on this dark night. “We are doing the best thing we can. Do not cease praying now.”

  She switched over to the Scripture chant that God had laid upon her heart during that first battle in Jezeer. “‘My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakne
ss. For when I am weak, then I am strong.’” They all followed along.

  But she could tell that despite their enclosed circle, attention drifted away.

  “Ho! She’s set it on fire!” Jervais proclaimed.

  “The beam to block the door? Rosalind?” Issobelle asked.

  “Ha ha! Just let them try to stop us now.”

  Sapphira continued her chant, but she could not keep from following Jervais’s pointing finger with her gaze. Surely enough, Rosalind’s fiery arrows had hit the beam and set it ablaze while the enemy fighters were occupied battling Abu-Wassim and Hassan. They would not be able to use it to lock the Europeans inside.

  “And I think the tide has shifted. It looks as if our men have broken through and the prisoners are joining the fight,” Sadie called excitedly.

  But just as quickly, Brigitte cried out, “Oh no!”

  They all turned now. A handful of Saracen fighters had rushed from the prison. But instead of heading to the city, they turned directly toward the children. Escaping or attacking? Sapphira could not say.

  In an instant Sapphira knew what to do. The idea welled up from deep within her and would not be denied.

  “Should we run?” Lillian asked.

  “No, the girls could not outrun them, and running will only draw attention. Keep praying,” Sapphira hissed in a loud whisper. “Maybe they will not see us. If they do, I shall give the signal of the serin. Get into position.”

  Not a one of the children questioned her. Even Rabia had memorized the birdcalls Sadie had taught them all thanks to the Ghosts of Farthingale Forest, although they had not yet found opportunity to use the signals. And the serin call had been their own invention, based upon their own strengths for their own purposes.

  Several of the children shifted to new locations, and they all subtly prepared weapons, but they remained turned into the circle and continued to pray. Sapphira had the perfect view from her spot as the group of about two dozen enemy fighters headed toward the ten children. The mass of fire from the city had nearly reached the prison as well, and Sapphira could now distinguish individual torches flickering gold in the night.

  But she would not lose her faith. Not now. Not ever.

  For a moment it seemed like the fleeing group might veer to the right, but then one of the men pointed directly their way and let out a fierce battle cry.

  As they crashed up the hillside, Sapphira made the long trilling call of the serin.

  Then she counted backward, five, four, three, two, one.

  With a loud scream, they turned and confronted their enemy with all the fierceness they could muster. The swordsmen dropped low as the archers let loose several rounds of arrows. Sapphira pulled taut her bowstring and let her arrows fly.

  Several of the men fell, and many others dispersed in terror. Only two determined fighters with crazed eyes continued their way.

  Jervais and Sadie engaged them as Garrett and the other boys got in their strikes as well. Then Sadie fell to the ground clutching her leg. Sapphira dashed in that direction and shocked her opponent with a left-handed strike of her sword to his arm.

  He shouted, “Ya-allah!” and the last two men turned and ran.

  But spotting the children’s horses, they grabbed two for themselves and chased the others away before heading off toward the mountains. A sick dread filled Sapphira’s stomach as their mounts fled into the night.

  Before Sapphira could catch her breath, more chaos erupted down the hillside. This time it was hundreds of crusaders flooding from the prison gates and fleeing toward the beach.

  “Hurry!” she yelled. “We must run to the ship with all our might. And we must all be around the bend before the Saracens reach the prison!” For if they saw the fleeing crusaders and prisoners, they might give chase, and the fight would start all over again.

  Sapphira could only hope the bright torches would blind the Saracens’ eyes to the shadowy movement beyond their goal.

  “But Randel and Rosalind?” Brigitte said, frozen in her place.

  Sapphira turned to the frenzied mob rushing along the beach. No one broke away from the crowd, and even if they wished to, they could never fight the tide of humanity sweeping down the shoreline.

  “We will meet them there. Go! Now!”

  Jervais led them, and the well-conditioned children took off at a strong pace. But as Sapphira’s feet began to pound the earth, she noticed Sadie struggling to even walk. Blood seeped through a gash in her leggings.

  Most of the children were already too far to call, but Rabia had paused, no doubt to seek out her family.

  “Rabia! Come, help!”

  In a flash, they had Sadie’s arms over their shoulders and ran together toward the ship.

  Glancing back, Sapphira saw the raging torches a mere furlong beyond the prison. “Faster!” she cried.

  Pulling strength from a place deep within, she urged her feet forward at a quicker pace, and Rabia met her stride for stride.

  “That way!” Sapphira jerked her chin toward a path that cut over the hillside at an angle and would lead them to the beach farther from the prison.

  Most of the crusaders were around the bend now.

  But Sadie had ceased to help carry her own weight and sagged against them, hindering their speed.

  “No!” Sadie said. “We are too slow. Leave me and save yourselves.”

  “Never!” Rabia answered for both of them. She hauled Sadie higher on her shoulder so that the girl’s feet barely grazed the ground, and Sapphira did likewise.

  They finally reached the beach. The last crusaders turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

  The torches seemed to flow like a river of molten fire now, directly to the prison behind them. Soon they would be spotted. They would never reach the bend in time.

  Then two figures came back around the corner. Garrett and Jervais!

  “We just noticed you were missing.” Jervais called as they ran their way.

  With surprising strength, Jervais lifted Sadie in his arms. Garrett took Sapphira and Rabia’s hands in his own. He seemed to lend them an extra burst of speed, and they all melted around the corner and into the night.

  Once safe, Sapphira broke free from Garrett’s grasp to peek back around and watch the molten river, still streaming. Into the prison. Not down the beach after them.

  She sagged for a brief moment in relief, then sped down the sand once again.

  Chapter 35

  By the time everyone was safely aboard the ship, the sun was already tinging the sky with morning light in a pale shade of silver. Randel took a moment to lean against the ship rail and breathe in the salty sea air. He whispered up a word of thanks that the Saracens had not given chase up the beach. And he had personally counted each of the children as they had fought their way through the waves and climbed up the rope ladders to the ship. Sadie’s injury would require some tending, but only Humphrey would not return to Tripoli with them.

  “Sir Randel,” Rumsford touched his arm, pulling him away from memories that were melancholy but no longer haunting. “Lady Honoria is ready for us.”

  Randel followed Rumsford into Honoria’s cabin. For the first time in their journey lasting a third of the year, he noted tearstains streaking their leader’s cheeks.

  She sniffled and straightened herself. “Welcome, gentlemen.” She pushed against the table with her hands and stood, although that simple action seemed to require the utmost effort.

  Lord Haverland gave her shoulder a supportive pat. “We have been taking tally of who made it safely back to the ships.”

  Lady Honoria pressed her lips together tight before she spoke. “We rescued almost three hundred prisoners, mostly English, but my husband and cousin are not among them.”

  Haverland nodded. “We have it on good authority that they died in Beirut during the winter. We never had a chance of saving them.”

  “But at least we know the truth.” Honoria’s voice quavered. “The dukedom can move forwar
d. I think they will better embrace Duchess Adela once they realize she is the true heir.”

  “In a way, the knowledge shall set us all free.” Now that his vision concerning his own life had grown so much clearer, Randel understood how a warped perception could lead one astray. “Was that not our primary goal?”

  “To set the captives free.” Honoria took a deep breath. “I suppose that could have many interpretations.”

  “And our total losses?” asked Rumsford.

  “Less than a hundred men between the various battles,” Haverland said. “Considering we saved four times the number that we lost, I suppose we should call this crusade a victory. Yet I can hardly bring myself to feel that way about it.”

  Lady Honoria squeezed his hand, the hand of the only man who had given his child’s life in exchange for their cause.

  Randel blinked back his own tears now. He glanced about the room to Sir Giles and Sir Etienne, who had remained quiet throughout the exchange. That is when he realized. “But wait, where is Sir Ade—”

  The pained look in Honoria’s eye cut him short. “My faithful servant, Sir Ademar, died protecting me at the prison. But I swear that I shall care for his family like my own from this day hence.”

  Randel’s stomach churned. “Does Garrett know?”

  “Not yet,” Honoria said. “I was hoping you would help me tell him. And we must also tell Sapphira that my husband and our cousin are not alive.”

  “Before we do so,” Sir Giles finally spoke up, “we should decide your next step.”

  Honoria sagged back into her chair. “I think we are all heart weary.”

  Although the experience at his makeshift trial had done much to heal Randel’s own heart, he had grown weary of this battle as well. “Things are far more complex here than we ever realized.”

  “And messy,” said Lord Rumsford. “So very messy. Other than rescuing our own men, I have lost sight of what this crusade is even about.”

  “I am ready to return home,” Lady Honoria said. “And I believe Sapphira shall agree. I only hope she is not too disappointed that we failed to return the rightful duke to North Britannia.”