Hope and the Knight of the Black Lion

by Mary C. Findley

  “Nay, my lady,” Sir Chris said with a low chuckle that I felt all through me as I leaned my back against his chest. “Do not say you have ever quarreled with anyone. It cannot be in your sweet nature to do so.”

  I pursed my lips and did not go on. We rode in silence for some time. Sadaquah was swathed as if in a death shroud and I could barely see his eyes. “Did you quarrel with your lady mother only, or with Baron Colchester as well?” Sir Chris asked finally.

  “Both,” I admitted.

  “What about?”

  “I want to marry Robert Talcott, the earl’s son,” I said, wondering why I was telling him this. “And he wants to marry me. But they opposed the match.”

  “Indeed? But you are practically an old maid, my lady. They should be anxious to marry you off. And the son of an earl ...”

  “I will not tell you more if you continue to make sport of me,” I snapped.

  “Your pardon, lady,” he said contritely. “Pray go on.”

  “You see, I was betrothed before I was even born. But the man – He is twenty years older than me, if he is even alive. And he has not been heard from in fifteen years. How can I go on waiting in such a case?”

  “Ah, but if you loved him, you would wait.”

  “You asked me to tell you this, sir knight, yet you go on mocking me as if I importuned you with information you did not desire to hear. How could I love this man, sir, I being but three years old when he left his father’s house for good, after years before that in scholarly pursuit? I never even knew him. Robert is of an age with me, and he is here and willing to give me his duty. Why should I care for a specter?”

  “Why indeed, lady? I beg your forgiveness for my mockery. Your discourse has been most instructive. Ho, there before us is your haven, the gamekeeper’s cot.” He drew rein before Gil’s little house in the woods. I slipped off the horse, eager to be done talking about the subject of my betrothal and thinking suddenly about Robert. I hoped he might have left a token in the cottage for me. I skipped to the door and flung it open.

  “Robert!” I cried, and shrank back as he filled the low doorway before my startled eyes. His fine blue silk tunic looked as if he had slept in it and his golden hair stood out almost comically. Sir Chris had taken his time dismounting but when he heard my voice raised he darted forward and drew his broadsword. Robert’s eyes widened as he took in the huge knight and the closely-wrapped Arab.

  “Mall amr?” Sadaquah hissed. He had fallen back to glance around the clearing and had not seen Robert. “What is wrong?” He drew his sword as well.

  “Who is this man, my lady?” Sir Chris demanded.

  “It is Robert, the earl’s son,” I said hastily. My companions sheathed their swords but remained alert, seeing my confusion. “Robert, what are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you,” Robert said. He had started to draw his own sword, but rammed it back and glared at Sir Chris and Sadaquah in angry bewilderment. I could see he had just awakened and was in an ill humor. “I thought you would come here eventually, and I wanted to offer my assistance to you when you did come .… “ He trailed off and looked past me again at my comrades.

  “Then you believe me now!” I said joyously, hugging him. “You will have the earl punish that murderer and make him tell where he has hidden my mother and my uncle. Oh, Robert, I knew you would help me!”

  “Hope, who are these strangers?” Robert demanded, disengaging himself from my embrace.

  “This is Sir Chris,” I explained. “He is an old friend of my uncle’s and has pledged to help me. His friend is an Arab called Sadaquah.”

  “Well, I did not come here because I have changed my mind about Hugo Brun,” Robert said sharply. “I came to try to talk sense to you, and make you come back to the castle with me. My father is sick with worry and has had Hugo Brun searching everywhere for you. Where have you been?”

  “Mayhap you should ask that same Hugo Brun,” Sir Chris said dryly. “Or else go you and look upon the front door of the Red Boar Inn in Blackheath. He knew full well where her ladyship was yestere’en, and sent four men to kill her.”

  “It is a lie!” Robert snarled. “I cannot speak about this inn, but there was a fire at the manor house. I saw the bodies of the servants. Some had beams fallen upon them and were badly burned but there was no violence, just great tragedy. Hope, come with me. You do not need this stranger’s help. My father will welcome you. You will be safe at our castle. And now nothing hinders us from being married. As soon as your mourning is past, we…”

  “Hassib -- Soft, young earl-to-be,” Sir Chris said in a low, rumbling voice, coming very near to Robert. “You speak lightly of things that bring the good lady great heaviness. Look you, she weeps.” Indeed, my eyes had filled with tears as Robert had gone on speaking so callously, brushing aside what had happened as if it was a mere obstacle he was glad was out of his path.

  “Never mind how I speak to Hope,” Robert snapped. “It is no business of yours. If you have served her my father will see that you are paid. But she has no more need of your protection. I tell you there is no danger, Hope. You were mistaken about what you saw. You heard Hugo Brun explain about how he was at the manor that night, and saw flames. Perhaps you saw him in the midst of everything and became confused. Truly, there is no more.”

  “He lies! He lies!” I screamed. “Why do you believe him and not me? If I go with you he will kill me as he tried to do before. Did you not see the man I left in my bed –The one who tried to murder me with this very knife?” I held the assassin’s dagger up in Robert’s face.

  “Hope, there was no man in your bed or in your room,” Robert said. “When the maid came to attend you she found you gone. She reported to us immediately and we found nothing at all amiss in your room. How could someone have broken in there and no one know? You dreamed or fainted and walked away in some daze. But now —”

  “Stop it!” I shouted. “It is you whose wits are addled. I know what I saw, and I know what happened to me. That man has fooled the earl, and you, and probably bribed the whole household to further his schemes. I am not going with you.”

  “You are coming with me.” Robert grabbed my arm roughly. Sir Chris moved so quickly that I barely saw his hand flash past me and strike Robert hard across the face. Robert flew backward and crashed into the wall of the cot. Sir Chris grabbed him by the throat and pulled him up off the ground.

  “Asrea – Speak quickly -- Did anyone come with you?” he demanded harshly. “Does anyone else know you are here?”

  “No!” Robert bleated. “I wanted to see Hope alone, so I could persuade her – Let me go! You cannot use me so.”

  “I will use you a good deal worse if you do not go at once,” Sir Chris growled. “And I will kill you if you tell anyone Lady Hope is here. Ith’hab.” He tossed Robert away from him. “Never doubt that I can.”

  Robert gained his feet and began to bluster. “Hugo Brun is a great man, Hope,” He protested. “All the years since he returned from the Holy Lands he has never rested, only taken the messages he had from his fellow Crusaders to their grieving families. Why would he attack Colchester? Just tell me why, and mayhap I can believe, too.”

  Sir Chris turned around and walked rapidly toward him. Robert blanched and backed away. “I have heard a thing or two about this Hugo Brun myself, young earl,” he rumbled. “I have heard how he has been rewarded generously for his holy quest by these same grieving families you spoke of. Yet he says he is destitute and brought nothing to the earl’s house but his horse and arms. What has he done with the gold and goods he got from those to whom his holy quest took him?”

  Robert paled suddenly and looked away as if some remembrance troubled him. Then he stiffened and scowled at the knight. “He has no land or home. It costs dearly to keep traveling as he has.”

  “Methinks it would, except that he has been welcomed as if he were a saint and feted everywhere he went,” retorted Sir Chris. “I doubt me he has even slept one night
in an inn at his own expense since he was first heard of in Europe.”

  “How can you have learned all this?” Robert asked uneasily.

  “I have learned more than that. He has no land in France because the estate of Hugo Brun, Earl of March, passed from him when he was presumed killed under a cloud of suspicion at the battle for Damietta. He fought most valiantly to try to convince Louis IX that he had not committed treason.”

  “Hugo Brun killed? A traitor? You lie,” Robert hissed. “He lives and all of Europe has heard of him. My father searched to know why he was banished from France and none could tell him.”

  “The good earl cannot have searched very long or hard,” scoffed Sir Chris. “Hugo Brun may not have died at Damietta. This man has made no attempt to contact families in France, only in other countries and here. This holy quest of his is a strange one if it excludes his own countrymen. Mayhap your father knows the truth but hides it from you. Lusto adri – I do not know. But do not worship at the shrine of a mere man, earl’s whelp. Worship God, and pray that He will teach you what is true. This Hugo Brun is false down to the soles of his boots. Mark my words, and search out the truth yourself if you do not trust me.”

  Robert stared from me to Sir Chris. He ran behind the cot without another word. I heard him mount his horse a moment later and then he was gone.

  “What a fool I was to bring you straight in here,” Sir Chris spat. “It is good it was only that sniveling pup. Lady, I am a poor protector. Min Fadhliki – Please –Othaneri -- Forgive me.”

  “Is it true, all of what you said?” I breathed. “Surely that Frenchman has blinded the earl’s eyes.”

  “Aye, but you have given me an idea,” Sir Chris said. “There must be people at the earl’s who have been well-paid to be silent, if they would conceal an attack on you in the earl’s own house. Perhaps they would like double pay to give out what Sir Hugo Brun has done with John Cloyes and Lady Ada. But lady, I should not leave you here. What if the young earl should let slip where you bide to Hugo Brun or come back here to molest you again?”

  “M-molest me?” I echoed. “He would not. Robert loves me. He was only worried and confused. He came here because … because we met here before when things went wrong.”

  Sir Chris had taken my things off his horse and started to carry them into the cot. He halted in mid-step and turned round to stare straight into my eyes. I blushed and looked at the ground.

  “You met him here, alone, against the wishes of your mother?” Sir Chris demanded. “I will strip the hide off the whelp.”

  “You sound just like Uncle John!” I stormed. “We only came here to talk. We were forbidden to even see each other. It was outrageous. Am I supposed to wait until I am an old hag because Uncle John’s runaway son may possibly come back and claim me someday?”

  “I have seen how that whelp spoke to you – How he dared put his hand on you. If he has not had his way with you yet it is only because he feared of John Cloyes’ wrath. Now there is nothing to prevent him.”

  “You do not know Robert,” I said, blushing and knowing I almost believed his words myself. “He would never presume …”

  “I have no time to argue,” Sir Chris said impatiently. “Stay here, then. Hassib – Take care – Just do you remember, my young lady, how he was with you and consider well whether John Cloyes and Lady Ada did not give you wise counsel regarding him. Perhaps he and Sir Hugo Brun conspired together to rob you of your family and clear the path for him.”

  I slapped Sir Chris in the face as hard as I could. Sadaquah seized my arm but Sir Chris pushed him away.

  “La yahum. Let her alone,” he said sharply. “Perhaps her precious young earl should come back and rescue her from such an unsuitable companion as me. Do you come with me, Sadaquah. We have work to do, whether it is for the Lady Hope or no. Ma’assalama. Farewell, my lady.”

  Chapter Six: A Crusader’s Quest, A Captive’s Vow, A Friendship Forged

  He who does not leave at once

  For the land where Christ loved and died

  And take the Cross

  Will hardly go to Paradise.

  It is good to be God’s servant,

  And not to be touched by danger or chance.

  Serve well and be rewarded well.”

  God, why did you create foreign countries?

  It has parted many lovers

  Who have lost comfort of love

  And forgotten its joy.

  They mounted their horses and rode off. I rubbed my stinging hand, wondering how it was Sir Chris had not even flinched at the blow I had given him. My anger boiled over again and I slammed my bundle against the wall inside the cot. Everything flew out. I found the little black lion Gil had carved lying on the hearth with a broken leg. I spent the next half hour trying to repair it with a bit of hide but it still stood very crookedly on the table. I gathered up my other things and put them away.

  The last thing I picked up was a small, thick, leather-bound book. It was not mine, and Meg had not mentioned giving me anything to read. Indeed, it seemed hardly likely that anyone in the innkeeper’s household even owned a book. I opened the clasp as I sat down at the table. The book was badly worn, soiled and stained in places. Parts of it were in some incomprehensible but beautifully-written script. Parts were Latin and French. Parts were English. It appeared to be a diary or journal of some kind. Some of the writing near the end was weak and spidery, but for the most part the hand was strong and scrupulously neat. Many kinds of pens and inks had been used, as if the book were the product of many years and written under all kinds of conditions. I puzzled out a page or two here and there and found a most incredible story unfolding.

  This book shall be the record of my rise. Now that I am out from under my father’s heel I can begin. University is behind me and the world before me. The Friar Alain, who pretends to be my bosom friend, would have me take Holy Orders directly. Aye, well do I know that the real power in this world is to be had serving the Holy Mother Church. Still, I have had enough of schooling for now. I want to travel, and not in Europe. It bores me. Perhaps I shall go to Cathay and see the wonders there. But I cannot lose my connections in the Church. I have worked too hard to impress them all with my zeal and to show them how useful I can be to them. Perhaps what my patrons need is a show of religious fervor. Perhaps what I need is an adventure. I have heard the Crusades have made many a man’s fortune, both in gold and in favor with the powers in Rome. They like to see us devote ourselves to Christ and Our Lady, and they like to see us bring back Muslim treasures – and Jewish ones too – even if we do not free the Holy Sepulchre just yet.

  If my father hears of this decision, he might think I have truly come to believe in the Romanist dogma. I suppose he will weep for me again. He should not waste his tears. I subscribe to no faith – Not the Church, not his peculiar heresies about salvation by faith alone, not anything. I believe in power, and if the Church can give it to me, then I will swear allegiance to her and use her to my ends. I do not regard my father’s pleas that I not consign my soul to Hell, for I cannot believe in Hell. I have read the Vulgate backward and forward, memorized most of it, and still I cannot see God. I sing all the hymns – People say I have a voice to rival the archangels. I conduct a mass no one can sleep through. But I see only that people give me what I want when they think I can feed souls. What fools they are.

  Yes, I have decided to join Louis IX’s Crusade. It will be a powerful gesture, I think. No door will be closed to one who has returned from the Holy Land in triumph with a palm branch and a coffer of Saracen gold. I have signed on to board a ship in one week’s time. The wenches have wept to hear I am going away. Even they do not think it hypocrisy if I drink with them tonight and sing the mass tomorrow. It is not so in my father’s household of sour sheep. Nay, never could I follow his creed. But he would not let me go until I spat in his face and told him I would never be his son again. Why did he have to look at me so? He is another fool. I will not think of h
im again. I will tell Eva good-bye tonight, and make her cry again. She weeps so prettily. I might even hear her confession afterward. She likes to think of me as her private priest.

  I wanted to write much of this land and sea voyage from Paris to Cyprus to Alexandria, but it has been a nightmare of misery and I have torn out every page I began. My fellow travelers seemed zealous enough at first, howling out the Te Deum and Thibaul’s and de Bethune’s rousing lyrics:

  He who does not leave at once

  For the land where Christ loved and died

  And take the Cross

  Will hardly go to paradise.

  It is good to be God’s servant,

  And not be touched by danger or chance.

  Serve well and be rewarded well.

  The tunes have changed somewhat since the five men died and most others are sick with scurvy or something else. No one has escaped the seasickness, the pests, and the heat. My dreams of power seem petty and stupid in the face of this suffering for a wrong-headed cause. Now it is another Thibaul air that is sung by those who still have breath for singing.

  God why did you create foreign countries?

  It has parted many lovers

  Who have lost comfort of love

  And forgotten its joy.

  Why did I ever put this cross upon my shoulder? Some of these fools are still utterly zealous and cry that as soon as we get our land legs back we shall do well. We shall certainly be a fine lot when we reach our destination. Those who still live shall best the Saracens by retching upon them.

  Aye, it has been a long time since I took up pen to write herein. I found this book among the things I buried in the cave of Manzala ridge where I hid the bodies of those I killed from my former comrades. Here are my Christian trappings, sunk in the sand and mold at the back of the cave these two years.