The Dark Crusader

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The Dark Crusader Page 11

by Jackie Ivie


  “It is ever like this around you,” Euan remarked. “Must be nice.”

  “I don’t look for just any woman,” Rhoenne turned and started walking again.

  “Oh. All right. What kind do you search for, then? Tall? Short? Fat? Thin? Auld? Young? Free with her charms? Tight as a maid? What?”

  “I should have brought Grant,” Rhoenne commented, and brushed past another group of shoppers clogging the street.

  “He’s keeping the eunuch company.”

  “He’d better be standing guard.”

  “That’s what I meant. Would you mind not taking such long steps? You make me appear the size of a tot.”

  Rhoenne snickered. Looked down the next alley. It was darker and even more empty-looking than the last one. But then a shaft of sunlight pierced through the gloom, showing the distinct shadow of a crucifix, while an etched fish on a wall caught his eye.

  Well. He’d wanted drastic. Looked like he’d found it.

  “Stay here,” he told Euan.

  “And do what?”

  “Keep any from accosting me.”

  “You’ve got a lot of women trailing you, my laird.”

  “Delay them.”

  “With what?”

  Rhoenne handed him two coins. “Use your imagination. Don’t you juggle? Play a reed? Tell a fine story? You just said it must be nice to have all this attention. Well. You now have it. Enjoy.”

  It was a small Christian church, constructed of mud brick. The outside had little save a small cross atop the door peak. The inside was candlelit and decorated with colorful biblical frescos. There were four short benches. An altar. A curtain blocked access to whatever lay behind. It was dark, quiet, and serene in the church, contrasting with the loud, busy enterprise of commerce just down the street. Rhoenne walked up the short aisle and drew his sword. Putting it tip-down into the dirt floor, he went to his knees before the altar. He said a silent prayer. And then he felt a presence.

  Rhoenne lifted his head and looked across to where a diminutive priest stood beside the altar. Rhoenne got to his feet slowly. Sheathed his sword. The fellow was smaller even than Cassandra. He frowned at the instant comparison. He knew plenty of petite women. Why did it have to be Cassandra that instantly came to mind?

  “Welcome, my son. Have you come for confession?” the priest asked.

  “No, Father. It’s a bit late for that.”

  “It is never too late.”

  “Then it’s too early. I am certain there are still sins I am destined to commit.”

  “You are a crusader knight.”

  “Is it so obvious?” he asked. It was an easily answered question. This land belonged to those of Muslim faith. The seventh crusade had been raging through the land for years. Rhoenne carried a western-crafted broadsword. He prayed in a Christian church.

  “You seek passage from these shores? Perhaps even...with the Venetian ship at dock?”

  Rhoenne went still. “Why would you think that?”

  “Come with me. Please?”

  The man lifted a candlestick, and walked to the curtain behind the altar. He pushed it aside and gestured Rhoenne to follow. Rhoenne considered it for a scant moment, then followed.

  The room was little more than an alcove, containing a table. Stool. A cot. And the scrawniest woman Rhoenne had ever laid eyes on. She sat on the cot. She glanced up at him then quickly looked down to her lap. That one glance was enough. The woman’s eyes were large and dark and tormented. They took over her whole face.

  “This is Olive.”

  “Olive,” Rhoenne repeated.

  “We do not know her true name. That is what we call her.”

  “She’s mute?”

  “Her tongue was cut out.”

  Rhoenne felt the center of his back twinge. He had it covered instantly.

  “She was left at our doorstep a month ago. Hauled off a slave trading vessel and left at death’s door. We don’t know why they cut out her tongue. She cannot say. She has regained her health now.”

  “This is health?” Rhoenne asked.

  “But she is not safe here.”

  “She’s safer here than out there,” Rhoenne commented.

  “No. In this country, no woman is safe. Surely you have learned that.”

  Rhoenne nodded.

  “You must take her with you.”

  “Oh. No. No.” Rhoenne shook his head, and repeated it. “No.

  “If anyone sees her, she is doomed to reenter the life she barely escaped. Surely you know this.”

  “What makes you think I’m not her doom?”

  “That, I cannot answer. I just know she will be safe with you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  “I have heard those words since I was a bairn. I begin to think they are a disguise for when a man has no good argument to offer.”

  “You came here for a reason, Crusader.”

  Rhoenne’s lips twisted. He barely kept the smile from showing. “True. But it is not what you think.”

  The priest’s downturned eyes said much. “Absolution does not come from prayers and confession, my son.”

  “What makes you think I look for absolution?”

  “’Tis why you knights enjoined on a crusade and pursued war. You have been promised absolution by the Pope. I know the edicts.”

  “Maybe I came because I like killing,” Rhoenne returned.

  “Do you?”

  Rhoenne smiled humorlessly to himself. “Or maybe I’m here because I heard of fabulous riches. Streets lined with gold.”

  “Have you found it thus?”

  “Or...I might have come because the alternative was worse.”

  The priest nodded. “I see.”

  Rhoenne regarded the small man for a length of time, as though deep in thought. “Forgive me, Father, but the answer is still no. I’m sorry. I cannot help you. Or Olive.”

  Rhoenne turned to leave. He’d lifted the curtain before the priest spoke again.

  “But, my son...surely you are in need of a handmaiden at this very moment? You have someone who needs served. Olive is very good with her hands. She is very patient. She is expert with a needle. Her skill at weaving is extraordinary.”

  Rhoenne paused at the door. Turned. “How do you know this?”

  “I only say the words the Lord puts in my mouth. I do not know anything.”

  Rhoenne looked at Olive’s bent head. Back at the priest. Gave a heavy sigh. He was going to be in for a fine bit of ribbing from his clansmen, starting with Euan. He could already hear it.

  “Does she have a covering?” he asked.

  The priest touched Olive’s arm and motioned her to stand. She was even more bony-looking when she did so. The priest then pulled the coverlet off his bed. It looked the equivalent of sackcloth. The fabric completely covered Olive. It didn’t make anything about her look less emaciated or frail. The priest motioned for her to follow Rhoenne. Rhoenne bent down to look into her face. Waited for her to make eye contact. Had to wait for it to happen three times since she blushed the first two times and her glance skittered away. He tried to give her a reassuring expression. She acted like she understood. He nodded. Then he stood and turned back to the curtain. He didn’t know what else to try. She’d either follow or not.

  Rhoenne pulled two gold dinars from his bag, placed them in the offering jar as he left.

  Euan had gathered quite a crowd. It appeared to be due to his juggling skills, which were considerable. When he saw Rhoenne, the three plates he’d been tossing and catching fell with a crash. As did the water jug he’d pitched too, splashing everyone in the vicinity.

  There was a general bit of laughter and applause. Rhoenne strode through them. He didn’t look back to see if Olive followed. He was already regretting his decision. He felt like a dupe and a fool. He’d either just complicated his life into a nightmare, or he’d untwisted the knot fate had been mercilessly strapping about h
im. Either way, he had just gained another woman to protect.

  Women!

  Euan caught up and started complaining. Rhoenne looked heavenward for a moment.

  “Thank the saints! You took forever. I had about run my gamut of tricks!”

  “I saw no trouble,” Rhoenne replied.

  “You don’t know how quickly a crowd can turn nasty, and—. Ramhurst? I think you are being followed.”

  “Really?” Rhoenne replied.

  “Yes. Some bird woman. Wait. I’ll shoo her away.”

  “No.”

  “You want a bird woman to follow us?”

  “I bade her to do so.”

  “You did? Wait. Is this the woman you looked for?”

  Rhoenne didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He didn’t truly know anymore.

  “Call me dense, but this does not look like a woman you would search out. Is she a relation of some kind?”

  “No.”

  “A...rich noblewoman lost on these shores that we will ransom?”

  Rhoenne regarded him for long moments without breaking stride.

  “Verra well. I have a vivid imagination. ’Tis why I tell stories. But I am at loose ends here. She is not rich. She is not a relation. She is not the woman you searched for—.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then she is the woman you searched for.”

  “Do you have any coin left?” Rhoenne asked to divert him.

  “Aye. Both.”

  “Good. Go get a honey bun. Get one for...her as well.”

  Rhoenne nodded with his head to the thin figure directly behind him. That bode well. She had enough sense to stay close. He noticed she was breathing hard and trotting, so he slowed his step as well as decreased his stride length. Both affectations were completely unlike him. He hoped Euan wouldn’t notice and make mention. Rhoenne was doing his best to ignore it.

  He seemed to be gaining woman trouble by the minute. Henry’s comments would be unstoppable.

  He was scowling before they reached the inn.

  Chapter Eleven

  A sniff told her too much.

  She’d never been this filthy. Ever.

  Cassandra dipped her elbow into bath water, testing the temperature. No longer hot enough to steam the room, it still resembled heaven. Temperature didn’t matter. She’d embrace it had it gone tepid. But she refused to enter it until she’d prepared enough, and without at least one attendant it was a time-consuming operation.

  The moment Rhoenne had carried her into this chamber, ordered her to stay, and then left, granting her a measure of privacy, she’d been working. He hadn’t looked back to see her nod, but she hadn’t expected him to. She hadn’t thanked him, either. She should have, and would have, if everything about him wasn’t sending a silent signal. She hadn’t needed the warning. She already knew he wanted nothing to do with her, and that included her appreciation. So, she bestowed it on Emin.

  The man was a wonder, but she already knew that, as well.

  Cassandra had been effusive over Emin’s first offerings. Each time he knocked at her door begging permission to enter, he’d brought more. First, he’d borne platters of grapes, plums, dates, figs, cheeses, four kinds of breads – from coarsely ground wheat with bitter bits baked in, to tempting cinnamon twists iced with honey. With his next entrance, he’d brought two platters of skewers, perfectly seasoned and grilled, with alternating chunks of meat and vegetables. Following that, he’d gifted her with three kinds of juices in various jugs, a tureen of chilled water, and then even a pot of brewed tea, with a cup to partake as she wished.

  Cassandra hadn’t been able to do more than nibble at each selection, although she’d done it twice. She’d only sipped at the drinks. After the journey she’d just endured, she hadn’t needed much sustenance before feeling overfull and replete. She’d shed the cloak the moment the door shut behind Ramhurst. Lifted the disgusting weight of what had once been beautifully arranged hair. Starting from the bottom, she’d barely managed to unbraid a hand-length portion before Emin had first knocked, his entrance putting her attention fully on hunger and thirst.

  Once those were satisfied, however, she’d become aware again of the itch of unwashed skin, the odor of her unwashed body. The rope webbing she’d tied about Rhoenne’s tunic felt solidified into place. It was also loose about her frame. Lush, womanly curves were desired in the harem, and while she’d been slight, she was voluptuous enough to catch the sultan’s eye. Now, she probably looked sickly and spare.

  Not that Rhoenne Ramhurst would even notice or care.

  The hint of reaction that stabbed behind her eyes at the thought was as disastrous as it was unbidden. She didn’t want that man noticing her! She wanted the exact same thing he did - to be free of further interaction between them. And that thought sent a throb of what couldn’t possibly be sorrow through her chest, while another stab of tears misted her eyes.

  Far too stupid to consider, and wasteful of this interim of time he’d given her.

  And then Emin had brought a tub!

  Oh my!

  Remnants of her feast covered the only sleeping platform, the lone table, and the tops of both stools in the room. There was just enough room for a large tub Emin had turned sideways to fit through the poorly-constructed door. Cassandra couldn’t contain the reaction. Every hint of sorrow evaporated instantly. She’d clapped and jumped up and down with joy as he set the tub in the center of the room, leaving space to walk around it. She’d been working at the knots in her rope when he knocked for entrance next, bringing cans of heated water that steamed the small enclosure even before he’d poured them. He’d also taken out one of the daggers at his belt and offered it to her, wordlessly helping with the rope. She’d had to cut the rope in more than one place to get it freed and he’d waited, patiently watching. And then he’d held his hand out to retrieve the blade, as if he knew what she’d planned with Rhoenne’s little dagger, and thought she’d still consider that option.

  She’d never choose death. Not now, when she was this close to her objective! All she needed was passage to the Bulgarian court! Or any court that recognized the Vottenavian name. Returning to her life had been an eight year dream.

  The tunic was stuck to her in the exact places the rope had held it, holding it even when the rope was gone. It was revoltingly stained, too. It would be worse when she finished, however. She only hoped there would be time to wash it in her tub when she finished. Hang it to dry. She’d have to do the same with her undergarments. She didn’t have another choice. They were all she had.

  The tunic had grown even larger, if that were possible. She pushed it off her shoulders and it fell. Then she’d exclaimed in dismay at the condition of what had been beautiful silk attire. The garments had to be peeled off. Cassandra had shuddered with revulsion, and then turned to securing her hair atop her head. The short length of rope came in handy then, and even without help she had it secured into a massive bun atop her head. Large and unwieldy enough to destabilize every movement, it was better than before.

  And then she turned to the other supplies he’d brought.

  She’d suspected it might take him time to procure olive or palm oil that had been whipped into a thick cream consistency. She’d also asked for a vial of lily extract, packets of powdered myrrh and cinnamon. She needed them to mix into the fragrant Susinum perfume that she favored. She should have known he’d be knocking with the items before she’d finished undressing. Cassandra slid behind the door before allowing entrance. Not due to Emin. He’d seen her body enough times it wasn’t an issue. The reason for her shyness was the lurking shadow of a Ramhurst man who’d been behind Emin more than once. Cassandra didn’t know what might happen if one of Rhoenne’s men saw her nakedness. She didn’t even dare pursue the thought.

  She’d next sent Emin for a fine-tooth comb as well as Natron salts, ash, sandalwood, and lemon extract. The salts could also be mixed with ash, sandalwood and lemon for soap. She’d need more whippe
d oil however. She’d used most of it in the original vat to coat her body. Emin returned just as she’d reached the small of her back, and considered either leaving her back untouched, or coating the tunic and applying it with that. Emin had a flush about him, but he agreed to smear a handful of cream on her back and shoulders. He’d looked flustered when he’d left her that time. Cassandra was even more embarrassed. She’d covered it over by busily adding and mixing ingredients for both her scrub, and the soap. She’d dumped the ewer of water into the tub so the vessel could be used for the scrub. She’d moved food from the bread and cheese platter onto the fruit platter in order to use the plate for the thick soap mixture. She mixed and molded with her fingers to the perfect consistency. And then she set about coating her body with the scrub mix.

  The Natron hadn’t been just salt. There were fine grains of sand mixed in. That was helpful, actually. It would slough off the dirt even better. Cassandra rubbed as she applied it to her oiled skin, ignoring her back. She used the tunic to wipe it all off. The garment was a disaster of dirt and oil well before she worked it back and forth on her back and shoulders. She wasn’t asking Emin for help again. He would probably thank her wordlessly the next time he knocked. She had a handful of soap mixture and was just preparing to slather it on a leg when the door opened.

  Cassandra looked up. Her gasp of dismay was swallowed up by the door slamming and his instant oath. Rhoenne stood there, his jaw locked, his eyes narrowed, and breathing so heavily, the sound reverberated. Cassandra had a foot on the tub, her hand atop her lower leg, and nothing whatsoever to hide behind. After the initial glimpse of him, she quickly looked at a side wall. She didn’t have to guess what expression he’d have about anything. He was livid. It sounded in his words, said between set teeth. She didn’t have to ask about that, either.

  “What...are you doing?”

  “Bathing,” she whispered.

  “Why are you posing?”

 

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