The Hermetica of Elysium (Elysium Texts Series)

by Annmarie Banks

  “Let us go back, then. When we see the French we will know they are near behind them.”

  “You want to go back toward the French.” He turned his head and eyed her like she had lost her mind.

  “Yes. Toward the French,” she said with a decided nod.

  Montrose stood up and started back east toward the road. Nadira stood up and ran to him, walking backwards in front of him.

  “Don’t be silly. We can go east without walking in the road. Stay covered.”

  “Not really, Nadira. Look on ahead. We came from across that country.” He swung his arm out to the south. “If you look ahead, you see there is very little cover. This land is cultivated from the edge of the river right up to the sides of the road for acres. There is the occasional tree,” he pointed to the tree as they passed it, “but for the most part, if we are to go east, we must walk along this road. The cover is to the north. Look.”

  “Perhaps the French turned back, and will not even be on this road,” she offered.

  “Perhaps I shall sprout wings.”

  “They might. You might.” She was gratified when she heard him chuckle. Encouraged, she kept it up. “They might have returned to camp and explained my escape as aided by demons.”

  “Now that’s not funny, Nadira.”

  “I think it is. My lord, you wouldn’t believe these people. You won’t believe what they did to me, thinking I was consorting with their devil.”

  “Oh yes, I would. I’ve been there.” He waved his right thumb at her.

  Nadira winced. “Of course. I will be glad to get out of here, but when we find Alisdair and Garreth, where will we go?”

  “I think I want to take you home to England with me.”

  “That sounds nice. Are there no Black Friars there?”

  “None.”

  Nadira sighed. “I’m trying to imagine that.”

  “It has been a long while since I’ve been…there.” His face darkened.

  Nadira was poised to ask him about his home when something like a cold hand clutched at her heart. She stopped. “Look.” She pulled on his arm. Montrose stopped and looked far ahead where she pointed.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Wait. Come off the road.” Nadira pulled him sideways. “They are coming.” Montrose did not argue, but moved quickly off the road. As he had feared, there was little cover.

  “How long until they see us?” he asked.

  “Not long. Let’s get down in the shadows.” Nadira pulled him down the slope and into a gully. Montrose went on alert, his hand on the hilt of his sword; his eyes focused far down the road. Nadira crouched down beside him. The bank of the gully was too high for her to see over but she saw the French coming nonetheless. She saw them approach their hiding place, and she saw the horses snort and shy away as they passed. She plucked at Montrose’s sleeve.

  “Hmmm,” he said, not taking his eyes from the road.

  “My lord. It doesn’t matter. They will find us here, no matter what we do. Or where we try to flee.”

  “What?” He looked down at her now.

  “The horses. They will smell us and shy. The French will find us in this hollow and there is nowhere else. It is no use.”

  He did not ask the obvious question; instead he asked softly, “What then, Nadira?”

  She closed her eyes. The horses are coming, they see us, swords flash in the twilight, but I feel no fear. Nadira opened her eyes.

  “What is it?” He lowered himself beside her, searching her face.

  “They are coming, but we are not in danger,” she said incredulously.

  “How can that be?” he frowned.

  “I don’t know. You will have to trust me.”

  “Last time I trusted you…”

  Nadira felt a stab of remorse. “I know, I know. But last time I was blind and selfish and childish and petulant. You were right then. You knew it was time to leave the tower. I was only thinking of myself and my own desires. This is different, though.” Tears came to her eyes. “I am so sorry about that, my lord. So sorry. So sorry.”

  His huge hand came down softly on the top of her head and stroked her hair. “I don’t blame you for that. I blame myself. I should have scooped you up, kicking and screaming, and carried you off. Better me than Di Marco’s men.”

  “Oh, you are so right,” Nadira pulled his hand to her cheek. “Let us flee, then. Maybe I am wrong this time, too.”

  “I hear hoof beats. We have to decide soon.”

  “You decide. I will follow you.”

  “Never mind. They are here.” He pulled the long sword from the scabbard and tested his grip on the pommel until he was satisfied. “This is an inferior blade, but the better of the two I took from the French. I should have gone for the leader. He had Damascus steel. This one,” he turned it, eyeing the length of the blade, “it will do.” He lifted the sword and swung an arc out from his body to get its balance. “You say we will win this battle.” It was not a question.

  “Yes.”

  The sun was low, but enough light remained to see a group of horsemen coming from the east. They were coming fast, at a gallop. In mere moments they would be right over them. Nadira sank back, pressing her back against the gully wall. Clumps of earth fell around her, filling the gaps in her soft shoes. Montrose moved in front of her, the sword and his thigh at her eye level.

  The sound of the hoof beats grew louder until the sound was right over her head. Montrose leaped up and was gone. Nadira heard the horses neigh and stomp. More crumbles of dirt cascaded over her face, collecting in her ears and décolletage. She heard the shouts of the French, the sounds of dismounting and pulling on jangling bits. The stomp and jungle of boots and spurs mixed with the grunts and snorts of the disquieted horses.

  Nadira tried to obey his order to stay low, but a gauntlet reached down from above and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her to her feet. A moment later a French soldier was down in the gully with her. She tried to call out to Montrose, but he was down slope, engaged with two more of the French. Her adversary dragged her out of the ditch and up to the road, pinning her arms behind her. Below, she could see Montrose swinging the sword with both hands, keeping both of his opponents from closing in. Nadira could not take her eyes from him. First one stroke, then another. He was using the sword like an axe, forcing the French to move constantly on the rough ground lest they catch the full force of the blow. Behind her the French commander sat his horse watching the melee. Apparently he was confident that no more than two men would be needed to take Montrose.

  Nadira knew better.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  HER captor was watching the battle below as Nadira scanned the road. Two more horsemen were coming from the east. Dust rose in the air behind their galloping hooves. The commander turned in his saddle to look behind him. To Nadira’s surprise, he wheeled his horse about and raised his arm, shouting to the men who were engaging Montrose near the river.

  Immediately Nadira’s captor yanked her toward his own horse. The two men below backed away and climbed up the slope, leaving Montrose leaning on his sword, panting.

  The two horsemen rode up and dismounted. One of them immediately drew his sword and took a position in front of the commander, his lathered horse dancing behind him. The other sailed off his horse before the beast had even come to a stop; the reins made an arc over its head and slapped the ground at Nadira’s feet. His sword was in his hand, and all five men faced the west where Nadira could now see an advancing band of horsemen. She tried to count. From the distance and in the fading light it was impossible to tell. None paid the slightest attention to Montrose who was making his way cautiously back up to the road.

  Nadira’s captor squeezed her arm. His eyes darted back and forth. She knew he was looking for a place to tie her up so he could have both hands free.

  The French commander raised his arm, “Halte!”

  Five horses carrying five lightly armored knights came to a dusty stop
before the French. Nadira’s captor began to tremble. He pulled her in front of his body like a shield.

  Below her, Montrose stopped climbing and lowered his sword, waiting. The newcomers lined up abreast and drew their swords one after the other. The sound of all the metal scraping together sounded like a chord as all five weapons were brandished. The chord hung in the air. The five were all tall and fair. Their breastplates glittered in the sun; they wore no identifying marks on their shields. Nadira was struck by the hard look in their eyes. Not one of them appeared apprehensive. They showed no fear, no anger, and no intent. They simply sat their horses with swords drawn, staring at the French as if daring them to make the first move.

  The commander shouted once, and with a cruel snap of the reins, wheeled his horse about. He spurred the animal into a great leap and with one bound he closed the distance between him and Nadira. The soldier holding her pushed her toward the oncoming horse and stepped back out of the way. The next stride of the charger would take the commander right over her. She could see his eyes beneath his helmet. He was coming for her. In the next bound he would have her. Already his arm was coming out, his hand opened to grasp her as he flew by. In the instant of her realization the flow of time seemed to stop. The gloved hand was reaching, reaching for her neck in unnatural slow motion.

  He was going to ride off with her. He would take her back to the French king where she would be bound hand and foot and guarded with more care. She would be a prisoner for the rest of her life. As the glove neared her face the full horror of the situation filled her heart.

  She was being stolen again.

  The full force of her being rejected that possibility. With all her heart, with all her soul, with all her mind she screamed.

  “No!”

  Her hands flew up, palms out before her face as if she could push the enemy away like an insect. To her utter amazement, the horse, the French knight, his gloved hand blew sideways onto the road, tipped like a great wind might blow a ship on its side. An instant later Nadira could see the gray underbelly and flailing hooves of the breached charger, his rider pinned beneath him in the dust.

  The rest of the French broke and ran, tearing up the road with their fleeing hooves. The strange knights took chase at once. Nadira stood in the center of the road, dust settling on her hair like a lacy veil. The breached horse regained his feet, shaking, his reins dragging in the dust, but his rider lay inert. Nadira backed up slowly away from road, trembling. She was deaf to everything but the pounding in her ears. Another step back and she felt a solid blow behind her.

  Nadira spun around. She had backed into Montrose. He stood there, staring first at her, then down the road where sounds of clashing steel and cries of pain drifted on the evening breeze. His mouth opened and closed in amazement. She had trouble regaining an order to her thoughts. She shook her head to clear it and reached for him. He drew back, palm out.

  “No. Don’t touch me.”

  “My lord, please…”

  “No, stay away.” He strode over the road to peer down at the fallen French commander. Nadira saw him go down on one knee and reach out a tentative finger to the prone man’s face. He rose and took the charger by the bits. His face was ashen gray when he turned around.

  He asked slowly, “Nadira, what did you do to this man?”

  “Nothing, I did nothing.” Tears began to fall from her eyes. She shook all over.

  “I know what I saw. Those knights saw it too. You blew this animal down and crushed his rider.”

  “No…no.” As she denied it, her heart twisted with the lie.

  Nadira’s heart fell as Montrose shifted his eyes away from her and ran his hand over the trembling animal’s neck. He was afraid. She had frightened him.

  She felt faint. She put her hand behind her, but now there was no support. She didn’t feel herself fall, but only the jolt as the ground hit her. She stared up at the darkening sky. A cloud moved slowly into her field of vision, but she could not move her eyes. It was as if she were bound to the ground. She felt herself breathing, she felt the stones that poked her painfully in the hip and the back, but she could not move. She lay there. Breathing. Staring. A face hove into view like the prow of a ship. It cast a shadow on her in the setting sun.

  It was one of the strange knights. His eyes were gray, his beard was gray, and his hair was gray. She stared at him. He looked at her from head to toe, his gray eyes taking in her entire body. She watched him look at her as he pulled the gauntlets off his hands. Then he smiled. Her mind snapped like waking from a deep sleep on a cold morning. She blinked.

  Warm hands closed on her and brought her up to her feet again. They steadied her when she wavered. She looked around. All five of the strange knights had returned and stood in a circle around her. One by one they reached out and touched her, one on the shoulder, one her hair, another her arm. The gray knight reached out and touched her cheek with his bare finger.

  “Nadira of Barcelona,” He said in a deep grave voice. “The Reader.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound could come out. Her eyes darted through the circle to find Montrose. He was by the side of the road, still holding the Frenchman’s horse, amazed.

  The gray knight spoke to her in Castilian with a heavy accent. “The French were carrying something precious besides Nadira of Barcelona. Can you tell me now where it is?”

  Montrose stepped forward, “They had a small chest in their wagon. I don’t know what is in it.”

  “We do.” The gray knight looked around. “There is no wagon here. How many men started out from Rome?”

  “There were fourteen. I killed three.” Montrose answered.

  “We killed seven.” The gray knight nodded, then motioned with his chin towards his men. Two knights replied to the unspoken signal by mounting and riding away again to the east where the French had fled. The gray knight took Nadira’s hand.

  “I am honored to meet you, Nadira of Barcelona. Please call me Malcolm. Proper introductions will come later. Please call this knight, Lionel,” he motioned to a dark-eyed knight who bowed to her from the waist. “And this one Reginald.” Reginald’s eyes beneath his hauberk were sea green. “Our companions Calvin and Derrick have taken chase for the French baggage. Let us get back to our camp. We have much to discuss.” He pulled her hand like he would lead her away, but Montrose dropped the charger’s reins, stepped between them and pinned her with his arms. “She is mine,” he said.

  “She is yours, Lord Montrose,” Malcolm raised both palms. “She is yours,” he repeated as though soothing a madman. Nadira looked up at Montrose, but he kept his eyes on Malcolm.

  The corner of Malcolm’s mouth turned up and little lights of amusement danced across his eyes. “I was told you would say exactly that, and that you would resist with violence any attempt I might make to take her. However, I daresay you are hungry yourself, and could use some rest. You’ve had a busy week. Let me offer you our hospitality.”

  Malcolm swung his arm out and his great charger moved up into position. He swung up into the saddle. Reginald and Lionel mounted their horses with equal grace. All three sat patiently waiting as Montrose and Nadira stared up at them. “Come then.” Malcolm coaxed, tugging his gauntlets back into place, “Let’s go.”

  “Shall we go with them, Nadira?” Montrose asked slowly without looking at her.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  Montrose released her, retrieved the reins from the Frenchman’s mount and pulled himself stiffly into the saddle. He gathered the reins and cued the beast so he could pull Nadira up behind him, but instead of advancing toward Nadira, it reared with a frightened neigh and backed, its haunches quivering. He regained control, but the animal would not take a single step in Nadira’s direction but continued to back away.

  Malcolm called out with amusement as Montrose receded into the distance, “Señor, Lord Montrose. May I have permission to carry your lady upon my horse?”

  From far away came the faint a
nswer: “By all means. Be my guest.” Nadira put her hands up willingly to Malcolm, who lifted her up behind him.

  The knights’ camp was out of sight of the road, and so well hidden Nadira was surprised when they came upon it suddenly. She was even more surprised to see a man in a brown robe sitting on the ground near the fire pit. As they neared she could barely contain her excitement. Malcolm rode his horse directly up to the pit, but Nadira didn’t wait for the huge animal to stop. She slid off its haunch and ran into Brother William’s arms. He hugged her tightly, and she covered his face with kisses until the deepening hue of his blush became alarming. She pulled back to beam happily at him. Montrose rode up moments later and dismounted as well, coming forward to embrace William, patting his back.

  Nadira cried, “Oh William! I am so glad you were able to escape from the tower!” He was the same William, but his tonsure was growing stubbly and his habit was travel-worn. He could not stop grinning at her and squeezing her arms and hands.

  “I was so worried, Nadira. I didn’t know where you were going, or what was to become of you. I was terrified you would go to the stake.”

  “I almost did.”

  “Oh, God.” He crossed himself.

  “Yes, but I am here now.” Nadira looked around the fire at the knights.

  The men had brought their knapsacks to the fire pit and were doling out bread and cheese and fruit and wine. William led her close to the fire. The wine was warm and leathery-tasting, but there was much joy in the drinking of it. Nadira laughed as the red dribbles rolled down her chin and onto her shift. “Now I know why you men wear beards,” she joked as she wiped her chin with the back of her hand, and then passed the wine skin to Lionel. “But now is the time to tell me who you are and how it is that you arrived on this unmarked road precisely when we were to meet our doom at the hands of the French.”

  Malcolm smiled. “This is Brother William’s story, and he should tell it.”

  “Well, then, Brother.”

  William took her hand in his and rubbed it back and forth. “After the men torched the tower, I ran to the village and had Maria’s people come to get Lord Montrose in the woods. They carried him away. I gave them a few coppers and left immediately for Coix. It took me a long time, and I was weak with hunger when I arrived.