The Seeker - Finna's Quest

by E L Russell

  * * *

  Once Guiscard’s burial was arranged, Finna could delay no longer. She requested an audience with the queen. While various ways to tell Eleanor she was leaving her service rattled around in her brain, none suited her and she entered the royal presence without a solid plan. She made her curtsy and prayed to St. George something would come to her.

  “Your Majesty, I have come to deliver the bag of spices you requested and give you a message Guiscard intended for his Grandmaster.” Removing the small scroll from her sleeve, she handed it to one of the ladies in waiting, who gave it to the Queen.

  Eleanor’s icy tone stopped her heart. “The seal has been broken.” She let the accusation fall in the now silent chamber.

  Finna opened her mouth and shut it again without voice. She debated saying the Persians had broken the seal, but aside from the fact she lied poorly, she had no wish to lie to her monarch. She was saved from an immediate response when the queen bowed her head to read the missive.

  She tried judging from the Queen’s expression where she was in the letter, but Eleanor gave nothing away.

  When she finished, she rolled the parchment tightly and using it as a pointer aimed straight for Finna. “Since Guiscard is not present, am I to understand he is dead?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “And the woman and her son?”

  “Alive, Your Majesty.”

  “How did this come about?”

  She took a deep breath and resolved to tell a half-truth, hoping not to give herself away. “We retrieved woman and her son at Aleppo as you directed, and escaped from Prince Zafir. We rode far and hard and finally Guiscard led us to a small oasis where we could rest. Assassins attacked us and killed Guiscard.” She clenched her fists. “The sarding bastards.” Heat rose in Finna’s cheeks and she ducked her head. “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty.”

  The queen raised a brow, but waved a hand in dismissal. “Continue.”

  She swallowed with a gulp. “Yes, Your Grace.” She couldn’t forgive herself for swearing in the presence of the Queen . . . how could she? God’s Bones. To swear in front of her queen. She continued her tale, but at this point she digressed from the truth and knowing her checks turned red when she lied, she took a deep breath to calm herself.

 

  Of course she would. She locked her hands together to stop the trembling. “I grabbed my bow and loosed all the arrows. Seeing this, Yasmin saw it as an opportunity for escape. She and her son mounted their horses and set mine free with a smack on her rump. While she was grateful for your help in getting out of Aleppo and grateful to me for my part of her rescue, she said if her path ever crossed mine again, she would not hesitate to kill me should I try to take her to you.”

  “In which direction did she go?”

  “South.”

  “Is that all?” The Queen’s look said that was not all. She wanted the rest of the story.

 

  She shook her head to rid herself of the meddlesome voice. Lord. What to say?

 

  “Yes. Suspicious.”

  “Of the direction?” the queen asked.

  She was getting in deep. “Uh, no your grace. The letter. Guiscard had told me nothing about it and when he fell in the water, he, uh, got it wet. I opened it to, uh, check for damage and to dry it out.”

 

  If she ever met the man behind that voice, she’d plant him a facer so big he’d never walk again. “When I spread it in the sun, I read it in case it had some bearing on the . . . um . . . woman and the boy. Although it was addressed to the Grandmaster, I thought it was information you needed.”

 

  Ignoring the head-talk, she finished her tale. “When I finally caught my horse, I came straight here to Antioch.”

  Queen Eleanor mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a string of her own curse words. “Much has changed during the past two weeks. We learned many of our troops converted to the Muslim faith to avoid being slaughtered by the Turks who in fact killed thousands of those who continued on their overland march from Antalya to Antioch. As a result, we expect only a handful of our original French forces to complete the crusade. This information you bring will aid us in our negotiations with the Templars. We need their support.”

  The Turks killed thousands on their overland march? It wasn’t a crusade, it was an extermination. A slaughter. When the monarch slammed her hand on the arm of her chair, Finna’s heart dropped to her stomach. It did not bode well. She had learned the queen was unpredictable when she was angry and she wished to be far removed from impulsive royal commands.

  “If we had only acquired more ships.” Her disgust for Louis was evident. “Kings have no business running armies.” There was no affection for the king in the tirade and Finna’s eyes grew wide at the display of anger. At least it was not directed her way.

  “South you say?”

  The question caught her completely by surprise. “You mean Yasmin?”

  “Of course, I mean Yasmin, girl. Don’t waste my time with stupid questions. How did you let her get away?”

  “I . . . uh . . .well . . .”

  “Never mind.” She waved a hand “It’s done now. I will send some men after them. As for you,” she called her closer with a curled finger and spoke in a whisper. “I have a more serious quest for you and you alone.”

  Finna felt a sinking her stomach. Funny how a body part could become a barometer of trouble.

  18

  A New Quest

  A New Direction

  Queen Eleanor raised one eyebrow. “If you think you are up for it, say so. Well? Speak up. Are you?”

  The cajoling whisper had changed to a strident command and Finna gave the only answer she could. “Yes, Your Grace. What had she just said? She clenched her teeth shut before she could say more. She wanted to shout. No. No. No. “Of course. It would be my honor.”

 

  Finna jerked her head in all directions looking for the voice in her head. “Not helpful.”

  “What did you say?” the queen asked. “Not helpful? You are mistaken. Your execution of the task I require of you will be most helpful.

 

  “Your new quest may take care of my problem and because you are familiar with the treasure, it is uniquely suited to you.”

  From all that was going on, Finna doubted the Queen had only one problem and she didn’t want to become entangled in any of them.

  “You remember the golden urn and the chalice the king and I gave to the cathedral in Vézelay?”

  Finna nodded. She remembered them very well. “The service in which you presented them was beautiful. The Abbot was much pleased.”

  “They have been stolen. Both of them.”

  “Stolen.”

  “I just said so, did I not?”

 

  Finna ground her teeth. God’s bones. Who did the sarding disembodied voice think he was? The freaking bastard.

  Tense with anger and impatience, the queen took a deep breath before she continued. “Certain parties convinced the Abbot that the King and I are responsible for the chalices being taken. Our enemies slander our reputations daily with accusations. They say we took the cups to help pay the King’s expenses for the Crusade. If that were so, I wish we had the coin. Then maybe, we’d have gotten boats.”

  “Taking the urn and chalice were petty ways to give undeserved injury.” Finna spoke without permission, but the words were out before she thought.

  When Queen Eleanor’s face sagged, making her look much older than her youthful years, Finna wondered what the last year had done for her own appea
rance. Sun, mud, hunger, lack of bathing water— they weren’t the food of beauty. She bit her lip and stopped talking. Fortunately, the queen ignored her and continued along her own line of thinking.

  “It is more complicated than that. His Majesty and I need to clear our names in the eyes of the church, more specifically, in the eyes of the Abbot and the Pope, in order to obtain the blessings for a pending divorce.”

  Finna squirmed. She didn’t want to know the personal affairs of her monarch. She had heard Eleanor and Louis were petitioning his Eminence the Pope to grant them a divorce on the grounds consanguinity. They were too closely related or something like that. She wasn’t about to ask questions.

  “Such a scandal could interfere with the success of our petition,” the agitated monarch clarified.

  “How may I serve Your Majesty?” Finna clamped her mouth shut. Sarding shit. She didn’t want to offer her services.

  “We have information that the urn and chalice are hidden with other booty in a cave in southern Crete.”

  The queen was delusional if she thought Finna could retrieve her goods alone and said so at the risk of a reprimand. “Are you sure I’m the person for the job?” Finna hoped her face remained expressionless. Aside from the fact that she didn’t see how she could possibly accomplish the quest, it sounded dangerous and she didn’t want to do it. What was the woman thinking to be asking her?

  “Of course, you are. You are exactly the person to do this. You look harmless so no one will guess you fight like an Amazon and are on a mission for your queen.” The Queen called to one of her women just out of sight and took the scroll she carried.

  After tapping it in her hand as though confirming her thoughts, the Queen handed it to Finna. “These are your travel papers. They say you are a part of my Royal Court, which will allow you to enter and leave any country you travel through. I have enclosed a personal letter of introduction to a trusted merchant in Heraklion. He is at the Flying Fish Market. His name is Sabas and he will tell you where you can find the chalice and urn.”

  “This man Sabas, he is to be trusted?”

  “He is my man, but you must be careful. We believe the thieves who took the vessels are there as well. When you find the cups, take them straight to the cathedral in Vézelay.” She pulled a small leather pouch from another pocket. “There is enough gold here to cover your expenses. One of my guards will accompany you. You can trust him with your life.” She casually gave an inelegant snort that did not reassure Finna in the least.

  “And you may well need to. He can also help you carry and protect the chalices and any additional booty you discover. It is critical you return the chalices in secret to the exact place where they were stolen. This will staunch the rumors they were ever stolen. No one will have reason to believe the tale because I will be far away.” She called a servant to her side and whispered something before sending her off.

  “You mentioned additional booty, Your Grace?”

  “My source claims the thieves have hidden the chalices with the rest of their stolen goods. Deal with the scoundrels as you see fit, but confiscate their gold. Call it the cost of doing business.”

  Resigned, Finna put the scroll in her leather shoulder bag. “When do I start?”

  Queen Eleanor stood and made a proclamation charging her with a new quest. “Immediately.” Finna was no longer a Crusader. “A merchant boat will drop you and your traveling companion at the mouth of the river by the Port of St. Simeon. From there, find passage to Heraklion, located on the north shore of Crete.”

  Crete. Her father spoke often of that island. If memory served, it was well across the sea. Another sea voyage. She prayed she could stay topside.

  A short, self-effacing monk entered the chamber. His shiny pate and stature told her he was not the monk she’d met in Germany. St George, help me. Her mission was as clear as muddy water and her protection looked as useless.

  19

  Changes

  A New Companion

  Neither spoke until they stood at the dock on the river that wound its way out to sea. “I hope you are not encumbered by a vow of silence, Brother Michael,” Finna said, lowering her bag and sitting on a large wooden box. “It would make a long and lonely trip.”

  The monk chuckled. “I assumed your thoughts were about the death of your friend, Guiscard. I did not want to intrude.”

  “They were, but now I must focus on our quest for the Queen. With all the pilgrims traveling, are you sure you can you arrange for transport to St. Simeon?”

  “Of course. The ride there is not unpleasant. We’ll need water and bread. You get those and I will find passage.”

  As they went their separate ways, she mulled over Guiscard’s letter. What was his true mission to Aleppo? Was there a secret message encrypted in the scroll she gave the Queen? Was this monk more than a companion? Was he more than a monk? How could she trust him? Too many unanswered questions. She scanned the street for venders.

  * * *

  Leaving both hands free for her blade and short sword, Finna returned to the dock with the straps of two full water bags digging into her shoulders and a bag of bread hanging uncomfortably from her neck. While all looked peaceful, her experience with the crusades made her ever vigilant. The river offered no breeze and the insects didn’t know the difference between her and dead fish. She wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her shirt, itching on many levels to get underway.

  “Over here.” Finna looked in all directions before finding Brother Michael below the dock and slightly upstream from where she stood. He waved from the foredeck of a low, flat barge with a shaded area on the aft deck. A short mound of bags and cut wood filled the mid portion of the merchant’s boat. “Toss what you can and climb down the ladder.” He pointed to the rope rungs tied to a pillar.

  She swung the water bags his way, eager to be relieved of their weight.

  “Once we get midstream, we basically float on the current to the sea. You will be more comfortable with the cool breeze. How’s the bread? Is it fresh? Let’s eat.”

  Finna couldn’t date the bread, but after months of marching and eating bugs and dirt in all her food, she had little problem devouring her share. The monk ate his, cutting off small pieces with a knife large enough for the bread, but of little use for anything else. “Do you have any weapons, Brother Michael?”

  He held up his empty hands to God. “Mostly, I pray.”

  When he followed his statement with a smile, she did her best to return it, but she couldn’t get her mouth to cooperate. He was her protection? She felt the weight of the coin pouch about her waist. “I’m going to put my head on a bag and sleep.” She tried to stow her sarcasm, but knew she failed miserably with her next statement. “Pray no one robs us.” In spite of assorted indistinguishable noises on the deck, she dozed off quickly until the voice woke her.

 

  Finna’s eyes flew open. “What?”

  The monk sat some distance from her, gazing out on the river. He had obviously not spoken to her. For all that it was absurd beyond any kind of reasoning, she rolled over and responded to the voice in her head. “Why do you call me sister now?”

 

  “Your people? Who are they? Who are you?”

 

  “Get out of my head.” She said it louder than she meant to and twisted see if Brother Michael had heard her.

 

  She snorted. “There’s a difference?”

 

  She sat up and forgot to whisper. “What do you want?”

  Brother Michael turned from the water. “What’s that, my child?”

  Sarding hell. “Just mumbling. Nothing much.” She whispered again. “Well?”

 

  “Fr
om what? And I am not your sister. Quit calling me that.”

 

  “Death? Redemption? What the sarding hell are you talking about?”

 

  “What the hell?”

 

  He was freaking her out. “You are crazy. So, when I whisper, I am speaking from my head. When you speak, it is from your mind?”

 

  The teasing note in his voice confused her. Here she was talking to a voice she was beginning to think was somebody and now she thought it was teasing her? “You are not my father.”

 

  “I’m ready for you to leave me alone.”

 

  “No.”

 

  “I don’t think of you.”

 

  “I can’t.”

 

  “Can’t think of you.”

 

  “I don’t know what you look like.”

 

  An image flashed in her mind. She saw the monk standing in the cave when she had received her concussion in Germany.

  “That was you?”

 

  She pulled on her chin.