by S A Monk
“Maybe,” he replied hopefully, for her benefit. He did not think Farouk would be able to get them out of here, though. Such intervention would risk exposing himself and his family to being arrested as Frank sympathizers. “Are Omar and Nephrim still in the city?”
“Yes. I was supposed to leave with them for Jerusalem this morning.”
Lucien nodded, refraining from any more scoldings. What was done was done. He’d just have to think of some way to get them out of this mess. He couldn’t let Gabrielle linger in this hellhole, and he would die, just as he had vowed to her, before he let any of these whoresons, Arab or Frank, lay a hand on her.
He’d never escaped from a prison before. He’d never had to. Unlike many of his compatriots, he’d never been captured. It was the devil’s curse that he found himself in such a position now, with this woman by his side. He’d been holding onto the hope that his captors would grow weary of holding him at some point and throw him back out on the streets. Now that wasn’t likely to happen. Gabrielle presented a new and entirely too appealing prospect for their twisted pleasures.
Sweet God! What was he going to do?
“Lucien, I need to look at your injuries.”
She felt him shrug them off. “They are nothing.”
“They do not feel like nothing.”
With that deduction, she rose from his lap and marched to the cell door.
Groaning, Lucien called out her name in a loud, raspy whisper.
“Genna!” she reminded him over her shoulder before she grabbed the small iron barred window in the door
Going up on tiptoe, she shouted out to the guards. “You there! Hello!”
Lucien shot off the floor, only shooting up was not something he could do very well after the beatings he had suffered. He stumbled behind her and reached out for a wall.
“For God’s sake, Genna!” he said with a groaned emphasis on her pseudo name.
“Sirs!” she yelled again in Arabic through the bars. “I have need of one of you.” For extra measure, she rattled the door and banged against it with her fists repeatedly.
Soon several prisoners in the cells adjacent to theirs were echoing her demand. “Did you hear her, infidel?” one of the them said in Arabic. “The woman has need of you. Are you so daft, man, as to ignore her?”
Lucien groaned and prepared himself to take down the first man who came through the door.
One guard finally came, but he did not open the door. “What do you want, whore?”
“I need a bucket of clean water, a loaf of bread, without vermin in it, and a candle or torch.”
The entire cell block erupted in raucous laughter, including the guard, who threw in a few insults in the course of his laughter.
“I will make it worth your while,” Gabrielle told him, ignoring the uproar of bawdy male catcalls and Lucien’s curses behind her.
“Oh, you will do that, without the bread and water, whore,” the guard sneered.
“I am not a whore! I told you that many times. I cannot help it if you are too stupid to see that.” She leaned forward and murmured, “But it is not my body that I offer you. I have a valuable piece of jewelry that I will give you if you do as I ask.”
The key turned in the iron lock. Lucien grabbed Gabrielle around the waist and yanked her back against the wall, then moved in front of her. She scooted out behind the protection of his large, pain-racked body and pulled her mother’s necklace from her tunic, holding it up for the guard to see. The delicate gold chain and the stone embedded in the crescent moon pendant glittered in the light of the torch the guard held.
He took an eager step toward it, and Gabrielle scampered over to a drain on the floor. She held out one hand to forestall Lucien’s move toward the guard, while the other dangled the prize over the drain hole. “You may have this if you will bring me the bucket of clean water, the loaf of good bread, and that torch or candle.”
With his eyes fixed on the gleaming object hanging from her fingertips, the bare-headed Arab took a step toward her. “I will have it now, woman.”
Gabrielle shook her head adamantly. “I will drop it in this drain unless you fetch me what I want first.” She leveled a threatening stare on the man, lowered the necklace a few inches toward the grated drain, then glanced toward Lucien who was poised to strike. “Now, go, before my friend decides to tear you limb from limb.”
The guard gave Lucien a dubious look, grunted, then left, casting them back into near total darkness.
“Tear him from limb to limb?” Lucien echoed and laughed weakly. “I doubt I could tear a piece of bread from limb to limb at the moment, my brave champion.”
“Exactly,” Gabrielle pronounced as she stepped toward him and helped ease him back to the ground. “That is why I bartered for the bread and water. You cannot get us out of here if you don’t eat and let me care for your wounds.”
“And the light?”
“So I can see how badly you are hurt.” Her hands caressed his face on both sides, then tangled in his beard with a tiny tug. “And because I cannot abide the dark or rats.”
“But your mother’s necklace is special to you, Gabi.”
“Not as special as you are, Lucien.”
He reached over to cup her head in his large hands and bring her mouth to his. “I love you, Gabi.”
“And I you, Lucien,” she whispered back. “You will get us out of here. I know it. You have always taken the best care of me.”
He could only bend his head and press his brow to hers. “Aw, Gabi….”
She kissed him as tenderly as she could so as not to hurt his cut lips. “Keep the rats from me. That will be enough for now, my love.” And with that, she reached into her boot and withdrew her small gold eating knife. “Do not get yourself killed with this. It may only be good for the rats. I could not fit my dagger in my boot.”
He laughed, but it ended in a raspy cough, then a grunt of pain. “My brave-hearted lady. You are the gift of a lifetime.”
+++
Gabrielle kept her word, as did the guard. By the light of the narrow candle the Arab brought her, she cleaned Lucien’s many wounds, dipping one end of her tunic into handfuls of water over and over again. The rest she saved for drinking. The bread they shared and finished so the rats would not also feast. There was not much Gabrielle could do for Lucien’s bruised back and ribs. She examined them as gently as she could, and did not think anything was broken, but he would be in pain for a while. Tearing another strip from her tunic, she dunked it in the cool water and laid the cloth against his ribs. After repeating it several times, she decided it seemed to help. Either that or Lucien deliberate chose to make her think so.
She could tell he was very distressed over having her locked in the fetid cell with him. It did smell foul, but at least the candle kept the rats away and gave her some small protection from the dark. It wasn’t going to last through the night, though.
“Come sit on my lap again,” Lucien murmured once she was done ministering to him.
“I will hurt you. You should lie in my lap.”
He was sitting in a corner with his back to the wall and laughed softly. “You will not hurt me, and I do not want you sitting on this foul straw. Come here, my sweet.”
She did, gingerly settling on his thighs. He angled her sideways, into the crook of his arm, then pressed her head to his shoulder. “Now, sleep. I will protect you from the dark and…. the rats.”
“It is not so bad. There is no one screaming in helpless agony.” She heard him chuckle again, but he did not comment. “And I am here with you. Even if they leave us here to die, we do so together, entwined as lovers for all eternity.”
“Go to sleep, Gabi. All will soon be well,” he patiently advised as he laid his head against hers, marveling at her unshakeable courage.
CHAPTER 19
Every muscle in his body screamed in protest the moment Lucien opened his eyes on what he assumed was day three of his imprisonment. The fact that Gabrie
lle was no longer draped across his lap brought him to instant alertness. Searching for her in the dim cell, he found her at the door again, peering through the opening that allowed only a faint light to filter in.
“Gabrielle, what are you doing now? Get away from that door.”
At the end of the hallway, it widened into a large circular chamber that was used as the interrogation room. Torture room was more like it. From his cell, one could see what occurred there, and he didn’t want her witnessing any of the daily horrors. The fact that they had been mercifully saved from them since her arrival was a blessing he gave thanks for.
She glanced restlessly over her shoulder at him. “I need to ask one of the guards to escort me to the garderobe.”
He nearly laughed at the way she was wiggling, trying very hard to be lady-like about it.
“They will only tell you to relieve yourself into the drain.”
She looked at him horrified. “That thing on the ground I was going to drop my necklace into?”
He simply nodded grimly. “Aye, Gabi, that is what it is used for.”
“But who knows what may crawl up it! Oh, I cannot.”
She sighed in exasperation, and Lucien could just imagine her inspecting the grated drain hole. One part of him hated that she had to suffer this, and another wanted to break out laughing.
“I will just walk around the cell a little,” she finally decided.
He was about to tell her to barter her eating knife for a trip to the garderobe when he heard the pronounced footsteps of more than one guard. “Gabi, come here,” he ordered as he pushed up stiffly, using the wall to rise to his feet.
She obeyed him instantly, for she had seen the soldiers coming down the hall. There appeared to be half a dozen of them, and they were headed their way.
The door burst open with a blinding shaft of torchlight just as she scuttled behind Lucien. “Get out here, infidel son of a whore, and bring your strumpet with you!” The Arab who had been administering Lucien’s interrogations growled the order, but he was immediately censured by another soldier, who then stepped into the cell. Lucien had not seen him before, but he appeared to be of higher rank than his jailer.
“Lady de Châtillon, the sultan sends his deepest apologies,” the lead soldier announced. “You and this man are to come with me.”
Gabrielle and Lucien exchanged puzzled looks but stepped toward the officer. The jailer brought out a pair of manacles for Lucien, but the officer pushed them away with a sharp command for the man to step back.
Lucien took Gabrielle’s hand and followed the man who was obviously of some rank out of the cell. The two jailers fell in behind them.
As they walked down the hallway, Gabrielle heard many of the prisoners in the cells on either side of them murmuring among themselves.
“Lady, forgive our crudity,” one of them shouted in French.
“Treat her well,” another yelled out to the guards in Arabic.
Gabrielle looked at Lucien, as confused as he was about what was going on here.
They ascended one stairway after another until they were on the top floor of the citadel. The leader separated from the rest and told Gabrielle to follow him. The other two were given directions in Arabic to take Lucien to a chamber in the opposite direction.
Gabrielle called out in Arabic for them to halt. “Where are you taking him?” she demanded. “He is injured and in need of attention.”
“And where are you going with the lady?” Lucien also demanded.
The officer answered both of them. “My men are taking your companion, my lady, to the sultan’s doctors to look after his injuries. You are being taken to the harem, for a bath and clean clothing.”
Gabrielle stood her ground. “I want to go with Latif.”
The officer smiled. “The sultan knows that is not his name, mi’lady. And do not distress yourself, you will be reunited soon.”
Gabrielle gave Lucien a long look. They really had no choice, except to do what was asked and see where it all led. Because the lead soldier had been unfailingly courteous, she decided he, at least, could probably be trusted. She wasn’t so sure about Lucien’s guards, but she could only hope they meant him no harm, at least not yet.
+++
Gabrielle had never been in a harem before, but it was everything she had imagined. Richly colored silk pillows were piled everywhere, laid atop polished tiled floors and thick Persian carpets. The stone latticed windows emitted bright rays of sunlight, and their sheer silk draperies billowed with the midday breeze. Precious sandalwood and myrrh incense burned in small brass bowls next to large ones filled with oranges, dates, and nuts. Cushioned divans upholstered in rich brocades were scattered about the large square room. Several surrounded the marble pool Gabrielle was soon ushered into by two female attendants.
Submerged up to her shoulders in hot water, she sat back against the stone wall and silently watched both women attend to her bath. One was a pretty young woman of indeterminate age. She had not nothing since Gabrielle had been given into her care, and she assumed the woman was a slave. Mesmerized by the unexpected luxury, Gabrielle let the woman lather her hair, then rinse it. She refused her assistance when the young woman offered to wash her body, much preferring to do that task herself. While she lathered and rinsed, the other woman, older and darker-skinned arranged a change of clothes of their charge.
Never in a score of years would Gabrielle have thought Lord Saladin would treat Reynald de Châtillon’s wife to such luxury. She dearly hoped Lucien was being treated similarly. Once they had left the dank darkness of the dungeons, she had seen that his body was much more badly bruised and beaten than she had been able to discern in his cell. It quickly became obvious that he had suffered a great deal of physical abuse at someone’s hand. Thank God, she had come when she had! Now it seemed her plan had not gone as awry as she had originally thought.
After her bath, Gabrielle was instructed to lie down on a low cloth draped table, where she was rubbed down with exotically scented oil. When that was done, she was left alone to rest for a while. Despite her concerns, she closed her eyes and almost immediately dozed off. The night spent in Lucien’s prison cell had been anything but restful.
When she opened her eyes, she found the older woman waiting for her with an arm full of new clothing. Gabrielle rose off her perch and allowed the servant to dress her. Within moments, she was arrayed in a beautiful pair of loose silk trousers, a long beautifully patterned silk tunic, and incredibly soft kid slippers.
After being guided to a brocade covered bench in front of a highly polished metal mirror, the serving girl brushed Gabrielle’s hair until it dried, then draped a sheer gossamer Mediterranean blue veil over her head. Gabrielle drew it across her nose and mouth and tied it into a loose knot beside her ear. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she drew in a startled breath. If these clothes were a gift from the sultan, as they appeared to be, she was held in very high regard. He had arrayed her exquisitely, but why? As Reynald de Châtillon’s wife, she should not merit such extravagant treatment.
The sultan was known to treat those captives he wished to ransom well, especially women and children, but she had never anticipated being treated this well.
When she was escorted from the room by the slave girl, the officer who had delivered her to the room reappeared to escort her down the hall and stairway. She assumed she was going to meet either the sultan or one of his amirs. She ardently hoped she would also soon see Lucien. She turned to the man beside her and asked in his native tongue about him.
“He is awaiting you.”
Relief eased the tension in Gabrielle’s shoulders. They traveled the length of an open columned arcade. It paralleled the immense outdoor yard of the citadel three stories below. It appeared that the upper two floors of the garrison were kept available for the sultan or other important men of rank.
Through a giant stone arch, they passed into a beautiful pleasure garden. It was not overly large, b
ut it had been planted with all manner of exotic flowers and potted palms. Stone benches and small fountains invited one to sit and linger. On the other side of the central stone path that wound through it, they turned left and entered yet another long passageway. This corridor was not open to the courtyard below. At the end of it, they entered a richly furnished private sitting room, adorned with stone latticed windows that let in patterns of sunlight which dappled across the patterned blue tile floor.
The three men seated on silk covered divans in the center of the room rose as she entered. Behind them stood four massive black bodyguards. Gabrielle identified Lucien and quickened her step. She noted that he had been sitting next to the sultan and another man of high rank. Before them, there was an assortment of fruits and nuts and a gold tray bearing a ewer and four golden goblets set atop a low round wooden table. To her amazement, she also saw a small bowl of chipped ice next to the large golden jug.
She and Lucien appeared to be the honored guests of the great Sultan Saladin.
When she got to Lucien’s side, she noticed that he too had been bathed and perfumed, dressed in clean trousers, tunic, and robe. Though, he wore no head covering, his hair and beard had been washed and trimmed. She could see that someone had attended to his injuries. He looked at her with as much surprise in his eyes as she felt.
Despite Muslim tradition, she reached for his hand. Within the warm strength of his, hers was cold and trembling. He gave her hand a squeeze.
Though Gabrielle had never seen Saladin, she recognized him by his stature and his dress. He wore the yellow cap and white shawl over it that he was often described as wearing. His close-fit, heavy gold brocade tunic was clasped down the front and fell over knee-high boots made of the finest leather. He wore no beard, but his thick moustache was as black as a raven’s wing. Beneath his equally dark brows, deep brown eyes assessed Gabrielle with noticeable interest and appreciation.
Under his intense appraisal, she felt the color creep into her cheeks. Dropping her eyes, she bowed her head and waited for him to speak to her, relieved that her veil covered half of her face.
