“But it is what you are. Perhaps it is your faith that provides it. Yet some of the most unscrupulous men I have met wear the cloth.”
“Robes don’t provide faith,” Alex pointed out.
“And that is probably the difference,” Brody said in agreement. Then he smiled.
“We’re still together, Veris and I, but I wanted to serve the king one more time. I didn’t for a moment think that the Pope would call everyone back to the Holy Land a third time, so when I returned to England, I thought I would be able to stay there for a while.”
“So you left Veris in Tuscany?”
Brody shrugged. “It was my turn. He left me to head off to Russia about fifty years ago. He claimed he wanted to see the great palaces there.” Brody laughed. “He will never admit it, but I think he wanted to learn more about the Tartars, who seem to inspire more fear than Northmen once did. I think he feels his heritage has been slighted.”
“But he came back?”
“Once he’d drunk enough vodka and bedded enough women, yes. The Tartars had nothing to teach him.” Brody shrugged. “I could have assured him of that before he left, but he’s a most stubborn man.”
Alex struggled to absorb the enormous revelations that Brody’s remarks and observations were providing. Brody’s regard for the big Northman shone through every word he spoke, even though his tone was dry and even though he seemed to have no illusions about Veris’ shortcomings.
Neither of them placed demands upon the other. They appeared to have no expectations beyond those that arose from their feelings for each other. It was a refreshing and very different form of relationship, one that Alex greatly admired.
“You give each other freedom,” he murmured.
Brody tilted his head, considering that. “Yes,” he agreed at last. “I suppose that is what we do.”
“And are all vampires like you?”
Brody laughed. “All vampires are different. There are good ones and bad ones. They all arrange their lives in ways to suit them.” He sobered. “No one enslaves anyone anymore. It was a practice, a very long time ago, for vampires to have human…feedstock. But that was abandoned long ago. The same rules of consideration and kindness for others that humans extol are what help vampires live together, too.”
Alex considered that.
“It’s not like we know any better than the humans we live among, even though we have lived longer,” Brody pointed out. “We learn new ideas and ways of thinking at the same time humans do.”
Alex wrapped his arms around his knees. “Like this new idea that kings and high borns are accountable to those they rule?”
“I’ve heard those same rumblings,” Brody said. “I predict that the idea will boil over in the next few decades. Like the idea that women are equal to men.”
Alex snorted. “You jest.”
Brody shook his head, but he was smiling, too. “It is a radical idea, I admit. But there are some women I have met whom I would readily acknowledge as equal in all ways but physical strength.”
Alex let out a breath.
“Your heart has halted,” Brody said softly. “Good.”
“Your company is stimulating, so I don’t know why that should be. I have learned more in the last few moments with you than I have in all the decades before.”
Brody scowled. “I could cheerfully bleed her to death.”
“I will deal with her,” Alex promised. “But first I must think it through. It would be too easy to strike back at her just because she took the first blow. As a husband, I am entitled to kill her out of hand and no one would protest. But if we are to improve as a species and if humans are to improve, then shouldn’t we question everything that is common practice?”
“It’s not just your rights as a husband that are in question here,” Brody pointed out. “She bargained with the enemy. Richard would have no issue calling that treason of the highest order. She would hang from a gibbet before sunrise.”
“For all the good that would do,” Alex said. “She would survive hanging.”
“Not as your wife, or as Anna of Zaragoza,” Brody replied complacently. “Consider the matter, Alex. Forcing her to abandon this current life that provides her with all the comfort and power she desires…it would be the least she deserves.”
“Except that the Duke is my liege lord and in Aragon, they burn people for crimes against the state. That, she would not survive. Oh, I will consider it. I have much to consider along with it.”
“You are far too conscientious for a vampire,” Brody said with a sigh. “Sometime, blood calls for blood and decency be damned.”
Alex nodded. “You might be right, but I know in my bones this is not one of those times.”
* * * * *
It was creeping toward dawn once more when Brody and Alex went their separate ways. Brody had been watching the ramparts of the walled city with growing unease. “I don’t like this,” he finally said as the first pale streaks of sunrise painted the sky behind them. “There’s far too much activity for a defeated city waiting for terms of surrender. I want to warn Richard.”
Alex got to his feet. “Richard is not the only one who should be warned. I will speak to my Duke.”
Brody’s instincts proved to be accurate. Shortly after dawn, the Saracens poured from the city gates, falling upon the siege lines with ululating cries, while Saladin’s forces issued from the north and east, to attack the allies from behind.
Alex did not see Anna when he returned to his tent to don mail and armor, sword and shield. He was glad of her absence, because he did not want to divide his attention between the battle at hand and the matter of Anna’s perfidy.
The Duke of Aragon was allied with the French king, Phillip, who commanded the allies on the south side of the city. The sea formed a shield to their left as they battled toward the city walls, driving the Saracen back inch by inch throughout the long, bloody day.
As night fell, the fighting ceased. The Saracens were in a bad position. Saladin’s fresh troops had been held at bay by Richard and his allies to the north, so the tired and ill forces inside the city had received no relief and no assistance. On the morrow, they would be far more exhausted and depleted. It was not a happy position for them and the allies fully expected a renewed entreaty for surrender to be issued at first light the next day.
In the meantime, the siege lines remained alert and monitored the city walls, discouraging any Saracens from showing their face over the top of it by sending a hail of arrows, bolts and even stones whenever they did.
Alex only learned of the surveillance second-hand, for he was busy in the medical tent, tending the many wounds and serious injuries received during the day. He had no chance to change or even remove his mail. He worked with the metal links clinking and swishing and his sword slapping his hip. The boy who carried his chest of tools he charged with watching his visor, too. The lad carried it around under his arm, the tool chest hanging from his other hand.
It was long past midnight when the worst of the injured had been seen to and the screams and whimpers had diminished to the tense quiet that injured men kept when they were focused upon recovery. Casualties had been light. It had been a victorious day in that regard.
By then, Alex thought it safe to deal more personal problems. While he had been working over the wounded, he had reached a decision. As no one was certain what the dawn would bring, now was the time to put that decision into place.
He didn’t stop at his tent. He didn’t want to risk meeting Anna. Not yet. It would be time to deal with her when everything else was in place. He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do with her, anyway. When he saw her, it would be time to decide. The manner of their meeting would tell him what to do.
He tucked his visor under his arm and strode along the sandy path between the camps, heading north toward Richard’s camp. The camps were all quiet. Men were either sleeping, or keeping vigil. Alex sensed the presence of the watchers, observing him pass through
the night.
There was even less merriment in Richard’s camp. Saladin’s men had been rested, fed and ready to fight. It would have been no easy task holding them back and it was Richard’s success that had ensured that Acre would fall into their hands tomorrow.
Alex made his way through the tents to the one where he had found Brody’s knight commander. There were men sitting in front of it, the same as last night, but they were silent, staring at the flames of the small fire with morose expressions. They had lost their knight commander, Alex reasoned. He regretted disturbing their vigil.
“I seek the earl. Can you tell me where I will find him?”
They looked at him with a range of expressions, but every single one of them held surprise.
One of the men got to his feet. “Ye’ve not heard the news then, milord?”
Alex tried to calm his suddenly beating heart. “What news?”
“The earl was lost to us today,” another said and spat into the fire.
Alex gripped the hilt of his sword, controlling his reaction. “I intrude upon your mourning. I offer you my apology. Perhaps you could tell me where the body is being kept? I would like to pay my last respects.”
The man who was standing jerked his head toward the King’s pavilion. “Yonder, in the chapel beside the King.”
“Thank you.” Alex stepped around them and hurried toward the big tent where King Richard was housed. He let his heart loose to beat as it would, so that he could feel the fear loose within his chest and his belly.
There was a smaller, white tent to one side of the King’s heavily guarded striped pavilion and Alex made his way around to the entrance. Two more guards stood vigilant, but made no attempt to stop him from entering. It was a house of God and welcomed anyone.
He stepped inside. There was a large crucifix hanging at one end of the tent and candles had been lit beneath it. A dozen men stood bareheaded around the table in the middle of the room. They were dirty with sweat and blood and still wore mail and swords, but they had put their shields aside and washed their faces.
Lying on the table, his cloak wrapped over his legs and his hands on his chest, was Brody.
There was a jagged rent in the left breast of the tunic and blood covered most of that side. That was why Brody had been forced to “die”. Too many witnesses would have seen him take a blow close to the heart for him to dismiss it as a surface wound and keep fighting.
One of the knights standing around the table glanced at Alex and he nodded.
“You’re friend to Silchester?” the man asked.
“Indeed,” Alex replied. “This is a bitter blow. Is the body to be sent home? I would like to accompany it.”
Another cleared his throat. “Normally, that would be the way of it. But the King’s physician says the body must be burned before morning. The heat in this accursed county will produce bad blood. So we will burn him at sunrise.”
Alex swallowed. “May I be a part of that ceremony?”
“If you’re a friend to the earl, I don’t see why not.”
“Thank you.” Alex put his visor down at the foot of the table and bowed his head to pray. Once he had finished he kept his head down, thinking hard. Brody had been too well respected and liked. Now, his friends and admirers were determined to see him off with suitable ceremony. There were too many witnesses to steal the body away. A diversion at the right moment might work, but there was no one he trusted enough to ask them to provide the distraction he would need.
Men came and went, moving around the table to pay their respects, as the night wore on. Alex stayed where he was, planning and discarding scheme after scheme. When the bearers arrived to carry Brody away, Alex was still no nearer a solution.
He followed the bier out, surrounded by Richard’s senior retinue. Dawn was announcing itself with bitter red streaks across the sky, a sure warning of a bloody day ahead, or so the mystics always declared.
Alex wanted to believe them. He could not see a way out of this mess. He was still looking for an answer when they laid Brody upon the small mound of precious wood and called for torches. The men gathered around soberly.
At the very last minute as the torches were put to the wood, Alex considered drawing his sword and screaming in his native tongue, which sounded much like that of the Saracens’. That would pull attention away from Brody, but these men were all angry with the Saracens that had killed their colleague. Alex would not suffer a simple sword wound that could heal. They would tear him apart and that still might not save Brody.
As the first of the timbers began to smoke and burst into flames, a high pitched scream rang out. The inhuman sound of it pricked every sense Alex had into high alert. He turned to face the new danger, despite the crackle of the timbers in front of him.
Anna was swooping toward him, but she looked very little like a lord’s lady and his wife. She wore no veil. Her hair was loose and her eyes wild. The hem of her robe was hoisted to let her run and swirled around her knees, revealing her ankles and calves. Alex had time to think that this was her true character showing, before she fell upon him, a long knife in her hands.
The blade buried itself in his shoulder. He fell backward, deliberately letting his feet slide out from under him. The fall gave him room to draw his sword. Around him he heard the ring of steel as every other warrior there leapt to defend themselves from the hellion in their midst.
The knife was still buried in Alex’s shoulder, the edge of the blade grinding against bone and Anna kept her hand on the hilt, driving it deeper. It pulled her down with him. Alex had only to lift his sword point and she drove herself onto the blade.
But that wasn’t going to be sufficient, not for Anna. She grew momentarily still, adjusting to the sword through her middle. Alex used that moment to lift her and turn himself over, so he was on top of her. The sword pushed back out as the point jammed into the soil beneath her and a foot of bloody blade reappeared.
Alex lifted himself off her and pulled the knife out of his shoulder. As the knights and lords around him muttered and growled, he leaned over Anna and buried the knife in her chest, right over her heart. Then he deliberately carved the heart out of her chest, using the clean cuts a physician would. He plucked the heart from her chest and threw it on the flames as the men around him staggered back in shock and confusion.
But it still wasn’t enough. Alex pulled his sword out of the body and moved around to the side of it, raised the sword and decapitated her.
“God’s teeth!” one of the knights cried in shocked horror.
Alex ignored them. There was one last thing he needed to do. He picked up the body and tossed it onto the funeral pyre that was now a raging fire, with flames leaping higher than anyone around it. Then he picked up the head and threw it into the flames too.
When he turned around, the ranged men were staring at him, shock written on every face.
“The woman was my wife and I caught her with another man,” he said. “She was an adulterer and a whore. When I said I would punish her for her crimes, she cursed me.”
The men muttered and stirred uneasily.
“She was a witch?” one of them asked.
“Do you doubt that?” another said. “You heard the sound she made as she attacked him. Would anyone doubt she was anything other than a godless witch? I say it was well done.” The man nodded at Alex.
Alex nodded back and leaned on his sword like he was weary. “I must have my wounded tended to,” he said weakly. “My apologies for interrupting your vigil. I will pray for Silchester and for all of you.”
They parted silently, letting him through. Alex didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. When he had brought the sword down to sever the woman’s head, he had seen for himself that the bier where Brody had been lying was empty of everything but the bloody cloak. Now flames hid everything.
Brody had used the distraction to escape.
* * * * *
Alex hurried back to his tent to wash away the blood o
f the day and find the dark cloak that had rested at the bottom of the trunk since arriving in the hot and dry Holy Land. Then he hurried back to the stretch of beach where he had sat with Brody the previous night.
He found Brody sitting at the far end, his back against the rocks there. He also wore a dark cloak with the hood pulled over his head to disguise his features and the sides wrapped around his knees, which were pulled up against his chest.
They gripped each other’s arms in greeting, then Alex sat beside him. Silence settled over them.
Brody stirred. “And so another life ends,” he said softly.
“Will you go back to Tuscany?”
“I must. Word will go back to England and there is a man I trust there who will ensure the message is sent to Veris. I must arrive in Tuscany before the message does.”
“And then?”
Brody looked up at the sky. “Then, I think, the next life for both of us. Veris has spoken lately of heading north, to his homelands. It might be time for that journey.”
The silence fell again, but it was a comfortable one. Alex was in no rush to end it, but Brody would have to leave very soon, or risk discovery. So he spoke of what lay on his mind. “I was going to ask you to take me to England with you. You were in need of a knight commander.”
Brody smiled. “I would gladly let you come to Tuscany with me, but I don’t know what will happen when I get there and the journey will be hard enough without funds.”
“Ah.” Alex lifted his cloak away and untied the purse at his belt. “Here, these should help. They’re gold.”
Brody hefted the purse. “Thank you,” he said with gratitude. He tied the purse to his belt, over the bloody and singed tunic. “And you?” he asked.
Alex let his head rest back against the rock and looked up at the light blue morning sky. “I have a whole new life to arrange,” he said slowly. “This time, I can shape it the way I want. And now I have a good example of what that might look like.”
Brody got to his feet. “You’ll enjoy it, too. The first few times are highly entertaining.”
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