Rose

by Traci E Hall

  Mamie knew the queen was right and felt the power in the room rise with each pace Eleanor took. She’d done so with Bishop Clairvaux, enticing the troops to join the Crusade before it was even a Crusade.

  She understood about creating something people could believe in. To follow and support. So what if it was pageantry? The foundation was solid.

  Fay leaned against the yellow trunk, her arms at her waist, her legs stretched out before her.

  “I will try once more to make Louis see reason.”

  “Or what?” Mamie dared ask.

  “Some things are best kept to me.” She kissed Mamie’s cheek, then Fay’s. “Go to bed, mon fleurs. I thank you for your loyal service with all my heart.” Tugging at Larissa’s hair, she said, “You too. Now, I am exhausted. I would like to go to the bazaar in the morning. We can invite Raymond. He promised to show me his newest ship.”

  “What of Constance?” Mamie asked, attempting to head off more rumors.

  “I suppose, though she is peeved with me.” Eleanor sighed. “Jealousy is an ugly thing.”

  Mamie bit her tongue, unwilling to change the course of the queen’s benevolent mood. She was not sure if it helped that the queen understood what was happening.

  “And Bo? I promised him a new elephant.”

  “Of course. Bonne nuit.” Eleanor closed the door between the rooms.

  Mamie looked to Fay. “Well?”

  Fay got up from her spot against the trunk and walked toward the window overlooking a tiny garden. “It hurts me to say this, but I think she is planning something and doesn’t want us to know what it is.”

  “Why?” Mamie opened her trunk, pulling out a nightgown.

  “Isabella stopped her from committing treason, by taking the queen’s place when going to see Emperor Manuel.”

  Mamie’s skin grew cold. “We will have to be on guard.”

  “Guard the queen from the queen?”

  “If that is what needs to be done, then yes.”

  “I will take first watch.” Fay brought a stool and sat before the door. “If she leaves, I will wake you up and we will follow her.”

  “Where would she go?” Though Mamie knew. To see Raymond. She put the nightgown away.

  Fay, her expression stoic, said, “I have an idea, and I hope that I am wrong.”

  Neither of them said his name out loud.

  Stretching out her legs, Fay asked, “And how was your tryst? I was sorry to bring you into turmoil.”

  Mamie felt her skin flush, and her body tingled as if Dominus stood next to her. They had created their own magic, thought it hadn’t lasted long.

  “He is neither married nor a Templar, though that is a secret.” Mamie held a finger to her lips. “It was a melding of like hearts. Thank you for helping me.”

  “I put together some wine and a blanket.” Fay exhaled. “I am glad for you. You deserve to be happy.”

  “I am not happy, Fay. If something were to happen and the king and queen, you know . . . Dominus would side with the king, and I with the queen. I cannot trust a man like that.”

  “Are no men to be trusted?” Fay said sorrowfully. “The king is one of the most honorable men I’ve ever witnessed, but it makes him weak.”

  Deciding not to comment on her friend’s astute observation, Mamie kept her gown on, in the event they needed to follow the queen in a hurry. Shoes off, stockings off, she slid under the blanket. “Wake me as soon as you get tired.”

  From memories of the passionate fire of Dominus’s lovemaking, her mind drifted to the queen’s fragile unhappiness. If they could get to Jerusalem, perhaps the queen might feel pride in their journey once more. Eleanor was very competitive, and it must have been a bitter medicine to look over their litany of failures. There were so many that it was beginning to feel as though things had always been this way.

  She dozed, jerking awake when she heard the scrape of Fay’s stool against the floor. “Eleanor?” Mamie said.

  Fay put a finger to her lips.

  Mamie slipped from the bed, tiptoeing across the room. She pressed an ear against the door between their rooms.

  Bare feet padding against the tile floor. The smell of wax as a candle was lit. The muffled whisper of Larissa asking the queen if she was all right.

  “I wish to write for a while,” Eleanor said in a low voice. “Do not get up. Sleep.”

  Larissa murmured something, then was quiet. Mamie followed the scratch of a quill on parchment.

  “She likes to write when she is upset. Perhaps this will help?” Mamie spoke in soft tones.

  Fay nodded, and Mamie pushed her toward the bed, taking the stool. Fay crawled into bed with her gown on and pulled the covers over her head.

  Mamie got as comfortable as she could on the stool and took her turn guarding the queen.

  Dominus resented wearing the Templar robes but knew he could not leave his mission just yet. He had to discover proof that Bartholomew was planning something different than what the master in Jerusalem and the bishop and the pope wanted.

  He got to his room, which was empty. He assumed Everard would be in the main hall with the other knights, about two dozen Templars, most of whom were on the caravan with them. Perhaps five were posted here in Antioch with Bartholomew. Everard said it was because most of the men preferred to be in Jerusalem and Temple Mount.

  The rest were guarding traveling pilgrims against the Turks. For a group of men devoted to poverty, there was a lot of money involved, Dominus noted.

  His thoughts constantly strayed to Mamie, who was everything he could ever want. Generous, loving, funny, and bold. He had never connected with another person the way their hearts had touched in the grove. He could not imagine leaving her.

  She’d been so angry at him when they’d split ways at the stable. He knew he had ruined his chance at happiness with her. She had proven once again that her liege was the important factor in her life, as it should have been.

  If Eleanor and Louis separated, he would go with the king to Jerusalem or lose everything he’d worked toward. Mamie would stay with the queen. She was right, and this was no time for romance.

  She’d scorned his reasons for doing the bishop’s will, as if his loyal service to something he did not believe in was not proof of his love for his family. Yes, his father reached from the grave and pulled him back. A dozen or more small faces haunted his memory. He did not consider his brother’s bastards a product of sin, deserving of the poorhouse.

  Everard’s laugh gave plenty of warning. He was on his way back to the room. Dominus, on his knees, finished his prayer and made the sign of the cross before looking up.

  “Everard! Where have you been?”

  Everard winked knowingly. “I was assisting with the dishes in the kitchen. Brother Walker has some interesting stories that I know for a fact would not be approved by our commander.”

  “Of his life before the Templars?” Dominus guessed.

  “He was married five times. Outlived all his wives. He was rich, too, but since he had no living children, he decided to give all his wealth to God. Now all he does is pray and eat. And wash dishes. Before praying again.”

  Dominus smiled but then frowned as he was hit with a realization. Perhaps he had been looking in the wrong place. “I have been kept in my room, away from the company of the others. Bartholomew leads the prayers, oui?”

  “Normally, this is true. Tonight, Brother Walker led them since the commander was called away.” Another wink. “As you know.”

  Dominus raised a brow, not willing to be led on a merry tangent about things Everard did not need to know. “He leads prayers. In the church?”

  Everard nodded. “Where else?”

  “He is still gone?”

  Everard slowed his nod. “What are you thinking?”

  “I would like to see the church.”

  “I can see no harm in that.” Everard shrugged. “Come. I will take you.”

  Dominus followed the younger knight fro
m the room and down the hallway. They took a series of turns, passing the dining area filled with long trestle tables and simple wooden benches. Candles sat in the center of the tables as men read in silence.

  They walked a bit more, then turned left into the church. A vestibule and a dozen sturdy pews filled the small area. A plain altar with a white lace cloth and a hefty Bible.

  Would Bartholomew dare to ferment a rebellion in God’s house?

  If the fanatic Templar thought it would gain favor, no doubt remained in Dominus’s mind.

  “Everard! Dominus?” The two knights turned at the commander’s stern voice. “What are you doing here?”

  Dominus bowed his head, in trouble once more. “I was hoping to borrow a Bible. Mine was ruined in the flood at Ephesus.”

  Everard said nothing, though they hadn’t discussed a Bible at all.

  “Jocelyn de Courtenay, Count of Edessa,” the man next to Bartholomew said as he held out a hand. “My thanks for coming all this way to fight the infidel. Have we met? You won the joust in the tournament. Congratulations.”

  “Merci.” Dominus shook the Count of Edessa’s hand, taking stock of the man in that one shake. More enamored of food and a title than keeping Christianity in Outremer. “Dominus Brochard. It is my honor to do God’s work.”

  Bartholomew’s lip twitched as if he did not quite believe it. “There are Bibles at the end of each pew. If you return it by morning, you may read from it for the evening. How is your head?”

  Dominus rubbed his scabbed scalp. “It itches, but the cream from the physician helps.”

  “He had a reaction to the shaving powder,” Bartholomew told Jocelyn, as if such a thing were ludicrous.

  “Is there a particular passage you are looking for?” Jocelyn asked.

  His fortune, Dominus thought, to be discovered out of his room by a nobleman interested in prayer.

  “My mind is restless, and I thought scripture would help calm me enough to sleep.”

  “A cup of hot spiced wine would do too.” Jocelyn winked.

  Likeable. But was he a leader of men? Or was that what Bartholomew thought to do? Dominus looked away, tucking away the thought for later. Popular opinion seemed to agree that Jocelyn was not strong enough to hold Edessa. Did Bartholomew want the honor? Jocelyn the puppet; Bartholomew directing the strings.

  “A luxury from before my days as a Templar.” Dominus tried to keep his voice humble, but he managed to anger the commander anyway.

  Bartholomew’s cheeks reddened. “How long have you been a Templar?”

  “A year,” Dominus smiled and shrugged.

  “You have spent enough time in service to understand the rules.” The commander spoke in clipped tones.

  “Oui. Most of it on horseback.”

  “More prayers, perhaps, would be good for your soul.”

  Count Jocelyn looked from the commander to Dominus, as if finally noticing the rancor between the two men.

  Everard cleared his throat. “Let me choose a Bible, and we will hurry back to the room. Thank you for letting us borrow one.”

  Dominus did not feel particularly grateful, but he followed Everard’s lead. He nodded to both as they left. “I can feel the commander staring holes into my back.”

  “He does not like you.”

  “Nor do I care for him.”

  “You should hide it better or else you will never be allowed to leave the Templar House.”

  “I have things I must accomplish.” Like meeting Mamie again in the grove. He would risk a dozen punishments to see her again. He had to make her see that he cared for his family, which was why he had agreed to this hell.

  “You will get further with humility,” Everard advised.

  Dominus rubbed his tender scalp. “I know you are right, but it is difficult.”

  “Pride.” Everard nodded and smiled. “Man’s downfall.”

  “I was not aware of what a sinner I’d been before joining the Templars.” Dominus accepted the Bible and sat on the edge of his bed. “I might have had more fun.”

  “I’d wager you had plenty of fun. You must have been a nobleman, oui?”

  “Minor nobility, with a crumbling old keep and a hungry fishing village.” Dominus sighed. He missed home, which came as something of a surprise. He had to go back for the children. He remembered his oldest brother’s son giving him the Brochard brow before he’d left, as if not quite believing he’d be back. When had the haughty eyebrow lift taken hold? Age ten?

  “I assumed as much. Nobles have a way about them that’s different than regular folk.”

  “Different how?”

  “Privileged. There is nothing wrong with it. But I would also wager that Bartholomew is not nobly born. He resents the pride you walk with.”

  Dominus set the Bible on the bed and got to his feet. “I want to know everything there is to know about our commander.” He snapped his fingers. “Do you think Brother Walker will still be in the kitchen?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mamie watched the sun’s light creep across the room as stealthily as a thief. Fay slept on, her features as smooth as a napping child’s. Sunshine inched closer to her unwary face, but they had not shut the curtain last night. If Mamie moved now, she risked waking her friend. If she waited, the sun would do it.

  The scritch-scratch of the queen’s quill held but a portion of her attention, so she allowed her mind to wander.

  Hope, that ugly, dangerous emotion, curled around her heart like an asp. Dominus kindled a love bright and strong within her, beyond where she’d expected anyone to breach. She’d thought herself safe, positioned behind jokes and lovemaking. With a kiss, Dominus had connected them forever. Then he’d mucked things up, telling her she was better off barren. In the court, like a bejeweled bird. Free to drink and make love? Fool.

  A drop of sun kissed Fay’s nose, and she turned to her side, facing the wall.

  Love and passion drove Eleanor, something they had in common. In ancient times, the queen would have been in her glory, ruling and loving without a man at her side—unless she chose. Aphrodite was worshipped for her strengths. Was this business with Raymond part of the warning in the grove?

  The sound of Eleanor’s quill retuning to the inkstand coincided with the sun reaching across Fay’s shoulders. She woke, rubbing her eyes as Eleanor slipped a piece of parchment under the door—right between the stool legs.

  Mamie put a finger to her lips, waiting to pick the note up until the queen’s footsteps crossed the room and she heard the creak of the bed as Eleanor got in.

  She took the letter and quietly tiptoed to the bed she and Fay shared. After Mamie unsealed it, they each read to themselves.

  Eleanor was cancelling their scheduled outing, not feeling well. They were ordered to send a letter that Larissa would give them later to the bishop, which meant a trip into the city. Fay was to befriend Lady Hortencia and Jocelyn of Edessa, and Mamie was to stick to Constance. She did not want to be disturbed until after dinner, perhaps even supper, when she might take a light repast in her room.

  She did not want to see anyone, especially Louis. She had signed her name with larger letters.

  “What is her plan?” Fay whispered.

  “I do not know,” Mamie said. “She was up writing all night. I heard her being ill and Larissa helping her. I hope she is all right.”

  “Poison?”

  Mamie shrugged. “Nobody else has been sick.”

  “We are jumping at shadows,” Fay said. “What am I supposed to do with Lady Hortencia? The woman has no life outside of her husband and his clothing business.” She scrunched her nose. “And Jocelyn stole a kiss yesterday—I tossed an apple at his head. We will not be friends. At least with Constance, you have Bo to entertain you.”

  “I will send a note to the women, alerting them to our queen’s illness, though extending our offer to go. We can be together and still see the market.”

  “The letter to the bishop?”

&nbs
p; “Simple enough for one of us to slip away. We are supposed to see a man named Tallow. A candle maker.”

  Fay nodded, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her shins. “I am tired of this journey. I hope that reaching Jerusalem is worth the angst, but I wish I were home. Even Paris, with its dreary skies, would be better than this. At least then our king and queen would be together. We could train in the garden, as we used to do. Tossing knives at apples until we cleaved them in two.”

  “Isabella was best at that,” Mamie whispered. “I miss them. Catherine and Sarah. Especially Sarah, though she could be so mean.”

  Fay put her hand on Mamie’s forearm. “She was hurting inside so badly. Filled with regret and a babe she did not want.”

  “I would have cared for it. Gone to England, where she would not be burdened. But she died.” Mamie’s eyes welled, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek until she drew blood. She regretted the words instantly.

  “She told me once that she’d never wanted children. If she could have given the babe to you, she would have. I think it was difficult for her to be around you when she knew she had what you wanted most—and what she didn’t want at all. She called God cruel.”

  A tear brimmed over. “We could have agreed on that.”

  Fay reached over and gave her a hug.

  Mamie sniffed. “Dominus once asked if I would pray for a miracle once we reach Jerusalem.”

  “Will you?”

  “I stopped praying a long time ago. They are never answered. I am barren, and nothing can fix that.”

  “That is sad, Rose.”

  “It is the truth. After being hurt and disappointed, one learns there are other ways to find fulfillment. Even happiness.” She wiped her cheeks until they were dry. “I am the happiest woman I know.”

  Fay smiled, her eyes dark gray with concern. “There is a saying about the person who laughs the loudest. That they have the most pain to hide.”