Helena saw the Seljuk guards and struggled with her blighted courage. “But if they are on guard both day and night….”
“There are three guards, maybe more. They are warriors, and strong and cruel when necessary,” he whispered. “They killed a shepherd last month. I saw them. Even now we must not ride any closer.”
Helena’s mind was full of possible plans—all reaching dead ends. There were exits out of Antioch and a trail into the hills and mountains, but guards and steep rugged inclines convinced her that nothing could be done yet. Tancred must be strong enough to face the Seljuks and endure the hills. His recovery would take weeks, even a month or more! Until then, they must move with caution.
“We are not ready for such a journey yet, Jamil. You must not breathe a word of our discussion today to anyone, not even Aziza. We need time.”
They rode back toward the city in silence. As they neared, seeking to avoid the Tower, Helena noticed what must have been an abandoned Armenian church.
“What of your people the Armenians? Do any serve in positions of authority, or have they all been sent from Antioch to raise flocks in the hills?”
“There are some Armenians who are important. But there is much trouble between them and certain Seljuk soldiers.”
She looked at him interested at once. “What manner of trouble? Do you mean petty wrangling and jealousy? Or is it serious differences between their religion and the Christians?”
“Both, Mistress. There is dislike between the Armenians in the city and their Seljuk overlords, but there is no open rebellion. The Armenian Firouz once served willingly, but he is not happy now. Why do you ask, Mistress?”
She noted a strange tone in his voice and pursued. “I am curious about this man, Firouz. Why is he unhappy?”
He glanced at her as though wondering if he should tell. “Well, Aziza says there is talk about his wife.” He looked at her from the corner of his eye.
Helena watched him intently. “Yes? Go on. What about the wife of Firouz? Hold nothing back, Jamil. Remember, I am from Constantinople and know well the inner workings of the Sacred Palace and the nobles.” She thought of her now dead aunt, Irene.
“She spends time with another man—” he lowered his voice. “A Seljuk officer in close service to Commander Yagi-Sian.”
“I see….” Helena was silent, thinking. The intrigue of Byzantine life while growing up had easily set the stage for understanding what was going on in the emir’s palace. “And Firouz, the Armenian?” she asked, “Who does he serve?”
“Firouz is a member of Yaghi-Sian’s council.”
Yaghi-Sian! The Turkish commander of Antioch! At once, Helena could see how this could affect the security of Antioch. The seeds were there—and if the conditions to germinate them could be found….
“Who is the strongest ruler? Yaghi-Sian or Emir Khan? The other emirs? Prince Kalid, or his uncle Ma’sud Khan?”
“Now they say it is Yaghi-Sian. His military is in control. He is a great man, very wise and strong.”
“And Firouz, the discontented Armenian serves him on his inner council….” Her eyes sparkled as her thoughts raced ahead. “Ah, Jamil, I may have been raised in the Sacred Palace for such a time as this!”
“Yes, but—” he stopped. “Mistress! Look!” He pointed down into the plain surrounding Antioch.
From their position near the wall they watched, entranced by an awesome sight. A massive army was moving slowly in the direction of Antioch, a cloud of dust behind them. They spread across the plain as far as her eye could see, and the varied gonfanons of the western feudal princes fluttered in the wind like leaves shaking in a storm. She recognized the blue flag of Raymond of Toulouse, and the crimson banner of the Norman Bohemond. Her heart felt a thrill. No longer did the crusaders seem to her as enemies, but a welcome sight that could take Antioch and bring about their freedom.
“How many are there?” Jamil breathed, excited by the prospect of so many warriors. “Fifty thousand? A hundred thousand? Prince Kalid will find it impossible to enter the city now, Mistress, with the Seljuk cavalry from Aleppo, unless he is warned and returns swiftly.”
Jamil showed no surprise as he looked at her, and saw a smile on her lips as she stared at the ‘barbarians.’ He too smiled, then laughed. “Your marriage to the Most Noble Prince may be delayed indefinitely, Mistress Helena.”
“Jamil, I never thought the sight of crusaders from the West could look so gallant.”
Jamil sobered. “True, Mistress, but Antioch will never surrender to them. And will not the crusaders run out of food?”
“Yes, sadly so. But Yaghi-Sian will run out of provisions if the siege continues,” she said.
“For that to happen, Mistress, the siege must last for months, maybe a year. Our streams run down from Mount Silpius. Even now in the hot summer the thunderstorms in the dry hills always bring floods to fill the reservoirs. It is why the Armenian shepherds bring their flocks to these hills. Food is also stored in great quantities in the city, and I have shown you the fields and market gardens.” He sighed. “I do not see how the crusaders can maintain a siege for long.”
Jamil was right of course. Helena grew silent. Jamil now looked troubled as though to blame for her blighted enthusiasm.
“But Count Redwan will be pleased the crusaders have arrived so near the city, Mistress.”
“Yes,” she breathed, awed at the sight. “He will be pleased.”
Jamil smiled. “I am happy too. There is hope, Mistress.”
Yes, there was hope...but also danger.
Behind the Veil / The Royal Pavilions book3 / Linda Chaikin
Chapter15
Restrained
So, he was caged like a rabbit! He had been lying wounded and half-dazed for over three days in the house of his enemies—and Helena’s.
The afternoon sun blazed against the drawn crimson drapes in the silent chamber. Tancred lay there trying to reason. His sword and scabbard were gone, but upon awakening he’d found his dagger near his right hand, evidently placed there by Helena, a wise woman. Without his weapons he was vulnerable, causing his frustrations to spiral. How could he manage to get out of this dark pit? Danger lurked on every side, and Helena was more defenseless than he.
His chafed under physical limitations of weakness, and he found his situation as difficult to endure as enslavement under the baron.
No! he gritted. I refuse to think of defeat. If the Lord God wills, I can survive, live to capture Mosul, and escape with Helena.
Enough of this! Silken sheets! Bedridden like a hand-fed baby! Even if it was by Helena’s hand, this he could not abide.
Tancred struggled to raise himself on an elbow, grimacing with pain. They were even now in danger of Kalid unexpectedly returning from Aleppo, and the days were slipping past. Every movement of his body brought pain. He rejected the desire to lie back down. The bleeding had already stopped and he was healing, as a physician he knew as much. That had to be sufficient, there was no time for anything but survival. He must be up and planning. He needed a sword, and he must think.
Tancred threw the covers aside. He muzzled the protest of his flesh. Raising himself slowly, he grasped the arm of the chair and eased his feet onto the carpet. For a moment dizziness overcame him, and he broke into a sweat.
For Helena, he lectured himself.
With cold determination, he managed to walk forward, ignoring the pain and weakness.
His survival depended upon keeping his presence a secret from his cousin Mosul. A dagger through the heart would be typical of Mosul’s tactics. The fact that he was injured and defenseless would not deter an assassin. That he was even alive could only mean that Mosul was still deceived about the ‘bodyguard’ in Helena’s chambers. How long before the deception was exposed? Which of the Seljuk soldiers had seen Helena in his arms before he was hopelessly surrounded? Someone could eventually mention it to Mosul or Ma’sud Khan.
Tancred made his way to the next chamber. H
elena was not there. It was silent—not even the slaves were present. He was alone. Hot coals still smoldered in the hearth, and the kettle of boiled meat and broth simmered. He knelt upon the cushions and warmed himself, hoping to get his blood surging. The feeling of new life began to seep through his body, and slowly his mind began to clear. With steady resolve he started to organize his thoughts.
The first thing he did was to check his wounds. They were swollen but healing. He forced himself to eat in order to gain strength. He sat staring at the embers, thinking back to the battle at the gate of the Castle of Hohms, pondering the whereabouts of Nicholas, Leif, Bardas, Rufus, and Basil. Had they made it through the gate into the castle? Where was his adoptive father, Seigneur Rolf Redwan? Wherever he was, there was little he or the others could do to aid him now. And as he already knew, Antioch could withstand a long siege. Nothing could break this siege but the successful arrival of the western crusaders under Bohemond and the other feudal lords.
He arose, struggling, and counted his steps across the chamber to a door that led into a private bath. Here he took time to rest, satisfied over his progress. If he could make it this far, he could go twice the distance next time, and the next….
A fountain bubbled musically, and the sight of greenery was refreshing. He dampened a cloth and, with difficulty, tried to bathe without twisting and stretching his wounds. He wrapped a dry cloth around his waist and retraced his steps into the chamber.
Wearily he sank onto the divan. If only he could get a message to Hakeem and Nicholas. He could tell them to expect the caravan with Prince Kalid coming to Antioch from Aleppo. If Kalid could be abducted, Tancred’s work here in Antioch would leave only Mosul and Kalid’s indomitable uncle, Ma’sud Khan. Ma’sud was an older man, but a rare warrior. He was the last one Tancred wished to confront.
Hopefully, the swords of his cousin Leif and the others would not be far away.
Against his will, his eyes shut on their own…
***
Startled to wakefulness by a stealthy hand on his arm, Tancred reached and grasped an arm and whirled it aside, his dagger flashing from its hiding place.
Jamil sat sprawled on the rug. His mouth was open, and he blinked. He remained motionless, stunned by Tancred’s swift reaction.
Tancred was on his elbow, holding the dagger, and looking down upon a slim boy. Jamil’s brown eyes were wide, and the awestruck expression on his face turned suddenly to a smile. “Master, that was well done!”
Tancred studied him a moment. The boy was obviously in love with warriors, and the art of combat. He arched a brow. “I am pleased you approve,” he said dryly.
“Oh yes, well done!” Jamil repeated, and scrambled to his sandaled feet and rendered a low bow. “Jamil, at your service, Master.” He straightened. “Master,” he ventured thoughtfully, “If I were an enemy, you would have been able to take me.” He pointed to his throat.
Tancred struggled to keep a grave face. “No, not your neck, your bottom. If you ever try anything as dangerous again, I will see to it that you receive several swift and painful raps.”
The boy appeared chagrined. “I suppose I did take a risk, but—”
“First lesson, never sneak up on a man asleep who has a weapon and expects an assassin.”
“My humble apology, Master!” Jamil winced, his pride slapped. “I only wished to see how a true warrior protects himself when—but yes, I see.” He looked off thoughtfully into space as if theorizing. “Yes, indeed so!”
Tancred wanted to smile at the boy’s earnestness, but he kept his demeanor stern. “Is there anything else you wish to know since you have me awake and alert?”
Jamil took his offer seriously. “The use of the sword and, can you use a scimitar? Here,” he knelt down and reached under the divan. “I have a scimitar, see? It is excellent.” He jumped to his feet, and lowered his voice. “I managed to take it from the armory this morning. Try it! See what you think—”
Tancred snatched it from his hand and eyed Jamil carefully. This boy could easily end up a puppy in his lap if he allowed it.
Seeing Tancred’s careful appraisal, Jamil proceeded more cautiously. “And, I have many other questions to ask….” He stopped.
“You are a clever boy, Jamil.”
Jamil smiled and bowed. “Yes, Master. But there is much to learn, and I am well over twelve years now! The sun hastens its setting.”
Tancred couldn’t stop himself. He laughed. “Suppose for this moment we get to a few preliminary questions.”
“As you wish.”
“Tell me how you managed to sneak the scimitar out of the armory.”
“Well, the soldiers are always busy training and they are accustomed to seeing me…so, when they were fully occupied with practicing their arts, I removed the scimitar from the weapons rack while the Chief Guard was busy, and slipped out without a sound. This was the same way I retrieved your satchel, and the …er, sword and scabbard.”
“You have located my sword?”
Jamil sprang to its hiding place and produced it.
“Excellent! I believe I have another Hakeem! Perhaps even better.”
“Hakeem?”
“Never mind for now.”
“Ah! I will reward you for this feat, Jamil. No one could have done more wisely.”
“I wish only one reward, Seigneur. Mistress Helena has already promised, but you will need to agree. You see, I know you are Count Tancred Redwan, the Norman from Sicily, and—”
“You what?”
“Yes, the Redwan name and heraldic is on your scabbard. I saw it. But Lady Helena told me everything about Mosul.”
Tancred took firm hold of his shoulder. Gravely he studied his eyes. They showed nothing except pride, excitement, and yes, loyalty!
“She told you? How much do you know about me and your mistress”
“Everything,” he whispered proudly.
“Where is Lady Helena?” Tancred asked evenly.
“With the female slaves, bathing, I think. I have already vowed my fealty unto death, Master. And in return she said I could escape with you.”
Tancred remained silent. So…. He was not surprised that Helena had succumbed to the boy’s innocent charms. Tancred could see no reason to doubt his loyalty.
“We will discuss all she has promised later. Such a clever young warrior will undoubtedly expect me to reward him for keeping it a secret. I will also reward you for reclaiming my sword and for keeping all of this information from Assad,” he said of the chief eunuch.”
Jamil’s eyes gleamed. “If you do escape and return to Sicily, I will go with you. You will train me to be a great warrior like yourself, and when I become a man, and am strong, I will be your bodyguard.”
Tancred couldn’t help himself, he was already strongly attached to the boy. He measured Jamil. For one so young, he certainly knew what he wanted. Tancred affected sobriety. “I will consider your request, Jamil. We will discuss the future when we have time—if we are sure we have one. Your parents may have something to say about—”
Jamil interrupted. “My parents are dead, killed by the Seljuks. I have only Aziza, my sister, and she, too, wishes to escape.”
Tancred had no wish to turn the boy into a warring soldier. “The ways of a scholar are wiser than the ways of a warrior. For one thing, you will likely live longer,” he said ruefully, wincing as he moved his arm.
“Nay! I shall be both,” he suggested jubilantly.
Tancred pulled at Jamil’s sash. “We will see about that later. But now, we haven’t much time. I must get a secret message to a friend, who also a friend to your mistress. He is now in or near the Castle of Hohms.” Tancred was almost certain Nicholas and the others would not leave for the Norman camp until they knew of his and Helena’s condition.”
“I could try to bring a message there, Seigneur. The gate near the slope of the city leads into the mountains. To then backtrack and reach the Castle of Hohms would take me five or six
days.”
“I was not thinking of you traveling there. It would put you at too much risk. I was thinking whether it would be possible to use a falcon.”
Jamil’s eyes grew wider. “Oh, but I keep falcons. I feed and train them myself.”
Tancred studied the boy again. “Jamil, you are surely a heavenly gift!” He wrote a brief message, but hesitated, holding onto the small piece of paper. Though Jamil looked anxious to be on with his task, Tancred walked slowly over to the window, drew back the crimson draperies and stared out thoughtfully.
It would be too dangerous to have Jamil smuggle a falcon to him, if the boy was caught it would bring severe punishment. It was a wonder that he had been able to get his sword and satchel. Tancred’s thoughts drifted to the boy’s upbringing. If he could turn Jamil over to Nicholas for training—but this was no time to forage so deep into the future’s pathway.
As Tancred stared out the window he thought of the seldom used gate he had noticed when studying the drawing of Antioch at the Royal Library in Constantinople. If his satchel hadn’t been searched by the armory’s guards, the drawing should still remain hidden inside. It showed the inner workings of the walls, gates, and palace. At present, he would keep the map a secret.
“The Armenian shepherds use the postern gate to bring goats and cheese,” Jamil whispered, coming up beside him.
Tancred was taken by the fact Jamil understood he must whisper certain information, which he had also done when speaking of Tancred’s sword and the Redwan heraldic.
“Do you see the upper portion of Antioch where the wall ends near the mountains?” Jamil said. “Lady Helena and I rode there this morning to see the postern gate.”
Behind the Veil Page 14
