“And the shepherd I replace?”
“He is an Armenian Christian. He is privy to our plan. He also welcomes the arrival of the crusaders. All is arranged. You have but to follow my orders.”
Within two hours they had come to the place near the gate, and in darkness the simple but clever ruse was carried out under the nose of the Seljuk guards who walked the wall, watching the distant hills for signs of an advancing army.
Tancred found a horse tied and waiting a mile outside the wall, and a satchel containing more weapons and some food. Before the sun arose in the east, Tancred was riding toward the Norman camp to meet with Bohemond.
Behind the Veil / The Royal Pavilions book3/ Linda Chaikin
Chapter20
Norman Conflict
The sun was hot and the Norman camp was astir with activity by the time Tancred rode among the thousands of tents. They had noticed him coming from the distance, and word of his arrival spread. He immediately asked for Bohemond. Several Normans came forth to greet him.
“Any news from Nicholas and Leif?”
“We have sent Ordic to the Castle of Hohms to learn their status.”
Did he imagine a guarded glance between them?
Tancred, more weary in body than he would admit, remained astride his horse as they led him forward to a large tent where the Norman standard fluttered on a pole.
The tent floor was spread with Moslem prayer rugs captured as booty in battles. Prince Bohemond was awake and armed, a massive warrior with bulging arms and shoulders. Tancred explained about the Armenian, Firouz, and his wife. “The Christian Armenian is prepared to let the Normans into the city. To prove his sincerity, his son will be sent as a hostage.”
The cold blue eyes of the Norman glinted. He remained silent for a moment, then he responded as Tancred had known he would. “I accept.”
The news was to be kept from the other feudal lords. Bohemond wanted to be the ruler of Antioch and he had a plan. With bold confidence he called for a council among his most trusted men.
After refreshments, a bath, and clean garments, Tancred sat beside Bohemond in the tent. Bohemond, without having mentioned Firouz’s offer, addressed the group. “The siege has been going on too long. I say, whoever manages to break through and take Antioch should become ruler of Antioch.”
At first they looked at one another as though Bohemond had lost his mind. Then, they refused the offer indignantly. “Take Antioch? How, may we ask? And have we not all endured this wretched siege and suffered? No single prince among us should become ruler over all the city!”
As they considered, one of the chief knights was bidden into the command tent to bring important news.
“Seigneur! Ill news! Kerbogha is within three days of the city. He has raised a new army of Muslims from the East and comes to bolster the fighting arm of Yaghi-Sian. The fresh army of cursed infidels outnumber us greatly. And, they have all the food and drink one could dream of!”
Tense silence held the lords captive.
They cast uneasy frowning glances at one another.
“If you intend to take Antioch,” Tancred spoke up, “You must do so now. If you wait it will soon become too late.”
While the news of the relief army under Kerbogha was dark tidings for the crusaders, it was favorable to Tancred. Kalid would not choose to leave Antioch with members of the royal Khan family now, not while expecting Kerbogha to arrive. Tancred had three days in which to rescue Helena. And if the Normans took the city, he would have her safely away even sooner—just as soon as he found Mosul.
The warm, dry wind sent the tent flaps shaking, like an omen of calamity riding in from the East. The lords all looked at each other with grim determination. They had all come too far, and endured too much loss and suffering to turn back now. It would be victory or death.
“Kerbogha’s soldiers will all be well-fed and their horses fresh,” Tancred warned. “Your knights and soldiers will be trapped between the walls of Antioch and the river. Supplies will not reach us from St. Symeon in time; we will be worse off than we are now. We will be caught between Kerbogha and Yaghi-Sian coming out from the city to fight. We will soon be encircled. I suggest to the lords gathered here now that they accept Bohemond’s offer while there is time to take them by surprise.”
“Tancred is right. If Bohemond and his Normans can win the city, let us bestow it upon him willingly,” Duke Godfrey agreed, surprising the other princes with his humility. “I wish Antioch behind me. Let us get on to the holy city of Jerusalem.”
There arose a murmur that soon yield to consent, and a round of touching fists and shoulders showing loyal agreement.
***
Tancred went to the tent of his cousin Leif. Adele made much ado over Tancred’s injuries bidding him to rest comfortably while she went out for the physician Thomas of Aguilers. She returned within an hour bringing the famed medical man, then set about to prepare nourishing food.
“You are well on your way to recovery, Tancred. Your medical knowledge must have availed you.” After clean cloths and medical salve was applied, Tancred was left to his meal and the report of news from Adele. After she spoke of conditions in the camp, he inquired about Leif.
“A message arrived a week ago,” she said in a low voice, glancing toward the tent opening. “He remains with Nicholas. Hakeem received your message. He came here very late one night a week ago, searching for news of you, but I had none to give him.”
“Hakeem! He took a great risk in entering the Norman camp!”
“He stayed only long enough to tell me that Leif and Nicholas are alive, and with your other friends. He brought a warning to you from Leif. Walter of Sicily and members of the clan had secretly visited the Castle of Hohms just a week before you arrived to rescue Lady Helena from Prince Kalid. Leif and Nicholas are now riding toward Aleppo as you bade in your message. Seigneur Rolf Redwan and Rufus and Bardas also ride with them. Count Rolf is anxious to see you—and to confront Walter.”
That his uncle Rolf, now his adoptive father, would contest Walter’s avenging spirit, and leave the castle and ride with Nicholas surprised Tancred. He suddenly longed to see Rolf again. He was growing weary of battle and conflict and yearned for rest of soul and warm conversation with family and friends, especially Rolf Redwan and Nicholas.
“Where is Walter of Sicily now?”
Adele suddenly stiffened, and Tancred saw her friendly expression change to one of alarm. He looked in the direction of her gaze as a brusque voice ordered, “Do not reach for your sword, Tancred.”
Members of the Redwan clan moved into the tent, encircling him. Tancred despised his folly. Weariness had allowed him to drop his guard!
Adele sucked in an indignant breath and stood to her feet. “What is this? How do you think you have the right to push your way into my personal abode? You have no right! If Leif were here he would have drawn his blade against you, Sir Walter!”
“Stay out of this, Adele. If Leif were here, he, too, would answer for treachery and betrayal against his own Redwan clan!”
Walter of Sicily was in his forties, ruggedly handsome, with a glint of auburn in his blond hair. A deep scar ran across his bronzed cheek. He was garbed in ringed leather armor, a long Viking sword strapped to his lean hip.
Walter, in seeing his nephew for the first time since his respectable and scholarly studies at the Salerno medical school near Rome, appeared faintly surprised as Tancred stood from the cushions—as though the tested warrior before him could not be his young nephew. Then Walter’s countenance hardened.
Tancred revealed nothing of his own thoughts or feelings at seeing his blood kin again. His uncle’s lack of belief in his honor had hurt him deeply, but in facing him now, Tancred affected calm; he would not plead with him for leniency. Tancred still considered that Walter’s vow against him had less to do with Derek’s assassination than with pride of position in Palermo and the Redwan inheritance. He remembered what the old one, Odo, had said that
night at Palermo when Tancred was trying to escape: “Walter may be my son, but pride does not blind me to his ruthless ambitions. It is not the loss of young Derek that prompts him to see you pass through the ordeal of craven, but the knowledge that you are the future heir of the Redwan legacy.”
Was it true? In many ways Walter was an honorable warrior.
Seigneur Walter strode boldly forward until he came within feet of his nephew Tancred. “Bind him,” Walter ordered.
Adele rushed in between, her blue eyes gleaming. “For shame! Tancred is injured from battle. Can you not see? Have you no pity?”
“I do not want his pity,” Tancred stated.
Walter’s cheek flinched. “I had no intention of offering any.”
Tancred’s lean, wolfish cousins loitered in the back of the tent, uneasy. They had been studying their cousin and liked what they saw. News of Leif and Norris Redwan coming to his side in loyalty had reached them earlier and they were troubled by Walter’s persistence over Derek Redwan’s death.
Walter turned a sharp look upon them. “Did you not hear me? Why do hesitate!”
Tancred believed he saw divided wills. They would not meet his level gaze.
Then, an older cousin spoke up from the back of the tent, “Do not try to draw blade upon us, Tancred. Not even you can take fifteen Redwans.”
Tancred looked at Cousin Cervon, lean, savage, and in his thirties. “There can be no just trial until Count Rolf is present as my adoptive father. He is with Nicholas and Leif on the road to Aleppo. If Walter is willing to ride there with me, this matter can be settled fairly, and according to Norman custom.”
“You want us to go there because Count Rolf believes you are innocent,” Walter stated brusquely.
Rolf was also in line to succeed Tancred’s blood father, Dreux, as head of the family. Though Rolf had left Palermo, it was readily understood that if Rolf should return to claim his birthright, Walter would have to step aside.
Tancred ignored his insinuation. “Mosul assassinated Derek. He is in Antioch serving Prince Kalid. I would have caught him by now, had I not been betrayed.”
Walter’s eyes were brittle, the strong jawline stubbornly set. “To kill your half-brother was not enough; do you also insult me with this tale of Mosul?”
“If you had spent these nearly three years hounding Mosul instead of me, you would have learned my vow of innocence to be the truth.”
His uncle did not speak, he showed nothing but a twitch of a muscle in his cheek. His gaze swept Tancred and unexpectedly, he sighed. “The sight of the younger son of Dreux conjures blood affection. I loved my brother Dreux, whose skills as a warrior I respected. And alas! You look much like him. There are times, Tancred, when late at night before the campfire I tell myself you could not have assassinated Derek. Not you, the one son of Dreux, who respected life and wished to be a physician. But,” and here again, he sighed, “It was your dagger that killed him. The slaves reported having seen you flee the courtyard where Derek met with Kamila. And you were to marry her, but she loved Derek instead. Jealousy has caused many-a-man to commit deeds he would condemn in others.”
Tancred, surprised by his words, wondered if Walter was speaking of himself.
“I did not kill Derek. I did not love Kamila. The slaves must have been bribed or threatened. Mosul is the answer to all things between us.”
“Neither your silken tongue nor your skill with the sword will save you this time, Tancred. You demand the presence of Rolf? Impossible. It is said he is not at the castle but setting an ambush on the road toward Aleppo. Do I not know you are friendly with the Moslems? And should we behave the fools in riding with you toward Aleppo? It is said Commander Kerbogha rides from that direction with a cavalry of Turks. Or is it your wish to turn us over to him?” He turned away. “Take his weapons, Cervon. We will hold a fair and just trial among the Normans.”
Tancred turned and looked at his cousin.
Uneasily, Cervon gestured. “Unbelt your scabbard.”
Tancred did so. Another kinsman scowled, as though he thought the whole business of the morning unpleasant.
“Bind him strongly,” Cervon said. “If you do not, we may lose our long-lost cousin before we ever take Antioch.”
Something in his voice caused Tancred to look at him. Cervon merely smiled grimly.
“I remember well how he used to escape us in the woods,” Cousin Olin said. “He always was a—”
“Silence,” Walter commanded. “We will not discuss the past. There is to be no mention of family! Not here, not now.”
“Though you hold me prisoner,” Tancred said, “I know that Antioch will soon be taken. I have come from inside the city with a message for Bohemond. Send for him. Let him speak. He will tell you it is so.”
Cervon smiled at Olin. “First he lures Norris and Leif away to his side, now he tells us the fate of Antioch is in his brilliant hands.”
***
An hour later, a tense, hushed silence held the Redwan clan.
Tancred had been tied hand and foot, to two vertical posts.
The thirty Redwans, astride their Great Horses, detached themselves in groups of six in a wide circle around him.
The seigneurs, Tancred’s uncles, had debated with Walter over the wisdom of pursuing the custom of craven at this time. “It is true what Adele said. He has taken serious wounds in battle,” cousin Cervon said to Walter. “It is not good to go through with the trial now.”
If craven were used to determine guilt, the accused, by surviving the prescribed ordeal, was declared not guilty. The Norman trial punishment, however, was so severe that few survived the hours of endurance.
“He is not strong,” Olin also argued. “The trial cannot be fair and just to him. Is it not wise to wait?”
Walter held the reins of his horse in mute silence. It obviously disturbed him that Tancred had not once pleaded to be released. He knew that some among the clan were now doubting his guilt, and in a private meeting they had tried unsuccessfully to have Tancred released.
“Why not abide by our rules and wait for his adoptive father, Count Rolf?” Arno suggested. Arno was a stalwart man, and more just than Walter. Arno was able to read and write, and had known Tancred, when a boy. Arno’s fair hair, tipped lightly with silver, was clipped short at his neck in Norman style, and he was clean-shaven, another Norman custom. He looked down upon Tancred with gravity.
“Come, my nephew Tancred, confess. It will go better for you. We both know your uncle Walter to be a relentless and suborn man.” He gestured a scowl toward Walter. “He is not easily appeased, as you know. But as the eldest of your uncles, it is in my power to see you spared this ordeal, if you will confess blood guiltiness.”
“As I have already sworn to you at Palermo, I am innocent of my brother’s death,” Tancred declared.
Walter’s hand gripped the reins and his iron gaze flickered, then swerved from Tancred’s. “I am bound by duty to see that justice is paid for the death of Derek,” he said stubbornly.
Tancred would not waver before the hard, measuring look Walter gave him.
“No one among us wants justice for his murder more than I. He was my brother!”
Walter winced before he could halt the stinging rebuke. The others glanced at him. Tancred’s honor was on trial, but neither Erich, Leif, or Norris had believed him guilty—and they had come to know him well.
“Release me to go to Antioch,” Tancred pressed. “I will find Mosul, and I will bring him to you alive.” His eyes hardened as they measured his uncle. “If it is craven you wish—then I accept your judgment.”
Walter tensed, and the other scowled. They had been working against craven.
“I ask that it be fairly done in the sight of all of you. Let craven be performed as a duel between Mosul and myself. The man who survives, let him go free.”
Uncle Arno scowled. “But if it is true that Mosul is guilty, and you are not—“
Tancred interrupted, his ey
es riveted on Walter. “Nay. I will defend my honor according to Norman custom. Naught else will please the head of our clan, nor will it please me. Only then can I ride on in peace.”
Ride on? Did this mean Tancred had no desire to resume his family position in Sicily? Walter masked any emotion, even though he could feel the eyes of Arno, Cervon, Olin, and the others warning him to release the matter, as one would release an eagle to the freedom of the sky.
Walter found himself compelled to relent before them. “It will be as you request, Tancred, You must prove your innocence by craven in the form of a duel between you and Mosul. Your honor is at stake.” Then he added roughly, “Find Mosul. And if not, you will stand trial.”
“I will find him,” he gritted.
“You have my ruling. We will speak no more until you bring him to me!” Walter wheeled his horse and rode back toward the camp.
Arno gestured to Cervon. “Cut your cousin loose and restore his weapons and armor.”
Cervon rode up by the stakes that held Tancred and dismounted. Drawing his dagger from his belt he cut the ropes at Tancred’s wrists and ankles.
Tancred gazed after Walter, rubbing his wrists where the rope had been tight. His uncle’s decision had surprised him.
“He is afraid to show his feelings,” Cervon told him in a low voice.
Tancred remained unmoved. “Walter fears nothing, least of all being overcome by his ‘feelings.’
“Perhaps he remembered you from the past, with serious regrets over the way he has treated you.”
Was it so? It would take more than this partial release to convince Tancred. He offered a bitter laugh, expressing his doubts.
Behind the Veil Page 19
