The Lode Stone

by Jane Ann McLachlan

  “Sometimes. But it does not make me sad long, for he gave me a present before he left.”

  “Guarin,” Alys nodded wisely.

  “And you, Alys. How could I be sad, with two such fine gifts to make me happy?”

  The little line between her brows unpuckered. Her lips turned up. “It will be a very funny story, I expect.”

  “I am afraid of that.”

  She giggled and ran to catch up to her grandmother.

  ***

  The next morning I had my horse saddled, telling Lucien I did not need him to escort me this time. I wanted to be alone to think. And what had I to fear? I was already going to be forced into an unhappy marriage. When I reached the woods I kicked my mare into a wild gallop, bending low to avoid the larger branches, heedless of the smaller ones slapping against me.

  The mare and I were both dark with sweat when I finally reined her in near the river that formed the north border of my land, dividing it from the Lord Charles’s forest. I dismounted and led my horse to the river to drink, bending beside her and splashing some of the clear, cold water into my own mouth as well. Being careful not to let her drink too much I led the mare back into the woods and tied her to a young sapling with fresh shoots of leaves on its branches and tender ferns around its base for her to eat. I sat down nearby with my back against a tree and closed my eyes, content to sit in the shade with a warm wind caressing my face.

  I felt myself drift toward sleep. I had not slept well the night before and this was a restful place, with the soothing music of birdsong and gurgling water lulling me out of my unpleasant thoughts. Perhaps I did sleep for a few moments before the sound of a male voice broke through my rest. He was speaking loudly, as men do when they are out of doors and think themselves alone. The water carried his voice farther than he knew. As I came awake I recognized it as the voice of the younger knight who had sat at my table the day before.

  “She is pretty enough. Any man would be happy to share his bed with her.”

  “He could have any woman he wanted, without the blessing of a priest.” This was said with a snort, the voice older than the first one. I leaned forward and peered through the branches of two interlacing shrubs that shielded me from their sight. Two of the knights Lord Charles had brought to dine at my house the day before were standing on the other side of the river no more than twenty yards away from me.

  “What do you think then?” the younger one said. I remembered from the conversation at dinner that Lord Barnard had fostered him. He was a year older than Lord Charles, which made him three years older than me.

  “I think there is more to it than we know. You brought him home drunk a week back, did you not? Did he say anything?”

  “Not about a marriage. He said he had made a promise and that it haunted him.” The young knight’s voice trembled.

  “What promise?”

  “I did not ask.” Then in a defensive tone, “I was drunk. He was drunk. It was dark and I did not want to talk of hauntings! Whatever else he said, I cannot remember.”

  “Try harder. We must know what spell this witch has cast over him.”

  “She is not a witch.” The younger voice sounded less certain than I would have liked. I edged back farther behind the bushes.

  “He has given her a large, profitable quarry, a good-sized area of woodland, and now he intends to make her a lady, the mistress of all his estate. And you do not think she has bewitched him?”

  “Her husband saved his life!”

  “We all saved one another’s lives. That is what happens in battle. You would know if you had been there.”

  “My brother died fighting in the battle for Acre!”

  “We all lost someone. You did not get a quarry to ease your grief, did you?”

  Behind my tree I blushed for shame. I did not ask for the quarry! I asked only for Simon’s horse. At first, a voice in my head contradicted me.

  “That does not prove her a witch.”

  I warmed to my young defender. But what if others began to think as the older knight did? Oh, why did Lord Charles not just give me my husband’s horse and leave me to do the castle laundry?

  “It is the promise that proves it, that promise you should have learned more about, and the haunting that came of it.” A horse nickered. I heard the creak a saddle makes as someone settles into it.

  “He did not make the promise to her!”

  There was a pause, as though the older knight had intended to leave and now turned back. “Who did he make the promise to?”

  “’A promise made in battle’ he said. That is all I know. So it cannot be her doing.”

  Another silence. Then the sound of a horse’s whinny and the dance of its hooves as it wheeled in a circle.

  “Mount up.” The older knight’s voice said roughly. “It is time we rejoined the hunt. And if I were you I would tell no one else what Lord Charles confides to you when he is in his cups.”

  ***

  I rode through the castle gates with my back straight and my head high, but under my skirts my legs trembled against the sides of my horse. I had bitten my tongue until I was afraid it might begin to bleed; I could scarcely show up to an audience with Lord Charles with a mouth full of blood.

  In the two days since Lord Charles had announced his intention to marry me, I had spent the time thinking about his visit, and about Roland’s. I had been so certain Roland loved me—it was there in his eyes as clear as a declaration before the priest. I was equally sure that Lord Charles did not. And what did any of this have to do with the promise I had overheard the young knight talking about? If Lord Charles had made a vow in the heat of battle, what had that to do with me? Charles would never have been thinking of me as he cut down Saracen. I shuddered at the thought. Most likely it had been nothing more than a drunken misunderstanding on the young knight's part. I had not mentioned it to Maman. I did not want to think of it at all.

  This morning I had received a summons to meet with Lord Charles and Lady Celeste. Did she know of her son’s declaration? If so, it would mean he was serious, and my task of dissuading him would be all the harder. What must she be thinking if he had told her—that I had bewitched him, as his men thought? Surely not. Surely she would not let such accusations continue. She herself was a commoner who had married a Lord, without the use of witchcraft.

  I reined in my horse in the courtyard and stared up at the huge castle. Would this be my home some day?

  Never. No matter how long I lived here, it would never be my home. Was it like that for Lady Celeste, or had she found happiness here, and love? Whether she had or not, I knew I would not, not with Lord Charles.

  There were several knights standing about the courtyard and a number of servants walking about. A stable boy came up to me. I dismounted and gave my reins to him.

  I stood woodenly in the courtyard as my horse was led away. Should I enter by the main door, or go around to the servant’s entrance as I had when I came to do laundry? I felt the eyes of everyone present watching me, though no one looked directly at me. Did they know?

  Was it too late for me to ask for my horse to be brought back, and leave?

  The huge wooden doors of the castle opened. Marie hurried out past the two guards standing on either side. Her lips were turned up in a smile but her eyes looked anxious. I smiled uncertainly back.

  “Welcome,” she called, as if she was the mistress of the castle and not the maid of the mistress. Or as if she was greeting the new mistress? I wondered with a sinking heart.

  “Hello, Marie,” I said simply. She was my friend and I would never consider her anything else. Pray God I would not have to.

  “They are waiting for you.” She hooked her arm around mine, as familiar as always, and pulled me toward the main door.

  “Surely Lord Charles is too busy to meet...”

  “He is not too busy for you,” she murmured. She gave me a searching look, not at all happy, as she led me up to the door and inside.

&nbs
p; I should have met with him after the dinner. I should have insisted on speaking with him alone right away instead of running off and throwing up. The more people who knew of his intention—if it was still his intention—the harder it would be to convince him to change his mind. Regardless of whether or not he wanted to marry me, he would not want to look foolish in front of everyone.

  She led me through the great hall and upstairs to the private chambers. We walked through two ornate sitting rooms adorned with gilded paintings and with tapestries that had gold and silver threads woven into fantastical garden scenes. In the third chamber, Lady Celeste and Lord Charles were chatting, presumably waiting for me. Marie dropped my arm at the door. She gave me a little push when I did not move and closed the door behind me. I dropped into a curtsey as Lady Celeste and her son both turned to look at me.

  Lady Celeste inclined her head, acknowledging my curtsey. She sat on a carved high-backed wooden chair, the seat softened by an ornately-embroidered pillow. Lord Charles stood beside her. He motioned me to come closer.

  Lady Celeste gestured to a servant who poured me a glass of wine. I accepted it graciously, remembering the first time I had tasted their wine. I was more accustomed to good wine now. Could I ever go back to the mean life I had known then? I imagined the scorn of my neighbors if I moved back into a poor cottage in the lower streets of town and turned up at their doors asking to do their laundry again. Could I endure it? My children would be mocked by the children they had once played with, as I would be mocked by their parents. Unbearable. I had gone too far to return to that life.

  “My son tells me he will marry you.” Lady Celeste turned her direct gaze upon me, her voice calm and neutral.

  I swallowed the wine in my mouth. “So he has told me,” I murmured, shooting a quick glance sideways at Lord Charles. He looked around the room, anywhere but at us, his expression stony.

  “You do not wish it?” Lady Celeste pressed.

  “I am honored,” I spoke carefully. “But I am not worthy. I am only the widow of a blacksmith, my Lady.” I felt Charles wince beside me. Lady Celeste glanced at him.

  “I am forever grateful to your son for his generous gift of lands to me and my children. But I would not demean him by having him marry beneath himself.” Charles face grew grayer with every word I spoke. I took heart. If I could debase myself enough I might escape this trap.

  Lady Celeste’s face was less promising. She knew already what I thought of her son from our previous conversation, and was not falling for my humble act. “I have tried to talk him out of this. It would be an unsuitable match, and not because of your birth.”

  “Enough of this! I have made my decision!” Charles cried.

  “But why? I will give you back your woods!”

  “My woods? I have ten times the acres of woodland as the little plot I gave to you! I do not need your woodland.”

  “My quarry, then!” I had thrown caution to the winds. How would I bear a cold marriage to a husband who would always despise me?

  Charles face reddened with fury.

  “Rather than bring shame to you, my Lord,” I added quickly.

  “It is done! I have announced it. We will be formally engaged in two months’ time.” Charles looked about to storm out of the room.

  “What promise did you make, Lord Charles?” I cried.

  He stopped dead, staring at me. “What did you say?” he whispered.

  “You made a promise. In battle.” My voice trembled, but I had passed the point of retreat. “What did you promise, Lord Charles?”

  He opened his mouth but no words came out.

  “What did you promise?”

  “I promised to marry you!”

  I stumbled to a chair and held onto its back, breathing deeply as everything fell into place. “That is why my husband gave you his horse.”

  Lady Celeste gasped. I ignored her, my eyes fixed on Charles, willing him to answer.

  “Yes.” It came out more a groan than a word. Lady Celeste rose from her chair, her eyes wide with horror as she stared at her son.

  “Is my husband dead, Lord Charles?” I dared not breathe, waiting for his answer, praying for his answer, my eyes wet with tears.

  “He is dead. I would not marry you if I was not sure.”

  “You saw his body?” I did not know what I felt. Hope, rage, fear, despair, all together.

  “The Saracen stripped the bodies of the dead and threw them into a mass grave. We did not win Acre for another month. By then all trace of our dead was gone, save those like my father who we had carried from the field, at great cost of lives. I searched for Simon but there was nothing left of those who died in that first scrimmage, and he had been wounded when he gave me his horse. He did not leave the battlefield that day.”

  “You left it, though. You left it on his horse.”

  With a cry, Lady Celeste ran from the room. Charles and I stood where we were, our eyes locked on each other.

  “I will marry you, Madame Melisende. I promised on my soul, and nothing you can say will change me. I am your lord and I will marry you and keep my promise.”

  “You will not despise me when you do,” I answered him coldly. “I am the one who will despise you.”

  He turned away.

  “We will celebrate our engagement in the spring,” I said, my heart as cold as my voice. “And our marriage next autumn.” I had bought myself a year. Anything could happen in a year.

  I walked to the door. As I passed him I heard him whisper, “I am sorry.”

  I gave no sign that I had heard.

  PART TWO

  Chapter Thirteen: Isaac

  A cacophony of noises split the night: the stamping of hooves and screams of horses, dogs barking and the shrieks of women, children crying and the desperate howls of men unable to protect their families. Above it all was the laughter and shouting of rough soldiers loosed on civilians, French and English accents intertwined.

  Isaac leapt up from his pallet on the floor. “Reb David!” he shouted, in case the old man had not wakened, nearly deaf as he was. He reached for the wooden peg beside his bed and strapped it onto the stump just below his left knee. His fingers trembled, slipping as he tightened the straps. The noise outside was increasing, the sound of horses coming closer. He pulled on his qamis, a loose cotton under-robe which fell half-way between his knees and ankles, and shoved his arms into the sleeves of his qumbaz, a dark blue linen kaftan with slits up the sides. No time to bind his hair up under his turban; it swept long and straight and brown across his shoulders. Still knotting the sash at his waist, he hurried up to the third level of the house where Reb David slept.

  Rabbi David ben Avraham was still struggling to don his qamis. Isaac helped him and reached for the striped blue and white kaftan hanging on a peg near the rabbi’s bed. The Rabbi was winding his turban around his head when he turned back.

  “The Torah!” he said. “Save the Torah!” Waving away Isaac’s help he tied the turban in place and took his kaftan.

  “We cannot go to the synagogue, they will go there.” There were riches in the synagogue, the gold menorah with a ring of sapphires around its base, the bronze laver, the silver altar of incense, the gold-plated jug of anointing oil, also bejeweled.

  “Go now. Quickly! Save what you can!” Reb David pushed his tallit, a prayer shawl with knotted fringes at each corner, into Isaac’s hands. “Wrap them in this! Run!”

  Isaac hesitated, wanting to protest, but he was the Rabbi’s disciple, sworn to obedience. He turned before Reb David had to repeat his command a third time.

  Reaching the qu’al-bayt, the bottom level of the rabbi’s three-story brick house, he slipped his right foot into his sandal, tucked his hand knife into his sash and opened the wooden door carefully to peer out. The noise intensified as soon as he opened the door. Jews in various stages of dress were running from their houses into the streets in every direction, carrying goods and crying children. The soldiers were further down the
street, their white tunics with the scarlet cross visible even in the darkness.

  “Get to the Temple Church!” Isaac cried, stepping into the fray. The Knights Templar, by command of their founder and patron Bernard of Clairvaux were sworn to protect them if they could get to the round Templar church in Acre. These monsters slashing in the dark of night at unarmed men and women carrying their terrified children were the crusaders who had come with Richard of England and Phillip II of France. Against the orders of their lords and their priests they attacked Jewish and Saracen townsfolk in their homes—they were men with no honor, no restraint, no souls.

  He raced, a hopping, leaping movement that carried him nearly as quickly as he had once run on two good legs, trying to beat the charging horsemen to the synagogue. He arrived to find his Jewish neighbors crowding through the doors.

  “Leave here!” he cried. How could they not understand the peril they were in here? “Go to the church of the Templars. There is no safety here!”

  But they were already pulling their fringed prayer shawls over their heads, were chanting the Shema, one of many prayers for protection. Isaac pushed his way through them to the altar. He dipped his hands quickly in the bronze laver, murmuring an apology, before reverently lifting the Torah and wrapping it in Rabbi David’s prayer shawl. As he reached for the golden menorah two men grabbed him, fighting him for the Torah.

  “I do this for the rabbi!” he gasped, struggling to hold onto the heavy book, twisting his body toward the menorah. “Reb David ben Avraham sent me to save them!”

  “Get your unclean hands off it!” one of the men yelled, yanking at the Torah in his arms, an elder, his white beard quivering with righteous fury. “You defile it! It belongs here!”

  Isaac’s knife clattered onto the stone floor.

  “You bring a weapon into the holy place!” a male voice cried.

  He tried to hold onto the Torah but there were many men now, they tore it from his arms. “Get out!” the elder leading them screamed. “Out of our synagogue, the holiest of holies, leave here with your—”