A Flame Run Wild (19 page)

Alexandre rose silently to his feet and gently drew Liliane from Philip's reach. "This is one carrot for whom I would fight even a king."

A cool glint entered Philip's green eyes. "I will remember that."

With a cold chill of foreboding, Liliane knew that he would.

* * *

Philip paid his call on Jacques de Signe. To Alexandre and Liliane's dumbfounded delight, Philip returned a week later with the hastily equipped Jacques and Louis and twelve of their finest knights. "Recruits," Philip explained lightly, waving his doffed gauntlets at the Signes' douriaces. "Not only Signe gold, but their strong armed men shall accompany us in this Holy Crusade against the infidel."

Liliane looked up at Jacques. "So you have made peace with the king, Uncle?"

"I am honored to prove my loyalty to His Majesty," rasped Jacques. From his flat tone, Liliane surmised that the proof had been expensive. Jacques was not pleased with her.

As Philip watched Liliane standing beside Alexandre, his eyes held a calculating glint. "I regret that we will not be enjoying your hospitality tonight, Countess, for we ride now to join Richard. Your husband will attend us in Palestine."

Liliane wondered if Philip enjoyed the eloquent pain in her eyes as she turned to kiss Alexandre. Jacques and Louis would think her distress at his leaving a sham; Philip would guess it was agony. "Farewell, my love," she whispered to Alexandre. "I pray for a quick victory and your safe return."

He clasped her tightly. "I will come back to you; now I have more reason than even my life to do so. I want to spend the long years with you. ..."

"Take them now," the eavesdropping Philip added casually. "One, at least." He pulled on his gauntlets, smiling without warmth at Liliane. "Your husband asked a year's leave of me with his promise to meet the army in Palestine. Did he not tell you, my lady?"

Hardly daring to hope, Liliane caught Alexandre's arm. "Is this so, my lord Alexandre?"

"That I made the request is so," Alexandre replied slowly. "That it has been granted, I have dared not hope."

"You should entertain more faith in your friends, my lord," rebuked Philip, his green eyes mocking. "With a good navigator and few men to transport, 'twill take you no great time to sail to Acre, Alexandre. A king encumbered by position and army must sail in sight of shore, for a lost ship may cost a hundred fighting men and near half that number of horses." He smiled wryly. "Naturally, Richard and I will attend a great number of entertainments while we battle over tablecloths with our hosts to establish policy that will be ignored the moment our sails are out of sight. 'Twill be a damned tedious trip that will waste a year at least. I shall look for you this day next spring in Acre."

"Thank you, sire," Alexandre replied quietly. "I shall not fail you."

"No," Philip replied expressionlessly "I do not suppose you will." He doffed his cap to Liliane. "My lady, look after your husband well. I want him in fighting trim to meet the Saracens."

"I will, sire," Liliane said softly. "I thank you for your gracious generosity." Although she knew that Philip's concession was calculated to hold Alexandre's loyalty, she was nonetheless grateful to him.

Philip kissed her fingertips. "You are more than welcome, lady." Then he added impishly, "Will you not bid so sweet a farewell to your uncle and cousin? After all, they must brave a great distance to try their courage against the heathens. 'Tis a voyage even the hardy do not always survive."

All eyes turned toward Jacques. Liliane went swiftly forward to curtsy before him. "Godspeed, Uncle"—she looked up—"and to you, Cousin. I know that you will comport yourselves bravely." Like trapped rats, she mentally added. And as such, God willing, may you meet your just deserts. He sees into your hearts when I cannot. Liliane tugged a yellow ribbon from her sleeve. "This favor was meant for my lord Alexandre, but as you go now in his stead"—she tied the ribbon to her uncle's gauntleted wrist—"wear this and remember that I think of you."

Jacques patted her head with his heavy hand. "The year will pass quickly, my girl, and will be over before you know it." He unknotted the favor and returned it to her. "Keep this for your husband, who will soon join us."

Liliane forced herself to accept the ribbon with a smile, pretending that his words held no threatening promise. "Thank you, Uncle. I shall do so. As for the time passing quickly, I shall waste none of it." She eyed Louis demurely. "Guard our uncle well, Cousin, and see that he does not suffer unduly from the desert heat."

Louis grunted sullenly. "None of us will escape the heat, were the Devil himself to protect us."

Alexandre could not resist grinning wickedly. "Do not dismiss the Devil's fevor too lightly, kinsman. Men become none too particular of allies when frying under the enemy sun of Palestine. '' He held up his hand to Philip. "God save you, my liege. Please offer my respects to King Richard."

Philip touched his cap and spurred his destrier to the northeast. Like squat black toads in their saddles, Jacques and Louis followed, their retinues falling in behind them. As the riders picked up speed and their pennants flapped in the sea breeze, Liliane clasped Alexandre's arm. "Jacques is right, my love. Our time together will be brief."

Alexandre swept her tip into his arms and headed for their turret. "Then we will not spend it in chatter. I will show you a rare place to tie your yellow ribbon."

She giggled. "Alexandre, you are shameless!"

" 'Tis spring, Madame!" he crowed, men whispered in her ear, "I would wear a pennant upon my standard to celebrate!"

Chapter 8

~

Monkey in the Marketplace

Castle de Brueil

February 1191

J
acques's sober prediction proved all too true. The seasons came and went like ephemeral wraiths, and the winter, usually so sere and long, prematurely gave way to the melting snows and mud that promised the first new buds of spring. Alexandre spent his free time reinforcing the castle against his absence, yet time grew short and much remained undone.

As Alexandre had only ten knights and twice that many castellans to accompany him, he meant to sail from Massilia directly to Acre. Two lords who would meet him in Massilia had pledged to conscript for Philip another two hundred men. As the damp blasts of early February blew across Provence, Alexandre dared wait no longer to leave for Massilia. In a bitter rain, with his mounted men dripping in their saddles and his foot soldiers shivering among their weeping women, he bade Liliane farewell, and upon her finger placed a gold signet ring that duplicated his own. No greater mark of trust could he offer her, for it gave her power to act in his stead, whether to his good or his ill.

Liliane drew him into the great hall to kiss him. "Take great care, Alexandre," she whispered in the shadow of the cold gray walls. "Jacques and Louis are more dangerous to you than any infidels."

"Nay, you are the danger," he murmured. "In leaving you, I leave my heart. Will you wait?"

She was dismayed that he could doubt it, then she remembered that he still did not know she had guessed he had once pretended to be Jean. "I love only you, my darling. Nothing will separate us; I swear it on my life."

His mouth claimed hers, passionate with bitter loss, and she remembered the long night and how the sadness of their love-making had drained them. Finally, they had simply held each other and waited numbly for the sun. Before Alexandre had gone down to his men, she placed a medallion about his neck. "If ever you are in mortal danger from the paladins of Saladin, show them this and say it was given you by a friend of Almansor. You will gain either freedom or ..."

Shaken, she could not finish, and Alexandre dryly finished for her. "A quick death."

"Saladin is an old comrade of Almansor. I believe he would be merciful."

He ruffled her hair affectionately. "What shall I do with a wife who is friend to all my worst enemies?"

Liliane laughed. "Heed Philip and do not drape yourself with too many sloe-eyed concubines." When he started to protest, she gently laid her finger across his lips. "Nay, promise nothing. Only guard your life. You have seen that Jacques is not loath to use women to gain his ends."

She smiled with forced brightness when she waved off Alexandre and his troops. Her apparent cheer did not go unnoticed by Charles, who stood at her side in the courtyard. "So," he commented laconically, "now you have the place to yourself."

"That I do," she replied quietly. "Have you made reconnaissance of the force left at Castle de Signe?"

"By Alexandre's order. Twenty men at arms and two knights remain."

This time her smile was genuine. "Bless Philip. He stripped them to the bone."

"It suited his purpose,"

Conceding nothing, Liliane met his gaze. "And ours." She tossed him a pouch from her kirtle. "Still, we are undermanned, as well. You will take these gold dinars and hire mercenaries in Avignon. Also buy weapons and post a border patrol at the old banting lodge. You are now not only my seneschal but also my military commander. Six of the dinars in that pouch are yours to cover your first three months pay."

He stared at her. "At that rate, I could apply to the king for my own land in three years."

"In three years, Alexandre will be home and by then it will be high time you had a place of your own." She cocked her head. "You are a very intelligent man, Charles. I would be foolish to let you become dissatisfied, as well."

"Not everyone has your means of betrayal."

Refusing to take offense, she watched Alexandre's pennant fade into the distance. "Do not protest too much. You may soon find that I have reason to reward you."

By tomorrow morning, in fact, Charles would understand all too well the reason for his high recompense.

* * *

At dawn, as the meadow mists rose about her, Liliane looked back at Castle de Brueil; it was her home now and she would only see it again with Alexandre at her side. Under her indigo blue cloak, she was dressed as a royal page in gray velvet, courtesy of one of Philip's fops whose snobbery did not preclude his selling some of his clotting to a beautiful countess who professed a wish to richly garb a page of her own. Under the cloak she also carried a light crossbow used for bird shooting.

Accustomed to her sometimes riding alone, the guards made
no inquiry as she crossed the drawbridge with her disguise well
hidden from their notice. Her comfortable relationship with them
would soon have been ended by Charles, who would awaken this
morning to his role as sole governor of the castle. Liliane had
no misgivings about him; he would guard the place with his life.
Were she to linger within his reach, he'd put her to the sword if
her uncle killed Alexandre in Palestine. Charles made a superb
friend, but a relentless enemy.

Just now, Liliane had enemies enough and they could not be fought at Castle de Brueil. Once in Palestine, Alexandre would need someone behind' him. What easier way for the Signes to take the Brueil lands than to make certain that the sole Brueil heir never returned to his ancestral home.

Philip was an equally dangerous opponent. He saw Liliane not only as an enemy Signe, but also as a rival for Alexandre's fidelity. He would make every effort to turn Alexandre against her; and ruthless and clever as he was, he might just succeed. Liliane knew that a tiny doubt about her still lingered in Alexandre's mind. Lonely and frustrated in Palestine, he might in time give heed to Philip.

No, Liliane dared not molder under Charles's thumb at Castle de Brueil. After a year's hard debate, she had made her decision. Alexandre needed her now more than ever, but in a way that might tear them apart. To follow him to Palestine would never have entered her head had Jacques and Louis not been destined there. Women were nuisances and liabilities on campaigns. Alexandre would have good cause to be furious if she tagged after him; therefore, he must be unaware of her presence. He was about to make a steadfast new friend: one Jefar el din.

* * *

Audacious as Liliane might be, she was not foolhardy. Even a knight traveling alone tempted bad luck. Massilia, or Marseilles, as some now called the old Roman town, was about a three days' ride westward along the coast. From Massilia, Alexandre would embark for Acre. Liliane found a rock sheltered hideaway that she could use to observe the coastal road. With the horse hidden, neither searchers from the castle nor passersby could spy her. Just before dusk, a search party rode past her with Charles at their head, his eyes squinting at the sun shafting through the clouds. A short distance beyond her vantage point, she saw the riders split up, most of them heading inland, while the rest continued west.

Merchants and travelers often used that road, but nearly two days passed before she spotted a likely group of pilgrims accompanied by monks. Despite the clerical robes, she was slow to approach their band—monks were not always peaceful, and were usually armed. Some abbots were no better than robber barons, and ruthlessly raided their neighbors. She held her crossbow at the ready, cocked beneath her cloak. When she appeared, mounted on the barb, no one advanced to meet her. The band formed a tight phalanx behind a burly monk who towered above them on a roan destrier. Liliane halted warily before him and addressed him with her contralto voice lowered, "Good Brother, I journey to Massilia to join the Holy Crusade. May I ask your blessing and seek safe passage in your company?"

The group eyed her dubiously, the big monk most of all. "You have my blessing and welcome, young sir, but you have more the look of one accustomed to gentle pursuits than to war," the monk said bluntly. "The way to redemption need not be taken by force of arms, but by worthy deeds. I beg you to reconsider, sirrah, and live to grow old in charitable works."

Liliane was a trifle taken aback. This was no proselytizer who cast men off, young and old, bent and whole, to the hazards of the Holy Land with exhortations and threats of hell. "As you are a practical man as well as a holy one, good Brother, I am grateful for your advice; however, my way must lead to Palestine. I trust that Heaven will give me guidance and protection, and yet"—she uncovered the bow—"as you see, I do not propose to weary Providence with unnecessary effort on my behalf."

The monk regarded the small bow with a wry smile. "Providence will be hard put to see you drop more than a quail with that quill."

"Think you that force is preferable to accuracy?" Liliane gestured at a distant pine down the road. "Yonder mid branch is overladen with cones." Taking careful aim, Liliane fired a quarrel at the pine. A single cone was neatly severed from its limb and landed in the road mire.

"I grant you that pine cones do not have the retaliatory ability of the Saracens," Liliane said quietly, "yet I believe that I will not be entirely useless to King Philip."

The monk shrugged. "As you will. You may join us as far as Massilia. We journey to Avignon." He nodded at the crossbow. "Keep that where you can get at it."

Liliane nodded. "That is advice I will readily take. Lead on to Massilia, good Brother, with my thanks."

He waved her to a spot near the rear of the phalanx amid a cluster of women pilgrims. Meekly, Liliane accepted her assignment. One did not argue overmuch with giants.

In three days, they came within sight of Massilia, a triad of small towns perched upon a rocky hill above the sea on the Gulf of Lions. The highest town was joined to the ship-dotted sea by a creek. To the south was the port of Les Catalans looking toward Cape Croisette, and below center was the Vieux Port. Brother Marcus, the huge monk, looked enviously at the cathedral rising above the narrow streets. "Yonder church is not long built and I would give much to see it," he commented to Liliane, "but the town is foul and methinks the wise course will be to pass it by. Road brigands pose less hazard than the streets of Massilia." He shifted his saddle. "We leave you here, then, young sir. Fare you well and may God look after you and the pine cones of Acre."

Liliane laughed. "Thank you, Brother. May you one day see the Cathedral de la Major without risk of your neck."

The big monk grinned. "I worry less for my neck than my virtue. Look to yours. Many a villain in Massilia will have use for a pretty boy."

But the boy who waved the monk and his companions adieu was not the same fresh-faced creature who wandered the streets of Massilia a few hours later.

No one paid attention to a slim, slight Berber in black aba with cobalt-lined
haik
. Once Liliane's pale hair was concealed by the
haik
and her brows stained, her dark-lashed amber eyes easily passed for Moorish. She kept the
haik
high over her face and she would acquire a tan within a few days of Mediterranean sun. If her choice of disguise was unusual, it was also, practical. She was not tall and strong enough to pass as a European soldier, but Christian Moors sometimes fought on the side of the crusaders. Being alien, they were not chatterers and held themselves apart from other Moors.

Her Berber attire had been easily devised. The monk had been right: wet-eared pages were attractive game in Massilia. After sharp haggling, Liliane purchased a good scimitar and dirk in an armory, but kept the crossbow strung at her back. She also traded the bay barb for a deft gray Moorish mare that resembled the fine animal she'd left behind at Castle de Brueil. The mixture of coffee and grease staining her face and hands would last until a deep tan turned her into Jefar el din.

After a half day of roaming the harbor port, Liliane discovered a real problem in her original plan to befriend Alexandre; he was quite unlikely to be open to making a new acquaintance. Only an idiot would be convivial in Massilia, a teeming hive of seamen and human vermin. Fights were rampant and the harbor bars and brothels were particularly vicious. Whores squalled from the windows and, if necessary, accommodated their clients in alleyways. Sailors, merchants, slaves and criminals of every nationality crowded the grimy narrow streets. On street corners Liliane saw North African Moors conducting auctions of terrified blacks, usually sold in groups to be resold elsewhere.

Finding Alexandre's group was more simple than she'd imagined. The winter storms had ended and Philip wanted reinforcements. The crusaders' every move was discussed in the city and probably relayed to Saladin. Alexandre's men were housed with him and those of another French- noble, Lisle, in one of the largest inns near the waterfront. Three lateen-rigged ships had been collected for transport and idled at anchor while knights bought slaves to serve as hostlers and foragers. In Malaga, Liliane had seen that slaves were not worth the trouble. Besides, once in Palestine, they would run away at first chance only to be retaken by the Saracens, to whom they'd blab information the Europeans had chattered in front of them.

Philip might be good at his profession, but she had heard that Saladin, outnumbered as he was, was better. He was well informed and a magnificent tactician. According to Alexandre, Philip rarely misjudged an opponent, yet his recruitment policies seemed careless and overconfident. His officers took in recruits with scant examination, often pressing into service street refuse who would be little more help at war than chickens. Liliane faintly smelled a rat, but was not sure where it hid. To find out, she applied for a position with the rat keeper.

The sergeant Liliane approached for admission to Phillip's army was big and blundering, flatly disapproving of Moors in general, and the army in particular. When he demanded proof of her Christianity she produced from under her aba the Byzantine cross she'd purchased for such occasions. Unimpressed, he grimaced. "Trade your god and you'll trade anything."

"All gods may be the same," Mar el din murmured, "but my parents-were Christian."

"Can't go home for some reason, eh?" The sergeant grunted. "All right, sign here. The king'll take any man on two legs that doesn't spit on the cross."

Just as she started to sign the recruitment roster, a shadow fell over the parchment. Glancing up, Liliane was dismayed and overjoyed to see Alexandre. What if he recognized her? She was almost relieved to see that his eyes were those of a stranger, a fighter who had warred with the Saracens. Skeptically, he eyed the cross about her neck, then said in good Arabic, "Your zeal is commendable, my friend, but you would be better off joining the blue-eyed Richard at Acre. He is more of a purist than our good King Philip. You would be less likely to have your throat cut in your sleep."

"I sleep lightly,
effendi
," replied Liliane in Arabic. She made her voice low and husky. Her accent was Andalusian, but she doubted if Alexandre would recognize that fact.

She was shocked when he did. "Where is your tribe? You dress like a Saharan Berber, but you are not Tuareg."

"I have no tribe,
effendi
. Once my parents dwelled with the Berbers of the Siwa Oasis in Egypt, but they became outcasts after their conversion."

"Your sisters and wives; are they Christian, as well?"

Aware that Alexandre's slight was deliberate, Liliane drew herself up with a flat-eyed stare. Moorish men did not discuss their women outside the family. "I have no blood kin,
effendi
. They were massacred with the Christians of Jabal Nefusa."

Alexandre was unrelenting. "If you have a bone to pick with your people, take it up with Melek Richard. Personal blood feuds have no place in my lord Philip's plans." He shook his head at the sergeant and turned away.

Liliane was perplexed. What was she to do now? She had not expected Alexandre to be more particular than the other nobles about recruits. Resignedly, she touched her forehead and left the inn. She knew better than to argue with Alexandre in military matters. She must find a way around him.

Recruitment stations had been set up at several points along the waterfront. Many sergeants kept at hand a preaching friar and holy relic under embroidered cloth to make the oath of allegiance more binding. Liliane went to a station at the mouth of La Joliette creek and reapplied for enlistment. This time she received little argument. With a triumphant smile, Philip's newest soldier strolled to the marketplace to purchase a few items for her kit.

The market was bustling. Oriental rugs and brass, weapons from Spain and foreign souvenirs were sold outside the ship chandleries and food stalls. For the sea crossing, Liliane bought flat pita bread and felafel, lemons, dates and an eggplant puree called ganoush. She also found extra tallow to maintain her dark complexion, a striped wool blanket, medicinal herbs, a metal water flask and a small bowl. Finding a vacant spot, she seated herself in the Moorish style and ate some of the felafel, fresh fruit and wilted endive. While she ate, she tried to think of a way to approach Alexandre.

Just then, a female monkey danced down the overhead awning of a high window and hung upside down to grimace at her. Liliane held out a bit of pita bread. The monkey peered at it for a moment, then leaped down and sidled toward the bread. When the small creature would not take it from her fingers, Liliane let the bread drop. The monkey grabbed the bread and ate it. Then, with a sidelong, bright-eyed look at her, he began to roam curiously among her purchases. Suddenly the creature snatched the bright bowl and tried to make off with it. Liliane, who had been watching to make sure the monkey stole no fruit, tossed the bedroll over it. Forced to drop the bowl to scramble free, the monkey raced off screeching across the market. Liliane laughed. The little beggar was a trained thief, taught to steal shiny objects that might be gold or silver.

Still pondering the problem of Alexandre, Liliane continued to wander the market. Near dusk, she noticed the monkey again. This time the audacious creature was picking pockets. Just as Liliane started forward to warn a plump gentleman that he was being relieved of his pouch, she was struck by an inspiration of how to employ the monkey's dubious talent. She darted a quick glance around, hoping that she would not encounter a confrontation with its owner. Just as the monkey's paw darted out for a snatch, she sidled up behind it and grabbed it by the scruff. When the creature gave a horrible screech and tried to bite her, Liliane gave an apologetic smite to the startled man. "A thousand pardons, Monsieur. This mischievous creature is not yet resigned to becoming a pet for my eldest son."

The plump man blustered, "Then you should keep better control of him."

"Be assured"—Liliane gave him an obsequious smile—"I shall."

Liliane then took the monkey, which she named Kiki, to a campsite outside of town. She could not abide the idea of sleeping in one of the city's grimy inns. For two days, she soothed the half-starved monkey and spoiled her with food until Kiki realigned her loyalties; the capricious monkey also learned a couple of new tricks.

The day before the crusaders were to set sail, Liliane returned
to Massilia with Kiki perched on her shoulder. Kiki wore a tether
in case she proved troublesome. Upon reaching the market, Liliane tested Kiki at an orange stall. The animal had become extremely wary after being twice caught, but she soon returned
with an orange. Liliane rewarded her with a fig, then quietly
returned the orange to the stall as they passed into the Street of
Angels.

The next time she unfastened the tether, Kiki performed beautifully and returned promptly. Kiki was a little too prompt for safety, Liliane decided as she stroked her and gave her another reward. The monkey must learn not to make a beeline for Liliane. Magpies, ferrets, parrots and monkeys were often used as theives, usually to be eventually caught and punished cruelly for their innocent loyalty to their masters. And Liliane had no wish to lose a hand under Moorish law if Kiki were apprehended in Palestine.