Behind the Veil (20 page)

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 eyes 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.

Cervon frowned. “He wishes your vindication, and your return to Sicily. But he will not say so.”

“Does he?” Tancred asked dryly.

Cervon shrugged and mounted his horse to ride, waiting for Tancred.

Tancred belted on his scabbard and mounted his horse, refusing to comment on his own mixed feelings. His eyes glinted as they met Cervon’s. Tancred rode away from them and did not look back.

Adele was waiting for him with Bishop Adehemar and, seeing he was free, came running toward him.

Behind the Veil  / The Royal Pavilions boo
k3
/ Linda Chaikin

The stars gleamed in the black sky as Tancred and Bohemond moved silently toward the walls of Antioch. Bohemond’s best knights kept safely hidden among the ravines as they came toward the Tower of the Two Sisters. They dismounted and waited. The hours crept by with slow agony. Then, at last, the torches on the summit of the wall appeared and passed as the Seljuk Turks made their rounds for the night. Silence followed. Bohemond was now in the ravine with his choice men. As they felt their way along the wall, their hands sweating with tension, they located the rope ladder hanging from a window in the Tower. Firouz had done his work as promised!

“Go up quietly,” Bohemond ordered his men.

Tancred decided to wait, reserving his strength for the planned escape with Helena and the confrontation with Mosul, who would fight with everything he had when trapped.

He worried about his weakness, yet he would not relent. He had come too far in the long journey from Palermo to turn back now. Whatever the outcome, he well knew his life on earth and his soul in eternity was secure in Christ forever.

One by one some sixty knights crawled up the ladder; Tancred followed after. Firouz, having concealed himself recognized Tancred and came swiftly, yet his anxious countenance revealed that the sight of Norman knights in armor did little to relieve his tensions.

“Where is your prince, Bohemond? There are too few of you! There must be more warriors—many more!”

“Fear not. The Normans will not disappoint you,” Tancred said with irony.

The knights took little notice of Firouz and were running along the top of the wide wall as light-footed as deer. One by one the Towers were seized as the shocked Seljuks fell to the thrusts of the sharp blades. More ladders were thrown down from the Tower windows, and still more warriors scaled the wall. Voices now begin to shout in the dark night. Bohemond sounded the trumpet. The blast stabbed throughout the city as the first hints of dawn spread over the eastern hills, and Norman knights, Franks, Rhinelanders, Lombards, Provencals, and the rabble on foot poured like a flood through the gate with shouts and clashing swords and deadly weapons. Some rushed up the steps of the other towers, their weapons striking; others ran in the direction of the populous city.

Tancred, armed with weapons and chain mesh, moved away from the Tower of the Two Sisters to begin his deadly personal mission.

***

At the golden palace, a wild and weird cry awoke Prince Kalid Khan. What was this? This was not the mosque’s first morning call to prayer to Allah. This was a summons to war! But how? Kerbogha remained a day’s journey away. He listened  to the shouts of fighting men, his heart thudding, followed by shouts of alarm sounding
within
Yaghi-Sian’s palace.

“Guards!” Prince Kalid jumped to his feet and threw on his clothing, grabbing his scimitar, but no guards rushed to his call.

Below in the hall of the great house the slaves were scattering in panic. One shouted up to him, “Your horse is waiting, Eminence! The barbarians are within Antioch!”

Stunned, Kalid did not move for a moment. Then, “How? How did the mongrels get in the gates?
How
! Traitors! Someone betrayed us!” Kalid hissed wrathfully.

“Yaghi-Sian is trying to escape, Master! Race for the Bridge gate. They do not yet hold it.”

“Do not run!” Kalid shouted angrily. “Make for the Citadel! We will hold up there until Kerbogha comes!”

“But—but the crimson standard of Bohemond is already planted on the hill below the Citadel!”

Kalid cursed between his teeth. Treachery! How could this happen when Kerbogha was but a day’s journey with fresh troops? They could have slaughtered the barbarians!

Get my horse! Meet me in the court. I will get Helena.”

***

Outside in the hall, Tancred heard a familiar voice shouting wild orders. Swiftly he took his place in the shadows and lifted his sword. He listened. The chamber door flew open and a man came bounding through, blade in hand.

Kalid—a more distant
cousin
.

Tancred stepped out of the shadows and his cousin stood staring at him with astonishment.

“So…it
is
you. I might have guessed you were the beloved bodyguard,” he sneered. “But only when I heard that Bardas was seen at the castle with your infidel bishop Nicholas did I fully realize. I went to the chamber to find you, but you had already escaped.”

“What a pity, Cousin. But I am not one to disappoint. As you can see, I have returned.”

Kalid measured him with bitter humor. “
A eunuch bodyguard!”

“Where is she?”

Prince Kalid’s lean smile hardened. “Helena?”

“She does not belong to you, Kalid. For her sake, I must get her out of here lest my other “warm-hearted cousins” the Normans, take her for a Moslem princess.”

“She is safely locked within her chamber until I leave with her. I am afraid, Cousin Jehan, you will not be in my royal caravan. You were a fool to come here alone. It was never my wish to have trouble between us. After all, as you know, there is Moorish blood that yet unites us, though thinly.”

“And as you once said, Your Excellency, there are few women worth risking one’s head for. Now and then, one comes along to try a warrior’s soul.”

“Yes, we share astute tastes for the finer things of life,” he sighed. Wine, a good breed of stallion, and beautiful women.”

“Only one woman.”

Kalid took in the chain mesh that reflected at Tancred’s neck and wrists beneath
the leather tunic. “I see you are recovering well enough You can thank her for that—and Ma’sud. The other Seljuks would have killed you outside the Castle of Hohms. Your distant uncle and I have spared your life. And now you betray the blood of al-Kareem to allow these barbarian dogs to devour the city.”

“I did not come on crusade. I came for Mosul, as you know very well. You have protected him and kept him hidden from me. It would be enough if you will allow Helena to leave with me. It is her choice, or in all decency, should be hers alone. There are other women for you. Let us make peace!”

Kalid’s eyes dropped to the sword in Tancred’s hand. A silence followed.

“I cannot oblige you, Tancred.”

“As you wish. Again, we understand each other. But know this, she will never belong to you, Kalid.”

“I do not wish to kill you, my cousin Jehan. We have enjoyed a few pleasures together. That is why I allowed you and the Red Lion to ride away when we met in battle near Dorylaeum.”

“And Lady Adrianna, Helena’s mother, she is well? Has she given birth to Sinan’s child?”

“I do not know her condition. But Nicholas will not allow the child to be sent to Cairo.”

“That is not our present struggle…we have a personal conflict. I must insist you release Helena to me.”

Kalid’s smile was mocking. “Ah? After I paid in gold to Lady Irene Lysander? She is a difficult woman to bargain with.”

“Better to lose a satchel of gold than your head. Anyway, she is dead. She met the just wrath of Rufus after she threw his son to her leopards.”

Kalid shook his head. “When a prince pays the amount of gold which I have, the bargain stands, whether she has gone the route of the leopards or not.”

For a moment a muscle did not flinch in Tancred’s face. He stood still, then his eyes narrowed. “I would not play the fool if I were you, Kalid. If you force me to kill you this night, your blood be upon your own soul!”

Kalid’s eyes flashed with swift anger, yet he stood confident. “You are no match for me now.” He threw aside his scimitar and drew his sword. He came at Tancred with contempt.

Tancred met him with caution, unsure of his own endurance. This duel with Kalid he had not expected, or wanted, and he was saving the last of his strength for the greater enemy, Mosul.

Kalid’s blade smashed against his, turning it. Kalid lunged, hoping to ram it through his heart, but Tancred reacted swiftly and swerved his blow while Kalid lost his position. Tancred could have yielded a deadly blow, but instead used his boot against him, sending his distant cousin sprawling backward to the floor.

“Think again, Kalid!”

Kalid scrambled to his feet, his eyes cold with injured pride. The door flew open and a guard rushed in, then stopped. Seeing what was happening, he lifted his scimitar.

“Kill him,” Kalid ordered.

“Will you not fight for the woman you claim you desire as your own?” Tancred insulted. “You are a coward, Kalid. Very pleasant position for you as a prince, is it not? You stand back in pride and expect your slaves to defend you?”

“Kill him!” Kalid commanded again.

The guard started toward him—

In a flash, Tancred’s dagger slipped from his wrist sheath and struck with precision. The guard’s scimitar clattered to the tile floor, both hands grasping at the dagger protruding from his chest. Kalid came quickly at him. Tancred kicked the table into him and he tumbled over it, his breath knocked from him. Kalid was pale of face, trying to inhale, and wiped the sweat from his eyes. “Go!” he rasped bitterly, and threw down his sword.

Tancred had wearied from the short, but intense battle. His legs were not yet strong, and his arm numb. The thought of finding Helena kept him on his feet.

Tancred wiped his forehead on his sleeve and retrieved his dagger from the agonizing guard. He kicked Kalid’s sword out of reach, then removed Kalid’s cloak, and took his dagger. “I shall borrow these,” he said scornfully. “When you come to Palermo to see al-Kareem you may have them back.”

Tancred crossed the hall to Helena’s chambers. He entered, shut the door, and slid the bolt into place.

Where was she
?

***

The Seljuk Turks were fleeing any way they could, on horseback and on foot, stumbling over the dead. Some fought madly, others fled into the mosque, only to find it a tomb instead of a sanctuary.

Yaghi-Sian, with a few of his prized bodyguards on thoroughbreds, raced like the wind to escape through the gate, their scimitars swinging and striking down Franks on foot who tried to drag them down from their horses. Yaghi-Sian swept through the gate, and out of the city,  galloping toward the hills to Kerbogha.

“Yaghi-Sian,” someone shouted after him, and a group of Armenians and Syrians from the city heard it. Hating their Turkish overlord, they took out after him.

Unexpectedly, Yaghi-Sian was toppled from his horse on the mountain trail, and lay stunned. Unable to move, an embittered Armenian was the first to overtake him. Without hesitation he struck him dead.

The others rode up. “Take his head and we will bring it to Bohemond. He will pay handsomely for such a trophy.”

Within Antioch the rampage continued. Knights fought their way down from the slopes toward the Bridge Gate. It was seized, and the army of the Provencals stormed in. Bohemond and the Normans were assailing the walls of the Citadel, while the rabble followers began the slaughter and looting of private residences. “Leave us out on the plain to starve will you! Why should we lend you mercy!”

Outside in the daylight the ravages of brutal fighting heightened with the rising sun. Bodies littered the streets. The Armenians and Syrians in Antioch now joined the rabble on foot, turning against their former masters.

Tancred fought his way through the crowd, striking hard blows to several frenzied men who, now crazed, apparently lost the distinction between Turk and  Norman. He reached the women’s quarters, which as yet had not been broken into by the soldiers. He threw open the gilded doors and entered, sword in hand, and the chief eunuch Assad, protested vigorously as he followed Tancred down the hall. Assad’s rounded belly was heaving as he expostulated, “Whoever you are, I have told you, there are no women here! They have taken Lady Helena away!”

Tancred pushed him aside and threw open the chamber door where Helena had been kept. The room was empty. In one corner near a bed of cushions he saw a slipper.

“She twisted her foot in the back garden,” Assad explained as Tancred snatched it up. “I intended to bring hot water for her to soak the injury, but when I returned he was here. She was upset, for he told her that her bodyguard had been slain by one of his men—” Assad stopped short and gave Tancred a closer look. “Why, it is
you
, Bardas!”

“I am Tancred Redwan!”  He grabbed Assad by the front of his tunic. Assad’s arms flailed wildly, and fright twisted his face as he stared up into the scathing blue-gray eyes.

“Auspicious one! Please—”

“Who was
he
? Who took her away?”

“Mosul—and his guards!”

“Mosul!” He released the front of his tunic.  Assad steadied himself. “He told her I was dead?”

“O Great one! Who was I to stop such a man? He was very angry when he learned that Prince Kalid discovered his treachery against him!”