Behind the Veil (22 page)

“He will come for you,” he murmured. “I know him that well. And in this he shall find his doom.”

Helena would choose death for herself rather than become Tancred’s reason for being captured and suffering again.

The noon sun rose high in the sky and beat down into the roofless hall. She was thirsty but refused to take Mosul’s mulled wine.

Tancred is too wise to be taken in an ambush
, she repeated to herself for the hundredth time that day. If she knew him as she thought she did, he would expect Mosul to set a trap.

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

The sun was now low behind the hills of Asia Minor. Helena consoled herself with the hope that when the mantle of darkness fell over the plain, Tancred would emerge from his place of hiding.

Above her the sky was growing ever darker; stars began to show themselves white and glittering. The wind picked up and sang with a moan about the corners of the castle ruin. She could barely see Mosul’s silhouette now. He remained where he’d been for most of the day, at the wall staring into the plain. What he hoped to see in such dark shades of night was beyond her understanding. He appeared fixated. There were no human sounds, only the wind among fallen stones and rocks, and the rustling of dried grasses like the shaking of a serpent’s tail.

She felt she had to break the silence.  “Where are the soldiers you left behind to set the ambush? Why have they not returned with your captive?”

Mosul did not answer.

“The ambush must have failed,” she said.

The unexpected sound of horse hooves approached at a gallop, then trotted across the stone courtyard, echoing in the shadowed ruins.

Mosul drew his sword, every muscle in his body ready, alert for action at the sound of rushing steps bounding up into the open hall.

A dark figure came toward them and announced, “Mosul, the men you ordered to set the ambush have abandoned us and turned back toward Aleppo!”

“The whimpering cowards!” Mosul’s voice reeked with disgust, and something else…fear? ”So they have run out on me? Well, it will do Jehan no good. How many men are on watch below?”

“Twelve.”

“It is sufficient. Spread out. Keep watch.”

Helena closed her eyes and let the wind blow about her as she thought of God’s presence in her troubles,  ‘
And His song will be with me in the night’
….

When her eyes opened, the dimness of a pale yellow dawn painted the eastern sky. Shadows were still deep among the purplish hills, and a lonely shriek from a bird heralded a new day. With wings unfurled, it soared overhead as she shaded her eyes to watch its graceful flight. She thought of King David’s Psalm about King Saul of Israel hunting David out of jealousy, hoping to kill him. “
Oh that I had wings like a dove, for then I would fly away and be at rest!”

There came the rush of feet up the steps, and once again a soldier appeared to report to Mosul. Helena was not supposed to hear, but in the desert silence the whispered voices reached her.

“Though the men exchanged watches throughout the night, he somehow managed to slip in among us without detection.”

Mosul scrambled to his feet. “Impossible.”

The guard’s expression was troubled. “This note was left on the steps below.”

Mosul was reluctant to reach for the message. At last he snatched it from the soldier, then glanced over at Helena. She was afraid to smile.

As he read, the hardness of his face deepened to an ugly flush at whatever was written in the Moorish tongue.

He whirled to face the barren wilderness. “Even now he watches us.”

“He must have wings,” the guard said defensively.

“So he is here, is he?” Mosul strode over to Helena and, catching her wrist, propelled her to the terrace. “Jehan!” he shouted. “You are out there! I know you are!”

Mosul’s shout echoed through the ruins. “Come for her if you dare!”

There was no answer from the ruins below. Mosul’s dark eyes scanned the distant rocks for a sign of Tancred’s movements. Seeing nothing, Mosul stepped back and released Helena.

***

The morning…then the afternoon, passed slowly, and when night again descended like a cloak over the ruins, one of the soldiers approached Mosul. Without a word he produced another message.

Mosul gritted. “Where did you find it?”

“On your horse,” the guard said flatly. “Mosul, the other men are growing tense. They do not care for this mysterious ghost hunt. They are restless. Jehan could put a dagger in any one of us, and we would have no warning!”

“If he is here, then why have we not seen him?” Mosul demanded.

“I do not know, but the men are getting nervous. We are only twelve men now. They begin to question the wisdom of holding the Byzantine princess. They want to leave her here, and the rest of us slip away during the night.”

“I am in command. Who are they to question me?”

“Some of them think Jehan has powers of a magician.”

Mosul kicked a cushion across the stone floor. “What manner of soldiers are these who sit about in the dark conjuring up tales? Jehan is a man of flesh that cuts and bleeds. He cannot be in two places at once. He is here near the ruins somewhere. Find him!”

“We have searched. There is no flesh and blood, only messages that promise a fate worse than death if you touch the woman. I tell you, the men wish to ride out of here, tonight. Leave her to him, Mosul! Let us go even now, while we still have our lives!”

Mosul read the warning contained in the new message. His brow glinted with sweat; he cursed under his breath and hurled his container of mulled wine.

“He mocks me, takes me for a fool.” He began to pace. “So he is bold enough to think he can get past the guards into this hall tonight?”

Helena was on her feet. “I told you he would come! Let me go now, Mosul, and save your life and the lives of your men! I will convince him to let you depart for Baghdad alive!”

Mosul whirled and pointed a warning with his drawn blade. “Silence your tongue, woman!”

The guard’s anxious face grew more troubled. “That Jehan is able to move among us is evident by the messages he leaves. Your pride endangers us all! Do as she suggests. Send her back, and we will ride on toward Baghdad!”

“Impossible, I tell you. It is a trick to spread fear. Does he take me for a fool?” He walked over to the crumbling wall and peered off into the empty plain. Little was heard except the scuttling of dry brush in the wind.

“If he thinks to get past the watch tonight, then let him risk it. I shall be ready for him. Alert the men—take your watch!”

Helena’s heart pounded. Tancred was troubling Mosul’s peace of mind. She remembered an ancient proverb, “
Whom the gods would destroy, they first drive to madness
.”

Helena watched him. He was nervous in spite of his boast. Her lips turned into a faint smile. Tancred’s warning that he would come tonight had already put Mosul on the defensive.

Darkness descended upon the plain with a sliver of moon giving a hint of light. The ruin, with an ancient history of good and evil, stood like a skeleton in a desert, with a distant backdrop of smooth, humped hills.

Mosul did not sleep. If Tancred was coming tonight then he would be ready.

With every gust of wind whining past crevices in sob-like moans, Mosul readied his sword, expectantly waiting.

The isolated hours of night inched persistently toward dawn; faint glimmers of morning began to chase the shadows where Helena hovered between restless dozing and wakefulness. She, too, waited, but with quiet confidence. Tancred was playing his part wisely.

Mosul remained awake as the eastern sunrise illumined the horizon. Shadows fled before the bursting sun. Suddenly Mosul shouted his rage. “Tancred, I will kill you for this!”

Helena bolted upright, heart thudding. Mosul was looking past the breached wall below. “Warriors,” Mosul breathed, surprised. “How did they arrive without the guards being alerted?”

Mosul rushed to count them, even as Helena did—twenty, thirty, about forty men astride Great horses, their Norman armor glinting in the bright morning sun; the
Redwan falcon
insignia identifying Normans in liege to Walter of Sicily, one of Tancred’s uncles.

She looked at Mosul. Sweat dotted his furrowed brow, a twisted look of anger and defeat lined his face.

***

Mosul’s mind took an unpleasant path back to Sicily where he had once served the Redwan family…back to the Redwan castle in Palermo. With assistance from enemies among the Moors, witnesses had been paid in gold to say that they had seen Tancred kill his half-brother in a fit of jealous rage, then flee.

Mosul had left Sicily, taking a ship to the Golden Horn in Constantinople. Eventually he learned that Tancred had escaped and followed him, and was asking probing questions. Thereafter, wherever Mosul fled, he heard rumors of Tancred remaining on his trail. Somehow, Tancred had escaped from the Rhinelanders, followed Mosul to Constantinople to the camp of the Red Lion, and then to Antioch.

Mosul riveted his gaze on the Redwan gonfanon. And now the chase had finally come to this. Suddenly, in the morning sky, he caught sight of a magnificent falcon swooping low to land on the shoulder of a warrior on an Arabian stallion who had ridden from a rocky area. Mosul gritted a curse. Was that how the messages were delivered? A falcon! He had been tricked, and his men spoofed!

A guard came rushing up the steps. “Mosul! There are forty Norman warriors. We are trapped.”

A distant voice from below in the courtyard was shouting up in Mosul’s direction. That voice! Mosul knew it well. He fixed his eyes on the warrior astride a stallion. Tancred broke rank from the others and rode forward alone. The horse’s prancing hooves beat rhythmically on the stone court, then stopped, followed by utter silence.

The wind sent Tancred’s challenge echoing among the ruins.

“Mosul!”

“I hear you, Jehan! One word from me and my soldiers will cut you down.”

“Your boast is empty. Your men have deserted you!”

“He speaks truth,” the guard whispered to him. “I had the last watch. When I awoke, the others had slipped away. Beside me, there is just one other guard.”

Mosul’s jaw set. “So be it.” He shouted down from the portico, “I have my sword, Infidel cousin, and the woman, It is enough!”

Below, Tancred held his mount steady, while the stallion was impatiently bobbing its sleek black head and pawing the ground. Tancred stared up at the terrace. He could only guess Mosul’s position.

“In the name of Norman justice I challenge you, Mosul! Come down, defend your claim to innocence in Derek Redwan’s assassination.”

“Why should I? You killed him. The rulers of Palermo know it. They have not left Sicily to fight the Seljuks, but to locate you! Will you deceive them now by trapping me? Hear me!” Mosul shouted toward the main body of warriors. “Tancred killed Derek Redwan! There are witnesses!”

Tancred glanced over at Walter of Sicily, who remained immobile astride his Great Horse. Tancred’s other uncles, William and Robert, moved uneasily on their mounts. His cousins, including Leif, exchanged glances with the other five young Redwan warriors. Leif was scowling, and Tancred believed he knew what he was thinking, that Tancred was making a mistake in this duel with Mosul, for his strength was not yet in keeping with the grievous ordeal ahead.

On the way from Antioch with Hakeem and Jamil, Tancred had been surprised and encouraged to meet up with Bishop Nicholas, and even more surprised to see his adoptive father, Seigneur Rolf Redwan and the rest of the Redwan clan. They had left Antioch and ridden to the Castle of Hohms in time to join Rolf and Nicholas. The clan, led by Walter of Sicily, had informed Rolf and Nicholas that Tancred requested the right to meet Mosul in craven to prove his innocence, and Rolf knew, he too, must be at his adoptive son’s trial. Fortunately, Leif had told their uncle Walter how Philip the Noble was responsible for Norris’s death. So they had trailed Tancred, Hakeem, and Jamil across the desert to this old ruin. 

Now they were all gathered for the grave ordeal.

Tancred looked up at the ruins and challenged, “You are a warrior, are you not, Mosul? Come down, show your sword! Will you crouch, behind the noble shield of  a lady? Perhaps you would prefer to send her down to contest me!”

“I could take you, Jehan! As for the woman, she will be worth her weight in Lysander and Redwan gold and jewels. She remains with me!”

“Then come down. Let us meet at last. Here—now. The rulers of Sicily look on as our judges. They have agreed to render guilt or innocence upon the warrior who survives. Kill me, and you will be free! Defend your claim of innocence—unless you admit to the deed of an assassin. Come, swine! Murderer of women!”

Mosul’s eyes flared with rage. He was trapped and he knew it. Tancred had left him no room to maneuver. Either he would die trying to escape, or he would have to kill Tancred in a duel. It would be difficult, but not impossible. Mosul’s reputation as a Moorish swordsman was respectable, but if he tried to escape, even with the woman as a shield, he would be run down by the Redwans and forced to walk the red-hot coals.

He moistened his lips. “If I take you, does your father Rolf give the Norman vow to let me depart in peace?”

“You have not only his vow, but the vow of all the lords here gathered.”