Blades of Valor (7 page)

Isabelle wore a long sleeping gown, and she lifted the hem as she slid off the lumpy straw mattress so that she wouldn’t trip on it. She’d fallen asleep to a candle at full length, and it had burned down to just a stub, but it still flickered and gave the soft light that she needed.

As quietly as possible, with the candle behind her throwing a long shadow, she maintained silence as she tiptoed to the door. There was a creaky board that had given her away the night before.

A small crossbeam meant for the purpose of barricading the door rested in the corner. Instead of sliding it on top of heavy iron brackets on each side of the door frame, she’d left it off so that she’d be able to open the door as soundlessly as possible.

At the door, she held her breath and listened for any movement on the other side.

This time her plan would succeed.

She grasped the large iron ring that served as a handle and swung the door inward.

“Hello, m’lady,” Rowan said, no surprise or concern on his face. “Happy to report that all is well.”

Isabelle shook her head in exasperation. “Surely you sleep at some time during the night.”

“I’ve learned to do so on my feet,” Rowan said. “What’s important is your safety.”

She had plenty of coin to pay for a second room, but Rowan wouldn’t use it. Instead, he kept guard in front of her door as she slept. Not once had she been able to catch him unawares.

“Any decent bandit would dispatch you in a matter of seconds,” she said. “Go to your room.”

“But I’d be able to cry warning, wouldn’t I? That’s what matters.”

Isabelle sighed. “Come into my room.”

“M’lady!”

“We are not in England,” she said. “And if we were, I doubt anyone would think anything untoward about a boy in a lady’s room. I have a blanket for you, and I want you to sleep on the floor in front of the barricaded door. You can give me plenty of warning if someone tries to break in.”

“You’ve told me that Thomas is a man of great treachery,” Rowan said. “I think it would be better out here to watch for anything he might attempt.”

“He’s a thief,” Isabelle said. “Nothing more than that. You’ve watched him for two days in this town, posing as a beggar. He’s wily and deceitful, but of no danger to me.”

“As your sworn protector—”

“Yes, I’m clear on the concept. You’re the one who decides whether something means me harm. As my sworn protector, perhaps a full night’s sleep would be of use to you, should Thomas ever attack me. In the meantime, I need you alert during the day so that you can follow his every move.”

“If you insist,” Rowan said.

“I insist.”

Rowan gingerly stepped into the room. “For a villain such as Thomas, there is no torture too painful.”

“As you’ve said before.” Isabelle smiled. “We will follow him until he leads us to what he has stolen from my father. Then we will let the courts decide his punishment.”

“You are so noble and fair,” Rowan said. “It is my honor to serve you.”

Thomas’s first reaction was stillness. Stillness of shock. Stillness of disbelief. Stillness like that of a rabbit, frozen by the sudden appearance of a fox.

Do not betray your presence,
Thomas told himself.
Behave as would all the beggars at the town gates.

The beggars on each side of him tapped the sides of their clay bowls, so Thomas did the same. Yet even though his body reacted with movement, his mind was numb.

This cannot be. Heat has caused my eyes to deceive me.

He stole another glance.

On foot, Sir William led a mule, upon which sat Katherine, veiled from Mameluke eyes.

Beside Sir William walked two men whose faces were engraved in Thomas’s mind. Only days earlier, these large men had pursued Thomas and Katherine through the street markets of St. Jean d’Acre. Only days earlier, they had forced Sir William to barricade the house and set it ablaze.

And now?

Now, they walked at ease with Sir William and Katherine. There was nothing to indicate strain or tension, nothing to indicate that Sir William and Katherine were captives.

Thomas raised his head again and noticed that Sir William’s sword was still against his side. If they were captives, Sir William would not be armed.

The beggars around him moaned for pity in discreet and respectful low voices. Thomas did the same.

It warmed him little that Katherine insisted upon throwing tiny copper coins into each bowl. This was the woman who now betrayed him.

Thomas ducked his head as they passed by and silently nodded thanks for the coin thrown in his bowl. Did he imagine the scent of her perfume, as dust stirred by the mule’s feet settled again?

He wanted to rise, to roar in anger at their deceit. He wanted to rush Sir William, to seize his sword and attack the knight and his assassin friends.

He did not.

There was trembling in his legs and dizziness in his head at such unexpected and colossal betrayal.

Lies. So much of what they told me must be lies.

How could he have been fool enough to believe his father still alive? And how could he have been fool enough to believe her eyes, her promises of love and the temptation of the soft touch of her lips against his?

Despair overwhelmed him. As the murmurs of their conversation faded, he still could not raise his head to watch.

He did not bother to wipe the tears that fell onto the tiny copper coin in the bowl at his feet.

It was another hour before he found the energy to grasp the cane at his side.

What to do next? Where to go?

A castle he had once conquered in the land of his birth no longer belonged to him. He was friendless in a strange land, involved in a battle he did not understand—a battle he had not chosen or sought.

Yesterday, there had been hope. Hope of finding his father. Hope of returning triumphant to Magnus. Hope of a trust in Katherine that might lead to—he barely dared think it in his bitterness—a love to fill him with joy.

Today?

Today he must continue his disguise and now walk away from these town gates leaning on his cane as if crippled, lest the ones he once thought friends discover him in Nazareth.

Today, he had nothing. No hope, no dreams.

Thomas hobbled several more steps. He did not know, or care, what he should do next.

For a moment, anger flared and he almost hurled the clay bowl from his other hand. Only instinct kept him from drawing attention, so he stopped in front of another beggar, lone from the others nearer the town gate.

“Take this,” Thomas mumbled. He leaned on his cane and offered the bowl to the seated beggar.

The beggar looked up with disbelief. “It contains copper!”

“Indeed,” Thomas said. Copper from the hands of a woman with beauty he knew would haunt him each time he closed his eyes. Would that it be so easy to give away the memories as the coin and bowl!

The beggar’s hands shook as he accepted the gift. “This means another cake of pressed barley for my daughter,” the beggar said with gratitude. “There are days when that seems a feast.”

Thomas looked more closely at the beggar. He had a slight face and seemed in good health.

“Why are you not nearer the gate?” Thomas asked. “Where more travelers pass by?”

“It takes much of the morning for me to make my way here,” the beggar replied. “Others, who arrive early, take the prominent positions.”

The beggar noticed the puzzled look that crossed Thomas’s face and pointed downward to the shawl over his lap.

“I drag myself here on a blanket. My feet are useless,” the beggar explained. “Caught once in a grinding millstone several years after my wife died in childbirth. I cannot work, and I must feed”—a smile of delight crossed the beggar’s face—“my daughter. She will grow soon to be as beautiful as my wife, and then a marriage will secure her future.”

The beggar continued to smile. “You see? In our lives we all have precious gifts. Perhaps, my friend, you do not have a child to love, but you are able to walk with the help of a cane, while I cannot. And when you are not rich, even a small copper coin can deliver joy, can it not? My joy in receiving, and your joy in giving.”

“Yes,” Thomas said. Despite the blackness upon him, he managed a snort of self-mocking laughter. “And to imagine. There are those in this world with strong bodies, full bellies, and pouches of gold who let themselves despair.”

Fourteen

T
homas arrived safely at the inn and retreated to the silence of his small room. He placed his few belongings on a stool, then sat cross-legged on the floor with his back against the wall.

First, he tore open the package. A parchment, mention of a reward for its return. On the other pages, scrawls of unrelated Latin phrases. A priceless package? What jest was this?

Thoughts tugged at him.

Why had Katherine brought the light near while he fought a supposedly unknown assailant? She should have stayed beside him, ready to help in the fight. Now it made sense. She knew it was Sir William and wanted the fight to end before either was badly hurt.

But why practice such deception?

Thomas answered his own question immediately. What better way for a Druid to convince him of friendship than find a common enemy to fight—the supposed assassins. Then, give him the mysterious package with cryptic words that may or may not have significance to further assist the illusion of trust.

In sudden rage and pain at the renewed thought of betrayal, Thomas slammed the floor with his open palm. The shock of impact sobered him quickly, and he turned his back on the luxury of anger and hatred.

He closed his eyes in thought.

Regard this as warfare. There are two choices: attack or retreat. Either action, to be most effective, requires surprise. Yet it cannot be certain that the bribe to the innkeeper will ensure my presence here remains secret. Therefore, action must be taken soon or surprise will be lost.

Attack? Decide what is risked. Decide what is gained if attack is successful.

Risk? One person against four. Three of the four are skilled in the arts of death.
The other, Katherine, was one he would hesitate to put to the sword. That hesitation could prove deadly.

Conclusion? The risk is great.

What gained?
If defeated and captured, could Katherine and Sir William be forced to divulge secrets? Hardly, and there would be no reason to trust their answers. If killed, they could not pursue him, but their deaths, at risk to himself, would give him little else. The other usual gain of warfare—ransom—was not helpful either.

Retreat? Decide the difficulty. Decide what is gained.

How difficult?
His presence was still unknown. Retreat, then, would be simple. In these vast tracts of land, it would be impossible to find him.

What gained?
His life—if they wanted him dead. But why not kill him in St. Jean d’Acre? Or why not aboard the ship?—Katherine had had much opportunity then. No, they wanted more than his life. If he knew what it was that they sought, then this battle would be easier to fight.

Time.
Retreat gained him time to seek answers.

Thomas did not shift, so intense were his thoughts. A small lizard crept from a crack in the wall to within inches of his feet, unaware that the large object above it was alive. In equal fashion, Thomas remained oblivious to his quiet guest.

And what is it they seek?
Exiled in a strange land, where would he find answers to questions he barely understood?

There were only two places to begin. St. Jean d’Acre or Jerusalem. In St. Jean d’Acre, he had been raised as a child. That much he knew to be true, for those few moments in that now-burned dwelling had flooded him with memories. Whatever else Katherine and Sir William had told him might be false, but he could not deny a childhood spent in St. Jean d’Acre. Not with those memories, not when he knew the language of this land. Somewhere in St. Jean d’Acre, he would find someone who knew something. The tiniest scrap of new knowledge would lead him to another. And that to another.

It would be safer now in St. Jean d’Acre. After all, Katherine and Sir William would be in Nazareth, still waiting for him. With answers, Thomas could return and play their game by his rules.

Or, instead of returning to Nazareth after St. Jean d’Acre, Thomas could go next to Jerusalem. So much pointed to it. The Holy City. Perhaps he could find answers there.

Thomas smiled a tight smile to the silence of the room. He still had his life. He still had his health. His freedom. And enough in gold to sustain the search.

Thomas rose quickly, a movement that scuttled the lizard sideways to another dark crack in the wall.

“My little friend,” Thomas said, “I hope that my own retreat serves me as well as yours did you.”