Shadows on a Sword (19 page)

“Does this friend know you are not really mute? That you are not a boy?”

“He does not.”

“How did you manage that?”

Emma shrugged. “I managed.” She would say no more.

Theo looked up at the cool darkness of the woods, the inviting flash of small streams among the fruit blossoms. He gave up the questioning. It did not matter. “Get your boy, then, and we’ll go,” he said. “It’s a good idea.”

They made their way out of the camp, Emma following behind Theo with her hood pulled low over her face as if she were a dutiful groom attending to his master. As they reached the outskirts, they were hailed by a shout. Theo looked back to see Amalric coming after them.

“Where are you going?” he called.

“Exploring. Up in the hills,” Emma answered. “Will you come with us?”

Amalric hesitated. He looked at Theo.

Theo grinned. “I echo my groom’s invitation,” he said.

Amalric shrugged, and made up his mind. “All right,” he said, “I’ll come.” He fell into step beside Theo. Emma followed.

They climbed toward the wood through fields bright with purple asters, sweet-smelling clover, daisies and scarlet-petaled anemones. In the distance, they could hear bleating and the occasional tinny ring of goat bells. Past orchards heavy with the scent of oranges and lemons, past silver-leaved olive trees, higher and higher they clambered. The air was cooler here, crisp and clean.

Once out of sight of the camp, Emma could control her eagerness no longer and raced to lead the way. She climbed at such a pace that Theo and Amalric, although they would never admit it, began to find it hard to catch their breath. Finally, she stopped at the mouth of what seemed to be a small cave. She dropped down to sit on a rocky outcropping, and faced back the way they had come.

“Look!” she exclaimed.

Theo and Amalric threw themselves on the ground at her feet, and looked where she was pointing. Below them, behind its walls, the city of Tyre lay spread out to their view. Gray marble streets, as ancient as history, dissected it neatly and formally. Flat-topped houses, minarets, domes slumbered among the fronds of palm trees as if stunned by the heat of the sun that beat down upon them. At the shoreline, rows of pure white columns, their original purpose lost in the memory of time, stretched from the city out into the sea itself. From here, they could see, through the crystal-clear turquoise water, more columns broken and scattered in the sand on the bottom, as if cast there by a giant hand. Fishing boats sailed over and among them. In the eastern part of the city was a ruin piled high with Roman bricks; in the west, strange to their eyes, a vast circular amphitheater, ringed with rows of seats.

“I’ve heard tales of those places,” Theo said. “In olden times, the Romans forced Christians to fight within them—with each other, with other men and with fearsome beasts.”

A stream cascaded in a foam of white off the edge of a cliff far above them. Too far away for them to hear, the water fell into a silver ribbon that wound its way past them and on into the valley below.

They sat for a long while in companionable silence. Amalric, ever restless, busied his hands with the making of a wreath out of the meadow flowers around him.

When Theo finally turned to look back at Emma, he saw that the stones she sat on were part of a terrace built by human hands. The cave behind her was flanked with more stones. From where he sat, he could see markings on them. He got to his feet and walked over to examine them more closely.

“What is it?” Emma asked. “What have you found?”

“These marks,” Theo answered, “they look like writing, but of a sort I have never seen before.”

Emma was on her feet in an instant to join him. “They are on either side of the cave,” she said, tracing them with her fingertips. “I wonder if there are more inside?” She made as if to go in.

“Wait,” Amalric called. He leaped to his feet as well and caught up to her, the wreath in his hand. He lifted it up and placed it upon her head. “A crown, my lady.”

Emma smiled. She had thrown her hood back. Her hair had grown out somewhat, and the flowers glowed crimson against the black curls that framed her face.

“I thank you, my lord,” she answered, dropping him a curtsy.

He responded with a deep bow of his own and an answering smile.

“At your service, madam.”

Emma turned back to the cave with a flourish worthy of a queen, and walked into it.

“Take care—” Theo began, but his words were drowned out by a cry.

“Oh, Theo!”

He ran in, then skidded to a halt. The sun struck the far wall, lighting up a throne carved into the rock. Two monstrous beasts, heavily maned and baring their teeth, flanked either side of it. Their long, tufted tails curled around them to meet at the base.

“This must be a temple,” Emma cried. “An ancient, pagan temple!” Queenly dignity forgotten, she ran across to the throne, pulled herself up and sat on it, one hand on each of the beasts’ heads. She lifted her flower-crowned head high. A shaft of sunlight limned her with brightness.

“Emma!” Theo was appalled. Heathen though the temple was, Emma’s brazenness seemed like sacrilege.

“A goddess. A goddess summoning her slaves to do her bidding.”

Amalric’s voice came mocking from the opening of the grotto.

A
t that moment, the sun dimmed, and the cave was plunged into gloom. “I like this not at all,” Theo said. He made the sign of the cross. “Let us get out of here.”

Emma laughed. “For shame, a Christian knight afraid of the old gods.”

“I am not afraid,” Theo said. “But this place has an evil feel to it. We should get back into the clean air.”

When they emerged, they found that dark clouds were fast covering the sun. The rumble of thunder rolled out. In the distance, lightning flashed; they watched it strike first one hilltop, then another. The sudden change from the bright, sunlit day was so dramatic that they stood watching the approaching storm as if mesmerized.

“We are going to be drenched,” Theo said finally, wrenching his gaze away from the spectacle. “We must hurry.”

They started down, but the rain caught them on the outskirts of the camp. Emma led the way, laughing and excited by the storm. The sudden onslaught of the downpour only seemed to exhilarate her all the more. Her crown of flowers shredded; wet petals glued themselves to her forehead. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. She had flung back her cloak and her tunic clung wetly to her body.

At that moment, Guy emerged from the trees. He stopped when he saw them, eyes fixed, wide with astonishment, on Emma.

Emma grabbed the folds of her cloak and wrapped them around her. Her hands searched desperately for the hood to cover her face, but it was too late.

Guy recovered his voice. He began to laugh.

“So this is your groom! And I suspected it not when I saved her life. Baldwin’s wench! Truly, Theo, I would not have thought you capable of such a trick.”

“You don’t understand—” Theo began.

“Oh, but of course I do. I only wonder that you allowed such a delightful toy to play at war. You might well have lost her.”

“She is not—”

Guy interrupted Theo. “What an interesting situation,” he said. “I wonder what I should do with it.”

Before Theo could answer, he turned and left. His laughter rang out behind him, loud and scornful.

Theo lay sleepless in his tent that night. He had heard rumors that Baldwin, who had established his own little kingdom in Edessa, was thinking of riding down to rejoin the crusade, now that the army was so close to Jerusalem. If he did, and Guy spoke out—and why would he not?—Baldwin was certain to demand Emma’s return. What would they do? Theo was certain of one thing only: he would not let Baldwin get his hands on Emma again. But how could Theo oppose him? His own foster father would be shocked at what he had done. The count would be certain to side with Baldwin.

Theo tossed restlessly on his pallet, turning the questions over and over in his mind. He had barely dozed off into a fitful sleep when a sudden, muffled cry awoke him. He leaped up and dashed outside. The cry had come from Emma’s tent. As he ran toward it, he saw the small shelter wobble. The sides seemed to bulge for a moment, and then a figure scrambled out through the opening, on his hands and knees. Guy was backing out as quickly as he could, followed by Emma, who was wielding a stick of firewood and beating him on the head and shoulders. She was swearing in almost every dialect to be heard in the camp.

Theo began to go to her aid, then stopped. His help wasn’t needed. Guy managed to get to his feet, and for a moment it seemed as if he would attack Emma, but she stood her ground, brandishing her weapon.

Theo could hold back no longer. This time, it was he who laughed.

Guy whipped around.

“I think you will keep our secret now,” Theo chortled, “or the entire camp will be delighted to hear the story of how a maid beat you off with a stick of firewood. It would cause many an hour of merriment, I vow.”

“You!” Guy’s eyes darkened. “You have made one mistake too many, my friend.”

Theo sobered immediately. His hand went to the dagger at his belt.

“Take care that
you
do not make a mistake,” he said, his voice suddenly ice-cold. Emma stared at him in surprise. “The maid is under my care. When the crusade is over, we are to be wed. You will not harm her in any way.”

“I do not take orders from you,” Guy spat. He whipped out his dagger and lunged toward Theo.

Not quickly enough. Theo met the other knight’s charge with a slashing blow that slit open the sleeve of Guy’s tunic and drew blood. Guy’s dagger dropped to the ground. Theo placed a foot on it and faced him.

“One word from you about her true identity, and I will inform Duke Godfrey of your assault upon her. The duke punishes most harshly those who commit the crime of rape, as you know. Punishment and ridicule will be your reward if you do not keep quiet about this. Not only will the story be told of how you could not master a mere maid, but I will be glad to inform anyone who asks how you came by that wound on your arm.” Theo bent to retrieve Guy’s dagger. He tossed it carelessly from one hand to the other. “And I will take delight in showing them your dagger as proof.”

Guy faced Theo, his face contorted with rage, his fists clenched as if he would attack Theo barehanded. Then he spat again.

“You will pay for this!” Guy whirled around and strode off.

“We are to wed?” The words were spoken in a light, mocking tone, but Emma’s voice shook slightly. “May I ask when you intended to inform me of this decision?”

Theo looked at her across the campfire, at a loss now for words. “I did not know myself,” he brought out, finally. “It seems my tongue has spoken of its own accord and told what my heart is feeling.”

“You would marry me?”

“I would.” And then he knew, suddenly and completely, that marrying Emma was all he wanted in the world. He was at her side in two quick steps. “When you were wounded … When I thought you might die … I truly did not know how I could go on living without you. Will you—when the crusade is done—will you wed me?”

He reached out, almost fearfully, and took her face between his hands. He rubbed gently at a smudge of dirt on her cheek. One strand of hair curled down over her eyes, and he brushed it back. She looked up at him, then dropped her head to his chest. He encircled her with his arms and drew her close. Her body relaxed into his embrace. For a moment, he could feel the soft warmth of her, and then she stiffened. She raised her eyes to his once more.

“Ask me again, Theo,” she whispered. “When all this is over … if it is ever over … if we two are still alive … ask me again, then.” She reached up to touch his cheek, then slipped back into her tent and pulled the door flap closed behind her.

Theo built the fire up. He sat beside it until the first pale streaks of dawn began to lighten the sky.

After that, Theo insisted that Emma set her tent up at night immediately beside his. He would have had her move her pallet right into his tent, but she refused. During the day, he kept close by her as much as possible. He could not forget the look in Guy’s eyes. The man was poisoned with hate; Theo knew he would take his revenge somehow.

They left Tyre and marched on down the coast to Acre. There, the governor pressed more gifts of fruits and food upon them, ensuring the safety of the fertile farms in his territory. They proceeded to Haifa and on, under the shadow of Mount Carmel, until they finally reached southern Caesarea.

“We are to stay here for four days in order to celebrate Whitsun properly,” he told Emma, as he returned to camp after breaking his fast with the count. There had been a shyness between them since Guy’s attack, but neither of them had been able to speak of it. Nor did they speak of Theo’s declaration. Jerusalem was only a week’s travel away. The final battle loomed. Time enough, then, to think of themselves.

At the end of the celebration, they set out again, inland this time, following an old road that led away from the coast and wound upwards into the Judean hills. As they traveled, it grew even hotter. The sun blazed down upon them out of cloudless skies. The land was changing; there were fewer and fewer trees to provide shade. Emma trailed behind Theo, both walking to save their horses’ strength. The Turkish ponies managed well enough, but Centurion was in trouble.

“Theo,” Emma called, low, so that no one else should hear. It was noon of the second day after they had begun the climb inland.

Theo turned to her, wiping sweat out of his eyes. His tunic stuck to his back, and small flying insects tormented him.

“It is Centurion. He can go no farther. We must rest.”

“Ramleh is close before us,” Theo called back. “We can rest there. There will be shade and water for him.”

“I know not whether he will make it,” Emma answered. There was a note of desperation in her voice.

Theo stopped and came back to look more closely at the huge warhorse. He pulled their ponies and pack animals to one side to let those behind pass them by. Centurion took two more steps, as if unaware that his masters had halted. His eyes were glazed and unseeing. His breathing came in ragged, sucking gasps. Emma tugged gently on his halter to stop him. He came to a halt and stood, his immense body swaying slightly, head hanging down. Sweat foamed on his neck and withers and ran in streams to drip off his belly onto the ground. Flies clustered around his eyes, but he seemed oblivious to them. As they watched, he gave a convulsive shudder. Emma reached for a skin of water and held it out to him. He ignored it. She brushed the flies away.