The Falcons of Montabard (27 page)

Once he had been helped from the bath and dried in a succession of linen towels, the maids dressed him in a heavy cotton robe and helped him back to the freshened bed. Annais set about stitching his injuries, smeared the area liberally in honey, and then bandaged his foot with strips of washed and softened linen.

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'Now you can rest,' she said as she rinsed her hands in the bath water. 'Do you wish for someone to sit by you?'

From being flushed with fever, his colour had receded as she stitched and bound. Dark shadows circled his eyes. 'I need no one to keep vigil,' he said. 'I am sure you and your women have more pressing matters to attend than to watch me sleep . . . unless any of them wish to share my bed?'

He was deliberately driving them away. Annais straightened her spine and lifted her chin. 'I doubt that very much,' she said in a tone that was carefully neutral. 'Amalric will keep watch amid his other duties and be your messenger should you have need.' She nodded to end the exchange and began ushering the other women from the room. Her foot was over the threshold, her body turned towards the stairs when his voice caught the soft space beneath her ribs.

'Thank you,' he said. It was spoken humbly and stripped of all sarcasm. A moment's lowering of the shield.

She hesitated, but did not look over her shoulder, for her own defences were raised. 'I would have done it for anyone,' she replied. 'It is my duty.'

There was silence from the bed. Head lowered, Annais hurried after the other women.

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Chapter 16

Four days after Joscelin of Edessa took his leave, his cousin King Baldwin appeared at Montabard's gates with the army ot Jerusalem. Heralds had arrived in advance, so the gates were open and preparations in hand to welcome the royal guest. Space was cleared in the lower enclosure to house the tents of the knights and soldiers and pavilions were hastily erected in the middle ward to absorb the overflow that was bound to come from the hall.

For the duration of the visit, Sabin had to yield his own chamber to a man of higher rank. Fortunately, four days of sodden sleep, punctuated by nourishing broths, tisanes and copious applications of wild honey, had engendered a rapid recovery and it was with equanimity that he moved from his bed to a camp tent in the lower ward. The bandaging around his foot meant that he had to wear a monk's sandal, and his limp was pronounced, but he borrowed a toy spear from one of the castle children and, using it as a walking stick, managed to get around spryly enough.

'The King has responded swiftly to the tidings of the siege at Zerdana,' he said to the herald who had brought the details of King Baldwin's imminent arrival and was now quenching his thirst in the hall with a cup of wine. Around them servants were assembling trestles and spreading them with freshly laundered napery. 'We did not think to see him for several weeks.'

The herald drained his cup. 'The King had business with

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Count Ports of Tripoli, so we were already halfway here when the news came. The King will rest here tonight, gather more soldiers and ride out at dawn.'

Leaving the messenger, Sabin limped from the hall and into the courtyard. A glance aloft revealed the fit members of the garrison standing to attention on the wall walks to greet Baldwin's arrival with a flash of upright spears. He wondered how many of them Baldwin would take on the morrow. Probably as many as there were serviceable mounts in the stables.

Gerbert came striding from his personal apartment, dressed in his mail and wearing his ceremonial surcoat of crimson and yellow silk, three falcons embroidered across the breast. His face wore its usual anxious expression. Sabin had learned that Gerbert was not always as worried as he looked, and that the deep frown lines between his brows were as much set by habit as current emotion.

Annais arrived on her husband's heels with the castle ladies, all of them gowned in finch-bright silks and many of them twittering with excitement just like small birds. Annais was flushed and breathing swiftly, but then as lady of Montabard it was her duty to make sure that everything was in order and an hour's notice was precious little warning. At least it was only soldiers rather than the entire court, Sabin thought. Providing there was enough food and shelter to go round, no one would notice the lack of attention to small details. In his experience, men were always easier to please than women. He limped across the ward and joining the ladies, murmured that consolation to Annais.

Her hands had been tightly clasped before her waist in a gesture reminiscent of agitated prayer. Now she looked at him and her posture relaxed. 'You are right, of course,' she said with the semblance of a smile. 'And this is not a formal visit with formal patterns to be followed. They are here to restock their supplies, gather troops and ride on.'

'Anything you do can only be an improvement on Lord Gerbert's first wife's efforts,' murmured Letice from behind.

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Her own formidable aplomb was unruffled. 'She would have bolted herself in her chamber and refused to come out.'

Annais laughed. 'That sounds like wisdom from where I stand,' she said, but the conversation had calmed her.

The army of the kingdom of Jerusalem entered through Montabard's main gate. Recent rain had dampened the dust so there were no choking clouds, but the noise of hooves and the rattle of spears and harness were deafening. First came the scouts and the vanguard, then the hand-picked soldiers chosen to protect King Baldwin, and then Baldwin himself, upright in the saddle, fair beard bristling, his cloak fastened with an elaborate jewelled clasp. Waiting attendants directed the flow of the army into the middle ward where the stables were housed. Baldwin himself dismounted in the main courtyard and handed his reins to a squire while Gerbert and his household knelt in obeisance.

With a swift flick of his right hand, Baldwin gestured everyone to rise. 'I am pleased to see you in readiness, my lord,' he said to Gerbert with a wintry smile. 'I note from the decorations on your gatehouse wall that you have already entertained other company.'

Gerbert nodded. 'One of my returning patrols caught some raiders close to the keep and there was a skirmish, sire.' He extended his hand to the household. 'Sabin can tell you more since he was leading the patrol.'

Baldwin's gaze lit on Sabin and the smile deepened. 'Ah,' he said, 'the young man who is found by trouble even when he shuns it.'

Sabin gave a wry shrug. 'Certainly I have been earning my daily bread of late, sire.'

'And likely to earn more if the rumours from Zerdana are true.' Baldwin stripped his mail gauntlets and tossed them to another squire. 'I see you are wounded.'

'I took a Saracen arrow in the foot, sire. A few more days and I will be back on active duty.'

'Before that,' Gerbert said grimly. 'If I am to ride with my

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constable and my marshal, you must take the responsibility for Montabard.'

Neither Gerbert nor Baldwin could understand why Sabin almost choked on what looked like painful laughter.

Among the knights who followed Baldwin towards the hall was one as tall and fair as the King, but more robust of build. He hung back from the press, waiting for Sabin, who had also stayed back so that his slow progress would not hamper the others.

'So,' said Strongfist, clapping a brawny hand to Sabin's shoulder, 'has Montabard been the making of you when all else has failed?'

Sabin shook his head. 'If I was not hampered by my foot, I would run away,' he said tersely and changed the subject. 'Where's Fergus?'

'Back in Tripoli with a dose of marsh fever. I've got command of his men.' He looked at Sabin. 'I have things to say to you, but not here and now. The King is waiting and I have my daughter and son-in-law to greet.'

'I thought that everything had been said ... or locked away as too dangerous for words.'

Strongfist plucked at his beard. 'I did too, but things have happened that make all that went before seem like comparing a pin-prick to a deep wound. I am glad to be here with the King. It keeps my mind busy, and using my sword is always what I have done best.' His gaze went beyond Sabin to the hall door and, with a shout of joy, he opened his arms.

'Papa!' Annais flung herself into Strongfist's embrace and squeezed him around the neck. He hugged her tightly against his mailed breast and lifted her off her feet.

'Sweetheart, sweetheart!' he said. When he let her go, his eyes were moist. 'Ah God, pay no heed, I am an old fool.' Laughing, he held her away and looked her up and down. 'Old enough to be a grandfather! You cannot know how delighted I was to receive your news . . . you are well?'

Annais laid her hand to the gentle swell of her belly. 'Very

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well,' she confirmed. 'The child has quickened and grows stronger daily.' She tugged his arm. 'Come within and take bread and wine. I have no time to talk now, I have to attend on the King, but we can talk later.'

'Yes, later.' His smile faltered and the pleasure in his eyes dimmed.

The hall was so packed with armoured bodies that it reminded Sabin of a bulging fishing net. Sword hilts jutted at every hip and easing past without getting caught up or bruised was impossible. Men clinked as they walked. Spurs tripped the unwary. The smell of hard-travelled unwashed bodies was so pungent that it almost obliterated the more wholesome aroma of freshly baked bread. The King was afforded a place at the high table together with the senior ranks, but other knights and barons had to find dining space among the closely packed trestles lining the body of the hall. On the third time that someone inadvertently trod on Sabin's injured foot, he abandoned any notion of talking to Strongfist and made his way back to his campaign tent in the lower ward.

Amalric was already there and had kindled the oil lamp suspended from the long support beam ot the frame. Sabin's bed had been assembled and the floor was covered with pale gold gazelle skins, striped black along the spine.

Amalric poured wine from a ewer of green Tyrian glass into a matching goblet and gave it to Sabin who took it gratefully and sat down on a campstool. He took a swallow and arched his brows at the youth in amused question.

Amalric widened innocent eyes. 'There were several flagons set out in the butlery,' he said. 'This was the smallest one and I did not think that they would miss it.'

Sabin raised the goblet and toasted his squire. 'Oh, they'll miss it for certain,' he said with relish. 'This is the best of the best and probably intended for the King. I have no doubt that Lady Annais will be giving the butler grief, and that the butler will be tweaking some poor serving lad's ear.'

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'Shall I take it back?'

'Yes!' Sabin said with a gleam in his eye. The boy looked askance until he grinned broadly and added, 'But not until it's empty.' He pointed to the drinking horn on the boy's belt. 'You might as well enjoy the fruits of your thievery. No point taking the risk and then abjuring the pleasure. You can go to confession on the morrow.'

The youth plucked the horn from his belt with alacrity. Sabin watched him and chuckled. 'Just don't make a habit of such light-handedness,' he said. 'This is worth a whipping at the least and they would expect me either to share your pain or deal it out.'

He took another sip of the wine. Smooth and rich, dark as the kiss of an experienced woman at night. Smoky and potent as lust.

The tent flaps were open to the gathering dusk and Sabin looked out upon serried ranks of canvas, on braziers and fires with soldiers gathered around them, cooking, dicing, attending to their harness and armour. He thought about joining them, although not with a glass goblet from the high table in his hand. That was actively seeking trouble rather than waiting for it to find him.

The side of the canvas shook and there was a curse as someone tripped over a tent peg. Amalric froze, the horn halfway to his lips, his expression that of a hare cornered by a dog.

'Christ, you'd think I'd have learned to pick up my feet by now,' said Strongfist as he ducked inside Sabin's tent. His eyes widened at the sight of the glass flagon. 'Isn't that . . . ?'

'Yes, it is. My squire's teaching me bad habits.' Sabin snapped his fingers at Amalric and unfolded another stool for Strongfist to sit upon. The youth found another cup, of plain Jaffa-ware this time, filled it with the blood-coloured wine and handed it to Strongfist. The knight took a round, appreciative mouthful, washed it round his teeth and swallowed with a sigh of pleasure.

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'You always land on your feet,' he said to Sabin with grudging admiration.

'Except when a Saracen manages to put an arrow through one of them,' Sabin answered wryly.

'Bad?'

'It was in danger of going sour but Annais dealt with it in her usual efficient way.' Sabin drank the wine and held out his cup for Amalric to refill. 'She is wise beyond her years,' he added. 'It must be the upbringing with nuns.'

'Hah,' Strongfist snorted. 'She was born like that. My wife always said that it was like having a little adult at her skirts, not a small child.' His tone softened. 'Annais is a fine woman and I'm proud of her.'

'You should be.' Sabin raised his goblet in salute and drank again, enjoying the warmth it conveyed to the empty space in his belly. 'Gerbert's besotted . . . even more so since she has quickened with child.' Sabin contemplated the darkness of the wine shining through the glass. 'You should have brought bread too, lad. I'm going to be as pickled as a Danish herring before I'm done.'

'I'll fetch some, sir.' The boy ducked out of the tent.

Sabin smiled at Strongfist. 'Do not ask where from, but hope it smells of heaven and is as light as his fingers.'

Strongfist returned the smile in a preoccupied way, drank, lowered his cup and, holding it between his knees, looked at Sabin. 'I have not spoken to Annais yet,' he said. 'I have come to you first, and perhaps that is not the right order of doing, but so be it.'

Sabin made a questioning sound in his throat. The wine had begun to tangle in his veins and he knew that his reactions were not as sharp as they should be.