The Falcons of Montabard (52 page)

'Indeed I do ... but I would ask the same question of yourself. Will you risk knives in your back for the sake of helping your enemies in Frankish territory? Do you think you will gain the support of your own camp if you deprive Bohemond's heir of his rightful inheritance?'

Strongfist frowned as he tried to follow the gist of the conversation. The principality of Antioch was held in trust for young Bohemond of Taranto, a youth of sixteen, whose father had been the first Prince of Antioch but had died when Bohemond was an infant. The lands had been many years in the hands of the King of Jerusalem and overseen by the Patriarch.

'I gave my word.'

'And that counts above your word to one of your own?'

Baldwin bit down viciously on his thumbnail. Patriarch Bernard turned to pour from flagon to cup and looked across the room. Strongfist hastily averted his eyes and stared at the lozenge pattern on the wall.

'What then should I do?' Baldwin asked. 'Whatever my choice, I break my oath.'

The Patriarch turned round with the goblets and handed one to the King. 'My advice would be to deny Timurtash. He wants, nay, he
needs
the money. He has difficulties of his own to contend with. He must have known when he made his demand that he would not receive everything for which he asked. It is like negotiating for a piece of carpet in the souk.'

'My daughter is not a piece of carpet,' Baldwin said savagely. Strongfist echoed the sentiment strongly. Nor were his own loved ones. He compressed his lips and fingered the hilt of his sword.

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'No, sire, indeed not, but your other daughter is betrothed to young Lord Bohemond and you would be diminishing the patrimony of your grandchildren if you cede the land to the Saracens. I think you must take the risk.'

'A risk that you would not take when you sent Joscelin of Edessa all the way to Jerusalem to collect troops, rather than letting him bring the army of Antioch to the relief of Kharpurt.'

'That would have been a disaster, sire. Our troops could not have stood against the force that Emir Balak had mustered.'

Baldwin exhaled hard. 'I suppose you are right,' he said. 'On both counts, but it does not mean that I like either of them.'

'Nor I, sire, but the decisions have to be taken.'

They sat down to drink their wine and their conversation sank again to a level where Strongfist could hear no more than the occasional word. There was no more laughter. The mention of 'Timurtash' and Shaizar were no comfort. He found that his palms were slick with cold sweat. He had a vision of himself leaping at Baldwin and the Patriarch with drawn sword and forcing them to swear that they would do nothing to jeopardise the lives of the hostages. But then what was a royal oath worth? He wondered if he could get word to Sabin, but what good would that do? Shaizar was an impregnable fortress and it would be nigh on impossible for Sabin to escape, let alone two women and a small child. Besides, with the wellbeing of Princess Joveta in their care, he knew that wild horses would not persuade Annais and Letice to leave, lest it be with their charge.

The Patriarch rose to depart the royal chambers, brushing past Strongfist as if he were another of the marble pillars supporting the roof. Strongfist bowed and straightened, and, with narrowed eyes, watched the prelate leave.

Baldwin poured himself another cup of wine and sat down, feet outstretched towards the warmth of the brazier. He drank, sighed, pushed his hand through his thinning golden hair and stood up to prowl the room like a caged cat. For the first time, he seemed to notice Strongfist standing by the door.

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'You can go,' he said. 'The Queen will be here soon and I am not expecting other guests this night.'

'Sire,' said Strongfist stiffly.

Something must have glimmered in his tone, for Baldwin frowned and came to him. Strongfist turned from the door and faced him.

'Ah,' said Baldwin as recognition dawned, and with it understanding. 'I am sorry that guarding me fell to your duty tonight.' He grimaced and looked down at the goblet in his hand. 'Patriarch Bernard is right,' he said. 'I cannot cede lands that are not mine.'

'And what of the hostages, sire?' Strongfist's voice was husky with the effort of control.

'I think that Patriarch Bernard is right in that too,' Baldwin said. 'Emir Timurtash wants his eighty thousand dinars too badly to worry about the gilding on the gingerbread. My own child is involved in this. I feel as you do.'

'Then I hope, sire, that you and the Patriarch are not proven wrong,' Strongfist said, bowed again, and made his escape before he did something rash. The King had lied. He could not even begin to feel as Strongfist did.

Aye, Baldwin's playing a dangerous game, but he's canny, and so is the Patriarch,' Fergus said. 'Timurtash won't act.'

Strongfist rubbed his hands over his face. The thundering headache of earlier had been joined by a tight band of tension across his brow. 'And if he does?'

'There's no use worrying about what you cannot change. Even if you were to draw your sword against Baldwin it would make no difference to what happens to the hostages . . . and if you are considering that, then get a hold of yourself, man.' A lecturing note entered Fergus's voice.

Strongfist's expression filled with remembered loathing. 'When he came to me and said that he was sorry, all I wanted to do was seize him by the throat. Do not ask how I kept myself from throttling him, for I do not know.' He met Fergus's

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shocked blue stare. 'Oh, I have calmed now. My fingers still itch, but I find that washing my hands helps.' His lip curled. 'I would not make a good king, Fergus. I hate these power games.'

Baldwin's gamble paid off. Timurtash sent envoys to Antioch protesting his disappointment and alarm at the fact that the King of the Franks had gone back on his word, but that he would show lenience this once and let it pass. Strongfist breathed again. Perhaps all would be well. Emboldened by the lack of iron in the Saracen response, Baldwin gambled further. Since the territories surrounding Aleppo remained in his grasp, why not try for Aleppo itself? Accordingly he made an alliance with Timurtash's enemy, the Bedouin leader Dubais, and together they laid siege to the city. The terms of Baldwin's ransom had stated that he would aid Timurtash against Dubais. Made furious by the second betrayal, Timurtash sent a contingent of troops to Shaizar with explicit orders.

Usamah's cheetah was chained in the courtyard. Its leash was long, giving it room to wander, and it had a bed fashioned from an old gambeson with an underlay of straw. Lying with head on paws and half-closed eyes, it allowed a maid to groom its amber and black coat with a brush made from hog's bristles.

Sabin had grown accustomed to the cheetah's presence. Although the lords of Shaizar owned several hunting cats, this was the only one permitted in the family enclave and it was treated as an honorary dog. Still, he did not think that he would emulate his hosts and take to keeping such a pet at Montabard. There was still something edgy and dangerous about the beast. All that quiescent power. He had seen it run down a gazelle and strangle it without effort. A child would not stand a chance.

On that thought, his gaze went to the hostage children and their nurses who were playing ball across the courtyard. His gaze lit on Annais as she threw and caught and encouraged. Something was weighing on her spirit, but he was not sure what.

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Several times she appeared to have been on the verge of telling him, but then had hung back. He had his suspicions and had deliberately not pressed her. Sometimes ignorance was an easier burden than knowing.

His misgivings concerning Baldwin had been proven correct when the King had reneged on the agreement to cede the lands surrounding Aleppo. For a while the hostages had been locked in their chambers and threats issued - not so much by the Emir and his family, but by some of the guards who considered that the Franks were being treated far too well. The fuss had gradually died down. Timurtash had accepted with resignation the fact that Baldwin would not hand over the territories, and the hostages had again been given the liberty to wander within the environs of the fortress.

The maid finished grooming the cheetah and turned her back. The cat rose, stretched its long, wiry limbs, and then squatted on the quilt to urinate. Turning round in time to see the deed, the woman gave an indignant shriek and clapped her hands. A string of voluble Arabic curses issued from her lips. The cheetah darted out of her way, to the end of its chain, and stared at her disdainfully.

Sabin chuckled as a laughing Usamah joined him. 'It would be interesting to see men mark their territory in a similar way,' he said.

'I am told that some do.' Usamah strolled over to the cheetah. A gesture sent the grumbling maid to unfasten its tether and the Saracen wrapped his hand around the silver chain. 'Do you wish to hunt?' he asked Sabin. 'I have a mind to go down among the cane-brakes by the river.'

'As long as you are not intending to chase boar,' Sabin said wryly.

Usamah grinned. 'That depends on what we can flush out, but I was thinking more of water fowl and perhaps gazelle.'

Sabin might not be as passionate about the hunt as Usamah, but the notion of riding out for a while, of exercising the lethargy of confinement from his body, filled him with

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eagerness. 'Your uncle permits this?' he asked as the cheetah padded forward to sniff his leg.

'He has given full permission for me and the men to put arrows into any Frank who tries to escape,' Usamah said pleasantly. 'I do not want to hunt down a man, but I will if necessary.' He turned towards the stables. 'You know I cannot give you weapons, but you can borrow one of my falcons.'

Within the hour the hunting party had assembled and ridden out. Sabin was not the only Frank to be enjoying the rare freedom of a day on horseback. Waleran of Birejek, Ernoul, the King's nephew, and two other Frankish knights were included in the group. All of them were filled with high spirits and eager to be away from the fortress for no matter how short a time. Just to straddle a horse and feel the air streaming past their faces was a luxury that had once been taken for granted.

Annais watched them ride out and smiled to hear the men's enthusiasm. Their voices dipped and swooped like those of excited children and there was much jesting and not a little horseplay. They were relieving tension, she knew. It was difficult for young, active men to be confined like this. Difficult too when they were at the mercy of the actions of others.

'Look at them,' said Letice with amused contempt. 'Do men ever grow up?'

Annais smiled. 'Not in the same way that women do, but perhaps I envy them a little.'

Letice looked at her askance. 'You would join that hurly burly?'

'If I were a man, yes, and doubtless I would enjoy it. As it is, I shall bite my nails and worry until they return in one piece.' She watched Sabin break away from the group and trot towards them on Lucifer. The stallion's hide shone like a silver mirror and his hooves were the hard blue of sword steel. Leaning down, Sabin swept Guillaume onto his crupper and gave the delighted, squealing child a swift ride around the courtyard. Annais clenched her fingers in her gown as Sabin put the horse through several sharp twists and turns, but she swallowed the cry of

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warning that rose in her throat. He had schooled the horse until its moves were as near perfection as a mortal beast could come. There had been little else to do while they waited out their time. Finally, Sabin swung Lucifer and cantered over to the woman, drawing the horse to a dusty halt before their noses. He tumbled Guillaume into Annais's arms, saluted, and rode back to the hunt which was now on its way out of the gates.

Letice wiped grit from her eyes with her veil while Annais shook her head and smiled through her exasperation.

'Have you told him?' Letice asked.

Annais's smile faded. She shook her head and placed her hand to her belly. 'Not yet. He was like a cat on a hot griddle when Baldwin reneged on the ransom agreement. I did not want to burden him.'

Letice frowned at her. 'It is not something that you can hide for ever,' she said. 'Soon your waistline will outgrow the laces of your gown, and it will be difficult to cite eating too many sweetmeats as the reason.'

Annais glanced involuntarily at the side fastening of her gown. She had let them out once so far and there was still plenty of room; Letice was exaggerating. The sickness and lethargy had been more difficult to conceal, but she had blamed it on the change of diet from Frankish to Saracen and, fortunately, the worst seemed to have passed. 'I will tell him soon,' she said. 'When the time is right.'

Letice gave her one of her looks. 'Make sure that it is soon,' she said. 'He will not thank you to find out when you are six months along.'

Annais grimaced. 'By that time, hopefully, we will be free,' she said, and turned her attention to Guillaume who was clamouring for her to throw the ball in her hand.

The women returned to the game, but had not been about it long when a troop of Saracen horsemen thundered into the courtyard. Their mounts milled and plunged — high-spirited Arabs and barbs with the dished faces and flagged tails of the breed. The men's armour was of high quality. Some were

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archers and carried light horse bows and quivers filled with black-feathered arrows, others bore lances, and all wore either swords or scimitars.

Annais and Letice exchanged glances. These were not the soldiers of Shaizar, many of whom they had come to recognise during their three months as hostages.

'What has Baldwin done now?' Letice muttered.

'This may have nothing to do with Baldwin,' Annais said, but, even as she spoke, was aware of the scowling glances being cast in their direction by the dismounting soldiers. One of them in particular was fingering the hilt of his scimitar as if it would please him to draw the weapon and use it.

'And pigs might grow wings and fly,' Letice retorted darkly.