Warrior's Song (Medieval Song 1)

She realized so much in that moment. She’d been a fool. He’d tricked her, using Jerval.

He grabbed her palfrey’s reins and pulled her in.

“What is going on, Eustace? By God, what have you done?”

“So you have finally come out of your daze, Chandra. Well, no matter now—we will soon be far from Acre.” He sent a quick gaze toward Amaric. “There will be no one to say what happened to you, save me.”

“You bastard. Jerval isn’t wounded at all, is he?”

Eustace laughed. “Your precious husband is well.”

She weaved in her saddle with relief. Then she heard Beri’s words again. He’d taken her, and with little effort. She’d been a fool. She said slowly, thinking frantically, “But what is it you mean, Eustace? What are you saying?”

He laughed again and sat back in his saddle. “I will have to tell Jerval that his stubborn wife insisted upon joining him, and that Amaric and I, fearing for your safety, rode with you to protect you. How sad that we were attacked by Saracens, and only I will be alive to tell of it.”

She hadn’t strapped her dagger to her thigh, something she always did, except this time, because she was so frightened that she could scarce think at all. Here she was with a man who had betrayed her, and she had no weapon, nothing at all. This was madness. He was an English knight. He was Jerval’s kinsman. “But why? What have I ever done to you? Or Jerval? Neither of us has ever harmed you.”

“You think not? Well, it doesn’t really matter, for I will be rich.”

“What do you mean?”

CHAPTER 29

“My dear Chandra, you and I are going to the camp of al-Afdal, one of the primary chieftains of the Sultan Baibars. He heard of you from one of the Saracen soldiers who escaped from the Neva Pass. The man described a beautiful creature who fought like a man, all white-skinned, with golden hair. Al-Afdal gained a fortune from the looting of Antioch, and he is quite willing to share it with me, once I give you to him. Truly, this isn’t due to hatred of you or Jerval. I want all the wealth he will provide me for delivering you to him.”

“You are a fool, Eustace. The Saracens have no honor. He won’t give you anything except a knife through your heart. Call a halt to this madness whilst you have a chance of coming out of it with a whole hide.”

Eustace raised his hand to strike her, but drew it back. “Nay, I don’t want to bruise your lovely face. Your new master would not like that.”

Chandra dug her heels into her palfrey’s sides, but Eustace held fast to the reins. “That was your one try, Chandra, and your last. I know all your tricks, so you needn’t waste your time trying them on me. You have no weapons. You stand no chance against me. If you try to hit me, I’ll break your damned arm.”

She spat at him, full in the face. He stared at her for a moment, wiping her spittle from his cheek, before he smashed his mailed fist into her ribs. She doubled over in pain, and heard him say, “I told you only that I would not mark your face, Chandra.”

“You will not succeed, Eustace.” She was panting, trying to get back her breath. Her ribs pulled and ached. “Jerval will not believe you. He will find out what you did, and he will kill you.”

“Did you not listen, my lady? The direction in which your captors lie will, unfortunately, be miles from where I lead your husband. Ah, the riches I will gain. And the joy of knowing that you will part your white legs for your heathen master the rest of your life—or until you lose your beauty and he tosses you away.”

“You cannot do this. Even you. Beri told me to be careful around you. By God, she was right.”

“Beri. I will see that she pays for that. Now, enough talk, Chandra. I wish to be farther away from Acre. You will ride with me, else you will feel my dagger in your breast.” He brought his hand down again on her palfrey’s rump and forced her to a gallop beside him.

They rode due east, and the ground turned hilly and brittle beneath the horses’ hooves. It seemed like hours to Chandra before Eustace jerked on her palfrey’s reins and pulled his destrier to a halt. “We will take our rest here.” His eyes scanned the surrounding countryside, then turned back to her.

He saw it in her eyes. She was readying herself to leap on him. He drew his dagger. “You try it and I will slit your throat and bedamned to the wealth.”

She believed him. Later, she thought, later she would catch him off guard.

Graelam de Moreton rode toward Acre to give Edward word of his victory in the company of one of his men-at-arms and his squire. Edward would be quite pleased with the outcome of the battle. They had attacked the ill-prepared Saracens as they gathered themselves for a final blow after the attempted assassination of Edward, and had scattered them easily.

Graelam stretched his tired bones in his saddle, and looked inland, away from the sun-reddened sea. He saw a riderless horse cantering toward them and frowned, recognizing Amaric’s horse. For a long moment, he held his destrier still, his dark brows lowered. He knew that Jerval had ordered Chandra never to leave the camp without a guard. Without another thought, he ran the horse down and reined him in. He saw a drop of blood on the saddle.

What in God’s name had happened? He turned to his men. “We ride east until we find Amaric.”

It was Albert, Graelam’s squire, who spotted Amaric’s body on a flat stretch of ground, his legs c

overed with sand by the desert wind. There was a clean stab wound in his chest, and his sword was sheathed. Graelam raised his lifeless arm. It was not yet stiff in death.

“Albert, ride back to Sir Jerval. Tell him that we found Lady Chandra’s guard murdered.” Graelam studied the ground for several moments. “There are two horses riding to the east. Tell Sir Jerval that we will follow and will leave a trail for him. Quickly, man.”