Warrior's Song (Medieval Song 1)

“Is she not exquisite, Sir Eustace?”

Eustace took in the gem-studded clasp at her waist and followed the movement of her legs through the translucent veils. Her hair, now dry, fell down her back. He felt lust swirling in his belly. “Aye,” he said only.

“I suppose you would like to take her now, as we agreed.”

“Aye,” he said again, his voice thick, “and then I will take my leave of you.”

“Would you care to take her here, in front of my men? They have never seen an Englishman rut a woman.”

“She will fight me,” Eustace said. “I have no wish to hurt her. That is for you to do if she is disobedient. You must tie her down to spare her bruises.”

To Eustace’s surprise, al-Afdal threw back his turbaned head and laughed. “Yes, she would fight you. She would also likely unman you before you thrust yourself into her. But, my friend, you are right. I don’t want her bruised. See what you already did?” Al-Afdal rose gracefully to his feet and walked to Chandra’s side. He did not touch her, only pointed to the dark purplish bruises over her ribs.

“She fought me.”

“Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, turning back to Eustace, “Chandra needs a man to fight for her.” He watched, a half-formed smile on his lips, as Eustace glanced contemptuously about at his men.

“Give me a sword,” Chandra said. “I will fight him.”

Al-Afdal glanced at her face and saw that she was serious. “I cannot risk that you would be harmed, Chandra.”

Eustace started forward, uncertain what was going on here. “Just give me my gold, and I will leave. I have decided she is not worth the trouble. I do not want her.”

Al-Afdal stroked the point of his beard. Eustace did not like it. He tasted fear. He wanted to leave this place.

“Is it not a practice among you English,” al-Afdal said, “to provide a champion for the weaker?”

Chandra felt the blood rush to her temples. Al-Afdal had Graelam, and it would be he who fought Eustace. Did Eustace not know anything of Graelam?

Eustace’s hand clapped about his sword, and he slowly backed away.

“Do not be so anxious to leave, my friend,” al-Afdal said. “I have another English knight for you to meet, someone worth your mettle.” He nodded toward Munza, and Graelam was shoved into the chamber, flanked by four of al-Afdal’s men, his arms bound behind his back.

“De Moreton!” Eustace exclaimed.

CHAPTER 31

“Aye, you filthy bastard!” Graelam said.

Al-Afdal returned to his seat of cushions. “I will make you a bargain, Sir Eustace,” he said. “If you can defeat Lord Graelam, you will leave here with your gold.”

Eustace had seen Graelam fight. The man was strong, and he showed no mercy. Eustace was afraid, very afraid now.

“If Lord Graelam defeats him, will we be allowed to leave?”

Al-Afdal smiled toward Chandra. “Not you, Chandra, but your noble Graelam will be free.”

“Release me,” Graelam said hoarsely. “I will carve his guts from his belly.” He did not trust al-Afdal to free him if he killed Eustace, but at the moment, he didn’t care. He turned his dark eyes toward Chandra, and saw that she was looking at him with great sorrow. He wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter, but of course it did. He didn’t want to die, but for now, there seemed to be nothing he could do. Except kill Eustace, and that he wanted to do very much. He smiled at her, nodding almost imperceptibly.

“Clear the chamber,” al-Afdal said. “I do not wish my possessions hacked to bits. Come stand beside me, Chandra.” He held out his beringed hand toward her, and she had no choice but to obey him.

“May God be with you, Graelam,” she said as she passed him. “I thank you. You owed me no debt. No matter what happens here, it is I who owe you.”

For the first time, Eustace saw the bloody gash in Graelam’s arm. It was his sword arm, and Eustace knew that he must be weakened. He drew his sword, ran the tip of his thumb along its sharp edge, and smiled at Graelam. “Aye,” he said, “you have lusted after her, have you not? You lost her to Jerval, but you still wanted her. You will die, Graelam, and the little bitch will spend the rest of her days serving the heathen paynim.”

Graelam did not answer him. As the Saracens unbound his hands, he concentrated on his memories of Eustace in battle. He knew that Eustace thought that his wounded right arm would do him in. His sword was placed in his right hand, and he left it there. Nay, he thought, let the fool believe he will have an easy time of it. He flexed his arm, and grimaced. Eustace slashed his sword before him, his mouth set, his eyes alight with the victory he knew would be his.