Warrior's Song (Medieval Song 1)

“Well, Chandra,” al-Afdal said, closing his hand about her wrist. “I do not need to ask you whom you favor, do I?”

“I favor the only brave man here,” she said. She heard him suck in his breath, but didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes on Graelam. Her heart pounded with fear for him. Like Eustace, she saw the blood on his arm.

Al-Afdal raised his arm, and brought it down. And then he laughed.

With a loud roar, Eustace lunged toward Graelam, his sword high above his head. In the instant Eustace’s sword arced downward in a blur of silver, Graelam tossed his sword to his left hand. The clash of ringing steel jarred the silence of the tent.

Al-Afdal watched calmly as Graelam and Eustace joined swords, hacking at each other. They moved slowly, their armor restricting their freedom, and he saw that it was a test of strength between them. His men would have dashed in and out, whirling about to avoid the crunching blows, relying on their quickness rather than a grueling contest of sheer strength. Both men were soon panting heavily, their brows beaded with sweat.

Eustace suddenly disengaged and took several jerking steps backward. He saw Graelam holding his sword easily in his left hand, and cursed aloud.

“Come back to me, Eustace. Come, you puking coward.” But Graelam didn’t wait. He strode toward Eustace, his sword flailing before him, cutting a wide path of control.

As he neared, Eustace kicked his leg out and smashed it against Graelam’s thigh. Chandra cried out as Graelam fought to keep his balance, but his foot caught on a fringed edge of the carpet, and he hurtled onto his back. Eustace lunged toward him, his sword raised high. He gripped it in both hands to send it downward to Graelam’s chest.

Graelam saw Eustace’s face above him. He did not have time to twist out of the sword’s path, for his armor was like a coffin of dead weight, making him slow and clumsy. He saw the blur of steel, and heard Chandra cry out. Dear Christ, he thought, his mind strangely detached, to die because of a kick in the leg and a clumsy fall on a carpet.

The instant was like an eternity of time. Eustace opened his mouth to shout his victory, but the words never emerged. He heard an odd hissing sound, and a soft thud. Eustace raised his eyes in astonishment, his sword slipping from his grasp. Graelam awkwardly jerked himself onto his side, just as Eustace, a thin-bladed knife in his throat, fell heavily to the floor.

Graelam heaved himself up. He looked toward al-Afdal, then at Eustace, who lay dead, his blood welling from his pinioned throat.

“You killed him,” he said, staggering to his feet.

“Yes, my friend,” al-Afdal said easily. He nodded to Munza. “Bring me my knife. Wipe the infidel’s blood from it.”

Chandra felt al-Afdal’s hand, the one that had hurled the dagger, close about her wrist. She looked up at him. “Why did you save him?”

He did not immediately answer her. “Take Lord Graelam to your tent, Munza, and guard him well. Give him food and drink, and a girl, if it pleases him.”

Graelam shook his head, still disbelieving that he was alive, and the heathen Saracen had saved his life. He gazed at Chandra, but he had no chance to speak to her before he was prodded from the chamber.

“Sit down, Chandra. You do not look well.”

“Why did you spare Graelam?”

He gave her a long, considering look, his fingers lightly stroking his bearded jaw. “It is really quite simple. You hated Eustace and are grateful to the other man, Graelam, for trying to save you. It would do me no good were Graelam to die. While I have him, I have his life to give you, and you will obey me because you will not want me to kill him as you watch.”

Al-Afdal smiled, adding, “Come with me now, for I would enjoy your body and the touch of your mouth upon mine.” He saw her shake her head and said, his voice softer still, “You will never deny me or fight me now, Chandra, for if you do, my dagger will pierce Graelam’s throat, and your brave knight will die because of your pride.”

She forced herself to look up into his face. So calm he was, so certain of himself, of his power, of his strength. She said, “I hate you. I will always hate you.”

She finally realized that she’d lost. He said nothing, merely shrugged. But he was angry, very angry; he would punish her for that. He sent for the physician to accompany them. He would humiliate her, make her realize that he could do with her what he wished. He took her arm and led her through a curtained doorway.

Chandra drew up, staring about her. She had believed the larger chamber was his own, but it was not. Here was luxury she would not have imagined. Vivid colors of gold and crimson, and the smell of incense, strangely sweet, filled the chamber. Slender tapers were set in golden-branched holders about the chamber, filling it with soft, shadowy light. There were no furnishings save for a small sandalwood table that stood on delicately carved legs beside a wide bed of flat cushions covered with animal furs. A brass brazier was set beside it, filled with glowing coals for warmth.

Al-Afdal stood watching her. “You are unused to such beauty,” he said. “I do not relish returning to Montfort. The Frankish castles are drafty, and all my wealth cannot disguise their ugliness.” He smiled thinly. “But until I know that Prince Edward and all his men, including your husband, have been pushed into the sea, it is there we shall stay.” He looked about him with negligent pride. “Tonight, at least, we will enjoy these comforts.”

He looked beyond her and raised a beckoning hand. Chandra turned about to see the gaunt-faced, silent physician behind them. She wanted to beg him not to make her endure this, but she knew that al-Afdal would only be even more pleased, even more certain of his victory.”

“Take off your clothes and lie upon your back.”

There was no choice, none at all. She unfastened the golden clasp beneath her breasts. It was the strangest thing, but she felt a tear fall down her cheek. Crying, a silly, stupid thing for her to do. No more, no more, else he would see and know he’d beaten her, shamed her. The clasp came loose, and slowly, she loosed the soft cloth that covered her breasts.

Al-Afdal felt immense lust. He wanted to touch her now, take her.

Chandra’s hands hovered about the gemmed clasp at her waist. She didn’t want to die. But perhaps death would be her only escape from al-Afdal. The clasp fell open. She knew he was looking at her. She stood very still as the material fell from her hips to the thick carpet at her feet. She turned away, unaware that the sight of her white back and hips gave al-Afdal as much pleasure as her breasts and belly, and walked with a hesitant step to the cushioned bed.

She closed her eyes tightly for a long moment, praying that she wouldn’t break. She lay down upon her back, her legs locked together.