Warrior's Song (Medieval Song 1)

And he said against her mouth when her breath was still fast and jerking, “I love you, Chandra.”

Her eyes flew open and she stared up at him, helplessly, so shaken with the power of his words that she couldn’t think, much less speak. At last, she whispered, “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” She wrapped her arms tightly around his back and pulled him to her. She held him tightly. “I’m so afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of what it will all mean. Of what will happen to me.” And then she opened her legs and brought him into her again. They both forgot her fear then.

Later, he wondered if it were indeed fear in her mind, or it if wasn’t more likely her damnable pride. He wondered if she would always suffer him as her husband—enjoy his body, but never give herself fully to him.

They left Sicily in early March and sailed to Acre on a storm-tossed sea. Chandra lay moaning on her pallet, so seasick from the storm that she prayed for oblivion. She felt a damp cloth on her forehead and forced her eyes to open. “I want to die,” she said.

“Nay, little one,” Jerval said, kissing her nose. “Here, drink some wine.”

She did as she was told, but after only a moment, she knew it wouldn’t work. “Oh, God. Please leave me alone, Jerval.”

“No, I won’t leave you.”

“Damn you, don’t you feel anything?”

“I cannot be ill. Who would take care of you if I were puking up my innards there beside you?”

She vomited into the pan he held for her. He gave her just a taste of water to wash out her mouth, then settled her back onto some blankets and stroked her shoulders. “You were also sick during that storm off the coast of Spain. I’m sorry, Chandra. It cannot be pleasant. The first thing we must do when we reach Acre—other than fight the Saracens—is to fatten you up.”

“You must hate me to speak of food.” She clutched her belly, drew her knees to her chest and moaned.

He rose and looked down at her clammy face. He was worried. “I must leave you with Joanna now, sweeting, and don my armor.”

“Why? What has happened?”

“The watch has sighted Acre, and it is under attack by the Saracens. Our timing could not be better. King Hugh of Cyprus and Jerusalem is within the city walls, and thus the attack.”

She tried to rise, but he gently pushed her down. “Joanna,” he called, “see that she rests.”

“Please take care.”

“You may be certain that I shall,” he said, kissed the tip of her nose, patted her cheek and left.

Chandra had been so excited when they had finally set sail for Acre with the thousand men in Prince Edward’s army. Now that it was in sight, she could not even rise to see it. She closed her eyes, remembering how Edward had slowly risen to his feet in King Charles’s magnificent banquet hall and kicked the soft pillows on which he had been seated away from him.

“Hear me, all of you,” he had said in a voice filled with passion. “King Charles has told us why we should not journey to the Holy Land. Now I will tell you that I made an oath before God. If my life is to be forfeit for keeping my holy vow, so be it.” He had thrown out his arms, embracing the entire company. “Do what your consciences dictate. I pledge before God that I will go to Acre to fight the Saracens if naught but my groom be with me!”

Payn de Chaworth had jumped to his feet and shouted, “You, sire, your groom, and I!”

Soon all were shouting, and Edward, flushed with plea

sure, had clasped each of his nobles in his arms, tears in his eyes.

“You will feel better soon,” Joanna said, lightly patting her face as though she were a child. “We are in the calmer waters of the harbor.”

“I want to see Acre,” Chandra said and pulled herself to her feet.

“Chandra, I promised Jerval to keep you quiet.”

“How can you look so healthy? I know, you have made a pact with the devil. Come, Joanna, I will not fall overboard, though I am tempted to end my own misery. Are you coming with me?”

“Aye, I would see that Payn is all right.”

From a ladder on the forecastle, Chandra looked toward the walled city of Acre. It was the largest city she had ever seen, its long white seaward wall towering over the water, seemingly impenetrable. There was smoke rising above the white stone walls that hugged the dock, and the acrid smell of fire. She saw Jerval in his glistening silver armor, the de Vernon lion emblazoned across the breast of his blue surcoat, standing at the fore of his men, poised to jump ashore when they reached land. Their ship scraped against the wooden dock, and Jerval leapt ashore, soldiers swarming after him. A huge seaward gate opened to them, and he was soon lost to her sight.