Behind the Veil (10 page)

Behind the Veil  / The Royal Pavilions boo
k3
/ Linda Chaikin

The afternoon sun grew glaringly hot in the azure sky, bearing down on the rugged, barren countryside. With the oncoming evening, the sky became an awesome stage displaying the handiwork of the Creator, with stars and planets burning white. A rush of wind came through the hills and swept the valley floor.

With the golden dawn the restless winds had ceased, and upon a ridge of rocky gray slopes stood the Castle of Hohms—solitary, formidable, with arched windows, battlements and bulwarks carved from the natural rock which formed many of its chamber walls. A long flight of steps bounded upward to the main bulk of the castle, where its roof touched the brightening sky.

Tancred and Nicholas drew rein, with Leif, Rufus, Bardas, and Demetrious holding their mounts. In the vast expanse of the plain, rimmed with mountains, came the undeniable glint of armor.

“Soldiers,” Tancred warned, “hundreds, a great distance away, they ride toward the castle.”

He turned his gaze from the soldiers to the castle main gate. It stood partly open!

A group of Byzantine horsemen, perhaps twenty, emerged from the gate, and the man in the lead carried a white flag with a crimson cross.

“They surrender?” Demetrious scoffed. “Is this the great Seigneur Rolf Redwan I have heard you boast of, Leif?” Do you not say that fifty men serve him? Why, then, are they not on the bulwarks?”

“The man in the lead is not our uncle,” Leif said with a scowl.

“He is correct,” Tancred stated. “Rolf would rather die than surrender without a battle.”

“I have served under Seigneur Redwan,” Rufus spoke up. “There is none better than he, or more courageous.”

“Who then?” Captain Demetrious’s abhorrence for soldiers who would not stand and fight, even though outnumbered, flared.

Tancred’s blue-gray eyes glittered in silence.

“The man in the lead wears the garb of a bishop,” breathed Nicholas. “Who else but my enemy Basel!”

“And—is that not—a woman who rides guarded?” Bardas spoke up, his voice excited. He looked at Tancred. When Tancred did not respond, Bardas turned and reached over to clutch his arm. “
It is Lady Helena
!”

“Yes.”

A rider galloped toward them from scrubs on the hills behind the castle. Some of the men reached for their swords, but it was Hakeem. He came up beside Tancred. “Bishop Basel rides with the entourage of guards leaving the Castle of Holms now. He will bring Helena to the Seljuks.”

Tancred looked toward the castle again, trying to estimate the number of guards with Helena and Basel.

“Adrianna, what of her?” Nicholas demanded.

“Ah, she remains behind. Nor could I locate Seigneur Rolf, but! Beware Tancred! Walter of Sicily is at the castle, and others from the Redwan clan.”

So! At last! Tancred looked back toward the gate of the castle….he and Nicholas exchanged glances.
Both Helena and Basel
!

“Yes,” said Tancred, “And there are about twenty guards riding with Basel,”

Nicholas was deadly silent, the wind touching his black hair sprinkled with gray.

“Look how many Seljuks come to receive her,” Rufus breathed, awed. “Five hundred?”

“A thousand!” Captain Demetrious corrected with deadly calm. We must avoid them, we are but six warriors.“

“Seven,” Hakeem spoke up. “Where Jehan goes, I too go, with my scimitar.”

“We are worth thirty of Basel’s guards,” Rufus said, his dark face contemptuous. His powerful arm flexed with muscle as he reached toward his sword.

“But we are outnumbered, about three to one,” Demetrious stated.

“You, who just scorned our uncle Seigneur Rolf Redwan for surrender without a battle, now retreats behind his words?” countered Leif. He gave a mirthless chuckle to goad Demetrious. “Come, my Greek warrior, do you measure up or no?”

Captain Demetrious gripped his sword and threw down the imaginary gauntlet. “Have you forgotten my ancestor? I may be no Norman, but I come from Alexander the Great!”

“Then?” and Leif and the others all looked at Tancred. “What will you do, Jehan?” Hakeem asked watching Tancred knowingly.

Tancred could think of nothing except Helena. “Do? I will not allow Bishop Basel to betray her to Prince Kalid,” he gritted. “I will kill him first.”

Nicholas laid a firm hand on his arm. “Basel is
my
enemy, son. He has been from the day he arranged to have me banished from Constantinople to the West. It is I who must deal with the  so-called Bishop in sheep’s clothing.”

Tancred gave a nod of understanding. He shaded his eyes, looking far off into the distance toward the Seljuk Turks, then back to Basel’s entourage riding to meet them on the plain.

“What do you have in mind, cousin?” Leif asked.

“Attack the bishop’s entourage, then make for the castle gate. There may be just enough time, but it is be seven against twenty. As you say, I do not see my uncle Seigneur Rolf among them, which tells me he is  either not there or being held captive.”

“Remember, Seigneur, Walter of Sicily is there!” Bardas said anxiously.

“The gate to the castle grounds will soon close,” Hakeem told Tancred in a low voice. He then pointed toward the rocky hills behind the castle. “I know the area well. There are secretive place to conceal ourselves. The Seljuks will not follow; it is very steep.”

Hakeem was right. The best recourse was a swift flight toward the rugged hills. “It may be that not all who ride with Basel are loyal to him,” Tancred said.

Rufus was immutable. “As a Nubian, my sword can hold off five of the enemy! What say you, Demetrious?”

Demetrious gripped the Viking sword, which he had gotten from Ordic in the Varangian Guard. It was of the long, slashing variety that could cut through bone. “I shall fight three!”

“That leaves twelve,” Tancred said, looking at Nicholas, who stroked his mustache.

“First, I take Basel,” Nicholas said.

“The rest are mine,” Leif boasted.

“Do not be overly brave,” Tancred warned them. “Our goal is to divert the mercenary soldiers and scatter their formation. Get them away from Basel. Nicholas will handle him while I escape with Helena and ride toward the upper hills with Hakeem leading the way. Once she is safely away, I will come back to help the rest of you in the battle.

“By then they will all be wounded or scattered,” Leif jested.

“If anything goes wrong—” Tancred warned looking at each one of them, “make for the hills. Save your lives, understood?”

They said nothing and glanced at one another.

“We will meet up again together outside the walls of Antioch,” Tancred said easily.

Tancred strapped on his helmet, as did the others. There followed the clink of metal, and the restless snort of the horses sensing battle in the wind. Tancred turned to Nicholas and waited.

Nicholas reached under his warrior-bishop tunic, produced a small silver cross, and raised it with benediction. “You, O Lord, are a shield about us, the defender of our heads as well as our souls—paid by your death on the cross, and established by your resurrection. You now sit at God’s right hand as our one, true intercessor. Be with us and scatter our enemies! The Lord’s will be done.”

“So be it,” Tancred said, and touching his stallion lightly with his heel, he was first to ride down the sandy mound toward the group escorting Helena, Nicholas on his right and Hakeem on his left hand. Leif, Rufus, Demetrious and Bardas each rode their chosen position, their weapons drawn.

Rufus let go with a famed Nubian war cry, and clutching his great blade in his fist, he surged out ahead, his face deadly and determined. Demetrious was swinging his Viking sword above his head, racing for the entourage. “Ai-yeee!” screeched Hakeem, his scimitar lifted and gleaming in the sunlight.

The Arabian horses sped, their nostrils flaring, their eyes wide and excited, manes flying.

Tancred eased out ahead, followed by Nicholas; Hakeem held close, low in the saddle. Tancred’s gaze was fixed upon Helena riding just ahead of Bishop Basel.

“Basel! Thou diabolic enemy!” Nicholas shouted, his teeth clenching white and hard against his tanned rugged face. “Come forth and fight, thou false bishop!”

Tancred was silent, racing toward Helena’s mare.
Beloved
! He thought.

Helena had only a moment to glimpse the warriors riding toward her and Bishop Basel. The armor they wore was unfamiliar. Protective nosepieces projected from their helmets so that their faces could not be seen. Like warrior phantoms out of the morning dawn with blades glinting, the men came thundering over the plain.

“Brigands from the hills!” shouted the captain to Bishop Basel, who rode beside Helena. “Quick! Back to the castle gate!”

“No! Too late! Stop them!” Basel ordered the soldiers. “I will ride forward with Helena. We may be able to outride them! Prince Kalid is coming now.” He turned to Helena. “Forward! Forward!”

Brigands! She thought, terrified, remembering the Rhinelanders near the Danube, and the broken rib she had suffered at a Byzantine garrison near Constantinople.

Basel gave a yelp fit to stir any attacking tribal warrior, and with a lash sent Helena’s mare lunging forward.

Who were enemies, who were friends? Helena wondered. She despised them all—Turks, Basel and his mercenaries, brigands from the hills. Was she yet to be abducted by some ruthless murderers? Even Kalid could not be as horrific as this wild band of brigands.

She urged her mare forward toward the Seljuk cavalry, Basel just behind her, the sunlight falling on his black-and-crimson garb.

***

Leif, Rufus, Bardas, and Demetrious clashed with the mercenary soldiers outside the Castle of Hohms, steel against steel, but Tancred and Nicholas  pursued Basel and Helena. A soldier from the castle rushed Tancred’s horse to attack, Tancred countered, blocking his sword. Before Tancred could turn his horse in pursuit of Helena, he had to defend himself again, and the wall of fighting men began to hold him back, while Bishop Basel and Helena surged ahead. Had Nicholas been able to pursue Basel?

Tancred’s blade struck—whacking, thrusting, parrying. He fought on, trying desperately to break through. Rufus, Bardas, Leif, and Demetrious were holding their own. Hakeem appeared with a cloud of dust and managed to come up on his left, his scimitar swinging, clearing a path and allowing Tancred to surge ahead.

The Seljuks must have seen the fighting; a number of them broke formation, riding to secure Helena and Basel.

Nicholas raced ahead. Tancred was dimly aware that Nicholas was catching up and nearing Basel’s horse.

The desert sand and rock flew past, the rugged brown hills looming large against the sky. The wind was picking up against him. “Helena!” he shouted, but the wind hurled her name back in his face, and she rushed forward, Basel just behind her. Tancred glanced back over his shoulder to see Basel bearing down on him like the grim reaper of death.

They raced. The Seljuk armor glinted, drawing closer, their sleek light thoroughbreds charging, the wind at their backs. He felt the sand rising in the wind and beginning to blow into his face shield.

Helena glanced back at him. She saw he was gaining on her and clutched at her mare’s mane, her body stretched low as the horse speed forward.

Tancred murmured under his breath. Her riding ability was working against him

Basel was falling behind and Nicholas was getting catching up to him.

Tancred leaned low over the horse speaking confidently into its ear as he left Basel behind with Nicholas.
You can do it, girl, you are winning…go, go
—

Tancred blessed the Arab trader who had sold him the racing horses, for while Helena’s mare grew winded, his own had maintained a fiery determination. Tancred maneuvered up beside Helena—

Helena lashed her mare, keeping her face close to its sweating neck, horse hooves thundering across the sand.

“Helena!”

The Seljuks were closing the gap in front of them. Tancred could now see their small painted breastplates.

“Helena!” Tancred shouted again. “You infuriating woman—it’s
me
!”

The sky rapidly grew darker. The warm wind swirled the sand along the desert floor. As the blowing sand increased, Helena began to lose firm control of the mare.

Tancred’s face shield offered him some protection from the stinging sand. He saw Helena reaching for her cloak. In the moment of confusion he advanced beside her.

“Helena! It’s me, Tancred. Turn aside!” But his face shield garbled the words.

She looked at him wildly. He leaned over and grabbed the reins, slowing the horse to turn them both back in the direction of the Castle of Hohms.

She struck him with her whip, but he snatched it from her hand, still turning their neighing horses. She fought him, trying to beat him with her free hand. Then, with one quick lift he threw back his shield.