Behind the Veil (14 page)

Her heart thudded. “Then you must show me.”

“Well, the entrance is said to be somewhere in the secret chambers of the royal family.”

Her heart sank. “Then you’ve not witnessed such an exit?”

“No, and I know of no servant who has seen it, but there are whispers.”

Helena sighed. “Our most secret inquiries will reach the emir. We can trust no one. But Jamil! There must be another route, perhaps through the hills.”

“Aziza can be trusted. She despises Mosul, and she too wishes to escape Antioch. You see, we are not true Seljuks, but Armenians. Our father was a ruler in Antioch until he was killed. Our mother is dead. And they made Aziza and me into slaves.”

Helena looked at him with grave sympathy.

Jamil lowered his eyes and petted the horse. “They also insist we worship Allah, though our father and mother were Christians. Will not Prince Kalid also make you a Muslim?”

“Undoubtedly they would try—especially if I became with child to the House of Khan. I suppose, like your mother, I will die young,” she said ruefully, “for I will not worship Allah.”

“Then you must escape, Mistress! You and the Seigneur both!”

“If we do manage to free ourselves, you too, may come if you choose.”

His eyes widened with excitement. “Truly, Mistress? And—and my sister?”

She bit her lip. “If possible, yes. If the Lord God helps us. But tell me, do you think Aziza would know a way out? Perhaps that secret passage you mentioned?”

Jamil shook his head. “She knows less than I. She does not serve in the emir’s chambers. The men who serve there have little to do with the lesser slaves. They are warriors, sworn to die to protect the emir. But I know there is a way out of Antioch; it leads through the postern gate. And if I were going to have my head removed, I could get out there. Maybe the Norman warrior could too. All of us. Do you think so?”

Her excitement soared again. “We will try, Jamil. I wish to view that gate.”

“If we ride too near the gate, the guards will notice us. You heard yesterday what Assad told us? No one is permitted near the Tower. It is a garrison.”

“Then we will only ride as near the Tower as it is safe. I want to make a report to Tancred when he awakes. Come, the afternoon wears on.”

As Jamil rode a length ahead of Helena, he called back over his small shoulder, “I have a great ambition, Mistress. I want to know Seigneur Redwan, to learn the art of warfare and courage from him. There could be none better than he. And if I help him escape Antioch, why, maybe he will let me go with him to Sicily and learn the ways of the Normans!”

“Perhaps,” she said with a laugh. “Perhaps we will both go with him to Sicily, Jamil.”

“But Aziza? If I leave her here in Antioch, who will protect her?”

“It may be that Aziza will be permitted to marry the physician’s son after all, and escape to Syria or even Constantinople,” she soothed.

For a time Helena allowed their dreams and ambitions to live. The warm wind was pleasant and promising.

The slope rose steadily toward the hills. Trees and shrubs grew like thickets, and as they ascended slowly upward the great wall of Antioch ended at the mountainous incline. Jamil drew his horse under some sycamore trees where the afternoon shadows offered relief. He waited for her to ride up beside him. The heat was oppressive, and the silence was broken only by the drone of insects.

Helena swished a buzzing insect away from her face and stared into the distance. A small gate could be made out.

“It is seldom used, Mistress. It is said to open upon a little-known trail leading farther into the rugged hills. I know of it because I am Armenian,” he explained in a whisper. “There are shepherds in the hills and mountains farther away. Sometimes they come down and are permitted through the gate to bring their goat cheese and olives to market. But Mistress, see? While the gate is small and little used, it is most strong, and to your right you can see the Seljuk guards. Once there were no guards, but with the coming of the western crusaders, Commander Yaghi-Sian put guards there to watch for spies day and night trying to enter the city.”

Helena saw the Seljuk guards and struggled with her blighted courage. “But if they are on guard both day and night….”

“There are three guards, maybe more. They are warriors, and strong and cruel when necessary,” he whispered. “They killed a shepherd last month. I saw them. Even now we must not ride any closer.”

Helena’s mind was full of possible plans—all reaching dead ends. There were exits out of Antioch and a trail into the hills and mountains, but guards and steep rugged inclines convinced her that nothing could be done yet. Tancred must be strong enough to face the Seljuks and endure the hills. His recovery would take weeks, even a month or more! Until then, they must move with caution.

“We are not ready for such a journey yet, Jamil. You must not breathe a word of our discussion today to anyone, not even Aziza. We need time.”

They rode back toward the city in silence. As they neared, seeking to avoid the Tower, Helena noticed what must have been an abandoned Armenian church.

“What of your people the Armenians? Do any serve in positions of authority, or have they all been sent from Antioch to raise flocks in the hills?”

“There are some Armenians who are important. But there is much trouble between them and certain Seljuk soldiers.”

She looked at him interested at once. “What manner of trouble? Do you mean petty wrangling and jealousy? Or is it serious differences between their religion and the Christians?”

“Both, Mistress. There is dislike between the Armenians in the city and their Seljuk overlords, but there is no open rebellion. The Armenian Firouz once served willingly, but he is not happy now. Why do you ask, Mistress?”

She noted a strange tone in his voice and pursued. “I am curious about this man, Firouz. Why is he unhappy?”

He glanced at her as though wondering if he should tell. “Well, Aziza says there is talk about his wife.” He looked at her from the corner of his eye.

Helena watched him intently. “Yes? Go on. What about the wife of Firouz? Hold nothing back, Jamil. Remember, I am from Constantinople and know well the inner workings of the Sacred Palace and the nobles.” She thought of her now dead aunt, Irene.

“She spends time with another man—” he lowered his voice. “A Seljuk officer in close service to Commander Yagi-Sian.”

“I see….” Helena was silent, thinking. The intrigue of Byzantine life while growing up had easily set the stage for understanding what was going on in the emir’s palace. “And Firouz, the Armenian?” she asked, “Who does he serve?”

“Firouz is a member of Yaghi-Sian’s council.”

Yaghi-Sian! The Turkish commander of Antioch
! At once, Helena could see how this could affect the security of Antioch. The seeds were there—and if the conditions to germinate them could be found….

“Who is the strongest ruler? Yaghi-Sian or Emir Khan? The other emirs? Prince Kalid, or his uncle Ma’sud Khan?”

“Now they say it is Yaghi-Sian. His military is in control. He is a great man, very wise and strong.”

“And Firouz, the discontented Armenian serves him on his inner council….” Her eyes sparkled as her thoughts raced ahead. “Ah, Jamil, I may have been raised in the Sacred Palace for such a time as this!”

“Yes, but—” he stopped. “Mistress! Look!” He pointed down into the plain surrounding Antioch.

From their position near the wall they watched, entranced by an awesome sight. A massive army was moving slowly in the direction of Antioch, a cloud of dust behind them. They spread across the plain as far as her eye could see, and the varied gonfanons of the western feudal princes fluttered in the wind like leaves shaking in a storm. She recognized the blue flag of Raymond of Toulouse, and the crimson banner of the Norman Bohemond. Her heart felt a thrill. No longer did the crusaders seem to her as enemies, but a welcome sight that could take Antioch and bring about their freedom.

“How many are there?” Jamil breathed, excited by the prospect of so many warriors. “Fifty thousand? A hundred thousand? Prince Kalid will find it impossible to enter the city now, Mistress, with the Seljuk cavalry from Aleppo, unless he is warned and returns swiftly.”

Jamil showed no surprise as he looked at her, and saw a smile on her lips as she stared at the ‘
barbarians
.’ He too smiled, then laughed. “Your marriage to the Most Noble Prince may be delayed indefinitely, Mistress Helena.”

“Jamil, I never thought the sight of crusaders from the West could look so gallant.”

Jamil sobered. “True, Mistress, but Antioch will never surrender to them. And will not the crusaders run out of food?”

“Yes, sadly so. But Yaghi-Sian will run out of provisions if the siege continues,” she said.

“For that to happen, Mistress, the siege must last for months, maybe a year. Our streams run down from Mount Silpius. Even now in the hot summer the thunderstorms in the dry hills always bring floods to fill the reservoirs. It is why the Armenian shepherds bring their flocks to these hills. Food is also stored in great quantities in the city, and I have shown you the fields and market gardens.” He sighed. “I do not see how the crusaders can maintain a siege for long.”

Jamil was right of course. Helena grew silent. Jamil now looked troubled as though to blame for her blighted enthusiasm.

“But Count Redwan will be pleased the crusaders have arrived so near the city, Mistress.”

“Yes,” she breathed, awed at the sight. “He will be pleased.”

Jamil smiled. “I am happy too. There is hope, Mistress.”

Yes, there was hope...but also danger.

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

So, he was caged like a rabbit! He had been lying wounded and half-dazed for over three days in the house of his enemies—and Helena’s.

The afternoon sun blazed against the drawn crimson drapes in the silent chamber. Tancred lay there trying to reason. His sword and scabbard were gone, but upon awakening he’d found his dagger near his right hand, evidently placed there by Helena, a wise woman. Without his weapons he was vulnerable, causing his frustrations to spiral. How could he manage to get out of this dark pit? Danger lurked on every side, and Helena was more defenseless than he.

His chafed under physical limitations of weakness, and he found his situation as difficult to endure as enslavement under the baron.

No!
he gritted.
I refuse to think of  defeat. If the Lord God wills, I can survive, live to capture Mosul, and  escape with Helena.

Enough of this! Silken sheets! Bedridden like a hand-fed baby! Even if it was by Helena’s hand, this he could not abide.

Tancred struggled to raise himself on an elbow, grimacing with pain. They were even now in danger of Kalid unexpectedly returning from Aleppo, and the days were slipping past. Every movement of his body brought pain. He rejected the desire to lie back down. The bleeding had already stopped and he was healing, as a physician he knew as much.  That had to be sufficient, there was no time for anything but survival. He must be up and planning. He needed a sword, and he must think.

Tancred threw the covers aside. He muzzled the protest of his flesh. Raising himself slowly, he grasped the arm of the chair and eased his feet onto the carpet. For a moment dizziness overcame him, and he broke into a sweat.

For Helena
, he lectured himself.

With cold determination, he managed to walk forward, ignoring the pain and weakness.

His survival depended upon keeping his presence a secret from his cousin Mosul. A dagger through the heart would be typical of Mosul’s tactics. The fact that he was injured and defenseless would not deter an assassin. That he was even alive could only mean that Mosul was still deceived about the ‘bodyguard’ in Helena’s chambers. How long before the deception was exposed? Which of the Seljuk soldiers had seen Helena in his arms before he was hopelessly surrounded? Someone could eventually mention it to Mosul or Ma’sud Khan.

Tancred made his way to the next chamber. Helena was not there. It was silent—not even the slaves were present. He was alone.  Hot coals still smoldered in the hearth, and the kettle of boiled meat and broth simmered. He knelt upon the cushions and warmed himself, hoping to get his blood surging. The feeling of new life began to seep through his body, and slowly his mind began to clear. With steady resolve he started to organize his thoughts.

The first thing he did was to check his wounds. They were swollen but healing. He forced himself to eat in order to gain strength. He sat staring at the embers, thinking back to the battle at the gate of the Castle of Hohms, pondering the whereabouts of Nicholas, Leif, Bardas, Rufus, and Basil. Had they made it through the gate into the castle? Where was his adoptive father, Seigneur Rolf Redwan? Wherever he was, there was little he or the others could do to aid him now. And as he already knew, Antioch could withstand a long siege. Nothing could break this siege but the successful arrival of the western crusaders under Bohemond and the other feudal lords.

He arose, struggling, and counted his steps across the chamber to a door that led into a private bath. Here he took time to rest, satisfied over his progress. If he could make it this far, he could go twice the distance next time, and the next….

A fountain bubbled musically, and the sight of greenery was refreshing. He dampened a cloth and, with difficulty, tried to bathe without twisting and stretching his wounds. He wrapped a dry cloth around his waist and retraced his steps into the chamber.

Wearily he sank onto the divan. If only he could get a message to Hakeem  and Nicholas. He could tell them to expect the caravan with Prince Kalid coming to Antioch from Aleppo. If  Kalid could be abducted, Tancred’s work here in Antioch would leave only Mosul and Kalid’s indomitable uncle, Ma’sud Khan. Ma’sud was an older man, but a rare warrior. He was the last one Tancred wished to confront.

Hopefully, the swords of  his cousin Leif and the others would not be far away.

Against his will, his eyes shut on their own…

***

Startled to wakefulness by a stealthy hand on his arm, Tancred reached and grasped an arm and whirled it aside, his dagger flashing from its hiding place.

Jamil sat sprawled on the rug. His mouth was open, and he blinked. He remained motionless, stunned by Tancred’s swift reaction.

Tancred was on his elbow, holding the dagger, and looking down upon a slim boy. Jamil’s brown eyes were wide, and the awestruck expression on his face turned suddenly to a smile. “Master, that was well done!”

Tancred studied him a moment. The boy was obviously in love with warriors, and the art of combat. He arched a brow. “I am pleased you approve,” he said dryly.

“Oh yes, well done!” Jamil repeated, and scrambled to his sandaled feet and rendered a low bow. “Jamil, at your service, Master.” He straightened. “Master,” he ventured thoughtfully, “If I were an enemy, you would have been able to take me.” He pointed to his throat.

Tancred struggled to keep a grave face. “No, not your neck, your bottom. If you ever try anything as dangerous again, I will see to it that you receive several swift and painful raps.”

The boy appeared chagrined. “I suppose I did take a risk, but—”

“First lesson, never sneak up on a man asleep who has a weapon and expects an assassin.” 

“My humble apology, Master!” Jamil winced, his pride slapped. “I only wished to see how a true warrior protects himself when—but yes, I see.” He looked off thoughtfully into space as if theorizing. “Yes, indeed so!”

Tancred wanted to smile at the boy’s earnestness, but he kept his demeanor stern. “Is there anything else you wish to know since you have me awake and alert?”

Jamil took his offer seriously. “The use of the sword and, can you use a scimitar? Here,” he  knelt down and reached under the divan. “I have a scimitar, see? It is excellent.” He jumped to his feet, and lowered his voice. “I managed to take it from the armory this morning. Try it! See what you think—”

Tancred snatched it from his hand and eyed Jamil carefully. This boy could easily end up a puppy in his lap if he allowed it.

Seeing Tancred’s careful appraisal, Jamil proceeded more cautiously. “And, I have many other questions to ask….” He stopped.

“You are a clever boy, Jamil.”

Jamil smiled and bowed.  “Yes, Master. But there is much to learn, and I am well over twelve years now! The sun hastens its setting.”

Tancred couldn’t stop himself. He laughed. “Suppose for this moment we get to a few preliminary questions.”

“As you wish.”

“Tell me how you managed to sneak the scimitar out of the armory.”

“Well, the soldiers are always busy training and they are accustomed to seeing me…so, when they were fully occupied with practicing their arts, I removed the scimitar from the weapons rack while the Chief Guard was busy, and slipped out without a sound. This was the same way I retrieved your satchel, and the …er, sword and scabbard.”

“You have located my sword?”

Jamil sprang to its hiding place and produced it.

“Excellent! I believe I have another Hakeem! Perhaps even better.”

“Hakeem?”

“Never mind for now.”

“Ah! I will reward you for this feat, Jamil. No one could have done more wisely.”

“I wish only one reward, Seigneur. Mistress Helena has already promised, but you will need to agree. You see, I know you are Count Tancred Redwan, the Norman from Sicily, and—”

“You
what
?”

“Yes, the Redwan name and heraldic is on your scabbard. I saw it. But Lady Helena told me everything about Mosul.”

Tancred took firm hold of his shoulder. Gravely he studied his eyes. They showed nothing except pride, excitement, and yes,
loyalty
!

“She told you? How much do you know about me and your mistress”

“Everything,” he whispered proudly.

“Where is Lady Helena?” Tancred asked evenly.

“With the female slaves, bathing, I think. I have already vowed my fealty unto death, Master. And in return she said I could escape with you.”

Tancred remained silent. So…. He was not surprised that Helena had succumbed to the boy’s innocent charms. Tancred could see no reason to doubt his loyalty.

“We will discuss all she has promised later. Such a clever young warrior will undoubtedly expect me to reward him for keeping it a secret. I will also reward you for reclaiming my sword and for keeping all of this information from Assad,” he said of the chief eunuch.”

Jamil’s eyes gleamed. “If you do escape and return to Sicily, I will go with you. You will train me to be a great warrior like yourself, and when I become a man, and am strong, I will be your bodyguard.”

Tancred couldn’t help himself, he was already strongly attached to the boy. He measured Jamil.
For one so young, he certainly knew what he wanted
. Tancred affected sobriety. “I will consider your request, Jamil. We will discuss the future when we have time—if we are sure we have one. Your parents may have something to say about—”

Jamil interrupted. “My parents are dead, killed by the Seljuks. I have only Aziza, my sister, and she, too, wishes to escape.”

Tancred had no wish to turn the boy into a warring soldier. “The ways of a scholar are wiser than the ways of a warrior. For one thing, you will likely live longer,” he said ruefully, wincing as he moved his arm.

“Nay! I shall be both,” he suggested jubilantly.

Tancred pulled at Jamil’s sash. “We will see about that later. But now, we haven’t much time. I must get a secret message to a friend, who also a friend to your mistress. He is now in or near the Castle of Hohms.” Tancred was almost certain Nicholas and the others would not leave for the Norman camp until they knew of his and Helena’s condition.”

“I could try to bring a message there, Seigneur. The gate near the slope of the city leads into the mountains. To then backtrack and reach the Castle of Hohms would take me five or six days.”

“I was not thinking of you traveling there. It would put you at too much risk. I was thinking whether it would be possible to use a falcon.”

Jamil’s eyes grew wider. “Oh, but I keep falcons. I feed and train them myself.”

Tancred studied the boy again. “Jamil, you are surely a heavenly gift!” He wrote a brief message, but hesitated, holding onto the small piece of paper. Though Jamil looked anxious to be on with his task, Tancred walked slowly over to the window, drew back the crimson draperies and stared out thoughtfully.

It would be too dangerous to have Jamil smuggle a falcon to him, if the boy was caught it would bring severe punishment. It was a wonder that he had been able to get his sword and satchel. Tancred’s thoughts drifted to the boy’s upbringing. If he could turn Jamil over to Nicholas for training—but this was no time to forage so deep into the future’s pathway.

As Tancred stared out the window he thought of the seldom used gate he had noticed when studying the drawing of Antioch at the Royal Library in Constantinople. If his satchel hadn’t been searched by the armory’s guards, the  drawing should still remain hidden inside. It showed the inner workings of the walls, gates, and palace. At present, he would keep the map a secret.

“The Armenian shepherds use the postern gate to bring goats and cheese,” Jamil whispered, coming up beside him.

Tancred was taken by the fact Jamil understood he must whisper certain information, which he had also done when speaking of Tancred’s sword and the Redwan heraldic.

“Do you see the upper portion of Antioch where the wall ends near the mountains?” Jamil said. “Lady Helena and I rode there this morning to see the postern gate.”

“No guards saw either of you?”

“I was careful to keep us far enough away, behind some trees. The postern gate is behind the Great Tower. Sometimes it is guarded by fewer than six soldiers. Today we saw three, but there may have been others behind the Great Tower or in the rocks and shrubs.”

Jamil’s description perfectly matched the map. Tancred looked out on the scenery, considering the difficulty of reaching that half-forgotten mountain trail. By now, the commander, Yaghi-Sian, would have guards watching the postern gate, and even have scouting missions on the trail. Tancred understood how steep and rugged the hills could be. Escape by such a route now, would not be possible until he recovered more of his strength.

He was more tired and weak than he had admitted to himself, and he leaned his shoulder against the wall and continued looking out the window.  Jamil looked up at him anxiously. “Shall I go for the falcon, Seigneur?”