The Dragon and the Jewel (43 page)

“Put me down instantly; how dare you touch me!” she choked. “My letter told you plainly I am here to negotiate the release of Amauri de Montfort.”

He laughed as he looked deeply into her eyes. “I cannot get over the way you look at me. Your eyes are like deep, blue Persian sapphires that blaze with fire. My other women dare not look me in the face. Their lashes are lowered when I give them permission to speak.” He lowered her to the divan and she struggled to get up.

“Sir, I am a royal princess of England. I am your equal, nay, my rank is far superior to yours!”

Selim was genuinely amused at her words. “All women are inferior to men. Princesses are nothing unique to me. I have a princess in my harem. You will not be the first to come to my bed.”

“This is preposterous,” Eleanor said furiously. “I have no intention of coming to your bed, and how dare you insult me by
comparing me to a princess from some tin-pot regime? I am a Plantagenet and you are treating me like a slave girl.”

Selim studied her intently. “I thought you were here to negotiate.”

“I am,” she asserted.

“A woman has only one thing to offer,” he said with a slightly perplexed frown. “I am willing to accept your offer in return for the hostage.” Now that he had made all plain, he expected her to be pleased. She seemed anything but pleased.

“I came here to negotiate in good faith, sir. To offer to open up trade routes between our countries and you treat me like a houri.”

“Such things are not within the sphere of women’s capabilities. These things I will discuss with your husband this evening.”

She was startled. “My husband is coming here?”

He chuckled. “Do not pretend ignorance, Precious Jewel. He has sent you as a gift to me, knowing that if you bring me pleasure it will smooth negotiations between us.”

Eleanor for the first time felt real fear. She was far more afraid of Simon de Montfort than of Sultan Selim. “Ah no, you are mistaken. My husband would never share me with another man. I must be gone from here before he arrives. He is a war lord. He would not hesitate to kill you or kill me if I betrayed him!”

“Such passion delights me. You are so very dramatic, you sound as if you really believe what you say, but you forget I know all about you. He has already shared you with another man. The Marshal of England took you to wife when you were nine.” He licked lips gone suddenly dry. By the moon and the stars, he wished he’d tasted her when she was nine. “Remove your garments for me, Precious Jewel. I would see your perfection now so I may savor the hours until nightfall when you will return to share my couch.”

“You must be mad!” She ran toward the door, but Selim was after her in a flash. With ungentle hands he dragged her back and threw her upon the divan. “Just because I admire your passion and spirit does not mean I am prepared to suffer your insolence. When I give a woman an order, I get obedience.”

Her chin went up in defiance and he launched himself upon her. He had a cruel strength in his hands, which he used to tear her garments from her body. Eleanor screamed and fought him wildly, but no one heard or heeded her cries for help. When she tried to bite him, he hit her so hard she blacked out for a moment, and as she came back to consciousness she shuddered with revulsion as she felt his hands run up and down the length of her naked body.

He grimaced at her reaction. “Tonight you will try an Egyptian prick for flavor; you will love it.” He stood up from the couch with narrowed eyes. He did not want her fighting and biting. He wanted her tiny sheath hot for him. Fayid would know just what magic ingredients to add to the almond sweetmeats and honeyed drinks she would be served before she was brought to him.

Eleanor’s clothes lay in shreds about her trembling body. She wondered if she should plead with him, tell him she was with child and beg him to let her go, but she knew in her heart it would make no difference to the evil swine. A woman meant only one thing to a man like the sultan—a warm body. If she did not comply she was less than nothing, without value whatsoever.

He went to the door and Fayid entered. The servant must have been waiting outside all the time. She held out a loose, white silk robe for Eleanor, who had no choice but to take it thankfully. Fayid was not at all surprised that the sultan had humbled the proud princess.

T
he hour when Selim’s guest would arrive was fast approaching. As his slaves bathed and dressed him, the sultan discussed business with two aides and at the same time gave last-minute instructions regarding the dinner. He also changed the chamber assigned the war lord to one above his own, which overlooked the garden and pool where Precious Jewel was lodged.

Just then there was a knock on his chamber door. The captain of his guard informed him that his guest had arrived bearing many gifts. No less than twenty camels stood in the courtyard laden with large earthenware jars containing precious oils, rare spices from the Orient, forbidden golden wines, aromatic myrrh, and even gunpowder, an explosive mixture of sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter.

It was much more than Selim had expected but he reasoned that since his wealth was legendary, the representative of the Holy Roman Empire brought tokens of great value to prove they could match or outdo him in all things. For two powers to negotiate they must appear to be equal in wealth, manpower, and determination. It was important not to lose face from the
outset. Selim gave orders that the hostage Amauri de Montfort be present at the dinner.

Simon de Montfort dismissed the palace servants because he had brought his own body servants with him. In actuality they were his two battle squires, Guy and Rolf. They took no chances. Knowing the proliferation of narcotic drugs in the East, Rolf tasted the food and drink that had been provided before he allowed his son Guy or his lord Simon to refresh themselves.

The Earl of Leicester bathed and donned black silk for his dinner with the Sultan of Egypt.

Eleanor found that she could not stop trembling. While she was in Selim’s presence she had fought the tears so long that her throat felt constricted, and now when she thought the floodgates would open, she found that she could not cry. Her skin crawled as she remembered his touch. After pacing like a caged pantheress for the best part of an hour, she finally could bear it no longer. She walked rapidly into the garden to the edge of the pool, threw off her white silk robe, and slid deep in the water to cleanse her body of Selim’s contamination.

As Simon gazed down from the latticed window, his eye was caught by a movement far below in a garden. He
stood
transfixed as the unmistakable figure of his wife threw off a white garment and began to disport herself in a bathing pool. His fists clenched into iron balls. His fury almost choked him. He knew he had never before known an anger so great in his entire life. His informers had given him the information that she had gone to the summer palace, that she had passed through the gates, but that only her servants had left. He had been incensed at her impulsive meddling in men’s affairs. Would she never learn to keep her woman’s place?

Now, however, he was enraged. She had placed herself in Selim’s power, and he was obviously enjoying the fruit that Simon owned and had assumed was his exclusively for all time. His beloved Kathe whom he cherished above all things was bathing naked as if she were in the privacy of their bedchamber at Kenilworth.

Here was the woman he had pursued at all odds to make his wife. The king had impugned the honor of Simon de Montfort
over this woman, and he even suffered exile because of her. Simon did not realize that it was jealousy that fanned the flame of his fury. He turned from the window and battled with himself for control. At least he now knew where the faithless little bitch was lodged.

A palace servant reentered the room to usher the three men to the room where they were to dine. When he came face to face with his host, Simon found that he could not unclench his fists. It took all his control not to smash the sultan in his beautiful white teeth. In his mind he knew he had to place his wife at one side while he focused upon Selim and the goals he must accomplish.

They sat cross-legged upon huge cushions before low tables inlaid with lapis lazuli. The gold medallion that hung upon a chain about Selim’s neck was probably worth more than Simon would be able to accumulate in ten years.

Selim’s sly eyes had been watching for what would pass between the de Montfort brothers as they sat at such close range, but the Earl of Leicester seemed totally indifferent to the presence of Amauri. Selim was amused to see the war lord’s body servants who sat flanking him taste everything before their master did. If they suspected poison then they had no idea how desperately he wanted this truce. He veiled his eyes and forced himself to patience. He would not broach the subject until they had dined and enjoyed watching his dancing girls perform. He was impressed with the Earl of Leicester’s courage in coming with only two attendants; he had expected him to bring at least a dozen guards.

The men in the room seemed mesmerized by the undulating rhythm of the gyrating females. Their finger cymbals clashed in time with the pounding of the blood in the men’s veins. Their transparent skirts revealed their naked bodies while their yashmaks concealed their faces, which was most erotic. When the girls, one by one, walked upon their hands and their skirts fell about their heads, it confirmed what the men had suspected. They wore no undergarments whatsoever. Selim hid a smile as he leaned toward his guest. “I offer you one of my
precious jewels.
Feel free to chose.”

Simon’s eyes flicked over the women and came to rest upon
the tallest. Though her hair was golden, her skin was dusky. “Have that one remove her veil,” ordered Simon. When he saw that the female had an attractive face, he nodded his head in acceptance. At a sign from the sultan, she slid to the floor beside the war lord.

Selim knew he must broach the subject of the truce for he knew instinctively that the giant before him would outwait him if it took the rest of eternity. “I offer the return of your brother Amauri without ransom. What do you offer if I renew the truce?” he asked smoothly.

Simon’s deep laugh rolled about the room. “I offer nothing and in truth you offer nothing,” he stated.

“You consider the life of your brother nothing?” Selim asked.

Simon looked squarely into Selim’s eyes. “He is worth more to me dead than alive. He is a sovereign prince in southern France … I stand to inherit.”

Selim drained the goblet of forbidden wine he had ordered served because his guest observed no taboos against alcohol. The negotiations inched forward as Selim realized de Montfort was determined to drive a hard bargain. Whatever he offered was refused out of hand, and the war lord made a counteroffer. When Selim offered camels, de Montfort shook his head and demanded Arabian horses. When Selim offered gemstones, Simon demanded gold. Simon had drugged Selim’s wine and needed his signature on the truce documents that the emperor had drawn up before its effects were fully realized.

Simon’s eyes flicked to an arched window to see if any light remained in the sky. When he saw that it was full dark, he knew his men would be slipping silently from the earthenware jars that concealed them. He pressed Selim for the first time. “Our terms are generous. We ask that you open trade routes that have been blocked by the Turks.” When he produced the document bearing Frederick the Great’s signature, Selim signed it immediately. Simon raised his goblet.

Selim signaled for more wine. “The accursed Turks are a scourge upon the land. Perhaps if we joined forces we could eradicate them.” Selim fought a battle to keep his heavy eyelids from closing, but he was slowly losing that battle. Suddenly a bloodcurdling war cry filled the air and forty black-clad, knife-wielding
Turks descended upon the diners. Selim’s worst nightmare had become a reality; his summer palace would be destroyed by the mad Turks. He pitched forward into blackness.

It seemed that every honeycombed passage became filled with a panic of servants, slaves, scantily clad females, eunuchs, and palace guards. Hysterical screams and smoke spread through the halls of the palace as its inhabitants fled from the attackers’ bloodlust.

Eleanor became aware of the pandemonium long before her chamber door crashed inward. The sound of her screams blended with others as a black-clad figure descended upon her and slung her across his shoulder. Smoke swirled in the door, but it did not hide the sight of the slumped bodies of the eunuchs who had been guarding it.

All was confusion; the din deafening. Acrid smoke caused her to choke and her eyes to sting painfully until tears streamed down her face. Through a blur she saw bodies and blood, yet no one seemed to be fighting back. The attack had taken all by surprise and uppermost in every mind, male or female, slave or guard, was the thought of fleeing.

The Turks’ heads and faces were wrapped with black scarves so that only their wild and terrifying eyes were visible. Eleanor was passed from one to another until she was outside in the palace courtyard. A sudden explosion sent the iron gates of the palace crashing through the air and she heard herself half sob, half scream as a black-clad giant ran with her through the dust and smoke. Her captor handed her up to a man astride a destrier, and as he did so his black sleeves fell back to expose dragons tatooed upon his forearms. Her heart lurched as she realized who had rescued her. She swiveled her head to learn the identity of the man who now gripped her so tightly and stared into the eyes of her brother Richard. “By the beard of the Prophet, Cockroach, Simon will beat you to a jelly for the trouble you’ve caused him this night.”

When Simon de Montfort was satisfied that the summer palace at Ascalon would never again be used by the Sultan of Egypt, he stalked back to the dining salon in search of Selim. Flanked by Guy and Rolf, Simon found the enemy he sought
still slumped upon cushions in a drugged sleep. They carried him to his golden throne, stripped off his voluminous trousers, and laid him across that throne like a naked sacrifice upon an altar.

Simon de Montfort observed everything through the red haze of bloodlust. Very deliberately he pulled the chain from about Selim’s neck and secured it tightly about the sultan’s scrotum like a ligature. He intended to geld him for violating his wife. The operation was a simple enough procedure, which he’d performed on many war horses. All one had to do was slit the sac, then pop out the balls. Suddenly a mental picture of what he must look like came to the Earl of Leicester, and he felt a sickening distaste for the whole unsavory business. It was not his style to maim an unconscious man while his lieutenants held him trussed for the slaughter. He was near torn in half by his need to take revenge upon the swine who had dared to covet what was his, but he had hesitated and knew he would not go through with the abomination. His knife slit Selim’s sac to leave his mark upon the man, but he did not geld him; he left him intact. With an obscene curse he sheathed his weapon and signed for his two squires to quit the place, but not before he slipped the gold medallion beneath his belt.

Safe once more in the rooms she occupied at the Templars’ stronghold in Jaffa, Eleanor slowly recovered from her ordeal. She quaked inwardly whenever she contemplated the moment she would come face to face with her husband. Praise God that Simon had rescued her from the fate of sharing Selim’s bed, but she knew he would be enraged over her interfering in what he called “men’s affairs.” He was the most renowned warrior of the age, and she could see his fierce black eyes and hear his deep voice demanding of her “Did you not have enough faith in me to renew the truce and effect the release of my own brother?”

She felt shame, remorse, and repentance. She must chose her words very carefully to make him understand her impulsive behavior. Damn this heat, she could bear it no longer; and damn Henry for the sniveling coward he was to let Winchester control him. She wanted to be in her own country, in her own home. She felt she could not bear to be separated longer from
her first child and be forced to bear her second child in exile. With tender hands she cupped her belly and felt very sorry for herself.

Most nights she found that sleep eluded her. When Morpheus did claim her, her dreams were marred by such horrific nightmares she was apprehensive about going to bed. She knew what would cure her. She needed Simon in the bed beside her. She needed his strong arms to pull her down to him when she started up from a bad dream. She needed his big body to cover hers and blot out the world. She needed his long, thick manroot to fill the terrifying emptiness inside her.

Eleanor felt cold. Though the heat was stifling, a cold hand seemed to grip her heart. Her maids had informed her yesterday that Simon de Montfort had arrived with his brother Amauri. She had awaited him breathlessly, but he had not come to her. She reasoned that he would be closeted with Frederick for long hours, then when he did not come she told herself it was only natural that he would spend time with his brother, but when midnight came and went she knew that Simon would not come.

She felt haggard from lack of sleep when she dragged herself from her lonely bed the next day. She bathed, spent hours choosing her prettiest gown, then changed three times before she was satisfied with her appearance. She was just past the halfway point of her pregnancy and had begun to show. She decided to go down to the dining hall for the midmeal of the day. She would not be able to eat a thing, of course, but she would confront her husband who would be loathe to create a scene in front of the emperor, Richard, and Amauri.