"What will the bards sing of us?" Sir Alain de Banewulf
asked of his friend as they drew rein to contemplate the
vista before them, which was one of sun-baked hills and
lush valleys. It was some months now since they had left
the arid heat of the Holy Land, joining forces to make
their journey back to England. "Will men say of us that we
are sad failures or praise us for the taking of Acre?"
Sir Bryne of Wickham looked at him, narrowing his gaze
against the sun, wondering at the strange, bleak
expression in the younger man's eyes. Alain had been quiet
for some days, and now perhaps he was ready to speak of
what ailed him.
"You are still angry that we failed to take Jerusalem from
the infidel?"
Alain was silent for a moment, his thoughts mixed as he
tried to explain to the man who was so close to him that
they had lived as brothers these past few years.
Defending, guarding each other's back, they had risked
their lives for one another. Bryne was his most trusted
friend and yet even to him he could not explain the
emptiness inside him. "When King Richard quarrelled with
Philip of France and he deserted us, Richard had no choice
but to make that treaty with Saladin. We as Christians may
thank him that the Holy City is not closed to all those of
our faith. Had Richard fought on, all might have been
lost."
"Yet there is no denying that the influence of
Christianity hath been much weakened."
"So we failed, "Alain said and felt the weight of defeat
fall on him as a mantle of chain-mail. "May God and
history forgive us."
"Failed?" Bryne raised his brows. Many men would have been
more than satisfied with their accomplishments if they had
done as well.
Alain and Bryne had gained personal wealth after the
victory at Acre, much of it presented to them for saving
the life of the son of a merchant prince. Ali Bakhar's
gratitude at having the boy returned to him unharmed had
been in the form of priceless jewels, articles fashioned
of gold, precious silks and spices. But even more
important was the permission to trade freely in the waters
between Venice and Cyprus. With that gained they had what
many merchant adventurers before them had died for the
lack of: the secret of true success in these parts.
Bryne had advised prudence and they had had their fortune
transported to Italy, where one of the influential banking
families had taken charge of it for them. Bryne had
previously arranged that any prize money they won while on
crusade was to be invested in his friend's shipping fleet
on their behalf.
When King Richard had decided to leave the Holy Land,
Bryne and Alain had sailed with him for Cyprus. From there
they had gone on to Messina and thence to Rome. Here they
discovered that they were both wealthy beyond their
dreams, for Bryne's trusted friend had invested wisely and
their fortunes had increased a hundredfold in the
intervening years. They had left their gold in his charge
and carried only enough silver for their journey together
with the letters of credit that would buy them whatever
they desired, either in France or England.
"Some may believe we failed," Bryne agreed after a few
moments of consideration, for he knew that Alain had no
thought of their personal triumphs. "Had Richard curbed
his temper, mayhap history would have had kinder words."
Alain smiled oddly, shrugging off his mood. "We fought
bravely, but the odds were against us."
"And now what, my friend?" Bryne's brows rose.
They had lingered some months in Italy, taking time to see
the wonders of the country, visiting the great university
and medical school at Salerno. They took care to stay
clear of Calabria, where King Richard had unjustly seized
a beautiful falcon on his journey to the crusades, causing
much anger amongst the villagers who had owned it. For a
while they had lingered in the lush countryside of Italy's
rich wine-growing area, drinking its produce and enjoying
the idleness their labours had bought for them.
"Ah, that is the question," Alain said, and for a moment a
merry smile danced briefly in his deep blue eyes. "For
myself, I think I am weary of foreign lands..."
"Aye, I, too, have felt the call."
"It is years since I saw my mother. She will have
despaired of seeing her son again."
"I wonder if my family still lives?" Bryne frowned as he
looked into the distance, an odd expression in his
eyes. "We have all we could ever need here and yet..."
Of late both men had become restless, and as Alain looked
at Bryne he suddenly knew what was in his mind.
"So we go home?"
"I left England in the year 1187 to offer my sword to Duke
Richard. It was some many months before we set out for the
Holy Land, as you know, for King Henry died and Richard
was crowned king of England. It is now the beginning of
the year of our Lord 1195 and I confess I long for a sight
of my own land."
"Yes, I, too, have felt the need for home and
family, "Alain agreed. "When I left England it was to gain
wealth and honour as my brother before me, and perhaps I
have achieved a part of what I had hoped for."
"You are rich and no knight hath fought more valiantly,
Alain. What more would you have?"
"Indeed, I have oft wondered." A wry smile touched his
mouth; he could not place a name to that elusive dream. He
only knew that it eluded him still. "Mayhap I shall find
it in England. We shall set out for Rome on the morrow,
Bryne, and find a ship to take us home."
The sound of screaming penetrated Alain's thoughts. They
had set out early that morning, hopeful of completing
their journey to Rome within three days, and had been
making good time. Alain's mind had been elsewhere as they
rode through the softly undulating countryside. Now,
suddenly, he was alerted to danger. That was a woman
screaming and she was in some considerable distress. He
looked at his companion and saw that Bryne was alert to
the situation.
"Over there!" Bryne pointed to their right. "See, at the
edge of those trees. Brigands are attacking three men and
two women, and 'tis clear they are outnumbered by the
rogues."
"They are surrounded," Alain said and spurred his
horse. "Come, Bryne. One last battle before we seek our
ship!"
His trusted sword was in his hand as he led the charge,
Bryne and the men they had led into many such battles
following behind. The thunder of hooves echoed in his
head, and he could smell the blood, heat and dust of other
fights, remembering the screams of the injured and dying
his horse had trampled underfoot in the heat of battle. A
wry smile touched his mouth. Had he ever been young and
naïve enough to believe that there was glory in war?
He raised his right arm, sword aloft, as he bore down on
the first rogue. He was aware of a woman struggling with
men who were apparently bent on abducting her and let out
a yell that would strike terror into the heart of any
warrior. Slashing to left and right, he fought like fifty
demons as he hacked his way through to the woman. As
always, his sword gave him strength to overcome his
enemies. Its magical powers, in which he firmly believed,
had carried him through bloodier fights than this.
Saladin's soldiers were fiercer warriors than these scurvy
knaves, who had already begun to break ranks now that they
were faced by Alain's men.
From the corner of his eye he saw that the girl had
managed to break free from her would-be captors and was
being cared for by one of her own people. It was clear
that the fight was over and that the brigands were fleeing
into the trees from whence they had come.
Alain gave the girl a smile of reassurance and then turned
his head to glance at Bryne. Seeing that his friend had
dismounted, Alain did the same. He moved towards the girl
they had saved, sword in hand, intending to ask her if she
had suffered any harm at the hands of the brigands. He
began to speak and then something hit him from behind and
everything went black as he fell. He thought he heard the
girl cry out, but could not save himself as he sank to the
ground at her feet.
"What have you done, Maria?" The Lady Katherine of
Grunwald sank to her knees beside the still form of the
man lying on the ground. "You have killed him and he saved
me from those wicked men."
"Oh, my lady —" the older woman looked at her in dismay " —
he had his sword ready. I thought he meant to kill you."
"You foolish woman!" Katherine laid her hand on the
knight's forehead. He had such lovely golden hair and was
beautiful to look upon. She thought that she had never
seen a man so fair. "Now his men are angry and will likely
punish us." She looked up as a tall, dark knight stood
over her, sensing his anger. "Forgive my woman, sir. She
did not realise what she was doing."
"I saw what happened," Bryne said, glaring at her. "Your
woman hath done what all Saladin's army could not, lady.
Pray that he is not dead, for I pity you both if he —"
Alain's eyelids flickered, his long lashes shadowing
against sun-bronzed skin for a moment before he opened
them and gazed into the anxious eyes of the girl bending
over him. His first thought was that she was no more than
a child, thin and pale, her dark eyes large in a face that
was interesting rather than beautiful. Behind her he could
see Bryne's angry stance and realised in a moment what was
going on.
"No, don't murder the child, Bryne," he protested, sitting
up and groaning slightly as his head spun. A wry smile
touched his mouth. "It was not the child that hit me, I
swear."
Katherine looked at him apprehensively. Was he angry? He
did not look angry. Indeed, it seemed he was amused. She
gave him a look of apology.
"It was Maria who struck you and she is very sorry. She
thought you were one of those wicked men who attacked us."
"The brigands?" Alain groaned again, feeling the back of
his head gingerly. "Maria hath the arm of an armourer to
hit so hard. I vow 'tis a wonder that she did not crack my
skull open." Despite the pain in his head, his blue eyes
were bright with mischief as he looked at the older woman.
Her face was a picture of rueful indignation and it made
him want to laugh long and hard, something he had not felt
like doing in many a day. "What did you hit me with,
woman, a mace?"
"It was naught but a moneybag," Maria said, glowering at
him. She was a large woman with big strong arms and a
heavy build. "It is money for the ship to carry my lady
home to her family — but you may take it if you let us go
on our way."
Alain was on his feet now. He looked the woman over,
taking in her belligerent stance and fearless gaze. She
was like a she-wolf defending her young, prepared to fight
for the child she loved.
"Fear not, Maria," he said and smiled at her, amused and
somewhat touched by her devotion. "You and the child have
nothing to fear from us. We came to help you and will go
on our way now that the brigands have gone."
"Maria is truly sorry," the girl said, recalling his
attention. He saw that her eyes looked startled, somehow
pleading, like a young deer caught in a hunter's trap in
the forest. "Please do not desert us, sir. I believe we
have some leagues to travel as yet and, as you saw, we are
not able to protect ourselves."
"You were foolish to travel with such a small escort,
child." She raised her head then and he saw a flash of
pride in her eyes. "I am not a child, but the Lady
Katherine of Grunwald — and I had no choice. My father was
killed by brigands only days ago and most of his men with
him. Maria and I escaped because we had stopped to buy
food from a village." She caught back a sob and he saw
that she was fighting the tears that threatened to spill
over. "These men are all that remain of my father's
people."