“It was the thought and belief in all our minds.”
What was he to do? Edward wondered silently, the pain of his spirit making his wound as nothing. “God knows we have tried,” he said aloud, “but with a thousand men, we have achieved so little. Sometimes I feel the hideous desire to pray to God to rain destruction upon all the sanctimonious Christians who have refused to leave their comforts and come to our aid.”
“The Holy Land is thousands of miles from most of Christendom, sire. It no longer holds the promise of great wealth, or even the promise of freedom for God’s people.”
“Aye, that’s true, but still, when I think of King Hugh, him and his miserable barons, snug and safe in Cyprus, I want to kill the lot of them. And our sainted King Louis’s brother, King Charles of Sicily—a ruthless, ambitious man, our Charles. I think he schemed only for control of the trade routes in the Mediterranean. I begin to believe that God has forsaken His land. We came with such hopes, like children who look only to God for succor.”
“Acre would have fallen had we not come.”
Edward said quietly, “Acre will fall, Jerval. It is but a matter of time. And when Acre does fall, the damned Venetians and Genoese will be slaughtered. I wonder if they will realize that it was their own greed over the control of Palestine that brought them to their end?”
“No, probably not,” Jerval said and fell silent. He knew well that even Edward’s near death had brought only mendacious letters of concern from Christians in the Holy Land. There was nothing more, never anything more. Duty to God and to Edward was a grave cross to carry.
“I have given it a lot of thought,” Edward continued quietly. “What I sought to accomplish was a child’s dream. I see clearly now that all we can hope for is a temporary halt to Sultan Baibars’s mad desire for the rest of Palestine. I have heard it said that Baibars fears me.” He laughed, bitterly. “Why, I cannot imagine. He probably believes that confronting me would bring the rest of Christendom to my aid. He seeks a treaty, Jerval.”
“A treaty? I did not know, sire.”
“You are the first I have told. I think he grew restive at my delay and took a chance that the rulers of Christendom would simply mourn my death with pious prayers, as they did King Louis’s. Had I been gracious enough to succumb to the assassin’s dagger, Baibars would have gained what he wanted with no effort at all. Do you know that the bastard had the gall to send me his profound regrets that an assassin had nearly killed me, an assassin he, naturally, knew nothing about?”
“By God, I would like to stick my sword through his miserable belly.”
“Save your anger, my friend. If I guess aright, he is even now taking advantage of my weakness to gather an army to attack us. It is sound strategy, I must admit. I need you to lead our troops, Jerval. I have no wish to be forced to negotiate a treaty with Baibars without an army.”
“We have men scouting to the north. We will know soon enough if and where the Saracens are gathering.” Jerval turned questioning eyes toward Edward. “You have decided upon the treaty with Baibars, then?”
“Aye, I have decided. Our failure will be a grave disappointment to my father.”
&nbs
p; “You have accomplished more than your great-uncle, Richard,” Jerval said.
“My great-uncle—the Lionheart—what a fantastical man he was. I believe he was driven by the lust for adventure and battle.” Edward added, his voice infinitely weary, “I was driven by God.” He raised his eyes to look at Jerval. “It seems that neither is enough.”
Amaric watched the Lady Chandra as she paced outside her tent, awaiting news of the battle. He had not liked being assigned as her personal guard so that Lambert and Bayon could join the battle. He wished she would at least go back into her tent, so he could find some shade and return to his dice without the sun beating down on his head.
They both looked up at the pounding of a horse’s hooves. Amaric moved closer to his lady, saw that it was Sir Eustace de Leybrun, and eased away again.
“Eustace,” Chandra said, her voice cold, for she wouldn’t ever forget what Beri had told her about him.
“Chandra, thank God I have found you so quickly. I must speak to you.”
She automatically took a step toward him, her heart pounding. “What is it, Eustace? Come, tell me, quickly, what has happened?”
Before he answered her, Eustace’s gaze flickered toward Amaric.
“Oh, God, something has happened to Jerval? He is wounded, isn’t he?”
He nodded his head, not meeting her frantic eyes. “He has been wounded, Chandra, badly, and sent me to fetch you. I have already sent the physicians ahead, for the fighting is over. Quickly, get something to cover your head. The ride will be hard. We must hurry.”
When Chandra came out of the tent but moments later, she saw Amaric standing by her horse. He tossed her into the saddle and jumped astride his own destrier.
“Amaric will help me protect you,” Eustace said. He brought his mailed hand down upon her palfrey’s rump, and the mare broke into a gallop.
“He will be all right,” she said, looking straight ahead. “He will.” She refused to think anything else. She dug her heels into her palfrey’s sides and lowered her head close to the mare’s neck.
They rode north toward Caesarea, keeping the inland sea but a mile to their west. They had ridden but half an hour when she heard Amaric call out behind them, “Sir Eustace! The fighting was to the north. We are headed east.” Chandra looked to her left, for she had not noticed they had lost sight of the sea.
Eustace drew in his destrier and waited for Amaric to rein in beside him. Chandra turned her mare, frowning. She saw Amaric slide to the ground from his horse’s back. Eustace, smiling now, was rubbing his blood off a dagger. She stared at him in shock, and then at Amaric, sprawled dead upon his back.