The Sword and the Rose. V. J. Banis

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СКАЧАТЬ in his undertunic. She hadn’t been so content in months; she knew herself well enough to know that she was never really satisfied without a man to fuss over. When her father had been alive, caring for him had filled the need to some extent, and of course there had been lovers.

      She had been honest in telling the Scotsman that she was no virgin. She liked a bout of lovemaking now and again as well as any man, but she liked one man as a lover, and she liked to be able to care for him in every way—preparing his food, mending his clothes. In short, she wanted a husband, but none of the men she had met had suited her that far—none until now, anyway.

      When he had eaten and dressed, he came to where she was sitting at the door of his hut. “I’ll take you home,” he said.

      She shrugged and said, “There is no need. I can stay here and care for you.”

      He looked down at her for a moment. The feel of her body beneath his was still fresh in his memory, and he was tempted to agree; the memory was so pleasant.

      But it was useless to confuse physical desire with love, and however futile, he loved another. To take this lusty gypsy girl for his woman would be false to both of them.

      “I’m sorry, Elaine,” he said, touching her raven hair with the tips of his fingers. “It would not do.”

      At first she was hurt and confused, then angry. “I can find my own way,” she said when he again offered to return her to her own camp, and she flounced off with her head held high. He watched her walk away, his eyes following the swing of her wide hips, and was nearly tempted to call her back and tell her he had changed his mind.

      Before he could do so, though, a messenger approached the Scottish camp, his eyes looking about him with an air of disapproval.

      “I come from His Grace the Archbishop,” he said, “with instructions to bring to him a knight from this camp, the Falcon, as he is known.”

      “I’m Sir Kenneth,” the knight replied, surprised that so august a person as the archbishop could have need of his services. “Sometimes called the Falcon. What does His Grace want with me?”

      The messenger, hardly more than a lad, gave a shrug of his shoulders and said, “I’m to bring you to the Council of Princes. They aren’t likely to confide their plans in me.”

      “You more than I,” Kenneth thought, but aloud he said, “Let’s go then.”

      He was brought in short order to the tent in which the Council of Princes commonly met. A wide ring of open ground was kept around the tent and guarded by several sentries who seemed to know the messenger, as they were not hindered in their progress.

      The archbishop waited just inside the vast tent. A throne, larger than any used by King Richard, was placed there for him, although at the arrival of Sir Kenneth and the messenger he was standing and pacing to and fro.

      The boy showed Kenneth inside and then, with no word, disappeared, leaving the knight in the presence not only of the archbishop but of the many sovereigns of the crusade, who he could see seated about the tent.

      Kenneth dropped to his knees before the archbishop.

      “Are you the knight they call the Falcon?” the holy man demanded.

      “I have been called that. Sir Kenneth, a Scots knight, at your service, Your Grace.”

      “Rise, Sir Kenneth,” he said, “and be at ease. We have heard good report of you and stand in need of your services.”

      Kenneth was duly awed, not only by that unexpected remark but by the very presence of the holy man. This was the same William, Archbishop of Tyre, who had in part instigated this Third Crusade and who had blessed King Richard and Philip Augustus at Vezelay. He was a striking figure of commanding aspect. Kenneth had been told that in his youth William was very handsome, and even in age he was hardly less so. His episcopal dress was of very rich fashion, trimmed in precious fur and surrounded by a cope of elaborate needlework. On his fingers he wore rings worth a good barony, and the hood that he wore unclasped and thrown back, for it was stifling in the tent, had gold fastenings.

      He had a long beard, now silver with age. He was served by two youthful and handsome acolytes, one of whom, in the Eastern fashion, held an umbrella of palm leaves over the archbishop’s head while the other fanned him with a fan of peacock feathers, their brilliant colors winking in the sunlight coming through the opening of the tent.

      “I will serve in any way I can, Your Grace,” Kenneth replied, proud that he had been deemed worthy of such an honor.

      “There lives at Engaddi, a few days’ journey from here, a holy man, a hermit. We wish you to take this packet to him. Say that it is our understanding that he is on friendly terms with Saladin. And add your own pleas that, as he loves God and the Holy Church of Rome, he will intervene with the sultan on behalf of the request contained in these letters.”

      “If I am to plead the cause,” Kenneth said boldly, for it was not his place to question God’s representative upon this holy crusade, “might I not know the nature of the cause? Is it an extension of the truce?”

      For a moment the archbishop’s eyes flashed, but then he stroked his beard thoughtfully and said, “It will be better to tell you some of the truth than to spawn rumors. But, at peril of your immortal soul, I mark this secret between yourself and this council. We seek agreement from Saladin to a lasting peace, and the withdrawal of our armies from Palestine.”

      “Saint George,” Kenneth said in astonishment, forgetting himself briefly. “But—”

      “Good knight,” the archbishop interrupted him wearily, “we have told you the nature of your mission. Do not tax our good nature too sorely.”

      Murmuring “My lord,” Kenneth again bowed his head. “I will deliver your message and return at once, God willing.”

      “God is willing,” the archbishop said dryly. He touched the knight faintly on the shoulder. “Bless you, my son, and God keep you.”

      Kenneth thought, going out, that he would need God’s protection, for he knew well enough the hardships of the great desert, which would have made the journey treacherous even if the land were peopled by allies instead of by enemies.

      * * * *

      By evening he had made arrangements to leave in the early morning hours. Before retiring, he checked the wound on his head and found it healing nicely, the pain almost completely gone. He smiled and thought of the gypsy wench; everything she had done for him she had done well. Perhaps he would see her again when he returned from his mission.

      He shed his clothes and dropped to his bed. He had not quite drifted off to sleep when Krouba, sleeping on the floor beside him, roused him with a low, warning growl.

      At once Kenneth grabbed his sword and called, “Who goes there?”

      There was a rustle of movement near the door of his hut, and a throaty feminine voice said, “Hush, don’t rouse the camp.” In a moment Elaine had slipped into the bed with him.

      “I thought you had gone back to your own camp,” he said.

      “What kind of doctor would I be if I did not check on my patient?” she asked in a petulant tone. “Perhaps you have a fever, Sir Knight. СКАЧАТЬ