Читать книгу Her Knight Protector - Anne Herries, Anne Herries - Страница 7

‘W hat 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.’

Alain looked about him. The men were old and of little use in a fight. He frowned as he saw the pleading look in her eyes and realised that she was in a perilous situation. The brigands he and his men had driven off were not the only ones she would meet with on this lonely road. He could not abandon her to her fate.

‘I am sorry for your loss, lady. You are returning to your home. May I ask where you live?’

‘In France, sir—at least, that is the home of my uncle, Baron Grunwald. My father bid me go to him if anything should happen to him.’ She struggled to hold back a sob and failed. ‘My poor father was a scholar, sir. We have been on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land these past seven years, for he wished to see the place of our Lord’s birth, but he did not realise how hard the journey would be.’

‘He was unwise to bring a young girl on such a journey,’ Alain said and saw her frown at the criticism. ‘But I cannot know his reasons. It may be that he had no choice.’

Katherine looked into his eyes. ‘My mother died just before we left home, sir. Since then my father has relied on me for many things—and I am seven and ten years. Not so very young, I think?’

Alain’s good-humoured smile broke through as he saw that he had touched upon her pride. ‘No, indeed, my lady. I thought you no more than four and ten, and must beg you to forgive me if I have offended.’

Katherine gave him an odd, shy look. ‘No, I am not offended, sir, but my father taught me it is always best to say straight out what you mean.’

‘Your father sounds a good man, my lady. Once again, may I say that I am sorry. You have lost much.’

He felt a surge of protectiveness towards her. She was alone in a country that was not her own, with very little money and no one fit to protect her.

‘Thank you. I miss Father terribly.’

‘Yes, I can understand that.’ Alain looked at her with compassion, understanding that grave, serious look in her eyes. To be alone in the world was a terrible thing for one such as she. He thought wistfully of his own happy childhood at Banewulf. He had chafed at the bonds of love then, but sometimes felt an aching need to see his mother and father again. ‘I have not seen my family for nigh on eight years now, and I sometimes wonder if they have forgot me.’

Her dark eyes dwelled on his face. ‘You have been with King Richard in the Holy Land perhaps?’

‘Yes, that is so,’ Alain confirmed. ‘We had his permission to return home this many months ago and we have delayed in this land of warmth and plenty, but we are now on our way to the coast to find a ship to carry us either to France or, if we are lucky, to England.’

‘We, too, are on our way to Rome in the hope of finding a ship.’ She looked at him earnestly. ‘I do not believe I have thanked you for saving my life, sir. Nor do I know your name.’

‘I am Sir Alain de Banewulf—and this is Sir Bryne of Wickham. We are as brothers and our men fight as one, for we have more strength by sheer force of numbers that way.’

Katherine curtsied to him and then to Sir Bryne, her elegant manners belying the poor quality of her gown and accoutrements. She was clearly well-born, but did not look as wealthy as her position as a nobleman’s daughter might suggest.

‘I thank you for your kindness in coming to our aid, good knights—and beg that you will allow us to join your party. I promise that we shall not slow you down, and we have money to pay for your services.’

That they had sufficient coin for their journey was evident from the lump forming on the back of Alain’s head. He touched it repentantly, looking at the girl and her dragon of a companion. Despite her promise, Katherine and her fierce guardian would hamper their progress, for they must stop more often so that the women could rest. However, neither he nor Bryne could leave the women to the mercy of brigands. They were sworn by their oaths as knights to protect and honour any ladies they found in distress, and their own honour would allow no other course.

There were many lawless bands roaming the countryside on the journey they must make, both here and when they reached France. Some of them were men who had set out for the crusades with high ideals, burning with religious fervour, only to become disillusioned and bitter amongst the stench of death and disease in the Holy Land. Sickness had claimed the lives of too many, and putrid wounds rendered others helpless cripples for as long as they should live. Those fortunate enough to receive the attention of the Hospitallers, as he himself had been when his arm had been injured by the slash of a sword, oft recovered, but the men who had devoted themselves to such work could not treat everyone. Too many had died of sickness and neglect.

Alain had felt the taste of defeat bitter after King Richard was forced to abandon the struggle for Jerusalem, and he understood why some men might take to the roads rather than return home. He had wealth and position and, if God had been kind, a family to welcome him home, but many had nothing to take back but memories that would haunt their dreams.

At Acre King Richard had offered gold to any man brave enough to take away the stones of the tower beneath a hail of enemy fire. His call had been answered eagerly, and the death toll had mounted rapidly as the reckless and the brave rushed to answer his challenge. Such acts of defiant bravery had won them the city where others had failed, but at a terrible cost in life. Now some of those same men had found an easier way to earn their gold—by robbing unwary travellers. Such was the harshness of the world they lived in, and to abandon this girl to her fate would be a sin.

‘We have no need of payment,’ Alain told the girl, who had been watching him with her big solemn eyes. A wisp of dark hair had escaped her wimple when she was struggling with the rogues. It looked thick and curled about her brow. ‘Neither Bryne nor I could allow you to continue without a proper escort, lady. It will be our pleasure to see you safely to your ship.’

‘You are a truly honourable knight, sir,’ Katherine said and her heart fluttered oddly as she looked into his eyes. How very blue they were! ‘Maria and I are grateful for your kindness.’ She glanced at her companion meaningfully. ‘Say thank you, Maria.’

Maria muttered something, but the look of disapproval did not leave her eyes. It was clear that she had not yet made up her mind that he was to be trusted with the care of her darling.

‘I thank you for your confidence in me, lady.’ Alain bowed to Katherine and threw Maria a mocking look, which made her frown deepen. ‘You will excuse us, ladies. I must speak with my men, make sure that none has been seriously hurt.’

He moved away to join Bryne.

‘Before you say anything, my friend—what else could I do? She and that dragon of hers will undoubtedly cause us more trouble than they are worth. Yet we could not abandon them.’

‘Her father should never have taken her on his travels if he could not protect her.’

‘Indeed, he should not. I agree with you, Bryne, that the journey to the Holy Land was no venture for a young girl, though other women have braved it— Richard’s queen, for one. Yet hers was a different case; she had the whole of England’s might to protect her and her women. However, a female in distress cannot be ignored. We should be unchivalrous indeed to send them on their way now.’

‘You are right,’ agreed Bryne with a wry grimace. ‘But that one is going to cause trouble. I feel it in my bones.’

‘Do you mean the child or the dragon?’

Bryne laughed. Despite the years of war, the hardships, anguish and grief, Alain had retained his sense of humour. He was no longer the pretty youth who had been so eager to join Duke Richard. Instead, he had matured into a man of some stature; a man others admired and respected for his fearlessness in battle. Even his brother, the great knight Sir Stefan de Banewulf, had not been more respected.

‘I meant the lady, Alain. Make no mistake, Katherine of Grunwald is not a child. Small and slight she may be—but she hath a woman’s mind and heart.’

‘You say that as if you disapprove?’ Alain arched his brows.

‘Something about her worries me,’ Bryne confessed. ‘I am not sure that I believe her story.’

‘Why should she lie?’ Alain recalled the grief he had seen in the girl’s eyes. She seemed innocent and vulnerable to him, tiny and fragile like a bird. ‘What could she have to hide?’

‘I do not know, but I would swear there is more that she hath not told us—and that she will cause us trouble before too long.’

‘You are too suspicious,’ Alain said, dismissing his friend’s words lightly. ‘She is naught but an innocent child…’

‘You worry too much,’ Katherine told her companion when they were alone. She smiled at Maria, who had been friend, comforter and stalwart supporter these past years. Without Maria she could never have borne the years of hardship and discomfort, the day-to-day endurance of constant travelling that had been her lot for more than seven years. ‘Why should they suspect anything? Besides, I have not lied. What I told them was true. I just haven’t told them the whole story.’

‘What happens if they discover the truth?’ Maria looked at her anxiously. Sometimes her beloved child was too reckless. ‘You must be careful, sweeting.’

‘How can anyone know? My father entrusted his secret only to me and I have shared a part of it with you. Neither of us is likely to tell anyone.’

Maria shook her head at her. ‘Someone else knows. The Baron was killed for his secret. If what he believed is true, you carry a precious treasure, Katherine. Men would kill for it. And these men are no exception.’

Katherine’s eyes narrowed in thought. ‘I do not believe Sir Alain would kill for gain, Maria. I liked him and I trusted him. Sir Bryne, too, seems a man one can trust.’

‘Men are seldom worthy of a woman’s trust,’ Maria muttered darkly. ‘Be wary, my dove. You know I care only for you.’

‘Yes, I do know that, Maria,’ Katherine said and gave her a smile of rare sweetness.

Her smile lit up her face from inside. She was not a pretty girl. Even her much-loved father had never pretended that she was a great beauty for her features were unremarkable. But when she smiled there was something about her that touched the heart of most who saw it. It came from the goodness of heart and the generosity that were so much a part of her character and had endeared her to those who truly knew her. She had a keen mind and had been educated by her father as if she were the son he had never been granted. In truth there was at times a purity about Katherine that made her almost angelic, and yet coupled with the innocence and the goodness was a mischievous nature that loved to tease and play.

‘You may never marry, Katherine,’ her father had told her once as they talked of the future. ‘Unless I can discover a great treasure, I cannot give you the dowry you deserve.’

‘You mean I am too plain to attract a husband without a huge bribe?’ Her eyes had twinkled with naughty humour; she had no illusions concerning her appearance. ‘Do you hope to pay someone to take me off your hands? For shame, Father!’ She laughed as he protested. ‘Nay, nay, I know you love me, and think only for my sake. Do not fear, my dear Father. Why should I want a husband when I have you?’

‘You know I love you completely,’ he had told her with an affectionate pat of her cheek. ‘But you are too like me, Kate. In looks as well as all else. Had you been like your mother…’

She had seen the pain in his eyes as his words faded on a sigh. His statement did not distress her as it might other young women. She remembered her beautiful, gentle mother with love and regret. It was all too true that she could never match the Lady Helena for looks or sweetness of nature.

Helena of Grunwald had been a fair beauty with deep blue eyes, her features as perfect as her complexion. Katherine was dark haired like her father, her eyes a deep melting brown. They were her best feature, especially when laughter lurked in their depths, which it often had until the shock of her father’s death.

Katherine had seen her reflection once in a hand mirror of burnished silver, and she had thought herself plain. Not exactly ugly, for her features were not misshapen, just unremarkable. Her nose was too short for beauty and turned up a little. She had always admired straight noses. Queen Berengaria had a perfect nose. Katherine had seen King Richard and his queen in Cyprus a few months before the triumph at Acre.

A little shudder ran through her as she recalled the terrible wounds she had witnessed at the time of Acre. Men lying helpless as their lifeblood gushed out from gaping wounds; men with their bodies torn apart, their limbs shattered. And sometimes women and children dying in pain, from wounds they had received helping their loved ones. One memory of innocent men and women being slaughtered in the street had lingered in her mind, causing her nightmares long after their suffering had ended.

Maria, Baron Grunwald and Katherine herself had worked with others tirelessly to help the poor soldiers and civilians who had been injured. It was after Acre was conquered and the King had left for Jerusalem that they, too, set out on their last fateful journey.

Baron Grunwald had been determined to discover some wonderful treasure. There were many relics to be purchased in the Holy Land, but he believed most of them false, and had set himself the task of discovering something of far greater worth. To this end he had spent months studying old scripts and maps, even hieroglyphs on stone tablets that came his way as he bargained with merchants and hunted in the markets. Katherine had never believed that his search would be successful, but he had by chance discovered something so wonderful, so magnificent, that his excitement had known no bounds.

‘Our fortunes are made, daughter,’ he had told Katherine one morning when they were alone in the pavilion they shared. It was a large pavilion with partitions for sleeping and they had been in the front, which was used for sitting and eating when the heat of the day was too fierce to be outside. ‘Every prince in Christendom would like to own such a treasure. It is priceless.’

Katherine had thought she heard something outside their pavilion, but when she looked there had been no one close by. At first she had welcomed her father’s excitement, but as he began to tell her more she had been aware of a coldness at the nape of her neck.

‘But do we have the right to sell it, Father?’ Katherine asked when her father finished speaking and she learned what the treasure was. ‘It is a holy thing and should surely be given to the church freely.’

‘You shame me, daughter,’ he had confessed, much struck by her words. ‘My first thought was for its worth—but you remind me that greed is unworthy. It was you I thought of, Kate. You would have had a splendid dowry and I would have been able to restore Grunwald.’

‘Perhaps you will find something else, Father. Some treasure that does not have such importance to our faith.’ Katherine almost wished she had not spoken her thoughts for he looked so weary, so disappointed. She knew that the gold he might have earned would have brought ease and comfort to his declining years. ‘I would not have you do something unworthy, something you might regret. As for myself, I have no wish for a great dowry. If ever I married, it would be to a man who would have me for myself, not my fortune.’

‘Your mother should have had a fortune but she was cheated of it by her brother,’ the Baron said and sighed. ‘I wed her because I loved her, Kate, but the money would have stopped our home from crumbling about us.’ Katherine sighed and shook her head over the memory and her father’s sadness. It was a sorrow he had carried for years. ‘But you are right, my daughter. No man hath the right to sell such a thing. I am privileged to be its custodian until I can give it to the person most fitted to be a true guardian.’

Katherine’s father had conquered his greed, but had soon learned to his cost that others were not prepared to accept that his treasure was not for sale.

She had never known how Baron Hubert of Ravenshurst had discovered that her father had the precious treasure but, as they began the long journey that would take them home, they had become aware that they were being followed.

At first Baron Grunwald had refused to believe that anyone could know that he had discovered the secret that men had been searching for since our Lord’s crucifixion.

‘I have told no one but you, Kate. And I know you would never have breathed a word outside our tent.’

‘You know I would not, Father—but the Lord Hubert’s men have been following us since we left Cyprus.’

‘He cannot know…’ Katherine’s father had shaken his head anxiously. It was impossible for the English knight to know what he carried, and yet there was little doubt that his ship had followed close on the heels of theirs. And now that they had landed in Italy, the Baron’s men were again following them, discreetly and from a distance, but always there. ‘It is impossible, Kate. We make something of what can only be coincidence.’

Yet the next morning they had had a visit from Hubert of Ravenshurst. At first he had been charming, offering to buy the treasure for a huge amount of gold. Had they accepted his offer, it would have made them rich, but Katherine’s father had denied all knowledge of the object the English knight sought.

‘It is better to pretend to know nothing,’ he’d told her after their visitor had departed. The Lord Hubert had made no threats, but his manner had shown them that he was angry at being refused. ‘Remember that if you should become the custodian of our treasure, Kate.’

‘What can you mean?’ Katherine’s eyes widened in fear. ‘You are the custodian, Father.’

‘If something were to happen to me, you must go to your uncle. You know that he hath been the steward of Grunwald in my absence. If I die, he will become the rightful owner. You will have nothing, Kate, but he will take you in for my sake. Besides, there is no one else you can trust.’

‘I pray you will not speak of dying! I would rather you gave the…treasure to the Lord of Ravenshurst.’

‘Never!’ Her father’s eyes had glinted with unaccustomed anger. ‘I would rather die than give that devil such a precious thing, Kate. His very touch would despoil it. No, it must go to the church, as you said, for all men to see and revere.’

‘Oh, Father…’ She had looked at him helplessly. Was it pride that made him speak so foolishly?

She wished that she had argued further. She had been against selling the treasure, but, realising the threat to her father, she would have done anything to be rid of it. Anything except hurt him.

Now she wished that she had thrown his precious treasure into the river, but it was too late. Her father was dead and the burden had passed to her, for it was a burden. She knew that she could not simply give it up. Her father had made her promise the day he placed it in her care that she would do all she could to see that it was taken to a place of safety. She must carry on as he would have wished, no matter her own feelings.

Maria knew only that she carried something precious on her person. Katherine could not burden her with the whole truth. If she had been able to reconcile her conscience, she might have rid herself of it, for her father’s death had made it hateful to her, yet she knew deep within herself that she could not do such a wicked thing.

What she carried belonged to the whole of Christendom. It must be placed in a great church, somewhere worthy of its significance where it could be seen and appreciated by those who needed it most. Her father had spoken of approaching the Pope himself. They had been so close to achieving what they set out to do, but now her father was dead and she did not believe that the Pope would listen to her. She would probably not be granted an audience and she would share her secret with no other, for even amongst the priests and cardinals there was greed and corruption.

Her father had bid her go home if he died, and in her troubled mind she saw it as the solution to her problem. Somehow she must get her sacred trust home to France. Once she was at her uncle’s manor in France, she would be able to decide what must be the fate of this precious thing. Her uncle was Baron Grunwald now. Surely he would know what to do? Yes, she must see the cup safe before she thought of her own future.

What were a few small lies in such a cause?

Katherine’s thoughts turned towards the knight with the merry blue eyes, remembering the way her heart had raced when he opened them to look at her. How fair he was to look upon! No man had ever caused her to feel that way before and she smiled at her own foolishness. To let herself dream of this man would be folly indeed. He had thought her a child, and that she had not been in many years. Not since that terrible night at Acre, when she had seen people she loved as friends hounded from their homes and killed like rats in the street.

Her father had told her that such things happened in war, that even the best of men might behave badly when the blood-lust was raised in him, and she knew that what the knights did that day was a part of war. Yet it had haunted her dreams for months and even now she was not completely free of the memory.

Because of that memory, she was vaguely uneasy about telling the whole of her story to the knight who had charged so valiantly to her rescue. She was grateful for what he had done for her, but she dare not trust him with the complete truth.

Something of the importance and value she carried might turn the minds of even the most honourable of men.