Behind the Veil (12 page)

Behind the Veil  / The Royal Pavilions boo
k3
/ Linda Chaikin

It was the evening of Helena’s arrival in Antioch.  Her ten-course meal delivered by Jamil, sat untouched on the long, low table. Helena paced in her chambers, a grouping of four elaborately decorated rooms. Her stomach remained tense and her hands clammy. Her fears raced mindlessly out of control. If matters were progressing well, then where was Tancred? Why had he not been brought to her as Ma’sud Khan had promised? What if Mosul had discovered who Tancred was? He could put a dagger through his heart while he yet slept.

She opened the door of her outer chamber and found Jamil perched like a pet bird on the top of the latticed terrace, munching from a bowl of purple grapes and figs that she had refused.

“Is there any sign of the physician yet,” she demanded, as she had several times earlier.

“No, Mistress, but I shall go again and see, if you desire.”

“Yes. And send, too, for Assad,” she said of the chief of eunuchs. “Tell him I do not care if it means my head; I shall go in search for Bardas if I must.”

Jamil’s winsome brown eyes widened. He swallowed a lump of fig with difficulty. “Mistress—you would show
disobedience
?” he added with horror, “In
public
?”

Helena narrowed her gaze. “If my faithful bodyguard is not brought to me this night, I shall make a noise the emir will long remember. Go!”
There! That should stir up the beehive
!

Jamil tossed the remaining fruit aside and disappeared in flight. She heard his bare feet slapping down the steps and his shout echoing in the court: “Assad! Assad! It is t
rue
what they say about Byzantine women!”

Within minutes, Jamil came racing back up the outer steps, followed by Assad, who labored with heavy tread, puffing his indignation all the way up. When he saw Helena he gasped and blustered his alarm.

“You cannot behave this way! You must never go out without proper chaperon. You must show grave honor to the most noble Prince Kalid.” He waved his finger under her nose. “Obedience, obedience!”

Helena pretended indifference. “Nay! Unless the Byzantine is brought to me this night, I shall take to the armory myself to find my bodyguard.”

“Ai, ai!” he nearly wailed. “And disgrace the son of the emir? The greatest of warriors? The auspicious prince?”

Helena folded her arms and raised her head. “I wish to speak to Ma’sud Khan.”

“He cannot come at this time!”

“Then I will see the physician who has attended my bodyguard. I want the Byzantine brought to me now!”

“The Byzantine cannot be moved! It is the wise physician’s orders.” 

“Then my guard is alive?” she interrupted. “He is being attended, safely? Where?”

Assad wrung his hands. “In the military quarters, but—”

Assad could be intimidated, she could see as much, and took heart. He seemed constantly caught between pleasing her and offending the rules, customs, and regulations he must uphold. It wasn’t her ambition to harass him further, but it was the only way she could command attention in such a cloister.

“Then I will go there at once,” she said, and her show of determination nearly convinced herself.

Jamil appeared enthralled with the scandalous situation, and rocked to and fro on tip-toe as he watched first Helena, then Assad.

Assad raised his eyes to the ceiling, folding his hands together nervously. “Your Loveliness, I beg of you—”

“Jamil! Bring me to the military sleeping quarters.”

“At once, Mistress,” his voice cheered. ”I will get your cloak.”

“Wait, Your Loveliness, wait,” Assad said with a sigh. He sat down hard on the seat, one hand held to his chest.

Jamil produced a feathered fan and with a deep bow cooled him, enjoying the scene. Assad mopped his brow. “May Allah see my burdens,” he groaned.

“Allah already has many burdens of his own,” Jamil cautioned. “Master Assad, shall I hasten to the wise physician and bid that he bring to our mistress her bodyguard?”

“Yes, yes! Go, and may your feet fly with the wind.”

Jamil glanced at Helena and smiled. She covered her smile and turned away.

“Wait, Jamil, you should not go alone,” Assad said pushing himself to his feet, evidently changing his mind. “I had wisely come with you.”

Some time later she heard them returning. The chief eunuch was trying to explain his ordeal to  the pompous physician as he rushed along beside him trying to keep up with the physician’s long stride. Jamil hung on every word spoken, watching the two men with the excitement of a duel.

“It is not wise that he be moved!” the physician was stating. “If he bleeds to death I will be held responsible to the Emir!”

The physician swept into the room with gray brows furrowed, seeing the female who dared to interfere with his instructions. When his gaze collided with Helena’s determination, his lips tightened into a grim line. He was very tall and slim, wearing a smoke-blue turban and a knee-length embroidered tunic tied with a fringed silk sash. In his thin hand he carried a satchel. He stopped. His head lifted and his shoulders went back.

“Lady Lysander, such uncomely behavior from a woman is unheard of! What will Prince Kalid say to your actions?”

Helena’s gaze swerved to Tancred stretched out on a palanquin carried by two slaves. “Bring him into the adjacent chamber.” She led the way into the smaller room where Jamil rushed to throw back the silken bedcover. He snatched up a huge feather fan and began fanning Tancred to convince the others he should stay to view the panorama.

“Your Loveliness,” the chief eunuch Assad cried, exasperated, “is it wise to have so ill a man here in your favored chambers? Even if he is your bodyguard from youth, but—”

Helena turned to Jamil. “He needs warmth! Make a fire in the hearth. Then bring me curdled wine and all the herbs you have in the culinary.”

The physician gripped his satchel. “Your Highness, I am the physician—am I not?”

Helena looked at him. “Fear not, I intend to do as you professionally bid, Honorable Doctor. How serious are his wounds?”

He hesitated, faintly mollified. “Quite serious. I do not know if the lung was punctured. I had little time to examine him closely. The bleeding had to be stopped. He has lost much. He is strong, a warrior, and so…” His voice trailed off as his mind turned in another direction.

“And another wound in his shoulder, but it is not as serious, and he has a concussion. I might add, that he behaves with arrogance. Before he lapsed into unconsciousness, he dared tell me how to treat him. You are both entitled to each other’s company. Good evening.” He gave a sharp bow and turned to leave.

“Wait—will he live?”

“He should not have been moved. The bleeding could start up again. If you keep him quiet, and his wounds do not fester, he should improve as he otherwise appears to be in excellent form.”

The physician swept out of the chamber, and she was left with Jamil as Assad stood in the doorway to Tancred’s chamber, wringing his hands.

“You may go now, Assad.”

“Yes, Highness, as you wish, but please do not leave your chambers.”

The chief eunuch left the chamber following after the physician. Helena, disoriented, stood staring at the closed door, then turned and rushed to check on Tancred.

He was either asleep, or unconscious; she was not sure which. She hovered anxiously near his bed for a few minutes and then rushed back into the main chamber to see if Jamil had the fire going. He had a vessel of water slung from a winch above the flames. She heard a groan and rushed back into Tancred’s chamber to find him struggling to rise from the bed!

He still wore his trousers and boots, though his blood-soaked tunic was gone, and she saw with horror that fresh blood was seeping through the cloths on his chest as the physician had warned.

With a start she rushed to the bed and tried to push him back to the cushions. “Tancred, darling, you must lie still.”

He focused on her, startled at her voice and presence, then suddenly caught her, drawing her toward him. “Helena…” he said with feverish confusion, “are you unhurt?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and kissed him. “I am well. It is you who are badly injured and you must rest.”

“What are you doing here…in the armory?” he said, somewhat dazed.

She soothed his brow. “You are in my chambers,” she whispered. I am going to look after you until—”

His hand closed tightly about her arm. He could summon more strength than she had thought possible. He blinked, momentarily alert. “
Your
chambers? I cannot remain here…for your sake—”

“No, Tancred, it is well, believe me. I have told them you are my bodyguard from the Sacred Palace.”

He thrashed about in search of his scabbard, and in his struggle knocked over a small marble table. “My sword—where is it?”

She grappled with him, trying to push him back to the bed. “Be still! Your thrashing about will harm you—your wounds will open again. And if Kalid learns—” she caught herself. How much dare she tell him now?

Tancred noted the caution in her voice. “Kalid? Where is he?”

“We are very blessed. Kalid is away at Aleppo, trying to raise an army to come to the aid of Antioch. We have as much as three weeks before his return. You must rest and get stronger, then escape. Meantime, I will seek to find some way out.”

“We escape together Helena, or not at all. I will not leave you here alone.”

She might warn him of Mosul, but he was in no condition to respond to the threat. “Rest and sleep, darling,” she repeated.

“There is no time to waste. I must think, must learn the layout of the palace—where is my satchel, is it here?”

“No, but I will see if I can locate it, along with your sword. Jamil may be able to help.”

“Jamil?”

She told him of the boy. ”There is naught you can do now. Do be reasonable, Tancred. You are becoming feverish and delirious.”

The dark blue of his eyes glittered. “What happened to Nicholas, Leif, the others?”

She soothed him. “Surely they have survived and made it through the gate to the castle, or even back to the Norman camp. There is no talk of prisoners.”

“The gate—we are not in the Castle of Hohms?”

“No, Antioch,” she whispered.

“
Antioch
! Mosul—”

She must not let him know yet. “Perhaps he is with Kalid at Aleppo….”

“They are dead,” he murmured in a feverish half-consciousness, “Dead…Philip, and Basel….”

She stiffened.
Philip, dead
?

He must be delirious. She would ask him when he was recovering. Bishop Basel may be dead if he had confronted Nicholas, but Philip?

Helena thought Tancred was falling asleep, but when she began to pull away from his grip, his eyes opened and he pulled her toward him, his eyes searching hers. “How is it that Kalid has allowed me to remain here alive? Why did he not kill me?

“I told you, darling, Kalid is not in Antioch now. It was his uncle who came for me.”

“Ma’sud Khan?”

So Tancred knew of him. But of course he would
. Did he also know that Mosul was the chief captain of Ma’sud’s bodyguard?
She hastened, “He treated me well. I requested he spare your life. We have much cause to thank God.”

“Ma’sud would have no pity where I am concerned. Why would he spare me?”

She felt his searching gaze. “All right, I did the only thing at the time I could think of. We were surrounded, and you were on the ground, and the Seljuks were deciding whether to thrust you through—I convinced them you were a favored slave. My personal bodyguard. They think you are Bardas.”

His eyes, alert now, grew speculative and drifted across her face. A brow shot up, and his mouth turned. “A eunuch. That accounts for it. And besides Ma’sud, who else believes this? Helena…I want the truth. Keep nothing back.”

She tensed and swallowed. “Mosul,” she whispered. “He serves Ma’sud. It was Mosul who escorted me to these chambers. But he does not know who you are.”

His grip tightened. “He knows I am here, he will soon know who I am, if he does not know already. Neither of us will escape easily, regardless of Kalid’s absence.”

Tancred suddenly grimaced. He fell back weakly, paling, but gritted his teeth, trying to still a short, dry cough.

Seeing him in such pain, crumbled her courage. At once she felt a surge of contrition. She had been foolish to tell him; this was not the time!

He was beginning to perspire. She scrambled for a goblet of wine. Her eyes darted back to his wounds. She put the goblet to his lips, watching him anxiously. She whispered calmly, “Mosul will not yet discover the truth. He is not allowed in my chambers. Only Jamil and Assad the chief eunuch, are permitted entrance, and I can manage Assad. Do not worry.” She stroked his feverish brow. “We must not talk now. You need rest.”