GOLDEN PALACES

           by LINDA CHAIKIN

             Published by:  Bethany House Publishers
         A Ministry of Bethany  Fellowship, Inc.
     11300 Hampshire Avenue South  Minneapolis, Minnesota 55438.
     except the map "ROUTE OF THE  PEASANTS' CRUSADE, 1096."

      Copyright 1996 Linda Chaikin
 
       BOOK JACKET INFORMATION

     THE ROYAL PAVILIONS--2

      CLOTHED WITH THE PROMISE OF SALVATION, THE KNIGHTS
    OF THE FIRST CRUSADE FIGHT GALLANTLY TO RECLAIM
    THE HOLY LAND ... BUT ONLY THEIR COURAGE CAN SAVE THEM
          FROM THE INFIDELS.

  Helena of the Nobility has long resigned herself to the control of her aunt Lady Irene, a woman for whom betrayal is commonplace. Having banished Helena's mother from Constantinople, Irene stalks the palace courtyards while Helena secretly plots her escape. Determined to dissolve any thoughts of a union between Helena and her son Philip, Irene is now intent on securing Helena's hand in marriage to a Muslim prince.
  Helpless to elude the powerful Lysander family, Helena turns to the one man she believes loves her enough to prevent her demise. But Philip Lysander is no match for the cunning temptations Irene plants in his path. Betrayed and heartbroken, Helena has no other choice but to turn to the rebel Tancred Redwan, a man in whose heart she fears and in whose honor she finds safety.

    WHEN WAR AND TREACHERY THREATEN TO TEAR THEM APART,
      ONLY HIS SWORD OFFERS
      A WAY OF ESCAPE. ...

         Books by Linda Chaikin

Endangered

    Heart of India Series
Silk
Under Eastern Stars
Kingscote

    The Great Northwest Series Empire Builders
Winds of Allegiance
 
    Royal Pavilion Series
Swords and Scimitars
Golden Palaces
Behind the Veil

  LINDA CHAIKIN is a full-time, best-selling author. She is a graduate of Multnomah School of the Bible in Portland, Oregon. She and her husband, Steve, are involved with a church-planting mission among Hindus in Kerala, India. They make their home in California.

  Cover illustration by Joe Nordstrom

            Fictional Characters

Tancred Redwan, the hero, a Norman warrior, scholar, and seeker of Truth Mosul, the Moor, and assassin; cousin
  to Tancred, and archenemy Helena of the Nobility, Daughter of the Purple
  Belt, the beautiful Byzantine heroine Nicholas, the maverick warrior-bishop, friend of
  Tancred, and Helena's uncle Philip the Noble, Minister of War in
  Constantinople
Lady Irene, the aunt and enemy of Helena, the mother of Philip
Bishop Constantine in Constantinople, enemy of Nicholas
Bardas, the Greek eunuch slave belonging to Helena
Hakeem, the Moor from Palermo, and Tancred's faithful friend al-Kareem, the Moorish grandfather of Tancred Derek Redwan, deceased half brother of
  Tancred
Walter of Sicily, uncle of Tancred Count Dreux Redwan, deceased father of
 
  Tancred
Count Rolf Redwan, uncle and adoptive father of Tancred
Ivan, the bodyguard of Walter of Sicily Modestine, the French village girl, who
  joins the crusade
Wolfric, the brigand Rhinelander Leupold, the Rhinelander Turill, the archbishop Prince Kalid, son of the emir of Antioch Rufus, captain of Lady Irene's personal
  bodyguard
Adrianna, Helena's mother Andronicus, brother of Nicholas

           Historical Characters

Alexius Comnenus, Emperor of Byzantium, A.d. 1081-1118
Pope Urban II, who called for the First Crusade
Peter the Hermit, leader of the peasant-crusaders
Walter Sans-Avoir, the Frankish knight, first crusader to arrive at Nish Bohemond I, Norman prince of Taranto Count Raymond of Toulouse Roger I, the Great Count of Norman
  Sicily
Godfrey of Bouillon, Duke of Lower Lorraine
Hugh, Count of Vermandois, brother of King Philip of France
Robert, Duke of Normandy, son of William the Conqueror Emich (emicho), robber-baron of Leiningen,
  persecutor of the Jews in the German Crusade
"The Goose" of Emich Volkmar, persecutor of the Jews in the German
  Crusade
Gottschalk, a renegade priest, persecutor of the Jews in the German Crusade Bishop of Worms
King Coloman of Hungary Governor of Wieselburg Nicetas, Governor of Nish Adehemar, Bishop of Le Puy, and official
  Papal Legate on the Crusade Raymond of Aguilers, a chronicler of the First
 
  Crusade
Henry IV, Emperor of Germany Kerbogha, commander of Seljuk warriors "The Red Lion of the Desert," Seljuk commander Nicephorus, Emperor of Byzantium,
  A.d. 963-969
Basil II, Emperor of Byzantium, A.d. 976-1025
 
          GOLDEN PALACES

              PROLOGUE

  Helena moaned in her sleep, bound hand and foot by a mystical spell of enchantment. The handsome knight had woven a cord out of strange green leaves removed from a physician's satchel.
  "Turn me loose, Sir Knight!" "Madame," he said wearily. "How long? You have only to surrender. Freedom awaits us both the moment our lips shall meet, but you must do so willingly."
  "Nay! Never!"
  Was he a dragon? A knave? A gallant knight willing to die for her honor?
  Though she floundered, his masculine gaze vowed his devotion, his passion, his sword. "Helena," he whispered, "Helena, awaken to me, my beloved. ..."
  She gasped and bolted upright, her heart pounding. A glance about revealed that she was secure within her darkened chamber.
  A foolish dream? she wondered. Or a premonition ...

              CHAPTER 1
               Trapped

    The Sacred Palace, Constantinople
    Spring 1097
  In a wash of pale moonlight, young Helena of the Nobility, Daughter of the Purple Belt, moved silently across the marble floor between two Corinthian columns in the wide palace pavilion facing the Sea of Marmara. Her heart pounded in her ears as she took momentary refuge behind one of the slim white pillars. A silent prayer touched her lips: Please, Most Merciful Christ in heaven, do not permit the guards to see me.
  Once concealed, Helena's spicy brown eyes, as tender as the Byzantium night, glanced back over her shoulder into the vast palace hall with its intricately arranged ivory arches, gold ornamentation, and vibrant mosaics. From the enormous walls, dancing torchlight spilled down and onto the carved marble
 
busts of the Greek idol-gods Zeus and Athena.
  Helena shivered as her gaze locked with an emblem of her aunt's vile Zodiac religion, by which she influenced certain members within the emperor's senate who trusted her counsel in interpreting the stars and planets. The disc appeared to stare menacingly at Helena, causing a shiver to slither up the back of her neck like a tiny serpent.
  She waited, listening for the threatening echo of a guard's iron-studded sandals, the clink of chain mesh, the rattle of a sword. Only a supple evening breeze whispered among the heavy clusters of white Judas Tree blossoms in the garden below the pavilion steps.
  The house slaves, too, must be avoided ... for they were anxious to better their positions by reporting every suspicious move she made to her aunt by marriage, Lady Irene of Troy. The cool and ambitious Irene had been made Helena's legal guardian soon after her mother's arrest and her father's death in battle against the Moslem kingdom of the Seljuk Turks. As her guardian, Lady Irene set into play a nefarious plan to arrange Helena's political marriage to Moslem Prince Kalid, thereby guaranteeing the return of the great walled city of Manzikert to the Byzantine Empire, lost to the Turks in 1071.
  Raw twilight hung suspended in a web of expectant silence, broken only by the Sea of Marmara lapping against the granite foundation of the palace seawall. The palace, once belonging to her father, was now under the authority of Irene.
  Irene's beauty, unyielded to God, had become a curse to those influenced by it. Her tentacles of power now reached inside the royal bedchamber to the empress herself, who saw Irene's dark enchantments as the advice of a trusted counselor. Helena knew differently. Her aunt had no concern for the empress; it was the emperor she wished to control, and then the throne for her son, Philip.
  Oh, Philip, Helena thought with aching fear. If you would believe me, we might yet escape together to safety, to the Castle of Hohms!
  Her dark eyes caught the last fading golden rays against the purple hills of the Arabic
 
East, and she envisioned the phantoms of war rushing across those mysterious hills, echoing "Allah! Allah! Allah!" to the answering shout of the western crusaders, "God wills it!" The clash of the western sword and the eastern scimitar rang through her head with feverish zeal.
  What is to be my fate? Helena shuddered and ran her palms over her arms. How alone she felt, how abandoned. There was no one left within the Lysander family to whom she might turn except her banished uncle, and her hopes, once as bright as the torches that lined the hippodrome, were growing dim with the passage of time.
  Helena's eyes narrowed. I will not go to Antioch to marry Kalid.
  Contrary to her aunt's wishes, she had made plans to escape to the Castle of Hohms, her inheritance upon marriage. There she would wait for her uncle Nicholas, a bishop from the university and monastery of Monte Casino near Rome. Even now, Nicholas might be among the barbarian Norman crusaders who rode under the crimson gonfanon of the grandson of William the Conqueror from southern Italy and the Norman kingdom of Sicily.
  Soon, thought Helena, thousands of western knights would be arriving outside the massive walls of Constantinople to swear their vassalage to the emperor for the expedition to reclaim Jerusalem from the Moslems.
  But the crusade meant little to her now, as her personal dilemma wrapped itself like dungeon chains about her heart. How could she escape to the castle alone when her every action was under surveillance? What source of strength did her God provide in answer to her ceaseless prayer for deliverance? What strong warrior could she trust to protect her until Nicholas arrived?
  Tonight, her faithful eunuch slave Bardas would bring secret information about the Norman mercenary Tancred Redwan. Thinking of Tancred brought a ripple of unease. Visions of his dark Moorish features, along with the icy blue eyes of the Vikings, brought no comfort.
  Yet, I must risk further relationship and seek to hire him, despite his barbarian arrogance, she told herself.
  As Helena glanced about the palace hall, neither guard nor slave were within view, and she took this grace for an answer to her earlier
 
prayers. Silence kept vigilance in the aromatic night as she held the letter that Bardas must deliver to Tancred.
  Donned in white silk embroidered with purple thread and gems, she picked up her wide hem and sped across the open portico. She hurried down the wide marble steps, ran breathlessly into the garden where the blue-tiled walkway led toward the St. Barbara Gate. Just beyond the ancient seawall, the Bosporus glimmered beneath the eastern stars.
  Ahead, she could glimpse the little caiques sprinkled across the water, their red and blue glass lanterns swinging from the narrow rowboats and winking like the emperor's crown.
  A moist breeze from the waterway touched her face as she rushed to keep her secret rendezvous with Bardas, holding the precious letter to Tancred against her pounding heart.
  A thousand stars peered down from the darkness like twinkling eyes of angels guarding her feet from stumbling in haste. She consoled her wounded heart with the thought that although the doom of becoming Prince Kalid's bride loomed as unconquerable as a gladiator in the hippodrome, her future was not left to the battering schemes of the ambitious. The sovereign God's plans for His followers remained secure, unmolested by those who vainly exercised their own independent might.
  Yet knowing all this did not quench her temptation to tremble with weakness as she contemplated becoming the bride of a Moslem emir in the golden palace of Antioch. Her private concerns spiraled out of control, shattering her peace.
  Helena stood tensely by the singing fountain with cascading water tumbling over polished stones, silvery in the moonlight. Her hand clutched the emblem of her Christian faith--a Byzantine cross hammered from a heavy nugget of gold, encrusted with flashing green emeralds and blood red rubies. The cross, cherished because it had belonged to her mother, had been given to Helena many years earlier on a desolate night at the family villa located in the countryside outside Athens.
  Her mother, a banner of calm faith despite her arrest for treason against the emperor, had pressed it into Helena's young hands. ...
  "Trust not the emblem itself, but the One who triumphed on the cross and broke the chains of
 
death," her mother had whispered. "Christ will be with you always, my fair Helena, even when I cannot."
  Torn as a child from her mother's final embrace, she had clutched the cross while watching her being escorted away by imperial guards in black-and-crimson uniforms.
  Etched in her memory, Helena could still hear the echo of the chariot wheels as the guards drove from the villa with her mother--doomed for the dungeon, and then death by plague in the convent.
  An unlikely smile formed on Helena's lips. ... But she is not dead as they believe. She lives! And I will find her.
  Soon after her husband's death, Lady Adrianna Lysander had been accused of treason against the emperor, but sedition was a vicious lie hatched by Lady Irene. Even so, the throbbing memory of her loss was not assuaged by the lifeless emblem she clutched so tightly. Instead, the spring breeze cooled her fevered emotions, reminding her of God's mastery over the intensity of the storm blowing against her soul.
  Helena walked ahead to where the plantain trees grew green and thick.
  "Bardas?" she whispered urgently. "Are you there?"
  Shadows clustered among the flowering vines, and the garden pavilion eased into a sleepy hush. A bird, tucked securely in for the night beneath its overspreading leaves, offered a call for her courage.
  Again, she listened intently for the sound of Bardas, praying that he had not been intercepted by guards. She stole a quick backward glance toward the lighted portico, and the movement of her head caused the silky net of pearls covering her ebony coil of braids to reflect the torchlight. Lady Irene was not home and her lazy and frivolous young cousin Zoe was asleep, but a slave might appear at any moment. If discovered here, Irene could send her to a dungeon until her departure for Antioch.
  Helena's frightened mind remembered another dank dungeon where she had spent time as a child, though she could not remember when or why. She remembered only the rats with lemon eyes and white teeth that puttered about in the stale darkness. Eventually, Lady Irene had come down the chiseled steps looking like a golden savior and
 
had taken her away.
  "You will answer to me now, Helena. You will grow up with my son Philip and your cousin Zoe."
  The breeze nudged the vines where she stood now, and Helena's restive glance swept the seawall. Bardas, she thought again, what could be delaying him? She gripped the letter.
  As though he had flown to her on a magic carpet, there came a stir, a gust of wind, a rustle of leaves. From farther ahead a large, muscled man wearing a hooded black cowl ducked beneath the overhanging tangle of vines and stepped out into the moonlight. A breath of relief escaped her.
  The big bodyguard lifted a square hand that was scarred from his service to her deceased father in the last war and threw back his cowl. He revealed a shaven head glistening with oil and a left eyebrow partially removed by a scimitar--the wicked curved blade wielded by the Moslems. His broad face wore the scowl she had been accustomed to since a girl at the villa, but so pleased was she to see him that it might have been a grin.
  She hurried in his direction like a chick seeking the wings of its mother hen. Other than her beloved uncle Nicholas, whom she had not seen since before her mother's arrest, Bardas was her one source of protection, and he was as dear to her as any kin. He had willingly become a eunuch after her father's death to keep a vow he had made on the battlefield to guard Helena unto death, and his body retained all the form of a muscled warrior. His ancestry, he boasted, bore the blood of the Spartans, but his culture was classical Greek--a matter of tiresome pride on his part, causing him to scorn the arriving crusaders from the West as "savage barbarians and gluttonous cretins. Men without education, fit for little else except to clean the emperor's bear cages."
  Helena's relief spilled over in a scolding whisper. "You are late. Where have you been? I feared you'd been detained to harm."
  He sniffed with disdain and looked about suspiciously. "Your fears have roots. While I was prowling among the bazaars seeking information on the Norman barbarian, whom should come by in her gilded chariot but Lady Irene?"
  At the news, Helena's heart wanted
 
to cease its persistent pounding. "She saw you?"
  "She has eyes like a falcon, that one. She ordered the captain of her bodyguard to hail me to her side, demanding to know if you were with me and what I was about."
  "You said nothing of the cause which brought you there?" His one eyebrow shot up. "And betray the daughter of General Lysander? Did I not kneel on the desert sand to swear oath to him?" He pulled on his walrus mustache. "Nay, they will need cut my tongue from my mouth before I betray your cause." His scowl turned into a crafty grin. "I convinced her I was on my way to tell her you wished to attend the emperor's garden banquet for the Daughters of the Purple Belt tomorrow."
  Helena remained skeptical of the ruse. "And she believed you? She is as wise as a serpent."
  His black marble eyes sparkled with smug satisfaction. "And a hungry serpent as well, who swallowed the baited rat. She is convinced you wish to attend, and now bids you voyage in her caique tomorrow."
  The news, however, was intimidating. "Oh, Bardas, how could you? I would rather row to the palace in the company of the emperor's hungry bears."
  He looked offended over her lack of appreciation for his cleverness, and knowing how easily his pride of devotion was injured, she hastened, "What did you discover about Tancred Redwan? Did you locate him at the armory?"
  Swift disapproval at the mention of his name carved his broad face into a stonelike mask. She had sent Bardas to the Street of Bazaars to secretly discover what he could about Tancred's past, hoping to validate his trustworthiness as a hired mercenary, but the look on Bardas's face declared his disapproval unchanged.
  "Redwan is an insidious barbarian, a wanted assassin who slew his brother with a poisonous dagger over a Moorish beauty in Palermo named Kamila." Bardas gazed at her for emphasis, making certain the weight of his words left their intended mark on her confidence in the Norman.
  Helena had not expected to hear about a Moorish beauty, but she did know about the death of his half brother. Several weeks ago in Philip's chamber, Tancred had explained
 
to her of his search for the real assassin.
  "He is the heir to his Norman father's wealth but is unable to assume his baronial lands due to his brother's murder. With help from his wily Moorish friend, Hakeem, who is equally a snake to be distrusted, Tancred escaped his castle in Palermo, Sicily. Cold-blooded Norman wolves who are his cousins are searching for him, determined he will stand trial according to a Norman custom called "craven.""
  She remembered Tancred's words--"In the Norman kingdom of Sicily, I am heir to castle, lands, and galleons. And I know your uncle well. Nicholas saved my life when
I was a boy. For a time he raised me at the monastery of Monte Casino. All that I know of Christ, Nicholas taught me from his own copy of the Greek New Testament."
  Was it true? she wondered. "So he does have a castle and lands in Sicily as he told me?" she gently coaxed, hoping to win his trust in Tancred, but Bardas refused to be impressed.
  "So it is claimed. It is said that he killed his brother for the inheritance."
  Helena considered that possibility, but somehow Tancred did not appear the ambitious and covetous sort. "Was he not gallant to save me from capture by the Rhinelanders?"
  Bardas sniffed. "Only because he has his own wicked plans to have you."
  The notion brought her a bewildered pleasure, but she swiftly dismissed it. "He is arrogant and conceited and looks upon me with indifference--it is well that he does, since it is only his sword I wish to hire."
  Bardas's expression, however, remained dour. "He cannot be trusted, little mistress. What would your father say if he were alive? It is unseemly for a woman of your aristocracy to even speak to such an uncivilized dog! But to deliberately seek him out--was
  "If I seek him," she quickly interrupted, "it is only because he is a knight who is needed at this hour of my abandonment by Philip."
  The cool mention of Irene's son--the minister of war and the man whom she had once hoped to marry --prompted Bardas to rush to his defense. "Forbid! Master Philip will surely awaken to his honor and intervene in the evil scheme to send you to Antioch. Long you have been promised
 
to him in marriage, and he will not stand by and see you given to Kalid."
  She wondered. Remembering the pain on which she and Philip had parted weeks earlier reopened the wound of bitter disappointment in his lack of courage to stand against the plans of his mother.
  "Yet he bartered me to Kalid for his own ambition's sake. No, Bardas, I cannot wait. Who else can I turn to now but Tancred? Your loyalty is esteemed," she hastened to soothe his fatherly pride, "your sword proven true in wars past, but your arm ..." and she hesitated, her voice trailing off, knowing how it grieved him to be reminded of his permanent injury.
  "I admit Redwan is not entirely the uneducated barbarian I first took him for," he grumbled reluctantly, and Helena snatched at the opportunity to convince him of Tancred's usefulness in their cause. "You see? You were wrong! The knight is worthy of my hire! What did you learn?"
  He folded his arms stubbornly across his broad chest. "That his knowledge is a danger."
  "Danger? But--"
  "He has made use of the famed Royal Library, translating some manner of document from Latin into Greek."
  "Latin into Greek ..." Helena marveled despite herself. Tancred had informed her in that suave but cynical way of his that he was a "scholar equal to any translator in the Royal Library." She had laughed at his arrogance--for what else could his boast be but that?--and he had smiled, undaunted by her scorn. Now she wondered if she might have laughed too soon.
  "And," said Bardas in wary tone, "he made a map of the environs of Antioch. Some say Prince Kalid is a cousin."
  A cousin? Her eyes darted to his. Looking self-satisfied, Bardas continued. "Might not that map also include the domain of the Castle of Hohms? Do not the Norman wolves wish to control the stronghold for their own attack on Antioch? It is no secret how they wish to conquer and rule the city, not for Byzantium, but for themselves. And who is the seigneur in charge of the castle? A Norman! A Redwan! A man whom this Tancred claims as his adoptive father!" He looked at her, confident. "Ah,
 
mistress, is it not obvious that he is in league with him? Together they wait for the other Normans to arrive. I say he cannot be trusted. He is a spy."
  A spy. Was it possible? What did she know about Tancred except what he claimed? And why would he make a map of Antioch and the castle? Yet she needed him! If she gave Bardas a hint that she mistrusted Tancred, her doubts would only serve to strengthen his resolve against hiring him.
  She smiled ruefully, deliberately making light of his suggestion. "And I suppose because Nicholas rides with the Normans that he too is in alliance with them? Yet he is no spy and we know it. Neither is Tancred. Think again! He claims to be a count," she reminded him.
  "Then I am King of the Spartans!" mocked Bardas, pulling on his long black mustache speckled with gray.
  She sighed. "Oh, Bardas--whether a count or not, he is one man in Constantinople who hasn't been bought by my enemies."
  He leaned toward her. "Can you be so certain?" Helena couldn't, of course, and yet ...
  He must have seen the flicker of hesitation in her eyes for he urged, "He would keep his motives hidden, little one. And his claim to being some great lord from the Norman kingdom of Sicily is surely spurious."
  "Maybe, but I need his strength as a knight. I could look for a hired sword among the Normans in all the bazaars and not find a man half as adept as he. He may be arrogant," she said wryly, "but you must admit he is brave."
  "Because he is clever and hatches schemes of his own."
  "Even if I could hire another, news of my action would find its way back here to the palace. My message is likely to remain secret if given to him. No," she stated firmly. "I must hire him. Irene does not own him."
  "You may be in error. Lady Irene knows the barbarian is being sought by his Norman cousins for the assassination of his elder brother."
  The news was unsettling. Irene often used coercion to force certain warriors into her service to benefit her ambitions, or Philip's. Her methods were cruel, and Helena loathed her for
 
them. Yet, somehow, Tancred did not seem the manner of warrior to be manipulated by threats or enticements.
  "And if the vileness of his brother's death staining his honor is not enough to change your mind, I have learned that his mother too was a Moor, a devout Moslem, and he carries a copy of the Koran."
  She mused over the Koran, for Tancred had implied allegiance to Christianity, or had she misunderstood?
  "How do you know about the Koran?" she whispered. "A Varangian guard told me. He has friends among them," he said stiffly, not wishing to admit it.
  So ... the esteemed Varangian Guard knew Tancred. Giants clothed in scarlet and bronzed helmets with plumes, the handpicked Vikings served as the personal bodyguard of the emperor, and were as strong as gladiators, as loyal as blooded sons. That they knew Tancred well enough to offer information to Bardas spoke well of his abilities as a warrior and reinforced the wisdom of Helena's decision to hire him, although it did not offer an explanation for the Koran. Had he not said that his grandfather was al-Kareem, a man of political and religious power in Palermo, with contacts among the sultans from Cairo to Nicaea?
  In recalling their conversation, she also visualized Tancred lounging behind the drape during her romantic confrontation with Philip in his chamber. Philip had chosen to pursue his ambitions in the emperor's service rather than risk intervening in the political decision to send Helena to Antioch. And the arrogant Tancred had overheard it all!
  The memory overwhelmed her with embarrassment, but her present situation was too perilous to concern herself with injured vanity. Perhaps he had forgotten that dreadful night.
  "Koran or not, Tancred claims
Christian training by Uncle Nicholas at the abbey of Monte Casino," she argued. "And until the assassination of his brother, he studied as a student physician at Salerno."
  She was not certain if she believed all this, but her dilemma demanded that she trust someone. Nor had she forgotten the night along the Danube months earlier when he had saved her from capture
 
by the rowdy Germanic brigands called "Rhinelanders." Nor the fact that he had returned her family jewels to her when Philip was willing to use them to bribe the leader of the Rhinelanders not to attack the Hungarian fortress on the Danube. However, the truth of whether he was a knight of chivalry must await an hour when she was safely at the castle.
  Bardas's expression did not soften as she reminded him of the brigands' attack upon Philip's entourage. Both she and Bardas had been with Philip at the time, hoping to locate Nicholas, but the report of her uncle's arrival with the peasant-crusaders had proven to be false.
  She resorted to her sheltered upbringing by lifting her chin to show him that the discourse about Tancred was over and that her will must prevail. "Enough. I have listened to your concerns and they are well taken, but I have made up my mind. I must endure the educated barbarian. He is a Norman and will prove invaluable to us. Deliver this letter to him at once," and she pressed the sealed parchment into his big hand, even while she glanced back toward the portico to make certain her absence remained undiscovered.
  "If Irene now expects me to accompany her to the royal gardens tomorrow, I must attend. When the Norman reads my letter, tell him to meet me at the rear garden wall near the outer street. I will make my escape with him then. See that horses and supplies are ready. We will journey to the castle."
  "As you wish," he said sullenly. "But what if he refuses to come?"
  Not come? The idea that Tancred would ignore any command she gave was unthinkable to a young woman born of Greek nobility who wore the privileged Purple Belt of royalty, especially when his position was inferior. She frowned. Tancred was a difficult man to understand --not like Philip. No, he was nothing like her beloved cousin Philip Lysander.
  "He has his own plans," said Bardas.
"He is not as quick to hearken to your wishes as others. It is my opinion he finds your superiority of race and position a goad to his barbaric ways."
  It was true that she had tasted his arrogance toward her status in the past. She had smarted on
 
several occasions from his casual refusals and the malicious amusement garnered from rankling her pride. She knew he could prove difficult and she hesitated, rethinking the wording of her letter. Tancred was not likely to submit easily to her wishes. She must force him to bend his stubborn knee.
  Notwithstanding, she had not intended to sound like a princess commanding a slave. Authority was ingrained in her upbringing, and she knew little else except a born privilege to command others. And those from the West were looked upon as strangers and barbarians by the proud Greek civilization.
  Her dark brows tightened together as she reconsidered her tactics. "Well ... then tell him it is most urgent. That I ... well ..." she ignored the expression of disdain forming lines on Bardas's forehead. "Tell him that I bid him come with ... gratitude."
  Bardas gave her a surreptitious glance. "It may be that however gracious your tone in bidding the mongrel, he will remain a dog disinterested in your treat. The man may have other plans."
  Something in his tone alerted her. He was not telling her everything he knew. "What do you mean, "other plans"?"
  Bardas cleared his throat. "Master Philip has already hired him. He holds a worthy position in the imperial cavalry."
  Imperial cavalry! And he had not told her until now?
  The imperial cavalry served the emperor, and any member who rode the magnificent horses was considered to be lordly. She wondered that Philip would have allowed this when he disliked him as much as Bardas did. She decided that to have Tancred in his service must be deemed of benefit to his position as minister of war. Philip did not have the compassion to throw a morsel of bread to a starving beggar without receiving some personal gain in return. It was a characteristic of his that troubled her-- but this weakness was no doubt due to his mother, she told herself.
  "Then I shall outbid Philip for the warrior's sword," she stated firmly. "Better to pay a hefty price than be sent to Antioch."
  "He is not a man to be bought easily, and somehow I think he has deliberately remained in the emperor's service waiting for you to call upon him. Yet, no matter the price you offer him for
 
his swordly endeavors, he is likely to refuse, holding out for the castle and," he warned, "for your hand in marriage."
  "Marriage!" she gasped, then gave an absurd little laugh, but it came off sounding more excited than she had wished. "Do not be absurd, Bardas. I would not have him if he were the last man in Constantinople, nor does he entertain thoughts of marriage. He is a rogue."
  "Agreed, but I ask you--if it is true he seeks this "phantom" assassin of his half brother, why does he tarry? His appearances at the entertainments are said to be cloaked with boredom. Nor has he love for the emperor. His allegiance is to the West. And there is no woman but you that he too casually inquires about."
  Her face turned warm as she contemplated, but not for long. Why did he serve in the imperial cavalry? She remembered Tancred's smooth insistence that he was not for personal hire. His determination was a match for her own, she was certain of that, but this was one game she must win.
  "He may be swift with the blade and smooth with the tongue, but he is a ruthless man with aims of his own," warned Bardas, obviously refusing to acknowledge her determination in the matter.
  Ruthless, was he? Perhaps ... but not in the manner that Bardas insisted. "Go," she said.
  Bardas dubiously relented and placed the letter inside his cloak.
  "Tomorrow at the back gate," she reminded him. Helena stood in the stone courtyard watching as he slipped away into the vines from which he had come, past the seawall where the little boats were tied at anchor. Then she turned toward the broad marble steps, her Grecian profile lighted by the spring's full moon that turned the pearls in her dark hair into an iridescent white-blue. Her hopes renewed, she sped softly across the court and back toward the lighted marble pavilion. She must return to her chamber above, unseen by guards or slaves.
  She rushed toward the pavilion steps but stopped suddenly, gasping with surprise. There on the topmost step stood a dark form silhouetted against the backdrop of the pavilion's blazing torches. It was Bishop Constantine, the man who had worked closely with her aunt to convince the emperor of the expediency of her political marriage to Kalid.
 
  Did he see Bardas?
  Her fingers tightened about the weighty gold cross.
  Fed by the threat of danger, her imagination envisioned not the fire of the torches surrounding Constantine, but the rising flames of hades.

              CHAPTER 2
    The Dark Rook in Bishop's Robe

  All her instincts warned her to flee, but it was necessary to appear unharried over the arrival of Nicholas's masterful adversary.
  It could not be proven whether or not Constantine had usurped the ecclesiastical office of her uncle years earlier by lending support to political enemies who had schemed to have him banished from Constantinople. Usurper or not, Helena questioned the sincerity of his reverence for the things of God as he pursued the privilege offered by association with the emperor.
  Only a reprobate would hide behind a cleric's robe, cloaking his personal objectives, she thought. Excluding political gain, just what were his aims?
  She observed Constantine standing on the wide step, garbed in black-and-silver brocade. On his head was a fashionable high-crowned turban with a brim of glittering gems. His short reddish beard was fastidiously groomed and oiled, giving his narrow chin but wide forehead a shrewd appearance.
  "How much like your mother you look tonight, fair Helena."
  The inflection in Constantine's voice when he mentioned her mother prickled her nerves. Could he know that she was alive after all? Helena concealed the undercurrent of her fears with outward confidence and, with a silent prayer on her lips, walked forward, head erect.
  "Why ... my Lord Bishop, your unexpected arrival, so late and without announcement, must surely bring a cause for care." She ascended the wide marble steps, her Byzantine tunic shimmering in the torchlight.
  He removed his hat, his red hair glinting, and offered a bow of his head. "I regret to intrude upon you at this hour, my child, but matters will not await the morning. I will be gone a few weeks on urgent business to Antioch."
 
  Antioch!
  Her expression of alarm was met by his cool smile beneath his mustache. "No need for immediate concern. You will not be leaving with me to marry Prince Kalid." His smile vanished. "Not yet."
  "You go there at the wishes of the emperor to speak with Prince Kalid?"
  "No, the prince is in Cairo to attend a meeting of the sultans. Civil war occupies the various Seljuk princes from Jerusalem to the Caspian." He looked pleased. "Disunity is to Byzantium's favor and will bolster the western barbarian princes in recapturing territory lost to the Moslems, including Antioch.
  "No, dear Helena, I am here tonight because of another matter that concerns both of us," he stated. "One that is more important than the return of Antioch to the Eastern Empire. Do not look alarmed! I come as a friend, in peace."
  What did he know of true peace! He had come for ill purposes, of that she was certain. Helena climbed the remaining steps, her doubtful gaze spurning his words of assurance.
  "Peace, my Lord Bishop?" and her brow lifted dubiously. "And does this peace you so generously offer me share the blessing of Lady Irene?"
  The mention of her name evoked a flicker in his eyes, but it wasn't clear if thinking of Irene of Troy brought him pleasure or rage, although she had been the calculating mind behind his rise to power, even as she was now, with Philip.
  Helena already knew about their disagreements over the direction of Philip's future as minister of war. Those arguments had grown more bitter with the passing weeks. Irene insisted that her son was to be in command of the Greek forces that would travel with the crusaders to bring a siege against Antioch and receive the surrender personally from Prince Kalid. But Constantine insisted that the honor should be his, since he was the emperor's legate.
  "I have come on my own initiative," he said. "Irene does not know I am here." His voice turned scornful. "She spends her waking hours plotting how she might trap the handsome Norman named Tancred into willing subservience."
  Helena knew what he meant, that her aunt had an eye for every new warrior in the imperial guard. Irene's shameless behavior remained a cause for grief, but the news irritated her more
 
than it would have had the guard been someone other than Tancred.
  Helena was also aware that other women were speaking of him, including Mary the Alan, the emperor's mistress. Thus far, it was said he had avoided their clutches like a slippery goldfish from Cathay.
  Helena paused on the step below Constantine, uncertain how she should accept his words of peace.
  "Was it your peace and blessing that was offered when you took away my uncle and saw him banished to Bari?"
  "So you still blame me? At the time of his banishment I held no vested authority to have him undone, yet he will seek to return in the gall of bitterness to strike vengeance against me. It will do him no good and lead to his ruin."
  As he stood on the step in the torchlight looking down at her, his motives remained obscure. She did not believe him about Uncle Nicholas. On the afternoon that guards had brought him in chains to the harbor for a Greek vessel bound for Bari, she had heard him promise Constantine that he would one day return.
  "You will pay for this betrayal, Constantine," he had shouted. "Let my memory haunt your dreams! Look for me behind every shadow, within the very cloister!"
  Since that dark hour when Constantine stood in silence on the Golden Horn watching the guards escort Nicholas to the ship, he and Irene had come far in the imperial palace through the internecine struggle for power. Yet Helena saw his expression turn bitter, as though remembering the past brought memories that robbed him of satisfaction.
  "Do not waste words of sentiment on Nicholas," he said. "It was not he but I who was first banished, not from the empire, but from the Lysander family."
  She wondered what he meant. "Banished, you?"
  Mockery shimmered like live coals in his prominent eyes, but his voice was soft, even soothing.
  "Yes, it was I who was first called upon to bear the title of an outcast. In the noble Lysander family, so close to the heart of the emperor, I was the deformed sheep rejected from the fold. It did not matter that I too was a cousin of
 
Nicholas, that I bore family blood. I was nothing in their eyes except a bodyguard to the Lysander women, fit only to escort their chariot to the circus! I had no heart, no soul, an immobile face in a uniform, a decoration to keep the door, to walk behind them like a moving statue."
  A cousin to Nicholas? A bodyguard to the family daughters? Helena had not heard this before.
  He looked at her. "I was assigned to your mother's chariot. I protected her day and night."
  There was something in his voice, a hint of secrecy that set her on edge.
  "I guarded her bedchamber door."
  Her eyes turned cool even as they searched his, wondering what to make of his words and whether she dare trust them.
  He then spoke to her gently, yet with a kind of mild scorn. "Nicholas, whom you esteem so highly, came between the love your mother and I once shared."
  His eyes flickered at the thought, and Helena's breath sucked in as audibly as though he had struck her.
  Love? Her mother and Constantine? That was not possible. ...
  His smile mocked her surprise. "Adrianna wished to marry me, not Lysander. We met often, in secret." He smiled.
  She took a step down and her voice trembled. "You lie."
  "I have no cause to lie. Our love was very deep," and a strange gentleness thickened his voice, and when it did, her heart sank as reality gripped her.
  His eyes became granite. "She did not see me as a mindless bodyguard, but as a man. But Nicholas! That fool! He forbade her to see me again. He convinced the family to send her to Athens to marry General Romanus Lysander--a man old enough to be her father."
  Her lungs tightened as she tried to breathe. No ...
  Constantine turned his head and looked out toward the sea wall where distant lanterns glowed and danced like living jewels on the water, and his voice was a memory, pathetic and yet angry.
  "Adrianna was always obedient to her family's wishes. I begged her to run away with me--even
 
as you begged Philip to flee with you." He looked at her. "I knew he would not hearken to you, even as she refused me. Position meant more to both of them. It is the Byzantine way ... but it is not mine." He looked at her. "Nor is it yours."
  Could he know I expect to hire Tancred and escape?
  He walked to the other side of the portico where the shadows clung to the Judas Tree blossoms. "We never saw each other again-- except from afar. Saint that she was she would not favor me with a glance, though I knew she loved me still."
  The pathos of his voice made her uncomfortable. Her beloved and godly mother in love with Constantine? Nay! Never! How could such a tale be true?
  Desperate to deny his confession, her mind ran back to her girlhood at the villa where her mother had retired from aristocratic life. Helena recalled that when she would come upon her each morning in the olive tree garden, her mother would be sitting on the stone bench reading works from the Royal Library, but on several occasions she remembered seeing letters as well. Helena had thought them to come from her father, who was away fighting many distant wars against the Seljuk Turks infringing on Byzantine territory.
  In her memory she could hear the pigeons calling "coo-ra-cooo--" as her lovely mother sat upon the bench, so still that Helena believed her in prayer. Once a letter had fallen from a warm brown leather book edged with gold, and when Helena rushed to retrieve it, hoping to please her, her scolding voice had stunned her: "No, Helena!"
  She looked at Constantine, dismayed. No. He appeared to read her thoughts and smiled disdainfully.
  "My dear, you are disappointed she would love one like me?"
  Helena could not speak. Bardas, who had served her father in the war with the Turks, had told her a different story. Her mother had written Romanus of a certain wayward cousin with "the dark ways of hades, who plagues my every step," until in fear of his romantic madness, she had fled secretly with her child Helena from the palace to the villa. At the time Helena did not know that
 
Constantine was related, but if what he said tonight was true, could he not be that wayward cousin?
  Yes, thought Helena in fear, watching Constantine's oddly tortured expression in the torchlight. If she placed that twisted mask on matters, it made more sense than what he was telling her now.
  And yet ...
  I will not believe him. Who was he to barge into her cherished memory of her parents and sow seeds of evil suspicions? If he could provoke her to turn against her mother, he might tempt her to trust in Irene.
  Then--with a dart of consternation, she searched his face, half hidden now in the flickering shadows of the flames. Could he have discovered that she believed her mother to be alive and that she was searching for her whereabouts? Was he trying to convince her of his love for her mother as a ruse to discover what she might know?
  It is Irene he serves, and she would send him to trap me into divulging precious information.
  She would not listen to the serpent in the garden. Of this she was certain: though her mother's marriage to General Lysander had been arranged, they had loved each other.
  To throw him from the trail of her thoughts, she resorted to the airs of injury.
  "I will hear no more scandal to darken the reputation of my mother and father. Was it not enough she was accused of treason against the emperor? And falsely! And for what cause do you bother me now that I am about to be sent to Antioch to marry Prince Kalid?"
  She came swiftly up the steps, and Constantine moved to one side, allowing her to pass. Helena sailed by into the pavilion where the torches on the high marble walls spilled their light onto the smooth Greek statues.
Despite her demeanor, panic gnawed her insides.
  Helena walked with trailing silk hem between the slim pillars toward the outer balustrade and stood staring out at the waterway glistening in the moonlight. In the distance, the eastern stars hung above the camel-humped mountains of the mysterious Moslem world, and in her haunting dreams she heard the high-pitched wail from the domed mosques. Despite her plans to hire
Tancred and escape, anxiety washed over her soul as she imagined her mother a slave in a sultan's harem. How could she find her and free
 
her? How could she avoid her own destiny in the ruthless arms of Kalid?
  Constantine had followed her, lingering beside the pillar, the breeze moving his circular cloak.
  "You are so much like your mother," his wi/l voice repeated.
  She stiffened and turned her head away. "Make what you will of my confession. It is true, and I loved her ... I love her still," he said.
  She must not feed his allegations by respecting them with her concern. "I choose to make nothing of your words."
  "At first, she too was suspicious of my motives."
  She whirled, eyes snapping. "And you wished to cloak her with your protection! Yet she was arrested and sent to the dungeon."
  His jaw flexed. "I ever remain her loyal admirer."
  She pretended not to catch the present tense of his words. She moved away from him. "Perhaps she had excellent cause to mistrust. Both you and Irene were her enemies. If you loved her as you now suggest, why did you not rescue her after she was sent to the convent when the illness spread? Why did you leave her to die at the wish of Lady Irene?"
  She caught the shadow that crossed his face, the tiny leap of flame in the hard eyes as though a woman's sharp nails had clawed his heart, but it vanished as if a cold wind had blown down upon them from Mount Athos.
  She watched him covertly but saw no sign that he knew Adrianna lived, lived on in some unreachable desert tent where warm nights and tambourines beat rhythms in the hot dry darkness, beneath these same stars, perhaps in the unwanted embrace of a sultan.
  Constantine walked to the balustrade, his footsteps clicking on the polished stone, and he too was looking eastward.
  "I had no choice. I could do nothing until it was too late. For years I did not know Irene was involved in her fate."
  "Then you admit it at last. My aunt did betray her."
  "Whom has the golden goddess not betrayed--with her potions and astrology?"
  "How light and excusable you make her ways
 
sound, as though her stargazing is a harmless diversion. It is vile and leads even the senators astray to bow before the altar of Babylon. How you still choose to defend her, like a guard his queen," she accused, "you--declared a representative of Christ. Do you think I do not know that she also poisoned Basil to empty his seat as minister of war for Philip?"
  His lip curled. "Only a fool would fling such unwise words about for all to hear. Be glad, my dear, that I am not easily shocked by your boldness. For your sake, let us hope slaves with sharp ears and tongues are not close by. As for her tactics, betrayal is the way of Byzantium. It will always be so. The strong survive on the carcass of the weak."
  She shuddered. "You are content to accept evil because it exists, but I am not. Christ is stronger. His truth, His will shall yet prevail over those who scorn His ways and flaunt His righteousness. He has His soldiers to intervene--"
  He laughed. "And you, my gullible damsel, think Nicholas is one of them? Poor deluded Nicholas will soon be trapped!" and he flicked the shiny spider's web crocheted between the gallery rails that held a moth, beating its wings helplessly.
  In revulsion for his hardened speech she snatched the moth free from its sticky prison.
  "Yes," he laughed softly, "so much like your mother."
  "You say all this now about Uncle Nicholas because you fear him," she challenged.
  He looked at her, surprised, then laughed again. "Fear him?"
  "Yes, and Irene does too, though I do not know why," and she turned away wearily.
  His smile turned cynical. "Shall I tell you?"
  Helena wished to avoid his answer, suspecting more information that smelled of treachery and sin. "I care not to feed my mind upon the vile entertainments of the deluded. I know her immoral weakness, but to hear of it vicariously is also evil."
  "She resents him because Nicholas is the only man she has ever truly wanted and cannot have. He rejected her for what she was years ago. She has not forgotten. Not all her conniving nor her tempting beauty can lure him to her bedchamber!"
  "Stop it." She jerked her head away.
 
  "He scorned her. She hates him for it yet loves him in her own selfish way. It is more than I ever received from her," he stated bitterly.
  "Your ways insult heaven, you who wear the robe of bishop. I will not hear more," and she tried to walk past him, but he stepped in front of her.
  "Look at how she fills Philip's soul with prideful dreams of his destiny! "The stars have woven an emperor's crown for Philip," she has told him since a child, and like the child he is, he believes it possible."
  "No, he will yet see the truth of God; he will tear himself from her schemes, and yours. You will see that he yet has honor and courage."
  Constantine appeared not to hear and said of Nicholas, "He unwisely returns. Does he hope to regain the favor of the emperor? He has not learned yet that Byzantium outwits him at every turn. If Nicholas has audience with the emperor, his wild ravings will crackle like fire among dried thorns and come to nothing. Perhaps he envisions himself a Moses, prepared to storm the palace of pharaoh, threatening plagues!"
  Her heart beat with righteous indignation. "I suggest, my Lord Bishop, that my uncle is neither to be pitied nor discounted as religiously deluded, though you may hope him to be so for your sake."
  He looked scornful. "We shall soon find out. Let us forget him. I have not come to discuss Nicholas. I have come as your friend with advice."
  She might have laughed at his excuse for offering advice but she dare not mock. There were too many obstacles remaining in the road leading to her escape. Constantine was a powerful man with soldiers who could move against Tancred if she hired him. Yet she must not crumble now. Constantine respected her resolve to remain strong, even as he had admired her mother. A moment of weakness now would be to his advantage.
  Helena watched him as he walked across the polished floor veined with gold and came to the balustrade, where he stared out across the sea. The flash of a white tail from a meteor left traces of light against the hills of Moslem-held territory once belonging to the empire.
  "Adrianna is alive," he said quietly. "We both know it. Let us not pretend
 
otherwise. And you expect Nicholas to find her." He turned his head and his gaze was even. "A mistake. One I must thwart. For my sake and hers."
  Helena's icy fingers wrapped tightly around the balustrade.
  He waved his hand with scorn. "You have me to thank that your stupid informer, so clumsy and gullible, did not keep his appointment with Bardas on the Street of Bazaars."
  "Have you to thank--" began Helena, dazed. "Irene was suspicious," he explained shortly. "She had guards loitering, waiting. Both you and your infantile informer would have been caught. And by now, Adrianna would have met with an assassin's dagger."
  He steadied her with an iron grip. She was too weak to pull away.
  "Your informer is dead," he said cryptically. "I could not trust him to live and fall into her hands. He would have talked, even as he confessed to me." His eyes flashed. "Yes, Adrianna is alive," he whispered.
  "You already knew?" said Helena, stunned. "I have known for months. She was seen in Jerusalem, but she is no longer there. Yet I will find her. I have my own spies searching. And neither you nor Nicholas will impede my plans. Is that understood?"
  "You must tell me where she is, Constantine! Please! If my spy told you, then--"
  "Your informer knew nothing more than I just told you. Until I find her, no word of this must reach Irene."
  "Do you think my mother will ever love the man who sold me to Antioch? She will loathe you for it, even as she does Irene who betrayed her."
  "Perhaps, my dear Helena, but Kalid will tell me where she is. His prize is you and the Castle of Hohms."
  "Kalid knows?" For a moment she could only stare at him. "Are you saying my mother is in Antioch?"
  "I wish it were so easy. No, she is not there, but he has access to the sultans, and if he wishes to have you and the castle"--and his smile turned brittle--"he will find out. And, if you wish to see your mother bought from slavery, you will cooperate with me."
  She trembled, her emotions straining in opposing
 
directions. "Irene knows everything; her spies are everywhere. What if--"
  "Her mind is consumed with other suspicions. She also worries about Nicholas arriving. She may suspect you of wishing to escape before your dromond leaves for St. Symeon. We will permit her to think so. She will be distracted from learning the truth. In the meantime you will keep silent. There will be no more paid informers, do you understand? If you breathe a word of this to Bardas, I will have him disposed of."
  Her eyes anxiously searched his. "I will say nothing."
  The silence thickened between them, becoming a wall as he scrutinized her face.
  "And--should you free my mother, what then?" He made no answer, and when he turned to walk away, she ran after him clutching his arm. "Constantine!"
  He flung her hand loose, his eyes hard. "Dramatics do not become you."
  In the silence they stared at each other, and under his gaze she felt her soul wither. Then he turned and walked away.
  She listened to his steps echo among the pillars until the sound died away and silence surrounded her pounding heart.
  The moments swept by until her mind shouted, "I must hire Tancred."
  Her mind worked feverishly. If Kalid could gain information about her mother from the sultans, then could not Tancred do the same?
  Yes! Of course! Why had she not thought of this before?
  She walked to the balustrade and looked out toward the water with the lanterns flickering on the caiques, a new hope bringing strength to her wearied spirits. Did Tancred not say that his mother had been a Moorish beauty from within the mysterious alabaster walls of Palermo? Then, as her son, he too would have access to his Moorish cousins! Even Kalid was related--and that dreadful assassin he had called Mosul.
  And wonder of wonders, tomorrow night Tancred would be waiting for her with Bardas outside the wall of the emperor's garden! It was true that her aunt would accompany her to the emperor's banquet for the Daughters of the Purple Belt, but somehow she would slip away from her to meet Tancred. And when she did ...
 
  Helena's heart sang out with joy as her eyes lifted with praise toward the starry heavens. By tomorrow night at this time, she would have hired Tancred's sword to help her escape Kalid --and to locate her beloved mother.

              CHAPTER 3
      The Rook's Golden Mistress

  The flotilla of caiques bringing young women of the aristocracy to the emperor's garden banquet were strewn across the placid liquid blue like a string of floating pearls.
  With its gilt-edged frame glimmering like wet gold, Helena's caique glided across the surface of the Marmara as ships from distant shores floated in and out of the Golden Horn on the magical Persian wind. The afternoon sun scattered red-gold rays upon the water, and Helena lifted her fringed parasol of purple silk above her head and rested upon the daybed cushion opposite her guardian and aunt by marriage, Irene of Troy.
  Helena noted how the pristine but cold white of Irene's outer silk tunic complemented the thick golden braids coiled about her head like a serpentine tiara. Her aunt's beauty was unquestioned, and was the ruin of nobles and barbarian lords alike, whom she thought little of using to her advantage. Her appearance was a misleading weapon, for beneath that outward fairness there reigned the strong will of a woman proud enough to believe she would one day become empress and determined enough to eliminate any who stood in her path. There were times when Helena believed that Irene would accomplish her life's ambition.
  Death by poisoning ... The elimination of one's enemies within the secretive walls of the golden palaces of Byzantium and the Moslem East were often carried to success on the slippered feet of assassins walking delicately upon marble floors. Death might come by potions, an assassin's dagger, a certain rare silk.
  It was whispered that the caterpillars were fed a certain leaf that was poisonous to humans but not to them. The poison was most effective when the silk was worn directly against the skin. The main buyers of this silk were nobility in line for a throne or women in harems who sought to eliminate a rival. Irene of Troy had her own
 
purposes, but her ambitions in the
Sacred Palace also included her son, Philip the Noble.
  Helena had retained her composure earlier that afternoon when accepting the birthday gift of a shimmering silk scarf from her aunt. She had affected pleasure but the dart of suspicion remained-- did the silk contain poison? Irene must not guess she suspected her of having used this method of poison in the past.
  She has her spies everywhere. They've become slaves to her drugs and astrology and perform her orders without question. If she suspects I have plans, the life of Tancred will fare no better than my own, or that of my mother before me. Please, Merciful Christ, do not let her guess my plans.
  Aware of her aunt's gaze, and cautious lest her expression reveal her doubt about the silk, Helena laid the rare cloth against the side of her cheek. "It's lovely, madame."
  Irene smiled as she lounged back against the cushions. "The color brings out your beauty. Raven's tresses! Eyes like black gold!
I was indeed wise to bring you to the attention of Kalid. How else would we have gotten his cooperation to negotiate the rule of Antioch? You have proved a great benefit to the empire, Helena."
  To the empire, or her own plans? thought Helena, but said with a calmness she did not feel, "How can you be certain Kalid will keep his part of the bargain? Once marriage to me is accomplished and he has the Castle of Hohms, he may scorn the treaty he signed."
  "He has no choice. He is shrewd enough to understand that without unity among the sultans he will have no army of Moslems strong enough to withstand the onslaught of the coming western barbarians." Irene's musings on her successful negotiations brought a smile to her mouth. "I've little doubt the barbarians will conquer Antioch in battle. They are like gladiators. But before they take the city, it's been arranged for Kalid to negotiate a settlement with Philip, who will then return to the emperor in military triumph! The barbarians are our pawns, gladiators to fight our battles while we use our wits to gather in the booty."
  "Your clever plan will surely be hailed by those
 
in the senate," praised Helena, her heart beating with reproach for her aunt's ways. "I shudder, however, to think what the barbarians will do when they realize their military victory has been stolen from them at the crowning moment, whisked away by Philip to the emperor."
  Irene lifted a golden brow as if to weigh the motive behind her toneless words. "Do I detect sympathy for the barbarians? The emperor shall pay his vassals well enough."
  Helena had heard that the Byzantine coffers were dwindling as the emperor paid out gold to buy off the enemies of Constantinople or to hire mercenary armies.
  "I have no sympathy for the barbarians, my aunt. Am I not devoted to the emperor? And the acclaimed victories of Philip pleasure me even as they do you."
  Irene smiled with amused tolerance. "Come, cease your spoiled fretting. Antioch isn't as dreadful as you wish to think. In his day Emperor Justinian added Greek magnificence to the city, and Caesar built hanging gardens there. Marriage to the son of its emir will occupy you with many diversions."
  As if entertainment were all that mattered to me. In order to cool the pulse throbbing in her temples, Helena looked across the water slipping past them beneath a twilight of dusky rose. She fingered the silk. Often the wearers of the poisonous silk die in a fit of madness. ...
  Irene's laughter interrupted. "What a child you are, Helena."
  She swiftly turned her head and inquired innocently, "My aunt? You were saying?"
  Irene looked scornful. "As if I'd poison my niece."
  Helena felt two blotches of warm color stain her cheeks. "No ... I ..."
  Irene silenced her with a lift of a jeweled hand. "You think too much on the vices of the families of the Roman Caesars. You and your dusty manuscripts and trips to the Royal Library! Your learning breeds suspicions in your intellect like little foxes. Does not the emperor need you in Antioch? Not to mention my fondness for you! As soon as you arrive I shall be in contact with you by spies. You will have your orders to perform, and certain information you must gather."
 
  There was little reason to pretend now. "And if I refuse to cooperate in the emir's palace?"
  "Did you not say you were loyal to the emperor?" came Irene's lightly mocking voice. "But of course you are, my dear Helena. You are not like your mother. You will cooperate." And she added quietly but firmly, "Otherwise you will remain in Antioch until you are an old woman." She reached to the basket of purple grapes and plucked the fat morsels, biting and sucking their juice. She threw the skins into the water and gestured a bejeweled hand toward the scarf. "If you have any hopes of ever having Philip, you will do what is required of you. The sooner Antioch surrenders, the sooner you will be free of Kalid and able to return to Constantinople. Then we will discuss a marriage to Philip."
  Helena's heart pounded with indignation. As if she could marry one man to betray him, then marry Philip as if no stain blotched her soul. Under the cool amber eyes of her aunt, Helena's grip tightened on her parasol.
  "You expect me to spy? To marry Kalid, then thrust a dagger into his heart?"
  "Nothing so dramatic. You haven't the will. Your religious devotion weakens you." Irene gestured to the silk scarf. "The silk you fear proves your childishness."
  Helena tossed the piece aside. "I put nothing past your desires, madame. Though you may have wanted me in Antioch a month ago, your ambitions where I am concerned are as changeable as the spring sunshine."
  "And so you think I would poison you?" In scorn Irene lifted her goblet and drank.
  "I consider being sold to a Moslem palace little better than poison. Some would prefer death. And to betray a husband with lying words and kisses-- even a man I do not wish to marry--is worse than vile."
  Irene leaned her head back, resting. "You are too strong of heart to use the excuse of a weak and sentimental girl. You will survive Antioch. And Kalid is a handsome man. ... You will do what is required of you."
  "I do not change husbands as one changes garments. That is your way, madame, not mine. If Philip cares nothing of my marriage to Kalid, then there will be nothing more said between us--whether
 
Antioch is surrendered or not."
  "Do not speak foolishly. You are young. You will change your mind. Once the barbarians terrify the city with their threats, the sultan will surrender. You will have played your role well, and there will be no reason why you cannot proceed with your life."
  Helena stared at her, struggling to control her emotions. "My life will be ruined, and you say there will be reason to go on as if nothing has happened?"
  "If Philip is not disturbed, why should you be?"
  Helena stared at her, speechless and angry. She turned her face to the soft spring breezes and sought to cool her heated emotions. For one fleeting moment Helena imagined floating away on the gentle wind, freeing herself from her aunt and the strictures of the most hierarchical society the civilized world had ever known.
  Her thoughts were jolted as one of the emperor's guard galleys beat past them with slave oars dipping full speed in unison, their deep voices echoing to the cadence of the slave-driver's drumbeat.
  Helena turned on her cushion to look after them, seeing humble Greek fishermen on flat barks make haste to pull their nets out of the way of the rush of indifferent soldiers. Why were they in such a hurry? she wondered. The guard castle was an important link with the imperial cavalry guarding the old Roman road from Dyrrachium in Byzantine territory. What military information could the guard galley wish to deliver to Herion with such speed?
  Also alert, Irene sat forward, shading her eyes to follow the galley as it surged ahead across the water.
  Helena noticed her expression. "A military envoy?"
  Irene's face reflected concern, but she remained silent.
  Helena pressed for more information with casual indifference. "They row in the direction of the guard castle at Herion."
  A conclave of Byzantine war dromonds were moored against the bank, and Helena believed the guard galley had been sent by them to Herion. One dromond in particular interested her, for it bore the flag of a military commander. Her aunt too must have thought the same, for she turned on her daybed to her head slave.
 
  "Quickly. Row to that dromond," she ordered.
  As their caique approached the convoy, Helena scanned the long hulls of the imperial galleys with crimson pennants snapping. Her gaze fixed upon the lead dromond with its carved dragon masthead, which could spume forth famed "Greek fire"--that mysterious Byzantine weapon that burned even upon the face of the water. "Greek fire" had delivered Constantinople on more than one occasion from enemy ships entering the Golden Horn, and had turned back the Huns and Visigoths, as well as the Normans.
  As the slaves rowed toward the dromond, Helena recognized Philip's ship. A man in the uniform of an imperial officer saw them and walked to the rail as the slaves maneuvered the caique closer to the galley's side. Helena rebuked her pounding heart. She had not seen Philip since their last meeting in his private palace chambers when he had refused to contest her marriage to Prince Kalid. Was he aboard?

              CHAPTER 4
         Knights and Barbarians

  A cautious and disappointed glance along the deck told her that Philip was not on the ship. She watched in mute silence as Lady Irene smiled up at the imperial officer, allowing the veil to fall from her golden hair set aglow from sapphire stones. Helena was repulsed to see how swiftly her aunt's icy dictatorial nature pretended to melt into a false helplessness, when she could easily receive the information she sought by simply inquiring.
  "It is you, General Taticus," she called up, her tone flattering and tinkling like a musical wind chime. "With the barbarians so near to the walls of our city, your presence in Constantinople brings comfort to the ladies at court."
  "Madame, your words cheer me, albeit, I shall not be long in the city."
  "A regret! With hordes of brute beasts soon to camp before our gates?"
  "I am informed that His Excellency is already planning to call the imperial cavalry back within the city walls. Though the barbarians openly
 
attack, they can easily be beaten back. Food may be withheld to bring them under control. Yet it will not come to that, madame. As soon as the western princes swear their fealty to the emperor, we shall ferry them over the water into Anatolia to face the Moslems."
  "I am certain you are far wiser in these matters than I, General Taticus. Your confidence brings me relief." She gestured a delicate pale hand winking with jewels. "But I couldn't help notice the military courier racing toward the guard castle of Herion. Do tell! Is there to be trouble so soon?"
  "Imperial guards serving on the frontier have sent word the Normans are within three days of Constantinople. The guard galley, madame, brings news of their approach, no mean matter seeing how their feudal prince is related to William the Conqueror."
  "Yet called for by the emperor!" said Irene, as though in disbelief that such a thing could be. "His name is Bohemond, is it not?"
  As if she didn't know, thought Helena. "Bohemond is the son of Robert
Guiscard," offered the general gravely. "It was Robert whose very army was outside these walls but ten years ago hoping to take Constantinople. Perhaps of more importance, Bohemond brings many in his entourage from the Norman kingdom of Sicily and Monte Casino."
  The mention of Monte Casino, a university and monastery near Rome, set Helena's heart racing with expectation. If Normans from Monte Casino were approaching the city, there was a good chance that her stalwart uncle would be among them. A casual glance at her aunt suggested that she had come to the same conclusion.
  Then I may see Nicholas any day now, thought Helena, careful to portray disinterest at the news of the western barbarians. Until she was safe with her uncle, danger continued to surround her.
  Irene's concern over the news of the Normans became visible in the taut lines showing around her mouth. Helena remembered what Constantine had told her about her aunt and Nicholas.
  Helena pretended boredom. "On such a pleasant day when all Constantinople smells of romance and blossoms, must we concern ourselves with the barbarians?" and she smoothed the glimmering golden
 
cloth at her wrists as though the only thing that mattered to her was the upcoming celebrations.
  "Helena is right," said Irene to General Taticus. "We must not ruin the season with fearful talk of war," and she turned, giving an airy wave of her hand to her chief slave. "Until tonight, General. Aleko! Row us to the St. Barbara Gate."
  As the caique skimmed across the water, Irene lapsed into musing silence and Helena covertly watched her. She remembered her aunt's previous warning not to be foolish enough to suppose she could appeal to Nicholas for help.
  "If Nicholas is so bold as to show his face in Constantinople after being exiled, he will soon find himself arrested by the emperor."
               * * *
  The flotilla of caiques arrived on the threshold of the St. Barbara Gate, and slaves unrolled bolts of cloth for the young Greek women to walk upon. Stone-faced guards stood at attention while the veiled aristocracy strolled past them to attend the garden festivities. Red-robed eunuchs--always plentiful where women congregated--bowed low as Helena and Lady Irene passed through the gate.
  The younger women of imperial families formed small cliques and spread through the garden laughing and talking excitedly of the long courting season ahead. How many of them know that I am to be given to Prince Kalid, a Moslem? wondered Helena dully.
  The display of garments adorned the late afternoon as brilliantly as did the manifold blooms of the extensive flower garden. Today Helena wore a chemise of patterned rose and blue silk squares, while her outer robe was stiff with tapestry-work and gold embroidery, with loose, billowing sleeves gathered at her wrists. The silk was of excellent quality, produced by the city's ancient guild. Part of her dowry was a silk and perfume shop on the Street of a Thousand Bazaars. It was told her that Byzantine silk had come by way of caterpillar eggs smuggled from China in the hollow bamboo walking staffs of missionary monks.
  Indian pearls from Hind were intricately worked throughout her rich dark hair and culminated with a stylish strand draped down each side of her head to her shoulders, shimmering creamy white as they
 
moved with each motion of her head.
  Imperial Byzantium even dictated what she wore and when. This evening of the garden banquet, Helena had her role to play as a daughter born of the Purple Belt with no more serious thought on her young mind than the dainties she would dine on at the banquet, or which of the handsome Greek nobles she might add to her countless admirers. Also like the other daughters, she was dressed according to status. In Constantinople and throughout the empire, status was dictated by the imperial color of purple. The rare and costly dye used to color their silk was first discovered in shellfish and was restricted from the time of the Babylonians for use by royalty and other high-ranking officials.
  Only men of senatorial rank could wear the purple inset in their robes; only the emperor and empress were entitled to robe entirely in that color, while the emperor alone had the honor of wearing hose and boots of royal purple.
  But today such display meant nothing to her and was only a cumbersome reminder that she would need to remove them before escaping the city with Tancred.
  "Such impudence," stated Irene scornfully. "Will-what?" murmured Helena, fearing her aunt had guessed her plans after all. In turning, she saw that Lady Irene was not speaking of her. Helena followed her gaze across the garden to the sea-gallery of the Mangana Palace. There, overlooking the grove of plantain trees, stood Mary the Alan, staring boldly down at Irene, her rival. Helena stirred uncomfortably. She had heard by rumor that the emperor had given the Mangana Palace to his mistress.
  "See how she flaunts herself," said Irene resentfully. "As though born in the purple chamber of royalty." Her amber eyes glowed with envy. "Like Jezebel she should be thrown down for dog meat!"
  Helena masked a wince. It surprised her when Irene could look so harshly upon the character of a woman so much like herself.
  "She only married poor Nicephorus because she hoped to place her son in line for the crown," stated Irene. She gave a short laugh. "How cunning of him to deceive her. He chose another son. But she had her vengeance too. The hyena cast her eyes upon the new emperor and won!"
  While aware of Byzantine debauchery within the
 
palace, Helena never ceased to be affronted by its careless evil.
  Nicephorus had been the emperor until deposed by the present emperor, Alexius, who had him consigned to spend the remainder of his years in the monastery. Nicephorus once informed Alexius that he missed little about being emperor except his meat.
  Helena supposed that being sent to a monastery prison was better than being torn limb from limb in the hippodrome, the usual fate reserved for deposed rulers when their popularity waned with the public.
  "Do not wander far," said Irene. "I shall expect you to accompany the other maidens to the lighting of the church candles at dusk."
  "Yes ... of course."
  Irene regarded her sternly. "The news of the soon arrival of the Normans must of necessity hasten your departure to Antioch. I am pleased you appear resigned to your destiny and do not intend to resist the will of the emperor. You will be rewarded in the end. I shall see to it."
  Helena's throat constricted. She recovered, pretending to accept her fate, and remained serene. "Yes, madame."
  Irene appeared satisfied, then turned and walked toward the palace.
  Helena's dark eyes narrowed and her heart began to pound. She stood watching until her aunt disappeared inside the portico on some mysterious mission of her own, then turned quickly and strolled ahead toward the trees on the outer rim of the garden where Tancred and Bardas would be waiting in secret.
  Tamed birds with plumage the color of a flaming sunset promenaded across the walkway and into the shrubs. As Helena passed some young women, she picked up snatches of meaningless conversation.
  "They say the new cloth brought by the Venetian merchants has been ordered by Princess Anna."
  "Have you heard? A new shipment of pearls arrived from Hind. They say the general will have his wife's palanquin embedded with them."
  "Is she truly his wife?" came a sneer. Helena lowered her thin veil across her face so that none of the girls would recognize her and call out, forcing her to stop and explain her fate in being sent to Antioch. Many of them knew of her
 
long-made plans to marry Philip, and some, who were her jealous enemies, would rejoice over her dark future.
  Above the bird trills, pleasant voices of trained African singers fell as softly as evening dew on the garden. Slaves meandered about with trays of refreshment: cherries, chilled by the snow brought down from Mount Athos; small, round honey cakes made with sesame seeds; and silver goblets of rose-scented water.
  Whenever the emperor played host to the young women of aristocracy, it was a custom that wine could not be served, not even the white wine of Chios. For at twilight--when the young women would customarily follow the emperor's procession to the Church of Hagia Sophia and the incense was lit to spiral upward about his high seat in the church's dome--the Eastern Roman emperor claimed to be not only the imperial head of Eastern Rome, but the embodiment of deity.
  When Helena reached the shrubs, she hastened her steps along the marble walkway past the rows of plantain trees, hearing the laughter of female voices drifting on the breeze. Once certain she was out of sight, she picked up her hem and ran toward the trees lining the outer wall.
  Loyal as always, Bardas waited in the evening shadows and followed her into the cloister of trees, where branches drooped low with white flowers.
  "Where is Tancred?"
  He cleared his throat with scorn. "The barbarian did not come. I was right when I said he was clever and could not be bought easily."
  "What do you mean!"
  "He has maneuvered his way into the hire of the auspicious emperor himself."
  "The emperor!" Troubled, she asked, "Where is Tancred now?"
  "He is not in Constantinople. He left days ago."
  "Not in--" Her hopes shattered.
  "I've learned from the Varangian Guard that Master Philip met with him in the Baths of Zeuxippus weeks ago. The barbarian has mistakenly been made liaison for the emperor. And Philip will bid him ride to meet with the prince of the Norman army before it arrives outside the city walls."
  Her relief gave way to a laugh. "Then we have more cause to celebrate. Nicholas rides
 
with the Norman prince, and it is my plan that we ride with Tancred to meet him. Will he return to receive his orders from Philip?"
  A ridge formed on his brow at her apparent disregard for his news. "I do not know," he said.
  Helena's impatience grew. "What do you mean, you don't know? Did you deliver him my letter?"
  "I did. Before the barbarian rode out for Herion."
  Herion! Then there is little time. Helena swiftly told him about seeing the guard galley on the Marmara and about the information General Taticus had given her aunt.
  "A courier is now being sent to inform Philip of the approach of the Normans. We must leave tonight before Tancred receives his orders."
  "Ride to the guard castle? Mistress, are you mad? The Norman went to Herion to appease another of the western princes, a man who arrogantly claims himself some great person in the West--a duke he calls himself, from Lorraine. There is trouble between his men and the emperor's soldiers."
  She already knew about the man called Godfrey of Bouillon, who was encamped across the Herion bridge on the other side of the Bosporus waiting impatiently for the other crusader armies to arrive. So Tancred was sent there to mediate peace. ...
  "This said duke has command of seven thousand choice knights, besides a foot army of many thousands more," protested Bardas. "To find Tancred Redwan--"
  Seven thousand. ... A chill ran through Helena. The emperor was right--the duke commanded a formidable army, and if joined with the soon-arriving Normans--
  "Who can trust such a barbaric force?" said Bardas, as though reading her thoughts.
  Her eyes rushed to his. "They might indeed become an enemy to Byzantium, but perhaps an ally if they move east against the Moslems."
  He frowned, disbelieving. "They have plans of their own."
  "Maybe, but ..." She made up her mind swiftly. The guard galley would soon arrive at Herion and Tancred would be given new orders.
  "I will risk the ride to Herion. If not, my
 
doom is cast." She told him what
Irene had said about sending her to Antioch sooner. "By the time Nicholas arrives, I will be aboard a dromond on my way to St. Symeon."
  "There is fighting in the towns along the Bosporus, and the duke is displeased with the emperor. What if they turn on us? Who can trust these wily brutes?"
  Helena would not think about it. She could not, for her courage would falter. She remembered the horror of the Rhinelanders along the Danube River. If Tancred had not rescued her ...
  "If I must choose between danger or marriage to Prince Kalid, I shall journey to find Tancred."
  Bardas grudgingly relented. "I will do that which is deemed best for your safety. If you must go to Herion, we will, but it is best to make our escape in the darkness."
  She smiled. "I will go with the women to the candlelighting tonight at the church, then slip away unseen."
  "Take caution; you will be watched by madame's guards."
  "They will be too busy watching the emperor to notice me."
  "I shall be waiting down the street from Hagia Sophia with a chariot. And if we are seen, alas, it will mean the dungeon for you ... and for me? Death."
  "Nothing must happen to you, my faithful friend! But do you not see that it is the only way?"
  "I see nothing but trouble when it comes to the barbarian," he grumbled, then sighed. "If it must be, think not of my life. You can depend on me."
  Helena smiled and touched his arm. "I shall be there soon after the candlelighting. Go in peace, quickly."
               * * *
  As the final rays of the purple sunset faded over the Golden Horn, Helena and the youthful aristocracy were escorted by members of the guard to the candlelighting.
  Lights gleamed from the embrasures in the walls of the high monasteries, and the armed servitors tramped through the shadows toward the magnificently built church. On the water, the sails of the fishing fleet were seen moving in toward the shore after a day of fruitful toil with their nets.
 
  Before the imperial palace, evening mantled the Marmara, where slaves knelt to light the colored lanterns on the waiting caiques belonging to the aristocracy. As the night would wear on, the nobles and citizens would embark upon the same entertainment that had filled its glittering walls for a millennium.
  The drowsy pigeons, having flown to safety within the domes of the hundreds of churches dotting the city's horizon, closed their eyes upon it all, bored with man's vaunted display.
  Helena was anything but bored as the possibility of her escape loomed like opened gates before her. She felt the excitement in the warm breeze brushing against her face as she walked with her candle amid the other young Greek beauties.
  So far, she had avoided the trap awaiting her at Antioch. There was much to be grateful for on this night. She would soon find Tancred, and then her beloved uncle. Nicholas, as a bishop, was expected to wield sword and lance as proficiently as any Norman warrior. Standing between her uncle and Tancred, she would find security at the Castle of Hohms.
  Thankfully, Helena lifted her thoughts in praise to Christ while her dark eyes shone above the clear flame of her candle.

              CHAPTER 5
    Assassin, or Gallant Knight?

  Rain clouds marshaled together above the dark waters of the Bosporus, and the spring night settled in with a fine drizzle. Wearing the black-and-crimson uniform of the emperor's imperial guard, Tancred's boot steps rang across the stone floor as he walked to where his winter cloak hung from a peg on a rock wall in an upper chamber of the guard castle.
  Accepting his helmet from a young serving boy, Tancred stepped out onto a steep flight of chiseled steps leading down to the outer courtyard.
  The Byzantine guard castle was built near a stone bridge that crossed over a long crook of the Golden Horn waterway. It brought him no pleasure in knowing that his mission would bring him to the other side of the bridge where stone castles and wooden structures were scattered amid the little towns along the Bosporus. For waiting in one of the castles was the first of the crusader princes to have
 
arrived earlier that spring, Godfrey of Bouillon, Duke of Lower Lorraine. He had brought an army of seven thousand armored knights, mailed horsemen, and foot soldiers, and was known to be a proud and difficult man to appease. Tancred again wondered that he had allowed himself to become involved in a cause that was not his own.
  He knew why he was involved, of course.
He was in Constantinople waiting for news to reach him on the true assassin of his half brother Derek. He was also waiting for Nicholas to arrive ... and then there was his niece, the spoiled and willful Helena.
  Envisioning Helena brought an unlikely frown to his face--a face both rugged and sensitive, bearing the masculine features that belonged to his Norman father and the dark Moorish good looks of his mother. His appearance often found him in too much favor with women who were far more appreciative than the somewhat haughty Helena.
  Tancred's stormy blue-gray eyes smoldered with irritation beneath heavy lashes dusted with the same flattering brownish gold of his thick and somewhat curling hair. He did not know exactly why it should be, but he felt a mild irritation whenever he thought of her--which was a pastime he refused to engage in. Perhaps he was as stubborn as she was in keeping emotional distance. He was determined to avoid becoming entangled. By the standards of Greek civilization, he was considered ruthless--a barbarian--and perhaps what goaded his pride the most, an "ignorant savage."
  It mattered not that his learning was equal to any in the Eastern Empire, or that he bore the skilled hand of a physician. He was seen as a warrior from the West, fit only for the gladiator arena or for service to the emperor against his blood cousins of the Moslem East.
  It rankled him that Helena blindly doted upon the "wonders" of Philip the Noble, despite his being an obvious coward and an ambitious man with little honor. That he refused to fight for her and was apparently willing to turn her over to Kalid of Antioch seemed to do little to extinguish the flame in her heart that burned for him. What did she see in this Greek?
  Tancred frowned. Am I as conceited and arrogant as she claims? He impatiently drew the collar of his dark cloak around his neck
 
and glanced up at the heavy clouds. Enough of her, he thought. He had his own work--to find an assassin and bring him back to Sicily to stand trial. He had a life to return to as count and heir to the castle and Redwan galleons.
  A dozen Byzantine soldiers stood along the front of the bridge holding flaring torches, and again Tancred wondered how he had permitted himself to become foolishly involved in the difficulty that lay ahead of him in trying to cool the riled temper of Duke Godfrey. What of his own ill temper; who would soothe him?
  The heavier rain began to descend and glistened in the torchlight pelting the hides of the horses mounted with imperial guardsmen under his command--as if he wanted them! He was a loner and wished to remain so. What did he care of Greek soldiers?
  The muscled black stallion named Apollo, belonging to Helena, stood saddled and waiting for him beside Hakeem, his Moorish friend from Sicily-- perhaps the only man he could trust in all the empire. Hakeem, cynical as ever, sat with barely a smile on his lean, savage face astride his "infidel" horse, an Arabian mare.
  Tancred came down the guard castle steps, his iron-strapped boots crunching on the stone. He was followed by his commanding officer, Philip, equally garbed in baronial uniform. Philip, disdainful and elegantly handsome, tossed a swatch of dark hair from his aristocratic forehead and eyed Tancred with masked dislike. Tancred knew he hated him; they had clashed from the moment they had met on the Danube River when Helena had come between them. Yet Philip needed Tancred to safeguard his position. Their dislike for each other was militarily cloaked with muted indifference as they walked through the rain and toward the bridge where the unit of soldiers waited. At the bridge, they paused.
  Philip had recently been promoted to fill the position of minister of war, secured not by his military experience and wisdom, but by court intrigue, and perhaps poison as well. Tancred heard through members of the imperial guard that Irene of Troy was the power behind Philip. For her purposes she could wield poison as skillfully as a knight did his sword.
  Tancred was aware of the risk coming from the
 
leopard-eyed woman who cornered her quarry. Recently, it had taken more of his skill to avoid her seductive traps than it had to escape the Redwan Castle in Sicily with a dozen guards on his trail. However, it was now to his advantage that the flaxen-haired Irene needed him to deal with the Normans, for it granted him opportunity to gain information on his enemies.
  Although Philip's abilities were in question, Tancred wisely kept his feelings for the man as inscrutable as he did his response to Irene when too often called to her side on some question she wished answered, or as an escort for her chariot. He wondered if Helena had heard of their frequent company and what she might make of it.
  As for Philip, Tancred had no confidence in his leadership. He remembered the incident on the road to Wieselburg by the Danube River months earlier. At that time, Philip was risking the lives of the men under him and putting Helena at risk of capture by the ruthless Rhinelander brigands. And now, in order to become minister of war, Philip had surrendered her to the prince of Antioch.
  What manner of coward would give up the woman he truly wanted? Tancred believed that Philip did want Helena, and that in his own selfish way he may even love her. The thought was disturbing. What would Helena do if Philip unexpectedly forsook all to run away with her?
  No chance of that. Philip was not that heroic, thought Tancred as he put on his helmet, hearing the drops of rain pelting against the steel. He drew the chin strap and fastened it, his eyes meeting Philip's.
  Philip smirked, the cleft in his chin showing. "You are under orders to convince Duke Godfrey to swear his military allegiance to the emperor."
  "He will not vow his fealty," said Tancred too easily. "It is not their way. They are proud and independent."
  Philip's jaw tightened. "He must swear. Enough death and fighting. Tell him we shall cut off all food supplies to his army if he does not return with you in peace to the imperial palace."
  Tancred showed none of the disdain he felt as he looked out across the dark waters toward the distant castles where Godfrey and his knights were housed and
 
waiting for the imminent arrival of the other princes and their armies. The emperor had already sipped the bitter cup of his first military run-in with the Ironmen of the West.
  The knights were not like the superstitious horde of peasants who had followed the monk named Peter the Hermit as he rode his donkey across Europe. The peasant crusade under Peter had met with a massacre by the Turks months earlier, but the Ironmen were deadly knights in steel, riding chargers and carrying powerful long blades. One vicious and powerful swipe of that Norman long blade could lop an opponent in half.
  Now there was impatience among Godfrey's nobles and knights to be about the business of war for which they had left their home castles. There was a lack of supplies, misunderstanding between the duke and the emperor, and now the emperor had cut off the food supplies in order to force their leader inffbecoming his sworn vassal-son, something Godfrey refused to do.
  Since Tancred was considered by the emperor and Philip to be of the same western mindset, they appealed to him to make his fellow knight yield to terms of peace.
  Philip's dark eyes gazed coolly at Tancred as the rain dripped off his hat. "The emperor cannot state too strongly the seriousness with which he looks upon the duke's recent attack on a squad of imperial soldiers. They were sent to watch his rowdy men. Godfrey's men attacked, leaving not one of the emperor's soldiers alive."
  Tancred watched him calmly, remaining silent.
  "Godfrey is now master of the open country around Constantinople," continued Philip. "At the same time he refuses to take the oath of vassalage to the emperor."
  "I'll do what I can." Tancred walked to Apollo, and taking the reins from a sober-faced Hakeem, he placed his boot into the stirrup and mounted.
  Philip appeared furious with his calm. "Do not report back to me unless you bring the barbarian."
  Tancred scanned him and was about to ride across the bridge when someone shouted from behind on the road. He waited, and Philip turned as a horseman galloped up. In the torchlight the
 
courier was seen bearing the wet and drooping flag of the guard castle of Herion. He rode to Philip, saluting.
  "News on the Norman army, Excellency."
  Tancred exchanged quick glances with Hakeem. At last! The news they had been long anticipating.
  "The army of Prince Bohemond remained in Kastur for many days while they entertained their prayers and feasting. But the towns of Pelagonia, hearing that Bohemond was coming, did fear and fortify themselves, expecting trouble, remembering the crusaders under the monk Peter the Hermit."
  "Cannot these wolves restrain their warfare for even a day?" demanded Philip.
  "Word has arrived of fighting and a town was burnt. Whose fault it was is unclear."
  "Where are they now?" inquired Tancred, unable to restrain his keen interest.
  "They crossed the river Vardar." "And the emperor's forces are there?" asked Philip.
  "The Turks and Petchenegs were waiting. They engaged him in a heavy battle."
  Philip's mouth tightened. "How did it fare?"
  "The imperial force was beaten back--and this same Bohemond is now but days from Constantinople."
  Tancred was not surprised that so much information was known about Bohemond, since the emperor's spies were posted along the route to watch for his coming. He wondered what had provoked the Normans to attack the town.
  The courier leaned toward Philip with a letter. "From General Taticus."
  Tancred looked on in silence as Philip read the message beneath the flickering firelight. A minute later he looked up at him and excitement stirred hotly in his dark eyes.
  "Your business with Godfrey must be consummated hastily. As the emperor's liaison you will ride to greet the Norman lord as soon as possible. He must be convinced to enter Constantinople alone, except for a bodyguard."
  Tancred wondered if convincing Bohemond to ride in alone was possible, but he affected confidence. "I shall ride to Bohemond as soon as I meet with Godfrey."
 
  He rode with the others across the wet bridge, the horses' hoofs echoing upon the planks. Apollo's black mane glistened beneath the flickering torches carried by the soldiers.
  Hakeem leaned toward him, his eyes twinkling with malicious humor. "Can the Greek king trust you, master, you being a rapacious barbarian Norman?"
  Tancred grinned at him. "It is you, infidel, who had best watch his turbaned head when we ride into Godfrey's camp. They may decide to spit and roast you over their fire."
  Hakeem grinned back, his white teeth showing, and he patted his scimitar. "Then I must teach them a few Moorish tricks."
  Tancred sobered. "Better yet, save your tricks for Antioch. I will need all the help I can get when we arrive, just the two of us within its walls. Do not forget the true cause for which we have come from Sicily."
  Hakeem's humor dampened. "I have not forgotten your cousin Mosul. Perhaps it is best that I slip silently away to Antioch and await you there."
  "The very thing I was to suggest, Father of Spies. Do nothing to alert Mosul. Wait for me. But keep your eye on him until I arrive."
  Hakeem scanned him. "Will you come as a Norman?"
  Tancred thought of the crusader army ahead of him bearing the crimson cross. "It is my intention to arrive before Antioch is under Norman siege, but who knows what fortune may come upon me between now and then? One thing is certain, I shall soon lay aside the uniform of the Greek and seek to come as a Moor."
  Hakeem grinned and lifted a casual salute as he pulled back, riding to the side and allowing the contingent of soldiers to pass by.
               * * *
  Tancred's meeting in the castle with Godfrey of Bouillon went as he had expected. For several hours the truce he had requested between Godfrey's forces and the emperor's held, but the crusader refused to capitulate to the emperor's terms as distrust grew. He paced an upper chamber where torches mounted on the walls cast fleeting light upon the rugs from Tabriz.
  Duke Godfrey was in his thirties and his appearance measured up to the standards of the canons of
 
beauty held in the chansons de geste for a knightly liege. Tall with broad shoulders and narrow hips, his eyes were a fierce gray; his hair, the color of reddish gold, brushed the edge of the collar on his tunic. The crusader's crimson cross was embroidered above his heart on the thick leather tunic.
  A handsome and arrogant Frenchman was also present. Prince Hugh, brother of the king of France, was aligning himself with Tancred in trying to convince the duke to relent and swear his fealty to the emperor. As Tancred had suspected, the duke would not be influenced. While Tancred rested his muscular frame against the stone wall near a small window looking below into the castle courtyard, the duke turned hotly to Hugh, his gray eyes smoldering.
  "You, a French prince! You did leave your own country as a king with wealth and strong following. Now look at you!" he gestured impatiently. "You have come down from that dignity like a slave. You come here like a man who has won a great thing from the emperor because he gives you meager gifts, to bid me do the same. Nay! Are we not lords in our own western realms?"
  Hugh looked at him crossly and emptied his goblet, setting it down noisily. "We ought to have remained at home and not meddled in matters here."
  "It is too late to think of that!"
  "But since we are here, in a strange land without supplies, we have sore need of the emperor's good favor. If we do not gain it, matters will go ill with us."
  Bored, Tancred watched the two proud warriors butting wills. His Norman ancestry had accustomed him to many such disagreements between proud men who were not quick to compromise when oversized egos were threatened.
  Of the two crusader nobles before him, Hugh was pragmatic and more inclined to prefer the comforts he had left behind in France. Godfrey, however, felt scorn for the favors of the emperor, seeing them as trifles which insulted his honor. How could he swear to fight for the emperor when he had already taken oath to the religious call? he insisted. Had not his sword been blessed by the Church? He was a knight of Christ on a great journey of deprivation, and he insisted that he battled for the honor of Christianity and the freedom of Jerusalem from the mocking infidel!
 
  A cynic, Tancred suspected that
Godfrey's selfless fervor might also envision carving out a kingdom of his own in the Holy Land. Weary of wasting time with bickering nobles, his own quest for locating Mosul gnawed at him, and he was anxious to meet Nicholas. For Helena's sake, Tancred could not bring himself to break his obligation to Philip and ride out a free man to join Hakeem.
  Godfrey said with scorn, "I have sworn my vassalship to King Henry of the Holy Roman Empire! I have taken the cross to fight the enemies of Christ! And shall I bow to this Greek emperor as some slave? Nay!"
  "What choice have you?" interrupted Tancred. "Remember, the emperor has the upper hand. The crusaders will need the emperor as you battle for Jerusalem. Despite your intentions to avoid an oath of vassalage, your army is held captive as long as he holds the bread basket. What will you do? The fields are bare. There is naught to forage until summer. In the meantime the emperor has refused you the liberty to buy food. If not for your sake, or your knights, then think of your chargers. If the horses and mules and oxen are in weak condition before you even cross the Bosporus, how shall you face the blazing heat and drought of summer? Your chargers and men will faint before the arrows and scimitars of the Turks."
  "He is right," pressed Hugh. "An army cannot fight in heavy armor without food and water."
  The duke looked with irritation on Tancred. "If I did not know you to be a Norman with a reputation for courage, we would also suspect you, our brother," said Godfrey. "For what are these men out in the courtyard guarding your horses but weak Greeks?"
  "I am not here to defend the emperor's soldiers. They can defend their own honor. And if I did not know you to be a knight, I would take offense."
  Godfrey seemed about to relent when the sound of galloping horses interrupted. Tancred looked down through the window, expecting trouble. In the torchlight a group of foot soldiers carried some of the duke's wounded men toward the front of the castle. Godfrey now had his opportunity to refuse negotiations with the emperor.
  Within minutes after Tancred gathered with the others
 
in the castle hall below, Godfrey's brother, Prince Baldwin, anxious for battle, called for revenge.
  "Was not our situation already ominous before this night? And yet the emperor has insulted good men even more by sending Moslem infidels here to police us in the towns we occupy until our western brothers arrive."
  "What happened?" demanded Tancred, suspecting Godfrey's men of initiating trouble.
  Prince Baldwin looked at him sharply, noting his Byzantine uniform, but realizing he was the son of Count Dreux Redwan, he grudgingly showed respect. "They attacked us like ravenous wolves, cutting off a party of our most trusted men." He looked at his older brother, who was scowling.
  No matter that Godfrey's men may have deserved to be halted by the Byzantine guard, it was seen as a knight's duty to defend his soiled honor. Any call for reason and calm would be swiftly rejected. He saw Godfrey looking at him from across the hall.
  "You see how the emperor has broken his own truce. Byzantine treachery! You ask me to return to the city with you to bow the knee and surrender to his demands like a groveling piglet." He turned to a wounded Rhinelander who sat up from the floor, holding his arm and leaning against the wall.
  "What befell you?" demanded Godfrey. The Rhinelander wiped his sweating face on his sleeve and pushed back his matted black hair. "The attack was unprovoked, my liege. Many good men are dead. Men who would fight the infidels for Jerusalem. Others are sorely wounded. Some of our esquires are now captives! Avenge your honor, my liege."
  Tancred took him in, judging him a troublemaker. He remembered all too well the Rhinelanders' attack on the Jews in Worms, Cologne, and the other towns along the Danube, and he felt the man could not be trusted.
  "It is not Duke Godfrey's honor that is tarnished, but plunderers," Tancred insisted. "Do you swear to an unprovoked attack?"
  The knight's eyes noticed him for the first time and turned hard, scanning the black-and-crimson uniform of the imperial cavalry.
  "You question me, Greek! Those of same uniform
 
attacked our esquires out foraging for food in one of the towns. We rode swiftly to their rescue, but the Greeks outnumbered us and beat us down with their swords."
  Tancred took him in. "Foraging for food and ready to pay the Greek farmers for their toil? Or were your esquires plundering their daughters as well as bread?"
  The Rhinelander tried in anger to get to his feet, but Godfrey gestured for another man to hold him back.
  "These esquires, where be they?" said Godfrey.
  The knight was staring angrily at Tancred. "Outside, dead. If my word is questioned, my liege, then call the French knight waiting outside. It was he and a band of his footmen who came upon me and others left to die in the field."
  Godfrey impatiently gestured to an esquire. "Bring the Frenchman in."
  A moment later Tancred gazed on a wounded esquire and a French knight, their faces smeared with dried sweat and blood.
  "Monsieur," breathed the knight. "He speaks truth. I and a body of knights sworn to the king of France did come upon a band of esquires under attack. We fought to aid them but killed only twenty of the attackers. We brought back your own for Christian burial, and this wounded Rhinelander."
  Godfrey, frowning, turned to his brothers and several lead knights to discuss the situation, while the injured French esquire and knight both slumped to the floor. Tancred went to attend the knight first.
  The Rhinelander remained sprawled on the floor watching him sullenly. "My liege, will you make plans before this man who serves the Greek king?"
  Tancred refused to respond, concentrating instead on stopping the bleeding from the gash across the knight's shoulder.
  "He is a Norman," snapped Godfrey. "A friend, a cousin of Prince Bohemond."
  "A Norman! In a Greek uniform?" The French knight looked over at him, taking the flagon of wine offered him by another esquire. "Speak not ill of a brother-knight in his presence, Rhinelander," he snarled. "Lest he
 
cut you in pieces. See how he doth aid me who bleeds and is ready to die?"
  The Rhinelander fell into sullen silence, but Tancred felt his angry gaze.
  True to Godfrey's desire for retribution, the crusaders made plans to ride out for a successful ambush.
  "The Turkish infidels who are in their hire as mercenaries will be distributed to our knights as captives," said Godfrey's brother Baldwin.
  Tancred walked up to Duke Godfrey. "The Rhinelander is lying."
  "How do you know?"
  "I know them. They were out stealing and terrorizing the farms. Any revenge now and the emperor will attack and withhold food. He is also a soldier of the blood. He once fought the Normans near Thessalonica. He will not overlook an injustice done to his men."
  "Injustice to our honor has already been done," argued Baldwin, but Godfrey was grave.
  "We will talk alone in the upper chamber," he told Tancred.
               * * *
  There was so much depending on this night, thought Helena, her heart beating chaotically. She did not expect her daring venture to go uncontested. Doubts thwarted her attempts at calm. When she and Bardas rode across the bridge toward the castle where Duke Godfrey and his chief princes and nobles had set up their headquarters, it was late in the evening and the rains had ceased.
  The stone streets of the town were noisy with western warriors and she scanned the throng wearing various pieces of armor, most of which she did not recognize. She was completely covered in a deep-hooded cloak of patterned blue-and-gold brocade, but that she was Byzantine, as well as the chariot, must have been obvious to all. They stared in cautious silence, some with suspicion as their eyes swept Bardas, who looked about with concern.
  "Beneath a thin veneer of gallantry, they are uncivilized," Bardas murmured.
  She shuddered beneath her cloak. "There are princes and nobles among them also. Belted knights, I hear, who would fight and die for a lady. But you are right. We must get past the common peasant-soldiers to the blooded princes and
 
knights of the French and Normans."
  Bardas showed his skepticism as he glanced about. "Even Redwan claims to be a count. They all boast of kingly blood, but who were their fathers? Savages from the frozen North and tribes of barbarians from the thick forests of the West."
  Their chariot moved noisily down the stone street, and the horses snorted to a rumbling halt before the castle fortress. Helena sensed the smell of battle in the smoky air that drifted from the cooking fires along the water's edge where the foot soldiers had set up camp.
  Bardas cast his circular cloak of crimson over his wide shoulder and steadied Helena's arm as she stepped down from the chariot.
  A rugged knight emerged into the torchlight from the darkened steps where he'd been keeping watch. His shoulder-length black hair was vainly groomed. With a measuring appraisal of Bardas, his gaze then moved to Helena.
  Bardas spoke in pompous Latin: "I bring a woman of the highest nobility to the safety of the castle of Duke Godfrey of Bouillon. It is important she speak with the emperor's liaison, Tancred Redwan."
  "Count Redwan holds counsel with our liege. Who shall I say calls upon him?"
  "The daughter of the notable Greek general." The knight appeared humored. "And of which notable Greek general do you speak?"
  Bardas took a step forward, but Helena lay hold of his arm. "No, Bardas," she whispered.
  The knight offered an exaggerated bow. "I will send word to our liege posthaste. Come, Byzantine, do enter the castle with your honorable lady."
  She heard Bardas grumble about scornful manners, but Helena was far less worried about homage than finding Tancred. She gathered her cloak about her snugly and walked ahead with Bardas close behind.
  Helena had not proceeded far when the door opened and several warriors strode from the castle. They cast appreciative glances, first at the chariot and fine horses, then at Helena, curiosity reflecting in their tanned faces.
  Bardas kept his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, but there was no mistaking the challenge in his voice. "Step aside," he ordered. "The lady wishes to pass."
 
  The warriors glanced at one another, and as though his superior attitude amused them, they exchanged brief smiles. Bardas glowered menacingly, and several threw back their heads and laughed outright, while another spoke something in French. The warriors all seemed to chorus their approval.
  Helena believed them to be conceited Frenchmen, and under safer conditions and farther at bay, she would have been curious about them. These were quite different from the Rhinelanders she had met along the Danube River. These knights were even taller than Bardas and darkly handsome. All wore their hair long and looked to have dangerous appetites and bold dark eyes. And they carried a host of dreadful-looking weapons.
  While neither she nor Bardas could understand their speech, there was no mistaking the amusement in their laughter. The idea could easily have rankled her pride, except for her urgent mission.
  A powerful man donned in a fur-lined cloak appeared in the doorway. He must have been a nobleman, for the others turned as his demanding voice interrupted their laughter.
  Seeing their smiles and exaggerated bows, Helena swept past them with dignity into the castle hall, feeling the nerves along her spine tighten.
  The large hall was lit with flaming torches. Wood burned in the wall-sized hearth. A roasted pig hung on a spit and its fat sputtered and sizzled, becoming the only sound in the hall as the men fell silent at her entry.
  She glanced about cautiously. More knights congregated at a long trestle table at the back wall or stood leisurely near the hearth with flagons of wine. There were noblemen wearing fur-collared cloaks; all were impeccably groomed, and their rugged faces bore some hint of kingly bloodline. Eyes, alert with musing interest, pondered her. Several shifted their gaze to Bardas, measuring his strength, as all knights do when meeting a new warrior.
  Helena noticed another grouping of men and took heart. Friars in brown or black cowls sat in a small circle reading from a parchment, and their young male attendants carried amber rosaries.
  Whether friars, knights, or noblemen, all of them wore the same red cross sewn onto their
 
tunics, and all had weapons.
  Helena's presence created an uneasy silence; then the noblemen began to speak among themselves in low tones, either in northern French or German. The low guttural voices of the Rhinelanders kindled a raw memory of the frightening hour months earlier when she had hidden in the forest along the Danube. Philip's entourage had been savagely attacked, with many killed. She shivered, remembering.
  Like a tiger with its cub, Bardas stepped closer to her side, his marble eyes taking them all in slowly and with obvious distrust, as though they were a pack of hungry dogs with one bone to be fought over. Just then, the French nobleman who had escorted them reached a hand to grasp hold of her arm. She didn't know if he merely intended to lead her to the chiseled steps and up to the chamber where the Duke of Lower Lorraine waited with Tancred, for the moment he touched her, Bardas's sword whispered from his scabbard.
  "Foul fingers greased with pig fat! Do you touch the daughter of General Lysander?"
  Helena's breath caught with alarm. Whether or not the nobleman understood his speech was unclear, but he understood the meaning of the drawn blade. His dark eyes snapping like embers from the hearth, he too unsheathed his sword, tossed aside his cloak, and stepped back.
  He barked in French what must have been a disdainful challenge to Bardas. The other men moved back against the wall to watch. At once, Helena rushed between them to avert death. Did the nobleman understand Latin? "No, this man is my bodyguard! He acted to protect me."
  He looked at her sullenly. "Bodyguard or nay, the Greek has vilified my honor!"
  "I have the blood of a Spartan!" hissed Bardas proudly.
  The Frenchman gave him a dissecting rake. "A Spartan? You? By the wings of a falcon you are a weak woman! Look--" He called to his fellows, pointing mockingly at Bardas. "He wears silk leggings--red--with pretty gold strings!"
  Laughter echoed and bounced against the castle walls.
  "Do stay your sword, Sir Knight!" demanded Helena. "Bardas--step back at
 
once!"
  "I am Robert of Paris, and there are few knights in all my country who are willing to fight me. I once waited beside the road from sunup to sunset, and none would venture forth to contest. And will this pretty fellow in red silk insult my honor by waving his sword in my face? Surely it is stained in goat's milk and not infidel blood!"
  "Let him come, mistress. I shall undo him at once! I shall leave one side for the ravens, the other for rats."
  Although Helena's heart sounded in her ears, she was able to conceal her trembling knees with a pretended regal lift of her chin. "Silence, both of you," her eyes coming squarely to the Frenchman. "I do not doubt your valor or strength, Sir Knight, nor do your fellow warriors. But I am related to the royal family in Constantinople. And I shall have any man here thrown into a dungeon to keep company with hungry bears if you lift a hand against my bodyguard."
  Uncertainty reigned in the chamber, then turned to appreciative laughter as Helena stood her ground between them, appearing undaunted. Tancred, where are you!
  A command sounded forth on the stairs above her and she turned hopefully, her deep brown eyes wide and warm.
  "That was ill done, Robert. Am I your true liege, or but a mongrel in the goat field that you deign to treat my guests like enemies?"
  Helena stared up at the man, speechless, for he was obviously Duke Godfrey and his appearance was not what she had expected.
  The French knight called Robert of Paris gestured impatiently toward Bardas. "My liege, this Greek in woman's dress has insulted my sword!"
  "I am a Spartan," boasted Bardas again. "And I fought beside General Lysander against the Moslem hordes. And I slew twenty infidels with my sword before my master fell to his death, a saint! And if this barbarian doth not like my red cloth--then I challenge him to take it from me!"
  Godfrey stood, hands on hips, surveying one warrior, then the other. Rousing anger colored his face.
 
  Helena had heard that he was from the lineage of Charlemagne, the first leader in Western Europe after the fall of the Roman Empire to bring the warring factions together. Charlemagne had died in the eighth century and the Holy Roman Empire had again split into numerous kingdoms. Henry was now the emperor, and though he had not come on the crusade to the Holy Land, he had sent his relative Duke Godfrey.
  Godfrey was a handsome man, one who was comfortable with his airs of dignity, yet unquestionably a warrior. He looked anything but the wild barbarian Helena had been told to expect.
  He came down the stone steps in a long mantle of fur, his gray eyes swerving from the Frenchman to the immobile Bardas.
  "You, Spartan!" he spoke to Bardas. "The color of your cloth is of no concern to me. But you enter my castle boldly waving your sword. For that alone, I myself could take your head! I forbear for the sake of the lady. Speak! At whose bidding do you come?"
  Bardas's eyes narrowed and he glanced at Helena. She discreetly lifted her hand, though the gesture was not lost on the duke. That Godfrey already believed himself insulted by the emperor was clear, and she guessed that he had been discussing that injury with Tancred before she arrived.
  Helena stepped forward. "Your pardon, sir, but the bodyguard is mine. He is rash--but sworn to protect me. The vow lies heavily upon his heart and oft times prompts him to move too quickly." Her eyes begged his silence as she looked at Bardas. His gaze averted, the veins protruding on his wide neck betraying internal turmoil, yet he remained silent and sheathed his sword with an energetic thrust. The French knight reluctantly turned his back, then strode to the table and snatched up a flagon of wine.
  "The emperor does not know I am here," said Helena to the duke. "I have come of my own initiative, alone and through dangerous territory with naught but my bodyguard. I must of dire necessity speak to the Norman they call Tancred Redwan."
  Godfrey looked mildly curious as he studied her. Helena drew back her hood, showing thick and shiny ebony tresses embedded with a lavish display of creamy pearls. The lovely
 
Greek contour to her face and the look of nobility once again brought silence to the chamber.
  "I am Helena Lysander, daughter of the deceased General Lysander, nephew of the empress."
  She walked toward him where he stood on the steps above her and held her head high. When she stopped below the steps she deliberately lowered her head with deference to his title, knowing well how much honor and esteem meant to the princes, barons, and feudal lords of the West.
  "I bring you greeting, Duke Godfrey. My venture to come here this late hour is wrought with many risks, but I rejoice now to be safely in your presence and with your company of honorable knights." She looked about at the circle of strong men who also watched her with avid interest. The noblemen looked flattered and smiled, their white teeth showing.
  "Your servants, demoiselle," they echoed smoothly one by one, bowing low toward her.
  Helena smiled sweetly at each one, and sighs filled the hall. One rushed forward and knelt at her feet. "Demoiselle, I am yours! To die for you!"
  Laughter erupted from the others over their mesmerized fellow knight.
  Helena had salvaged the moment from further tension, even if she had resorted to flattery to do so--a deed not altogether noble.
  "Be on guard, mademoiselle," came a voice from the gallery above her. "Your charms may get more than you bargained for. You will soon have them drinking from your slipper and marching to bring you the head of Kalid."
  Helena's head turned swiftly from the kneeling knight to look up at Tancred. Her heart felt an odd lurch as her eyes rested upon him. The black-and-crimson uniform of the emperor's imperial guard only enhanced his veritable good looks.
  The duke glanced toward the upper gallery where Tancred lounged against a pillar. "You know the general's daughter, Tancred?"
  "We are related."
  Helena's surprise showed at his daring remark, obviously offered in ironic amusement. Even Godfrey paused at the unlikely suggestion.
  A hint of a smile formed on Tancred's
 
mouth. "She is the niece of Bishop Nicholas Lysander, my esteemed and beloved godfather," came Tancred's reply.
  Such temerity! Even if he knew Nicholas, they were not related.
  "Then if Nicholas rides beside Bohemond, his niece is also our friend." Godfrey looked at Helena. "You shall be well cared for while under our protection, Lady."
  Helena thanked him and expected Tancred to leave the gallery and come down the steps to meet her. When he did not, she looked at him.
  "I wish to speak with you, my kinsman. I have traversed a worthy distance in the rain."
  He offered a gallant bow. "As you wish, my lady. Shall I come down to you, or would you come up to me?"
  There was a chuckle from the knights, but Helena ignored it and ascended the steps, her cloak trailing behind like the train of a princess. "I wish to speak with you alone."
  "Your every wish, Lady, is my command." The rogue. "You are indeed gallant, Sir Knight. Bardas, you may come with me."
  Halfway up the steps, Bardas looked down on the unpleasant faces watching him, but Helena determinedly climbed the rough stone toward an upper meeting chamber.
  Outside the door, Helena paused and drew in a breath. Lord, guide my way, she prayed, then turned to Bardas and whispered, "Wait here."

              CHAPTER 6
           Knave of Hearts

  Shielding her inner trembling with a pose of dignity and a calmness of soul, Helena swept into the chamber with its vaulted ceiling and flaring torches encircling the wall. A fire sizzled in the stone hearth. A flash of lightning illuminated the small open window, followed by a lionlike rumble from the region of the dark Bosporus.
  Tancred shut the heavy door laden with straps of iron and turned to face Helena, his stormy blue-gray eyes fixed evenly upon her. Now that they were alone he did not mask his irritation over her presence.
  "It is dangerous to have come. Do you make it an
 
ambition to place yourself in peril, or dare I instead permit the conceited thought you could not endure another day without seeing me?"
  His audacity never ceased to amaze her, and under his gaze, she fought to keep back the emotion welling up in her heart.
  Pretending indifference, she went past him to the hearth. "How ill of you to flatter your sense of worth, sir. You are quite like the rest of your egotistical kin downstairs," and she glanced at him coolly, scanning him, "except of course, you do not vainly parade about in fragrantly oiled hair."
  His brow lifted in reply, then he folded his arms and leaned against the door. "If I permitted my hair to grow like Samson, madame, would you be more inclined to soothe my head on your skirts?"
  Helena whipped about, her eyes sparking, a stain of warmth on her fair cheeks.
  Tancred affected gravity at her insult, again bowing.
  "I am woefully in error, damsel. My daring has distressed you. I have offended your superior position, and rightly so! I forget I am but a barbarian, whereas you, fair damsel, are a noble Byzantine, and I am not fit but to bow as a bondslave before your glimmering slippers."
  He looked at her with a faint smile. "Surely," he said, "is there naught I can do to win your slightest favor?"
  "Hold your tongue, sir. There is one thing you can do," Helena rushed indignantly, and when he straightened from the door and gave her an inquiring look, she snapped, "You can vow your service to me instead of Philip."
  He looked as if to muse. "A matter to consider. Is there a dragon you would send me forth to slay for the favor of your merest glance?"
  Helena dare not think of the effect of her favor upon him and tore her eyes from his. She walked to the trestle table and ran her hand over its rough surface. She found this man attractive--too much so--and she didn't like it.
  "As I thought," he said with mock disappointment. "Then pray tell whose head do you wish as a trophy in a basket? Philip's?" he inquired innocently.
  She turned abruptly at the tone in his voice.
 
  "Another disappointment," he said. "I see by your righteous indignation how you unwisely uphold him in your memory despite his cowardice. Ah, then! It must be--yes, the head of the "golden goddess" you wish!"
  Helena flounced toward the door as if to leave, but he stepped in her path, bowing deeply at the waist.
  Tancred's eyes flickered with malicious amusement. "A raw jest, uncalled for. Pardon. We both know how fond you are of dear Lady Irene."
  It was on her tongue to make a quip about his own reported interest in her aunt, but she would only favor his conceit by allowing him to know that the slave girls whispered of his popularity with Lady Irene.
  "I wish to hire you," she stated flatly. He visibly winced. "I bleed at your voice. Such an utterly unbecoming tone you take in wooing my heart--"
  "I do not "woo" your affections, sir, nor would I be so foolish as to be concerned with your heart!"
  "Foolish indeed."
  "I wish to buy your sword!"
  His masculine presence seemed to challenge her. "Could so fair and sweet a face hold such a biting little tongue? Such an un-Christian attitude ..." and he sighed. "I cannot sell my sword. The very thought offends my knightly honor."
  Her eyes narrowed. He was deliberately frustrating her, of course, but why?
  "Your pride is most unbecoming, madame." Her eyes widened at his temerity. "My pride, sir? Did you say my pride? Such false humility on your part! Such arrogance! What of yours!"
  Helena's retort did not scathe him, and because his gaze was earthy and distracting, she went to the hearth and held her cold palms toward the embers.
  The silence became uncomfortable. "As for risk, Sir Knight, I have lived and breathed it since a child. Confronting one of your arrogant friends below when I arrived was naught else but what I expected from barbarian men who think of nothing but their prowess with sword and lance."
  She turned her head slightly to study him.
 
  His brow lifted. "Your tongue lashes me, Lady."
  "Good. I wish it so."
  "Yes. No doubt. You would have me beg and plead for the trifles of your benign mercies. Which makes me wonder why you came here at all, seeing I am a barbarian dog hardly fit for your favor."
  She remembered the sighs from Zoe and other silly women in the nobility. "Surely I did not come because of your handsome face, sir."
  "That you suggest you notice sends my blood pounding, madame."
  She stared stiffly at the fire. "How you presume."
  Tancred leaned against the door. "Then presumptions aside, let us talk openly." He walked to the hearth where he could see her face. "I trust your hot-tempered bodyguard to have warned you against coming here. Surely you know of the fighting between the duke and your emperor? You have arrived at a moment of danger."
  "I am aware. It was necessary."
  "It was not. I sent word through Bardas that I would contact you when I returned to Constantinople."
  The gold threads in her Byzantine tunic glimmered with importance. "And I, sir, sent word to you at the Venetian quarter along the Golden Horn as you bid me!"
  A lone brow lifted. "Yes, and I received your command."
  "Did you indeed! And yet you did not come?" Tancred's smile was faintly sardonic. His gaze briefly took her in with apparent disinterest. "I did not choose to come."
  She met his challenge evenly until bright spots of color formed in her cheeks.
  "Might I hope you were languishing with disappointment?"
  She gave a laugh. "Personal disappointment? Oh, indeed, hardly!" She turned and threw off her cloak, folding her arms indifferently. "It is your services I long for."
  "Ardently?"
  "Has it escaped you in your duties to Philip that I am soon to be given to a Moslem prince in Antioch? A detestable rogue as conceited as you, a man whom I have since discovered to be one of your cousins? It
 
appears you have many--one whom you claim to be an assassin."
  He turned serious. "I do not claim. Mosul is so. A ruthless swordsman, a murderer."
  His words brought a moment of sobriety to the chamber. How could he treat her plight so casually? "And Kalid is his cousin also," she said. "I am to be sent there. Or have you forgotten so soon your odious transgression of eavesdropping in Philip's chambers?"
  Tancred glanced toward the small open window as though listening for some unwanted sound. Helena too listened but heard only her anxious heart and the noise of guards milling around a communal fire in the courtyard.
  "How could I forget so entertaining a spectacle?" He laughed softly. "It is a treasured moment."
  "Your gallantry is tainted; your armor rusts. I suggest your boasted friendship and loyalty to my uncle was a bluff," she accused, frustration in her voice. "Else you would not look upon my dire need with such indifference."
  "Accuse me of much, but not of looking upon your destiny with indifference. I could, Lady, favor you with my devotion, if you were not so overtly spoiled and intemperate."
  "You dare--"
  "There is always hope. Nicholas will become your new guardian to teach you manners and charitable graces. If not he, then I may suffice. Perhaps when our futures are more free to intertwine. Now we are both trapped in the times. I could not pursue if you begged me to, for I have no liberty. And you are yet deceived inffbelieving you love Philip."
  Astounded by his audacity, Helena could only stare at him.
  Tancred smiled. "Then also, my memory of Kalid is always present. A knight does not forget an enemy. Nor will I. Fear not, it is not my intention to surrender anything of esteemed value to an opponent. And Kalid is now that."
  She looked at him quickly.
  "He harbors the assassin who killed Derek," he explained. "So I must confront Kalid and Mosul both--for different reasons."
  "I would hire your sword for protection from Kalid."
 
  "Ah, my sword ..." and he slipped it from its scabbard and contemplated the weapon as though it were the Holy Grail, yet a faint smile contradicted his awe. "There is none like it in all the West. There are relics in its hilt. Surely it is blessed, ready to fight for a holy cause. But my scimitar!" He sighed. "It was forged by an infidel Saracen! And now what? They are in conflict. I am divided!"
  "Perhaps you are forever doomed to contest between the two," she said ruefully.
  "Which sword do you come to me seeking?" he quipped.
  "Perhaps both!"
  "Then it seems you have forgotten," and he went to the window and looked below as if expecting riders.
  "Forgotten?"
  He looked at her. "Did I not tell you that night in Philip's chamber my sword was not for hire?"
  She remembered that humiliating night, but she wished he would forget it. She pretended indifference.
  "Nor is my service for hire now, if that is what you have come for." He sheathed his blade.
  Helpless at first, she was disarmed. "But I thought ... you hinted ... you would help me."
  "You did not ask for help. Instead you came demanding, as a haughty princess to a barefoot slave. You wish me to bow, to plead for a kind word, to risk my head for naught but a smile. Such a relationship I find unworthy of us."
  It wasn't so! How could she make him understand? "Not only so," he continued, "but I have a previous obligation to your emperor, one I will fulfill because of honor, for I have sworn to him, although the duty may yet place me at risk."
  Helena thought she knew what undertaking would place him in danger: riding into the camp of the approaching Normans as a liaison. Did he think there may be some who knew he had fled from Sicily? Certainly he didn't think Nicholas would turn against him? Unless, as Bardas insisted, he was not truly friendly with her uncle.
  "Once I perform my duty as the emperor's liaison I must go. I have delayed too long," he mused, more to himself than to her. "The urgency of my quest cannot wait."
  "But you accepted the position as liaison, knowing
 
of the delay."
  He looked at her, showing nothing. "Yes."
  "Then--" she reasoned, "since you have accepted, and Philip pays you well, I shall pay you even more." She walked toward him, her gown rustling and shimmering. "I will pay you twice the wage of Philip."
  "You think everything is bought and sold for a price. I am not a greedy man. Gold? I have enough." He looked back out the window.
  "You are not refusing me because of loyalty to the emperor?"
  "True, for loyalty is not bought. If I believed in him, and his cause, he would have it for honor's sake, not for gold."
  She squelched the emerging flame of admiration. "But you do not believe in him, nor do you believe in Philip," she accused.
  "Should I? Selfish ambition feeds the desires of his heart, even as it does the Moslems. Both claim the blessing of heaven. I suggest their zeal is provoked by the fires of hades. And as for Philip, he wants you for his own, yet he does not have the courage to relinquish his position to keep you. He desires the praise of those who bring him false security."
  Tancred's failure to compromise aroused a secret spark of awe, yet how could she listen to these lies about Philip? Yes, he had failed her, he had his dreams and ambitions, but her love was not easily extinguished by failure alone, and she nurtured a hope that he would yet rise to the gallantry she knew lodged within his soul.
  "But you sold your sword to Philip! Why not to me? If it is wages--"
  "If I join him now, it is for a cause of my own."
  She wondered that his taunts could provoke her ire. I should feel nothing more for Philip, yet it is not so, she thought, hurt. Philip had shamed her by his refusal to run away with her. He was willing for her marriage to Kalid to take place in Antioch. Yet, somehow, she still cared.
  Tancred must have read her expression. "You sorely grieve me, madame," he said with mock dismay. "You waste many hours pining for him, though he lacks honor and courage."
  "I do not pine!"
 
  "As to why I serve in the imperial guard, it is only for a brief time. The
Normans under Prince Bohemond arrive. If I wait a few weeks longer to ride to find the assassin who killed my brother, it is to join with Nicholas and," he added, "to make certain he knows of your arranged marriage to Kalid."
  Helena gave him a side glance to try to measure any interest he may have in her future but could not read his thoughts. At least he shared a common interest in her uncle.
  "Then you already know that the Normans are near the city."
  "I was with Philip when the news was brought to Herion. Is that why you came?"
  "I have learned you've been hired as liaison between the emperor and the Norman prince."
  "More spies, madame?"
  "They are my safeguard, sir. You will ride out soon to meet alone with the one you call Bohemond. I too must escape. I must ride with you to their camp. Bring me to Nicholas and I shall pay you double what Philip pays."
  "Taking you with me would put you in greater danger. I ride to meet Bohemond alone."
  In desperation she snatched her cloak and removed a small silver cloth bag. "It is full of gold besants." She pressed it into his hand. "After this, there will be more."
  Tancred tossed it carelessly onto the stool as though refusing a drink of water. "Thank you, no. I am not to be hired so easily. A bag of gold coins? Even two?"
  Her eyes searched his for some hidden meaning behind his apparent indifference. Was it genuine? It couldn't be.
  "Then I shall pay you ten times that." "No."
  "Jewels. I have many."
  "No."
  Frustrated, she stepped back. In the glow of the fire the pearls in her hair blinked like tiny stars.
  "The Lysander family owns lands in Athens," she confessed as an idea emerged. "You respect fine-blooded horses. You may keep Apollo, and I shall have Bardas deliver several mares for breeding. They will be worth much."
  Still there was no response.
 
  She scanned him. What does he want?
  She drew in a breath. "And ... as you know, I am heiress of the Castle of Hohms. If Nicholas agrees ... I shall make it well worth your sword to bring me to him and then to the castle. Guard us there against our enemies and ... and ..." She stopped.
  His blue-gray eyes reflected the first glimmer of interest. "And?"
  Her expression showed nothing. "And I shall consider making you its seigneur."
  The expression of his smile showed faint irony. "My uncle and adoptive father, Rolf Redwan, serves as seigneur. Why should I wish to replace a kin? He is a strong soldier. There are few better than he."
  "Yes, but--"
  "And as I once told you, I own a castle in Sicily--perhaps two, what would I do with another?"
  "I thought, well ..."
  He scanned her casually. "Is not the castle your dowry?"
  Her heart pounded madly. "Yes," she murmured.
  He mused, watching her. "It is offered to the man who claims you in marriage?"
  She busied herself replacing the money purse back into her cape. "You know it is."
  The deliberate silence grew loud. Helena felt her cheeks beginning to flame, and frustrated with herself because he had managed to fluster her poise, she deliberately looked up and met his gaze evenly, lifting her chin a little to show she was yet in control--or was she?
  Tancred was leaning against the wall, tapping his fingers thoughtfully.
  Helena whisked past him, her back toward him, arms folded. "I will not marry you, Sir Knight."
  He threw back his head and laughed. Offended, she whirled. "You laugh at me!"
  "I laugh, my lady, because I do not wish to marry you." He straightened, hands on hips, his handsome face amused, his eyes mocking her pride. "When I said I found you attractive, I did not mean to suggest that I would have you as my wife. Nay," he gave a wave of his hand, "I could not bear any woman so vain of face and form! So proud and haughty of spirit!"
 
  She gasped, stung. "Sir! I am not that! I bow the knee to Christ. And my heart is humble before Him."
  "An excellent beginning, but you must also show reverence to your earthly lord ..." and he smiled. "Your husband, damsel. Did not Sarah call Abraham "lord"?"
  She glared at him. "I would never call you that."
  He shrugged. "Nor would I call you my beloved."
  "How dare you!"
  "I dare. Now enough of this talk, Lady. I do not care for your castle, nor your trinkets, nor your hand in marriage. I am a knight. And I battle for truth and honor, out of pure gallantry." He lifted a brow. "So far, you have offered me nothing that woos my heart."
  In what appeared to be false boredom, he sighed and lowered his muscular frame into the chair and stretched his booted legs before him, flecking a speck of dust from his black-and-scarlet uniform.
  Helena had the mad impulse to snatch the bowl of fruit from the trestle table and hurl it at him, but that would have only justified his denunciation of her spoiled ways.
  Her heart thudded loudly in her ears. She studied him through her lashes. The cretin. Well, I will take no more of his smarting words deliberately tossed to see me flinch.
  She turned with dignity. "Then if you will not help me--"
  "I did not say that."
  Ah ... he was rather quick to remedy his arrogance. She paused, waiting.
  His eyes flickered with subdued amusement. "While I must regretfully decline your offer of marriage--"
  She began to protest but he lifted a hand. "Your wishes will be considered further. I will think about the offer again, when I have freedom to give it my best musing."
  Helena folded her arms. "You are generous, to be sure, sir. For how long will I need to wait for your answer?"
  "You must be patient," he smiled. "I assure you it will be worth it in the end."
  "Patient? When Kalid waits with a caravan to bring me to Antioch? I must hurry, and finding Nicholas will not wait."
 
  "I would not worry about Kalid. And winning the castle is hardly what I have in mind. There is something much more valuable I intend to win."
  Not worry about Kalid? Why would he say such a thing in so light a tone? Did he expect to confront him over their other cousin, Mosul? What did he expect to win? Something from Antioch?
  "If not the castle, I own a perfume shop on the Mese."
  "Keep your perfume. There are many in Constantinople you could hire--mercenaries of rare vintage with the sword. Your own Bardas hints of a warrior. Why is he not enough?"
  "I wish your services for the same reason as Philip. You are not governed by politics as the Byzantine. You are uninvolved. We can trust you with our cause. As for Bardas, you may not tell by looking at him--but his sword arm was nearly cut off when he fought beside my father years ago. It is weak, but do not let him know I told you so. It never healed properly, so he keeps it covered."
  "So that is why he uses his left hand. ..." "You noticed then?"
  "It is my business to notice such things. For his sake, he must not growl so loudly when one is in your presence of whom he does not approve. All warriors are not as lenient as I."
  Tancred, lenient? She might have laughed. Helena tried to read his expression, but it was a deliberate mask. She pressed urgently. "Then we have a truce, Sir Knight? I ask little from you except your service with the sword and to be brought to Nicholas."
  His smile was sardonic. "Your estimation of my value is noteworthy. Then I will not disappoint your lofty expectations. The price for my sword, however, will be costly to you."
  Her eyes did not waver this time. "I shall meet your price."
  "Without hearing what it is?"
  "I need your abilities and I am prepared to pay your price in gold, or lands."
  He said nothing.
  "I wait, Sir Knight. Your price?" Tancred paused reflectively, and for a brief moment she thought that even he did not know what he wanted, that he was only teasing her to see her outrage at his boldness.
 
  He must have seen her scrutiny, for his face was suddenly as smooth as any mask to shield her probing eyes. He stood, his every movement attractive and as lithe as any panther. "First, I shall hear the reason why your aunt schemes against you, then decide payment."
  So! He knows how Irene plots against me? "What assurance will you give me that you will not go to her with information I hold important?"
  "You have my promise. Accept it for what it is worth. If not, we will forget we had this meeting."
  "We have a bargain, sir," she hastened. He smiled. "You best sit down. You're looking vexed."
  She could have told him why, and that he was part of the reason, but the knowledge would get her nowhere. He had walked to the hearth and offered a chair. Helena sat down as he stooped and lifted another section of wood onto the red coals.
  "When you spoke of the Castle of Hohms you mentioned your father. He was General Lysander?"
  "A brilliant military man," she said wi/lly, remembering the years gone by when as a child she had waited with her mother for his return from war. There would always be a celebration at the villa, and for the season he was home they were happy.
  "You spoke of him a moment ago as though he were alive. I was told otherwise."
  Her eyes turned to the glowing embers. "He was killed in battle against the Turks. Bardas was with him when he fell wounded. He stayed with my father until the last, making certain his body was brought back to the chariot for Christian burial. For that act of bravery Bardas was wounded and nearly died."
  "And he swore to your father that he would guard you until his death?"
  She was surprised he knew as much, and he must have read her expression.
  "Philip mentioned it," he said. "He also claims Bardas has sworn his undying loyalty to him."
  She wondered. Was he hinting that Bardas could not be wholly trusted? "He is loyal to him, yes, but Bardas would never betray me."
  "Bardas would see you with Philip no matter the cost to himself or anyone else, including you."
  "What are you saying?"
  Tancred stooped and, using the iron poker,
 
stirred the coals into a dancing fire. "I would not completely trust him with the information about my willingness to help you reach the castle."
  The idea brought concern, but it was preposterous to think Bardas would turn against her. "He would die first. He does not trust you, but he will do as I say in the end."
  Tancred remained thoughtful, watching the flames. "I am told the Lysander family is related to the line of Nicephorus."
  She felt a measure of pride. "Again, Philip told you?"
  He looked at her, all previous lightness gone from his handsomely chiseled face. "No. I did some research in the Royal Library."
  She wondered why. Was he curious about her, or did he suspect some treachery to Uncle Nicholas?
  "The line of Nicephorus was deposed," she said uncomfortably, thinking of her mother's arrest for treason in supporting him. And yet her mother, as well as Nicholas, became loyal to the present emperor once he assumed power.
  "Nicephorus III--THE emperor he deposed--he had no sons to threaten the present rule?"
  Tancred possessed more education than she had first thought, and he had learned a great deal about her.
  "No, I do not believe so. There was a son, but he has not been heard from since Emperor Alexius overthrew Nicephorus some years ago. Anyway, my father was only distantly related to him. He posed no real threat."
  "Byzantium has a reputation for not taking chances. Nor do the Normans," he said wryly. "There is a controversy between the grandsons of William the Conqueror, and it's the reason Bohemond has come east hoping to carve out a kingdom for himself here."
  She wondered about Tancred. "What of you? Is it a power struggle within the Redwan family that resulted in the murder of your brother Derek?"
  "It is always that. For power and riches most of the world's battles are fought." He looked at her. "And for the women they desire."
  "And the women have little to say about it." "I disagree. They are known for their skilled deceit behind the bedchamber door."
  She stood. "I assure you, I carry no poison."
 
  He also stood. "They like silk as well. So I am told."
  She paled, thinking of her aunt. Did Tancred know the danger of those left to her plans?
  "You know about the poisonous silk?" "You forget. I have another family besides the robust Normans. I spent the other half of my life within the secretive quarters of the Moors. The art of silk poisoning was crafted among the women of the veil. It became an easy and silent way to remove a woman in the zenana."
  The conversation was going down a path she did not wish to follow.
  Helena abruptly changed the subject back to the Lysanders. "While my father fought faithfully for the new emperor and died, enemies accused my mother of disloyalty and had her arrested."
  "When you speak of enemies, do you mean in the palace, or the family?"
  "Both, I suppose. Those ruling the Lysander inheritance have married into it. Irene is my aunt by marriage. Her husband was elder brother to Nicholas."
  "Why was Nicholas exiled? He never spoke of it."
  "I was only a child when it happened. It was soon after my mother's arrest. I suspect greed."
  "And after Nicholas was exiled, Irene became your guardian?"
  "Yes, and by doing so she gained legal control of my family's wealth and lands. Constantine-- another uncle, more so of Philip's than mine-- aided her in her scheme."
  "You have proof?"
  Helena thought of her meeting with Constantine. She dare not say anything for the sake of her mother.
  She sighed. "No. They are too clever. And now they are close to the emperor."
  "Was Nicholas ever in love with Irene?" Startled, she looked at him. "No--he would not, he could not care for such a cold and vicious woman."
  "All women do not behave as venomous creatures when they wish to trap a prize."
  Her eyes came to his. While she agreed about his summation of Irene, she did not care for his illustration. Did he think of all women as
 
weavers of traps? What did he think of her? Did he see her boldness now in seeking his service as something forced on her by dangerous circumstances?
  She frowned to herself. She was not aggressive and conniving.
  "Your mother was arrested after your father's death?" "Yes. Though innocent of conspiracy, she was banished to the dungeon. It was said she died there a month later. I never saw her again."
  "Who accused your mother?"
  "Irene denies it. Yet I know it was her scheme."
  "How does Philip fit into all this, or does he?"
  "Irene has grand plans for Philip, as you overheard in his chamber. Emperor, no less. Those plans do not include me."
  "And as his mother she would rule through him." "That is her ambition," she admitted wearily. "And she will not refrain until she achieves her desire."
  "Nor will Philip, is my guess." Helena could not accept this and turned away. She knew him better than even Irene, and Philip would free himself from the crippling crush of the pursuit of pride.
  "Who is Philip's father?"
  She hesitated, unwilling to betray a secret, and yet she believed that unless she was completely honest with Tancred he would not risk himself to come to her aid now.
  "Constantine."
  "So I suspected."
  She wondered why but did not ask. Had he seen them secretly together? Probably so, since as a security guard at the palace, Tancred had been included in the inner circles.
  "I understand about the Castle of Hohms," he said, "and the negotiations between your emperor and Antioch. But what motive do they have in forbidding a marriage between you and their son? I would think it would benefit their cause, since you are heiress to your father's wealth."
  "It would have, except Irene has already manipulated to make Philip the heir."
  "And you would regain control if you married him." "Yes. Irene controls everything, including Philip."
  "Does he know Constantine is his father?"
 
  "Scandal rarely blushes in Byzantium. Yes, he knows." She looked at him. "But he is a man to whom reputation is important. It is said publicly that Philip is the son of a slain general--an even greater hero than my father. It is the reason he wishes the position of minister of war."
  "When built on a foundation of lies, a man's character will soon turn to straw and rubble."
  She remembered Philip's military blunders when the Rhinelanders attacked his entourage at Wieselburg. It had been Tancred's victory, but Irene had convinced the emperor otherwise.
  She stood, blushing for Philip. "Do not insult him!"
  "I do not need to. He unmasks himself." "Why do you hate him so? Because your own vanity is wounded over the lack of trumpets?"
  "Byzantium may keep its shiny trumpets. The tribute means little to me. My heart once knew peace in Sicily before I ever journeyed here."
  "You imply your heart is not at peace," she quipped, irked by the indifference he paid to her prized Greek culture.
  The blue-gray eyes scanned her face until the awareness between them turned her cheeks warm and she stepped backward.
  "You should ask how your beloved Philip can have such apparent peace when he gives up the woman he wants."
  "I suppose you are a man who would love a woman deeply! You would give up all!"
  "If I wanted a woman as much as Philip claims? Nothing could deny her to me. I would face sword and scimitar, and all the golden palaces of the East could not lock her away from me."
  The thought of such love sent her heart beating faster. Afraid he might guess, she turned away toward the fire. "Philip does not see it so."
  "I am a different man than Philip." Helena became aware of his nearness. She walked away from him. "Do you intend to help me or no?"
  "Your request is no request at all, but a command. You sound as hard and cold as iron mesh. Now, if you should come to me, look into my eyes, and
 
plead, "Tancred, I need you!" How could I resist a woman in distress?"
  "I am told you have loved another woman--one by the name of Kamila."
  She saw his expression harden, and she took it for anger that she had unmasked him.
  "So Bardas has been prowling the bazaars asking about my life in Palermo. Why not ask me yourself? Is it mere curiosity about the many extraordinary women I have known?"
  "I am not curious!"
  "Strange ... I thought you were." "You were wrong!"
  "You are not curious about Irene?"
  No matter what she thought of his conceit, she needed him, and maintained an expression of indifference.
  "She is like the woman I once read about in the Scriptures, who wore scarlet and bedecked herself in pearls, and gave her vile cup of wine to many lovers. I am not fool enough to drink. It takes a different kind of woman to woo me, one of purity, who vows her heart to me alone."
  "I think this conversation has gone too far--" "You may tell Bardas I do not care to be followed. He seeks something against me to which he can carry to you. Irene weaves a treacherous plot, and I have no passion to dwell with the dead. But for a woman who only a moment ago couldn't care less about my life, you have had a sudden change of mind."
  "Hardly! I am only surprised a man of your character would refuse her."
  "And my character you have judged and found guilty." She tore her eyes from his, her feelings betraying her. She felt a strange pleasure that he had not succumbed, that he was too strong. "I will hear no more."
  "As you wish."
  Silence followed, then the sound of his steps. She whirled. "Wait! ... Please!"
  Helena sped toward him, catching his arm. "I have been a little unfair," she hastened, managing a smile.
  Tancred's eyes were amused at her display. She sobered. "Yet ... you have made matters uncomfortable for me from the beginning."
  "I was under the impression it was the other way around."
  "I won't argue with you. Say what you will. Will
 
you help me?"
  "Did I not say earlier I would consider? I will bring you with me to Nicholas."
  A swell of relief flooded her heart but ebbed in fear when a shout sounded from below the castle. Tancred left her and peered out the window. She heard horses and angry voices.
  "What is it?" She rushed to his side and peered below, her stomach tightening as she saw a ring of horsemen carrying fiery torches and yelling to other men with weapons. "What is happening?"
  "Rhinelanders. They ride with Godfrey's army."
  "Rhinelanders," she repeated in a whisper, remembering. "They are attacking the castle?"
  "No. They battle the imperial soldiers, including the troop under my command." He spoke with angry exasperation.
  She glanced at his uniform. He too could be the brunt of their attack if it kept up.
  "I suspect your emperor has retaliated against an earlier foray and they come to inform Godfrey. In my opinion they deserved to be attacked. They steal from the Greek farmers, but this is no time to argue justice." He turned and drew her away from the window, and her knees went weak as she thought of being trapped inside the castle.
  "It's too late to leave in the chariot. You will fall prey." He frowned to himself, thinking. "Was Philip at Herion when you crossed the bridge to come here?"
  "No, the guardhouse appeared empty. We were not questioned."
  "Then he must have returned to Constantinople. He should have remained at the castle. Look--there is no choice now. You must wait until I can see you safely across the bridge. If fighting has already begun, it will rampage through the night, maybe for days."
  She looked at him, trying to hide her fear. He frowned. "You should have remained at the Lysander palace."
  "I bid you come and you did not."
  "I told Bardas I would contact you when it was safe to do so."
  Bardas had said nothing to her--had he forgotten? "You told Bardas?"
  He looked at her wryly. "He did not tell you? He located me in the Venetian
 
quarter. Did I not tell you in Philip's chamber you could find me there through Hakeem?"
  "Yes, but--" She stopped, not wishing to further antagonize him against Bardas. Surely Bardas had forgotten. ... There was much on his mind and he had been trailed, or so they both thought, by Irene's spies.
  "You might have sent a written message explaining your intentions."
  "There was no time. I vowed to Bardas I would come once my mission here was completed. I always keep my word, Helena. That is more than you can say for your gallant Philip."
  He had used her name, and it gave her pause, for she found the sound of his voice pleasant in its pronunciation.
  The angry voices of the knights carried up to them, and Tancred threw open the chamber door. Helena could not see Bardas. Where had he gone?
  She joined Tancred at the gallery rail as more of Duke Godfrey's men entered through the castle door below to report to him.
  "Armed horsemen wielding swords and clubs struck a fierce blow against the Rhinelanders. Many are dead, my liege! Tents are set aflame, our precious chargers, slain!"
  Helena glanced at Tancred and saw that he was not surprised. She knew that the fragile truce between Godfrey and the emperor was now shattered. She looked below.
  The duke was furious, refusing to concede that his own rash use of the sword and inflamed rhetoric had prompted the retaliation.
  A second big man, dressed as a nobleman, walked up to the duke. He was as dark of head as Godfrey was light.
  "Who is he?" she whispered to Tancred. "Baldwin, the duke's younger brother. And not the one to soothe injured pride. He loves nothing better than combat."
  Baldwin was speaking: "This time let us teach him a lesson! I and my men will seize the bridge and hold it against his mercenary Turk soldiers."
  "He is right," stated the other lords and princes among the knights.
  Godfrey paced. "Evacuate the winter quarters. We will burn the castles and houses. But first, we shall thoroughly pillage all he has here!"
 
  Tancred pulled her back from the rail, out of sight.
  "Garbed in Byzantine splendor, you are not likely to soothe their hatred for what they believe is your emperor's treachery. Stay out of view. In fact--" he gave her a musing look. "The sooner you abandon your Byzantine costume for the garb of a Norman woman, the safer you will be."
  She looked down at her frock with dismay. "You will do well as my serving woman."
  "A maid!"
  "Are you not proud to serve me?" Amusement warmed the depths of his eyes.
  "Proud--to was
  Tancred's mouth turned up at the corners. "Other women I have refused. You are favored. And--becoming a Norman woman for even a short time may teach you a much-needed humility--not to mention submission to a man." His blue-gray eyes held hers. "You need a master."
  Helena's eyes narrowed and the warmth flared her cheeks. "And I suppose you Normans are a humble race. You, whose ancestors conquered other kingdoms and tried to storm the walls of my city."
  His faint smile was maddening. "Baldwin's young wife is a Norman. I know her. She will be of aid where clothing is concerned. Wait here with Bardas."
  "Bardas is gone," she said stiffly. "I do not know where. I bid him wait in the hall."
  "He likely went to safeguard the horses at the first sound of trouble."
  He turned to leave, but she caught his arm. "Tancred! Your uniform--"
  She stopped as his warm hand closed over hers. "You spoke my name for the first time."
  She pulled her hand away, pretending indifference, and placed it behind her, still feeling the warmth from his fingers. It was foolish how that simple touch had made her heart lurch. Because it did, she spoke with a tinge of superiority. "In the fighting none will know you are related to that infamous Norman named Bohemond--or should I say al-Kareem from Palermo?"
  He was undisturbed. "You remembered my grandfather's name. You indeed have thought of me. I shall contemplate that."
  She laughed carelessly. "How could I forget you are both a Norman and a Moslem infidel--like Prince Kalid? If the true Christian
 
knights knew of your Moorish blood they would roast you below in the hearth instead of their fat piglet."
  Tancred's brow lifted and the intense blue-gray eyes only taunted her in return. "Better hope no fool tries, madame. I should loathe to kill a fellow knight. And, should anything happen to me, your own lovely hide will be at risk. But do not fret, I have too many interesting plans to succumb so easily to sword, or to dimpled smiles. Farewell."
  The door shut with a resounding thud.
               * * *
  Where is Tancred! He had not yet returned from Prince Baldwin's wife with the Norman garment. And what of Bardas? As the night wore on in horror, Helena concealed herself in the chamber, hearing Godfrey's army attacking the Byzantine town, setting their flaming torches to castles and houses.
  She stood trembling in the darkened chamber peering out the window, praying that the warriors would not forget that this castle was inhabited by their liege. Not that the duke or his family was here!
  Smoke and fire poured forth from nearby castles while wooden houses leaped into flame and sent billows of embers and ash into the air behind the retreating army. She supposed that Godfrey was moving back toward the bridge toward the walls of Constantinople where he would take repossession of his old campsite by the gates and wait for the Norman army under Prince Bohemond. She could imagine the alarm of the emperor at the prospect of the two strong forces joining.
  What would she do if men came here to the chamber and found her?
  The town was engulfed with the deafening cries of horses and beasts of burden, of men shouting and women screaming. Helena covered her ears. Merciful Lord, help me! Send Tancred and Bardas, please--
  Now the looters were below, and she could hear their shouting, the sound of running feet, and the crashing of vessels and furniture. They were rushing up the steps. Someone was outside the bolted door. Please, let it hold--
  Helena winced with each thud of a halberd ripping into the wood braced with straps of iron. She backed away.
 
  The door heaved and shook. Whack! Terrified, she cringed against the wall unable to breathe, tears welling in her eyes. The fire from the town glowed red through the window like the hellish face of a demon. Her cold fingers clutched the Byzantine cross. She brought it to her lips and saw the rubies bleed into the fiery glow.
  The door splintered, and she gasped as a warrior entered, his eyes crazed, his face hard and wet with sweat. He looked about and saw her. She was yet in her Byzantine costume, glimmering gold, shouting wealth, superiority. ...
  Tancred has failed me. Where is he, where?
  The Rhinelander strode toward her. Her screams echoed horror no one could hear, soon smothered by the thunderous noise of battle. Lifting her like a rag doll, he carried her into the smoking darkness.

              CHAPTER 7
            Burning Castles

  Help me, Lord God! Help me!
  "Jesus!" Helena cried out. "Son of the Most High God!"
  The Rhinelander flinched. The authority and holiness of that Name reverberated against the high castle walls. As though smitten with a blow from an angel's bright sword, he stumbled clumsily across the floor, Helena with him, andwitha heavy jar they rammed into the trestle table. Helena landed hard, muffling a cry.
  Sharp pain stabbed her ribs as she clutched at the cold stone floor. Though free of his grip, she was too stunned to move. Gasping, she raised herself up to her hands and knees and crawled from him into the darkness. She struggled to her feet, still clutching the cross her mother gave her.
  Helena peered through the haze at the crumpled mass of her attacker, where a trickle of blood shone from the wound at his temple. She swayed--short of breath--pain searing through her right side. In a panic she realized her rib must be
 
broken. Tears of frustration rushed to her eyes, until faith spoke calm to her soul.
Had the Lord not just delivered her? Surely He had!
  Gritting with pain that soon drenched her body with cold sweat, she inched her way toward the battered door, telling herself she could make it. She must. She could slip unseen down those castle steps into the great hall and escape into the night with all its madness. An angel would lead her; yes, she had seen them in the stained glass art of the Hagia Sophia. Beautiful angels with great white wings!
  Once out of the castle she would somehow find Tancred and Bardas, the chariot, the horses ...
  But the angels did not appear. Appalling horror burst upon her eyes as she merged into the alcove above the chiseled steps. Seeds of faith dropped from her hand and scattered, falling between the cracks. It was not the whir of angels' wings but the sound of spiked boots; the shouting baritone voices of more Rhinelanders, their tongues thick with wine! They were everywhere below, a colony of looters, ravaging women and killing imperial soldiers.
  In another minute she would be discovered. The nightmare was real. There was no way out, no way of escape. She could not run with a broken rib, nor could she fight; she could not even hide. She was trapped in the castle with crazed barbarians who thought nothing of slaying anyone who might hint of Byzantium. And she, a princess of nobility, garbed in purple, pearls in her hair.
  What a proud little fool she had been to come here brazenly like this! What madness had deceived her better judgment inffbelieving that nothing could harm Helena of the Nobility?
  The odor of the Rhinelander's unwashed body clung to her garment like a disease. There were more of them. She was surrounded. If blessed, they would leave her dead.
  Fear stalked her once brave spirit like snarling hyenas moving to encircle her. Behind her, the Rhinelander was moving clumsily about the chamber, growling angrily like a wounded bear.
  In weakness she edged her way down, one step at a time, each movement bringing pain. She prayed she wouldn't trip on her garment. Haze
 
draped the air. Then, a sudden rush of flames and a shower of red sparks erupted below as pieces of furniture and tapestries smoldered with intense heat, sending forth acrid fumes that stung her eyes and hurt her throat.
  Helena halted on the steps, mindless and still, holding her rib until a familiar voice jolted her.
  Hope overshadowed her with its mighty wings, promising to catch her away. "Bardas!" and from the steps, she saw the big man surging his way toward her through the clutter and haze, sword in left hand.
  "Mistress! Did they hurt you?"
  Her eyes widened. She thought her voice came too weakly to warn him above the hellish din. "Bardas--look out--behind you!" He whirled, firm of stance, meeting a Rhinelander who came at him with a rush, teeth bared.
  The two swords smashed with the ring of steel. Helena winced, her emotions feeling the force of rock-solid arms connecting like bulls. The Rhinelander turned his hatred against the Byzantine bodyguard, and Bardas fought for his life. With horror she watched, helpless, as he was struck and forced to one knee, blood filling a gaping wound.
  Helena's hands went to her dry mouth, her heart surging in her ears, certain she would see him hacked to death. A knight emerged clothed in black with a leather tunic sewn with rings of iron. He shouted at the Rhinelander, who turned to confront him.
  Sickened, Helena watched the knight smash his sword against him with a staggering blow, followed by a second hack that swiped off the hand holding the weapon--but with his other hand the Rhinelander produced an iron ball studded with spikes connected to a strap. He whirled the vicious weapon, but the knight ducked and the ball smashed into one of Godfrey's footmen. Then the knight produced a curved scimitar andwitha flash sliced through the Rhinelander's neck.
  Helena's knees buckled. She gagged, then sank slowly to the steps, her eyes unmoving from the severed head.
  Her mind weaved in and out of sickening darkness. The knight with the red cross emblazoned on his leather tunic came swiftly to her. She stared blankly into blue-gray eyes which betrayed no
 
emotion as he stepped over the leering head. He caught her up into his arms as easily as the Rhinelander, but this time she felt no terror, only a dazed relief and something like awe. "Tancred?" she gasped.
  "Your servant, madame" was all he said. * * *
  The street was a panic of soldiers and horses. Fire billowed from a gutted hut, and smoke spiraled from the flames of a thousand torches. She heard Bardas coming behind them.
  "The horses," Tancred shouted, "get them!" Bardas grasped the reins of Apollo, who snorted and pawed, anxious to reach his master. Though injured, Bardas managed to swing himself onto the back of a second horse and gallop toward them, leaning down as Tancred handed Helena to him.
  "Easy. Her rib is broken."
  "I--I must ride with you to the Norman camp!" Helena gasped, dazed now, her reasoning unclear.
  Tancred removed his helmet, showing damp brown hair. He swung his muscular body onto the saddle. "You cannot. A long ride will add to your injury."
  "I can! I can!"
  "Brave to the end," he said as he reached into the leather satchel on his saddle, quickly searching.
  "Redwan is right, little one. The Norman camp will prove no safer than here. Did I not say do not come here? Our hope rests in Master Philip. He will yet make appeal on your behalf, and his, to the emperor."
  The mention of Philip brought Helena an unexpected wave of longing as exhaustion claimed her body and emotions. She ached for his embrace and envisioned that it had been Philip, not Tancred, who had swept her away from danger in the castle and was now riding with her to the safety of the family villa.
  Tancred's intense gaze interrupted her thoughts, and against her will she looked at him astride Apollo, the rugged and sultry image making swift demands of its own to hold her attention. She saw that he understood her thoughts about Philip and a quick flush came to her cheeks.
  He looked at Bardas, who watched him cautiously. "Bring your mistress to the guard castle." He removed a flagon of medicinal
 
wine from his leather satchel and tossed it to Bardas. "Drink some, then see to your mistress. The ride will be rough on her pain."
  Bardas thoughtlessly touched his wounded left arm, then drank, still watching him.
  "Your minister of war is not at the guard castle," said Tancred, nothing in his voice. "I will bind her broken rib there."
  Helena winced at the thought of the ordeal before her. Her discomfort began to wear upon her nerves, and she longed for the release of sleep. Bardas handed her the flagon, but she turned her head away.
  "He is right. The ride will be brutal on you, little one."
  Wearily she tipped the flagon, grimacing as the liquid burned her throat and set her empty stomach on fire.
  They rode from the Byzantine town, and the crusaders were left behind with Godfrey's blue gonfanon now stained with blood. Helena's mind sank into oblivion and she dreamed of dragons and knights, of dark eyes, and masculine stormy blue eyes.
  A light rain again began to fall and wet her face. Tancred removed his cloak and, riding closer beside Bardas, handed it to him, and he covered her.
  Far behind them the burning castles were turned into dark, odorous shadows of sulfur, billowing upward like giant towers against the eastern sky and the war yet to come.

              CHAPTER 8
       Sir Knight, Where Are You?

  The empire is all important, thought Irene. Her destiny and Philip's depended on enacting harsh measures. She must be strong and carry her plans through to the end, avoiding the entanglements of morality and sentiment; they were only stumbling blocks on the stairs to the throne of Byzantium. Nothing would deter her now. Not even her affection for her son. Philip would one day understand that all she did was for his political good. His weak sentiment for Helena would fade, as all male passion eventually did for the woman of their dreams. Beauty faded, but power lasted into old age and lived on through one's heirs.
  Did I not manage to get Philip the coveted position of minister of war? And she had
 
handed it to him with celebration before breaking the news of Helena's marriage to Prince
Kalid. She had also convinced Philip the decision to marry Helena to the Moslem prince was made by the emperor rather than through her manipulation.
  Irene looked at Philip across the marble pavilion. His dark eyes pensive, his aristocratic face sullen. He lifted his goblet and drank, restlessly running his long fingers through his black oiled hair. He lounged in a palanquin, wearing a brocade tunic of purple and black mosaics. On the agate table between him and Irene sat his high-crowned turbanlike silk hat, its brim thick with gems. His muscular legs wore black hose, and his buskins were also soft black leather.
  "Do stop scowling, Philip," she snapped. "Before the surrender of Antioch will come Nicaea. With each military victory you deliver to the emperor, you become more needful to him."
  Philip's exuberance at attaining the coveted minister of war position yet lived on in the echo of heralding trumpets; nevertheless, it was obvious to all--including Irene--that the thought of losing Helena remained a source of grief.
  Irene looked at Philip impatiently and his whining concerns became an irritation. If only he could be more like her and his father, Constantine, iron-willed and unsympathetic. His weakness was a danger, making him a volatile force she must constantly keep from spilling forth in unexpected ways. In that regard he was like Constantine. He too was volatile, still mourning the loss of his illustrious cousin Adrianna Lysander. She was dead, but Constantine, like a haunted, sick animal, dreamed on. Yes, he too was a force she could not always control.
  But Philip ...
  "You are like your father," she said scornfully. "You may have any foolish woman you want in court or out, yet you pine for the one you cannot have."
  Irene watched him, as alert to his folly as a leopard to her cub's wandering. He was sick with desire for Helena and foolish enough to try to run away with her.
  "Kalid is not the only man interested in Helena," he said moodily. "So is
Tancred, though he is wise enough to mask his intentions. That he does so makes him all the more dangerous."
 
  "Leave Tancred to me. I know how to handle men like the Norman. I was informed that his uncle from Sicily is seeking him for the assassination of his half brother. Jealousy and greed, the fight for rulership among the wolfish Normans, will play into my hand. Soon I will have Tancred right where I want him: a slave to me."
  Philip drank from his glimmering goblet, uncooperative.
  The fact that he was doubled-minded was troublesome. He was like a half-tamed sullen tiger cub; she never knew when he would break out, contesting her will.
  Irene sighed, almost as a mew. Little else remained now except to make Philip see that her decision had been logical, that she had done what was wise for him. She lay on the opposite palanquin in front of the hearth, where a fire crackled, and sipped from the jeweled goblet.
  They were alone in one of the Lysander chambers, although she soon expected the arrival of Constantine. His recent absence had alerted her suspicions. What information did he seek, prowling about the Arab bazaars on the Mese?
  Irene turned her attention back to her son. She had deliberately kept Philip from seeing Helena for the past weeks until he tasted the satisfaction of an ambition realized. Not even his desire for Helena would permit him to turn his back on power.
  Yes, she knew Philip well. Much better than did Helena.
  "The emperor has called you to banquet with him and the empress tomorrow night. You see how your position in the war department is crucial to him? Do not mope like a dejected puppy. You know as well as I that your ambitions outweigh your love for Helena."
  His classical Greek face was moody, his eyes like troubled pools. "You look like the statue of the goddess Medusa entwined with a hundred serpents. Strange that I should think of it now."
  She mocked a laugh. "The snarling cub reaches to bat playfully with the leopard. Caution. I do not take kindly to being associated with serpents."
  Irene's body was outlined with shimmering silk, and her hair gleamed in the firelight like spun gold. Her eyes, the color of amber, were like burning stones.
 
  "I expected you to be celebrating the emperor's decision, my pet," she crooned. "Instead you look as a dour old man."
  He shrugged. "I have been seeking the position of minister of war for years. How could I not be grateful?"
  "And now it is yours."
  "I am amazed you were able to convince the emperor to select me. He was so pleased with Tarasius."
  Her long, delicate fingers curled tightly about the goblet. "Yes. A pity Tarasius spent too much time in his exotic herb garden." She swirled the wine thoughtfully, watching the crimson flow. "Poor Tarasius; prolonged illnesses are oft worse than sudden death. Especially when one must leave his seat of authority. The gods are indeed heartless."
  "The physician Andronicus suspected poison," Philip said absently.
  Irene's face hardened. "That meddling fool from Pergamum. He is always poking his nose about. He has become an irritation to me. I must have the emperor's wife send him away. Here, fill my glass. I do not care to call the slave again."
  Philip leaned over the table and, grasping the urn, remarked, "Your interest in Persian poison is becoming a matter of gossip. So is your hold on the empress. She will not plan a journey nor hold a banquet unless you assure her it is wise. You are much in demand, Mother."
  Irene's movement was as swift as a leopard. She was on her feet, grasping the glass from his startled hand and flinging it into the fire.
  "How oft have I warned you not to call me that? The eyes and ears of slaves see through walls and hear through bolted doors!"
  "Everyone knows you are my mother. Only you hold to the foolish notion that it remains a secret." He waved a hand. "I am sorry; it was a mere slip of tongue."
  "You must guard your tongue like a warrior his life," she hissed. "If the emperor learns who you really are, we are both finished in the Sacred Palace. Your mother died in Athens while giving you birth. He believes you to be the son of slain General Severius, remember?"
  "Yes! I remember! And I shall live up
 
to that title!"
  "See that you do. I have worked too hard to get us where we are to have you fumble it away."
  "And I?" he demanded passionately. "Have I not worked also? There is none more loyal to the emperor than I."
  "Without Constantine and I scattering your name about his throne like rose petals, the emperor would not know you existed. You could sacrifice your life to his honor and he would not blink. It takes more than loyalty, Philip; it takes clever scheming. Do not forget how much you owe me."
  "Do you think I am reluctant to pursue my own ambitions? Without you I could still make a name for myself!"
  "Ah! The lioness's whelp dares to growl, but where are your teeth? It is the lioness who brings you the meat! Remember it well. Your success is due to my planning. It is also my security. At least until I get rid of Mary the
Alan and become the emperor's mistress. I will not have you lose our future in the Sacred Palace on a wide-eyed damsel who stirs your boyish passions."
  Philip smashed the goblet against the marble floor and abruptly stalked to the door.
  She jumped to her feet. "Philip. Come back! You dare walk out on me before I have finished?"
  "I am going to see Helena."
  "I cannot permit you to interfere."
  His eyes burned like two fiery coals. "Will you have me also placed under your guards?"
  "I will do whatever I must. Always keep that in mind. Your folly will not stand in the way, Philip. Do nothing rash. Too much is at risk to allow you to throw it away now. Helena serves no purpose to your future, or to mine."
  His face contorted with sudden anguish, reminding her of a cornered animal. "But at what cost!" he gasped more to himself than to her.
  "My son," she soothed suddenly, "come, rest. Calm your soul. You may see Helena; you may even have her to your bedchamber soon. Kalid and Antioch are not forever, only a few months. Until then, cultivate patience. Remember, you may have power and Lysander's daughter if you cooperate with me now. But you are distraught. When the sun rises tomorrow, matters will have a way of forming new priorities. You will be
 
better able to see how Constantine and I have done what is best for you, for the three of us. What you need is rest."
  He did come to her, sinking like a dejected puppy to the cushions on the rug.
  Irene, her back toward him, poured a small amount of wine into another glass and added a pinch of white powder. "Poor Philip, I have been thoughtless, not realizing your disappointment. Drink this, my son, it will help you sleep."
  Philip took the potion she often gave him when he was overly dejected.
  She sank beside him and drew his dark head down to her soft lap. Her long fingers soothed his tousled hair and caressed the side of his face. "In the morning you will feel rested."
  "But Helena? Why must I give her to this wretched Saracen!"
  "Did we not agree long ago some things must be sacrificed to gain that which is more important?"
  "But I want her," he nearly whined. "Believe me, Philip, I did everything possible to convince Prince Kalid not to marry her. I offered him gold. I offered him the daughters of many other nobles in Constantinople, but he is a stubborn man. When the emperor insisted I do whatever possible to please him, I had no choice. The price he demanded to surrender the Castle of Hohms was Lysander's daughter."
  "What of Nicholas? What will he do when he learns his niece was given to the son of a Moslem emir? You know how Nicholas is devoted to the Christian god."
  At the mention of Nicholas her heart leaped. She would not think of the one man who stirred her blood to passion. Nicholas had loved her once, when they were young like Philip and Helena. He had loved her ... until he returned from his clerical studies at Athens and found that in his two-year absence she had become the emperor's mistress. He had turned his back and walked away from her. She had begged him to come back, even promising to change, but he had not listened. And so she had turned to Constantine, and to a host of others in and out of the palace.
  Nicholas would love her again. She could lure him back. There were few men who could resist her. She had made Constantine, Philip, and even Helena believe that she intended to have Nicholas arrested, but it was not his end she planned for, but their
 
reconciliation at the expense of Constantine.
  "Do not speak of him," she said with pretended bitterness. "There is little he can do. And he will not come back to Constantinople. It would not do," she said smoothly, "for Nicholas to be accused of treason. And neither must you risk the emperor's displeasure," she warned. "Your position is the beginning of that which will bring you respect and fear. I know how much both mean to you. Someday you will show Byzantium who Philip really is. As emperor you will rival the memory of Justinian and Basil."
  "At the moment I prefer position, and Helena."
  "Selfish to the end. Then console your wounds, my son. If you still mourn Helena a year from now, you can always go to Antioch and bargain with the prince."
  He brightened. "Do you think so?"
  "But of course. I will even assist you if you vow not to do anything rash now. In a year or so the Seljuk will grow weary of her."
  He scowled again.
  "Dear Philip, do not look so pious. Poor child, am I cruel to your tender feelings? Come! Smile a little and think of your victory over Tarasius. It will make Helena's departure in two weeks easier to bear. And you can look forward to next spring."
  Philip had grown drowsy and the empty goblet slipped from his hand onto the rug. Irene waited a minute longer, then took her son's head from her lap and laid it gently on a silk pillow. A minute later she dimmed the lanterns and left the chamber.
               * * *
  But Philip raised himself to an elbow, his eyes fierce and burning as he looked after her. What a fool she took him for. He was not the benign little puppy she still thought him to be. He would destroy her and all in his path one day. He alone would be emperor. And Helena would be his empress. He had plans that Irene knew not of. Clever plans that included the services of Tancred the Norman to bring about his success. And Tancred too would cooperate with him. He would have no choice if he wished the assassin named Mosul to live to bear witness to his innocence.
  Philip had poured the drink into a potted palm near at hand. An expert at deceit,
 
he had learned it well from his mother and father. He stood from the cushions, hands on hips, looking anything but the pitiable whining dog she thought him.
  Philip left the chamber and called for his personal guards, men loyal to him and not Irene. To his surprise, Bardas was among them. What news did Helena's bodyguard bring him?

              CHAPTER 9
    Dark Knight, White Knight, Which?

  A dull dismal shroud of misting rain imprisoned the guard castle with bone-chilling dampness. Helena's head felt swollen, her ribs so stiff and tightly bound she could hardly move, and she drew her soiled fur cape about her, trying to gather some warmth as she moved awkwardly and painfully about the upper chamber of the "keep"--a tower used as sleeping quarters for the garrison soldiers as well as a watchtower and weapons arsenal.
  She peered through a slat in the thick wall laced with arrow loops and felt the wind blow the rain against her face. She drew away, shivering. The singular good that she could find in the bleak weather was that the persistent rain may have smothered the fires in the burning castles across the bridge.
  By now, Helena thought, the main section of Godfrey's army would have passed over the bridge to return to their old camp beneath the main city walls. She assumed that Bardas, too, had brought news of the rampage to the imperial palace.
  Remembering the horror that had taken place, she winced from more than physical discomfort and moved away from the stone wall to a small portable stone hearth where hot bricks were brought and stacked inside the oven by a serving boy, who had also brought her a bronze urn containing tea from distant Cathay.
  On inquiry of the whereabouts of Tancred and Bardas, the lad informed her that Tancred had sent Bardas to General Taticus for reinforcements, and Tancred had ridden back to the bridge to make contact with Duke Godfrey. He was to return that morning.
  Helena sipped the bitter brew, trying to restore a measure of alertness to her brain, and took solace in the heat radiating from the
 
bricks.
  Her winged dark brows came together. She hardly remembered arriving with Tancred and Bardas on what would have been four to five hours ago. She judged the time by the glimmer of dawn arising in the east.
  She remembered lying on a pile of blankets and stirring in and out of a restless sleep. Tancred and Bardas had been nearby, but she could not recall the details of Tancred attending her injury. When she had awakened it was yet dark, some thick white candles burned on the stone ledge; she was alone, and her ribs were bound so tightly that she had difficulty breathing comfortably.
  Sitting now by the hot bricks, she mused again over the interesting man who was both warrior, student-physician, and an adventurer seeking spiritual truth--or so he had claimed in Philip's chamber that night in Constantinople. She had not yet been able to ask him about the Koran.
  Tancred's skills as a warrior were awesome, she thought, and she closed her eyes against the gruesome memory of the beheaded Rhinelander. Quickly she set her cup of tea down, losing her appetite.
  The wind about the stone embrasures sounded its high lonely whine that chilled her with thoughts of future desolation if Tancred refused her offer for hire. In the keep alone, in pain, hearing the wind and feeling the dampness, she already imagined herself a prisoner doomed for that camel caravan to Antioch and the mysterious Moslem palace of the emir.
  Helena rested her head between her palms knowing she must not grow weary and faint in courage, surrendering her hope and prayers for God's intervention. After all, it wasn't as though Tancred had utterly refused to help her. He had appeared to relent to her wishes back at Godfrey's castle, and had it not been for the wicked interruption of the horsemen, she might have won his cooperation in bringing her with him to the Norman camp to Nicholas. She groaned at her loss.
  And now! She touched her stiff, awkward bandage. What could she do? How could she journey? Nor could she remain here in the keep for long! By now, Irene would be aware of her disappearance and
 
would have sent spies out searching for her. Her aunt would first confront Philip, and not finding her with him, she would begin to search in earnest. And Philip, what will he think?
  Helena dare not contemplate what would happen if Irene caught her with Tancred while seeking to escape to the Norman camp and to Nicholas.
  She lifted her face from her hands, her thoughts again cut short by the pounding of hoofs on stone below. Grimacing, she stood from the chair and edged her way across the chamber to the narrow window slit which looked out toward the cold Bosporus and those dread hills of the Moslem East, appearing like humped camels.
  Daylight began to seep and spread across the gray skyline, and through the drizzle in the fading glow from the torches she saw a handful of Byzantine guards on patrol. Had Bardas also returned?
  Helena turned, hearing quick footsteps coming up the steep flight of chiseled steps. The door to the chamber opened unexpectedly.
  Tancred entered, now garbed in the becoming black-and-crimson uniform of the imperial guard, his woolen wintry riding coat wet with rain. His hair, too, was damp and curled at his neck, and the intense blue-gray eyes swept her, as though surprised she was awake and on her feet. "You should not be walking yet."
  Despite her caution, her feelings toward him had softened, for how could it be otherwise? He had saved her at the castle and was now her physician ....
  "I have begun to think I do not know you at all. I offer you an apology. So you are a physician after all."
  He smiled. "Only a student." He walked toward her. "How do you feel? Is the bandage too tight?"
  "A little. You set the bone? I hardly recall you doing so."
  "The bone will grow again. It is good you do not remember."
  Her eyes sought his. "I owe you a great debt. You will allow me to pay you?"
  A smile played on his mouth. "In due time."
  "You must not forget to remind me," she hastened. "I will remember to collect at a convenient season."
 
  Tancred walked to the window slit where she stood and looked below, turning sober and thoughtful. "This is a dark matter you find yourself in, Helena. I could wish it were far different. You were made for the fair things of life, not Rhinelanders, broken ribs, and Kalid using you to accomplish his ambitions in Antioch. And I cannot stay much longer," he said quietly.
  His statement seemed to mean much more than his departure to meet up with Prince Bohemond and the Norman army, and for a brief cold moment she felt the loss, knowing that he would ride off as knights did, never to return.
  It was the first time he had spoken so seriously and sympathetically, and she responded too readily. She tore her gaze away. She too looked thoughtfully out the window, and together they watched a sullen dawn break over the rough water.
  Tancred frowned. "Bardas should have returned by now." His eyes calmly questioned her. "He resents your willingness to come to me for help. Let us hope he does not cultivate enough fatherly zeal to warn Philip you came to hire me."
  "Warn Philip?" Her surprised gaze searched his, for why would Philip prove a danger to either of them?
  "Yes, Philip," he repeated with a wry smile. "Your illustrious noble with purple buskins. It is my opinion that once he mulls matters over, he will want to manage some way of keeping both his position and you."
  This was a far cry from his usual denunciation of Philip willingly abandoning her to safeguard his career with the emperor, and she wondered what made him think differently. The idea that Philip might long for her brought a mellow glow to her eyes, and seeing it, Tancred turned wry.
  "I would not yearn too deeply, madame." "I do not yearn!"
  "Yes ... you do. Your misplaced devotion is written on your face."
  She turned her head away from his penetrating gaze.
  "His schemes are likely to crumble at the first earthquake. If I mention Philip at all, it's because I do not trust Bardas to keep your plans hidden from him. He may have run to him with news of your injury and your plans to seek Nicholas."
  Her hopes began to rekindle into warm dreams
 
despite Tancred's attempt to smother them. Just what would Philip do if he knew of her desperate attempts?
  "If Bardas knew where to find my enemies, I think he would hand me over in shackles," he mused.
  Helena glanced at him. "Nay, you saw how he obeyed your commands back at the castle when danger surrounded us. He would not betray you, and since I seek your services, he will cooperate even if he disapproves. You are needed for the present."
  A brow lifted. "For the present, I cannot be dispensed with. You are generous. I suppose that offers some comfort. I can at least keep my sword sheathed when I sleep, but tomorrow?" he asked with mock alarm. "I may be tossed to the bears."
  She smiled ruefully. "And do you think I also will betray you--to the bears?"
  "You just said you needed me," came his too smooth reply. "My hopes grow."
  Helena gave him a cautious glance, but he was again peering below, frowning to himself over some more serious thought.
  "You obviously cannot ride with me to the Norman camp. When Bardas arrives, have him bring you to your family villa. Wait for me there."
  Then he is going to help me after all! "And Nicholas?"
  "I will warn him about your precarious situation with Kalid. No doubt Nicholas will wish to come to you at once."
  Her gratitude prompted a quick laying of her hand on his arm, but at the feel of the rough rain-damp uniform she became too aware of him and drew her hand away again.
  "I knew you would dedicate your sword to my cause. Then you will let me hire you?"
  His eyes held hers. "No."
  "No? But you just said--"
  "I offer my service freely."
  She tried to still the beating of her heart, regarding his gaze beneath dark lashes.
  "But ... what about the castle. ..." she began weakly.
  "I thought you told me last night it was reserved as dowry for the man you will marry, unless ..." And a flicker of malicious amusement showed. "Unless you wish to plead for the opportunity to become my bride."
 
  "Your boldness is unheard of." She rushed on. "The gold besants--"
  "I also made it clear last night it is not what I want."
  She swiftly lowered herself onto a chair as though in pain and held her hand to her heart. "You have bound me too tightly."
  "Then does my lady wish me to loosen the bandage?"
  "No," she hastened. "I ... I shall manage. As you say ... it must heal." She drew her cape about her as though cold and remembered the other desperate cause for which she hoped to gain his help.
  "There is much I need to discuss with you before you leave to meet with the Norman prince. There is news of my mother you must bring to Nicholas. Before you do ... there is information I desperately need. Information you might gain from your contacts with the Moslem friends of your grandfather." She stood hopefully, her eyes searching his. "You have heard of ibn-Haroun of Jerusalem?"
  Tancred gave her a scrutinizing appraisal as though taken off guard by the change in the direction of their conversation and the name of Haroun.
  "That you would know of anyone in Jerusalem by that name astounds me. Who told you of him? Philip?"
  She wondered why he would bring up Philip. "Philip did not tell me. He does not know. I have not spoken with him since my informer passed me the message about ibn-Haroun some weeks ago. Do you know him, Tancred?"
  He paused, as though considering the depth of sincerity in her question and what ulterior motive might be behind it. "I know of him. In Palermo, my grandfather has done business with him. He is not a Turk nor a Moor, but an Arab, and he and his brother are breeders and traders of Arabian horses. He sold a mare to me in Palermo." His face hardened at the memory. "He first bought her from Kalid. I named her Alzira ... and the assassin who killed my brother now rides her."
  He knew the Arab named ibn-Haroun! Helena's excitement grew.
  "Enough of my past," he said swiftly. "How is it you know of him?"
  The dreadful moment of truth had come, one of shame and infamy. "I would not know of him at all
 
except my mother is not dead as enemies have told me. She is a slave in the Moslem
East. And she served in the household of ibn-Haroun, the breeder of Arabian horses."
  In the surprised silence that followed, she heard the wind whipping the rain through the arrow loops.
  "You are certain?" came his low voice at last.
  "That she lives? Yes. But she is no longer in his household." Her eyes implored his. "She was sold again ... or taken by force. But surely Haroun or his brother would know who she is with. Oh, Tancred, I must find her and free her from her vile fate or die doing it. I would have done so by now if my own fate had not cruelly intertwined with Kalid and Antioch. You will help me?"
  "You say she is a slave. How is it a Lysander woman of nobility finds herself in the Moslem East?"
  Her eyes warmed with indignation. "I have no proof, but I believe my aunt was involved."
  "And your informer brought news of Haroun? When?" "Several weeks ago. I met him on the Mese and he passed a message to me, saying that she had been in Jerusalem in the service of one ibn-Haroun."
  "But she is no longer there? How do you know?" "Another message arrived. ..." Her eyes clouded. "She was bought by a sultan."
  "The East is full of sultans," he reminded her.
  "Yes, yes, and my informer was to meet Bardas yesterday on the Mese with further news, but both of them were foiled from keeping the appointment. Irene drove by in her chariot and saw Bardas. I now have word my informer is dead."
  She thought of her meeting with Constantine and his warning to keep silent. Avoiding Tancred's searching gaze, she feared he would begin to ask too many questions when all she needed was his contact with ibn-Haroun. She dare not tell even Tancred about Constantine's plans to locate her.
  She produced a message from an inner pocket of her cloak and handed it to him. "This is the last message received."
  He lifted a candle and studied it thoughtfully. Helena knew it by heart: "Your mother is no longer in Jerusalem. She was taken away a year ago and lives in the Moslem tents of the
 
East."
  "Your family has the blood of the  Moors," she urged. "You would have other contacts  besides Haroun. You would know the emirs in Cairo,  Damascus, Baghdad. I must buy her  freedom from the sultan who owns her."
  Tancred was thoughtful. "It may not be so  simple."
  "What do you mean?" she asked worriedly.  "You are certain she wishes her freedom?"
  The question stunned her. Helena looked at him,  noting the seriousness of his gaze. Remembering that  he bore the proud blood of al-Kareem and that  she had yet to meet a more handsome man, she  contemplated for the first time the thought of her beloved  Christian mother liking her sultan captor. She  swiftly dismissed the thought as outrageous. "You  suggest that my mother--Lady Adrianna Lysander  --could love a tribal sultan and live in a  nomadic black tent?"
  He lifted a brow. "The women of the veil would  not find my suggestion insulting. I merely asked  if it were possible your mother might care for her  captor. It has happened."
  Helena held her breath, prepared to dismiss the  possibility, but then for a brief moment, she saw  Tancred not in the uniform of the Byzantine, nor  the armor of a Norman knight, but dressed as a  Moor of the mysterious desert, a sultan, and his  suggestion did not seem so incredible after all.
  Helena walked to the small hearth and sat  down, warming her hands. He did not follow but  remained by the arrow loops.
  "Have you told anyone else that your mother lives?  It is important. It could place her in  danger if your aunt has access to the  assassins."
  She thought of Constantine and his warnings about  Irene, and remembered the poisonous silk.
  When Helena did not answer immediately, he  walked up to where she sat by the table. When she did  not look at him for fear she would give herself  away, he picked up the urn and poured himself a  cup of tea. He drank, watching her.
  "Your silence tells me you have confessed all  to your beloved Philip."
  Her eyes narrowed slightly and she lifted her  chin. "No. That is ... not about ibn-Haroun."
  "No?"
  The smooth inflection of his voice betrayed his  mistrust. She hastened, "I told him she was  alive before the journey to the Danube.  It is the only reason he relented and brought me  with him from Nish to find Nicholas. But whatever you  may think of him, Philip can be trusted to remain  silent about my mother."
  "You are so confident. And yet, Irene is his  mother."
  "He will say nothing," she insisted.    He set his empty cup down. Whether or not  he believed her was questionable, and from his musing frown,  she believed that he was disturbed that she even knew  of ibn-Haroun. Obviously the man had some  bearing on Tancred's past in Sicily. Did  he worry that Philip would learn this from her?
  "I have not told him of your Arab  acquaintance," she repeated. "What of Kalid?  Does he know this breeder of Arabian horses?"
  She saw the blue in his eyes harden. "Yes,  he knows him. So does Mosul," he said.
  The assassin ...
  "And Bardas would also know about your mother having  been in Jerusalem, since he prowls the Mese  for you. Anyone else?"
  She shook her head wearily. "No one  else, except--" She stopped as the determined  face of Constantine came before her.
  "Yes?"
  "Nicholas," she said. "Bardas brought him  news in Clermont. At that time neither of us knew  about Haroun."
  "When Bardas returns from General  Taticus, do not return to Constantinople. I  want both of you to wait at the villa until I  arrive with Nicholas. As soon as I can I will  be in touch with Hakeem to inquire of Haroun at  Jerusalem, but there is little I can do now since  Hakeem has ridden to Antioch. In the meantime  I will also begin to ask quietly concerning your mother."
  Helena stood. "I cannot stay at the villa.  Irene is likely to search for me. How long will  you be gone?"
  "I am leaving now. Expect me in two  weeks, no longer. If I do not arrive by then,  leave the villa. Have you another place to wait?"
  "I have friends at Athens. Nicholas knows of  them." She paused, wondering how to broach the  next subject, knowing he would disapprove of her  actions.
  "I ... I must send Bardas back  to Constantinople if only for a day."
  "A mistake. It will increase our risk.  Are you thinking of your jewels?"
  "No ..." she hesitated, "they are safely  disposed of." She wouldn't say where. "But there is  another matter I must take care of before leaving  permanently with Nicholas for the castle." She  turned away, busying herself with the urn as though she  wished more tea. "I must talk to Philip."
  Tancred was silent. She glanced at him and  saw a hot flicker of impatience in his eyes and  she rushed to explain. "I said hateful things to him  in the chamber. I do not want to leave without telling  him--" She stopped.
  Beneath his unrelenting gaze she halted.  "That you are unwise enough to love him still?"
  She flushed despite herself. "That is my  affair, sir."
  "And I suggest, madame, that it is mine also,  now that I risk my head to secure your safety  and inquire among the sultans for Adrianna."
  Helena had worked too hard to gain this moment of  his cooperation. She dare not lose it now. "I will  forever be in your debt."
  "Do not misunderstand my protest--it is not your
  
sentimental words of endearment wasted on  such a man that provoke my ire," he suggested.  "It is your willingness to risk yourself and me by doing  so. You would make us both expendable by kissing him  good-bye."
  She turned away. "You make it sound so  light and frivolous, so wasted."
  "Frivolous? I think not. Philip would  sell you to the bedchamber of my cousin."
  A strong voice challenged from the doorway:  "We must prove our gallant knight from  Sicily wrong, Helena."
  Startled, Helena turned toward the door.  Philip stepped into the chamber, darkly handsome,  the image of Byzantine splendor. Behind him  stood two of his soldiers.
  The black eyes sparked a challenge as he  looked at Tancred. "You are wrong, my  Norman friend. Helena will not be turned over to your  untrustworthy cousin Kalid, nor to you, our  talented scholar-physician."
  The resentment was plain in his voice and she  felt the heightened tension in the chamber. What was  she to make of this? A cautious glance at  Tancred showed that he too thoughtfully studied the  change in Philip.
  Philip held out both hands toward her, his  eyes flickering with warmth and self-reproach.  "I drove you to this daring but unwise action,  Helena. You were desperate. You might have been  killed. When Bardas told me what happened  at Godfrey's castle, and of your injury, I  came at once."
  "Bardas told you?" asked Tancred  smoothly.
  She remembered his earlier suggestion, but her  eyes were only for Philip.
  Philip shifted his gaze away from her  to Tancred. "Did you not send him? Am I not the  minister of war? A dozen men wait below,  Redwan. You have your commission to ride to meet the  Normans. But do not leave yet. I want you  to hear what I have to say to Helena."
  Philip was looking at her again, warmly, as  though Tancred no longer mattered, and he was  speaking the words she had yearned for him to speak.
  "When I learned what happened to you last  night, I knew clearly for the first time how much you  mean to me, Helena, and how thoughtless and  self-seeking I have been these past weeks.
  
Tancred was right--I did fail you. It  took the fear of your death at the hand of crusading  barbarians to shake me."
  Her breath wanted to stop as her eyes clung  to his. He came toward her, taking hold of her  shoulders. "I cannot lose you."
  "Kalid is also a warrior who refuses  to lose," interjected Tancred.
  Philip looked over at him with a cool, dark  gaze. "I asked you to stay that you might realize  my intentions to marry Helena. Your opinions on  Kalid can wait."
  Helena's emotions spiraled out of control.  That Philip would have the humility to admit his  error before Tancred astounded her and made it all  the more sweet. Her heart ached for him, knowing the  cost to his pride, and yet she felt great  pleasure. He was vindicating her as well as  himself, and all her words in defense of his strength of  character at Tancred's mocking denunciation. She  wanted to look at Tancred victoriously but  reined in her childish satisfaction, remembering  how desperately she yet needed his familiarity  with the sultans--something not even Philip could give  her.
  "Philip ..." she whispered, "you need say  no more now. We can talk later when we are  alone."
  "I have much to say. I should have known where your  desperation would lead you when I failed you that night  in my chamber. Beloved, I vow to stand beside you  now." He looked at Tancred. "And you are my  witness, Norman. If you would rescue Helena  from Kalid, your aid is no less needed now."
  If his words left her astounded, what did  Tancred think? She glanced at him, uncertain  she wished to meet that melting gaze head on. He  said nothing, but her breath ceased as she caught the  glitter in his eyes. She turned her back,  facing Philip, and his arm slipped about her  protectively.
  "I intend to appeal to the emperor as soon as this  other matter with Bohemond is taken care of.  He will be in a kinder mood once the princes  swear their fealty to him and are ushered across the  Bosporus. Should he refuse my plea, I will  proceed as though we accept the fate that threatens  to tear us apart. But I have a plan."
  Plan? What plan? she wondered. And  would it work?
  
  Philip turned toward Tancred.
"I will have you placed in command of the entourage bringing  Helena to Antioch. The men under you will be loyal  to me. You will take Helena and proceed not  to Antioch but to the Castle of Hohms. I will  join you there."
  Her heart leaped and she gripped his arm.  "And at the Castle of Hohms, then what?"  came Tancred's smooth voice. "You will live  happily there, the two of you? For how long?  Until Irene and Constantine arrive with  soldiers on horses to bring you back to the  Sacred Palace? What of Helena? Will she  then be sent to Kalid--a present after your wedding  night?"
  She whirled, her breath catching, but Tancred  did not seem to care. He watched Philip with a  cool, challenging stare that caused her protest  to die on her lips.
  If she thought his words would provoke Philip  to an angry storm, she was wrong, for Philip  remained as cool as Tancred. A glimmer of  victory showed in his eyes.
  "When Helena and I marry, there is no one  who will take her from me again. Including Kalid."
  "He may have other ideas," said Tancred.  "He is a warrior."
  Helena caught the suggestion that Philip was  not. His insolence amazed her, yet she was more  surprised by Philip's behavior. Instead of  dismissing him for a Norman barbarian to be sent from  his presence, Philip remained oddly calm.
  "No, friend Tancred, he will not. Would you like  to know why? It is simple. After bringing Helena  to the Castle of Hohms, you will go on to Antioch.  It's been arranged with a certain Byzantine spy  to see you safely inside the city. You will remain  there until Antioch is surrendered to the  Normans--and then you will make certain that Kalid  does not leave alive." His smile hinted of  victory. "I have every confidence in you. We both  do," and he turned triumphantly toward her.  "Do we not, Helena?"
  Dazed by his words, she could not reply.  Philip seemed almost jovial. "I am  certain, friend Tancred, that Kalid will die when  your Norman race of warriors scales the  walls and occupies the city."
  Helena's eyes swerved from Philip to search  Tancred's face. Had he known about this? He
  
could not have, she thought. What she expected  to see in Tancred's gaze was unclear even  to her, but she was not prepared for the look that passed  between him and Philip. A message was  communicated--one that eluded her.
  "Philip, what is this all about?" she  demanded.
  When he did not answer immediately she looked at  Tancred and saw his jawline flex, the cool,  almost brittle glimmer in the depths of his eyes  as he raked Philip.
  "The success of your intrigue is to be  congratulated. You have matched your emperor for  cunning," said Tancred.
  Helena felt the underlying insult in his smooth  voice and glanced at Philip.
  He smiled coolly. "Your compliment is  noteworthy," Philip told him. "Your own  labors on behalf of the emperor have not gone  unrewarded."
  Tancred watched as Philip removed a letter  from beneath his maroon cloak and handed it to him.
  "You will not need to concern yourself with Walter of  Sicily," said Philip. "The information I  give you to bring to Bohemond will make you too  important to him. You have earned friends in  Byzantium. And for your future service in  Antioch, I have another noteworthy prize for  you."
  The look of victory played on Philip's  face. Helena watched him, uncertain,  disappointment in what she saw inching its way up  her back. For the first time she saw that he had his  mother's smile when he believed himself  triumphant.
  "And this noteworthy prize?" inquired  Tancred evenly.
  "Your much sought for assassin. Mosul. He  is a prisoner of mine. And I may at any  given day do what I will with him. I believe,"  he said too casually, "that you desperately need  this man alive to prove your innocence in murdering  your brother for the Redwan castle and galleons."
  It was Helena who gasped. Tancred made  no response and looked at him. But Philip  was obviously pleased with himself.
  "What is this, Philip? You have Tancred's  cousin?"
  He slipped his arm about her and his eyes asked  her to trust him, to remain silent.
  
  Uncertain, Helena watched
Tancred calmly open the letter and read. She  waited tensely.
  A moment later Tancred looked at  Philip. "Who knows of this Armenian spy? Your  emperor? Irene, Constantine?"
  Philip's mouth turned into a humorless  smile. "They do not know of Firouz. The plans  to deliver Antioch to Bohemond remain a  secret between you and me."
  "You will risk treason?" inquired Tancred.  Philip looked at him sharply. "The  emperor wishes the city and he shall have it. The means  by which he receives it is inconsequential."
  "Is it? Not all will agree with your conclusion."  Philip rejected his suggestion with a wave of  his hand. "Whether Antioch is restored to the  Eastern Empire through Prince Kalid for  Helena and the castle or by Firouz to Bohemond  matters not."
  "The emperor will believe it matters if  Bohemond decides to retain the city. Then  what?"
  Philip seemed to wish to dismiss the subject.  "It is enough now that you work with Firouz. For the sake  of Helena, I shall take my chances." He drew  her to his side. "We both will."
  Without knowing the contents of the letter, Helena did not  understand their conversation, but she heard enough to know that they  spoke of risk, one that concerned Tancred.
  "Am I a mindless child that no one explains  to me what is going on?" she inquired evenly.
  "The plan is simple enough for any Byzantine  to understand," said Tancred. He looked at  Philip. "Will you tell her, or will I?"
  Philip hesitated as though he wished to hold  back, but having said so much already, he could not.  "There is an Armenian spy in Antioch named  Firouz. For reasons of his own he will deliver the  city to the crusaders."
  "Deliver the city? But how?"
  "That is information Tancred will see to when he  arrives there to meet with him in secret. As you can  see, this plan is different from what Irene and  Constantine have previously arranged. They  expect Kalid to surrender Antioch to me. And  I, of course, to take command in the name of  Byzantium."
  Bewildered by his wish to do this, she searched his  face and saw only the look of satisfaction.
  
"Why are you doing this?" she pressed.  "Surrender Antioch to the Normans? Why should  this guarantee our freedom?"
  Philip looked triumphantly at
Tancred. "Tancred will see to it that Kalid  dies in the battle."
  Tancred's gaze flickered. "That thought should  bring you and your bridegroom a peaceful night's  rest, madame."
  "And ... you will go ahead and do this?" she  inquired, surprised, uncertain about the storm of  unrest that was beginning to brew in her soul.
  Tancred's gaze held hers and he said  nothing.
  She turned abruptly to Philip and saw the  humorless smile.
  "Tancred has little choice," said Philip.  "I was able to work with the Turkish commander Kerbogha  without the knowledge of Kalid. The assassin Tancred  seeks is now held a prisoner inside  Antioch, and whether he lives or dies is  left to my discretion."
  A tiny sick feeling fluttered in her  stomach. He sounds so much like his mother. This is  something Irene can do well. But Philip? He  was using coercion to force Tancred to cooperate with  his wishes, even as Irene did with other warriors  to make them carry out her plans. Tancred needed  Mosul alive to testify to his innocence. And  Philip could call for Mosul's death if  Tancred refused to follow his orders.
  She turned to Philip, expecting anything but  his triumphant smile. "I will have no part of  this," she stated.
  Philip seemed surprised. "Do not look  alarmed, beloved. What do you care for the life of  Kalid? Tancred would have confronted him over you  sooner or later. I am merely giving him a  better opportunity to do so. The end result  remains the same. All, except for you and me.  This will mean our freedom to marry, to live in  peace in Constantinople as we have so planned all  our lives."
  Her eyes searched his. "Constantinople? Do  you think the emperor will receive us once you permit the  Normans to take the city?" she protested.
  "Do not concern yourself over Bohemond," said  Philip confidently. "He can be appeased. There  are many kingdoms in the East, are there not, friend  Tancred?"
  
  "You should know," came his smooth  voice. "Byzantium is the queen of bribe and  tribute."
  "It is how we have survived these seven  hundred years," said Philip flatly. "I  neither condemn nor condone. It is merely a  fact."
  While her earlier estimation of Philip had  vindicated his honor when it came to his love for  her, she was not proud of his methods and avoided  Tancred's gaze. She knew what she would find  in those blue-gray eyes.
  Philip walked over to the door and opened it.  "And now, my Norman friend, you have much to do. And  may you do better in your negotiations with the  Normans than you have with Godfrey. So much  depends on it," he said meaningfully.
  Helena turned her back, refusing to look  at Tancred, her emotions deep and complex.  She heard him shut the door behind him as he  left.
  Philip walked up to her, smiling. He  laughed, drawing her into his arms. "Well, my  beloved Helena, you see how much I love you!  And my plans are as clever as anything the emperor  himself would scheme upon his throne! I shall make an  excellent ruler one day."
  Her heart beat uneasily, and there was a sick  qualm in her stomach as she gazed up into his  amused dark eyes.
  "Philip," she whispered, her throat dry.  "Is it wise to trap Tancred into carrying out your  plans? To bait him with the assassin ... the thought  brings me a cold chill. What if something goes  wrong?"
  "Nothing will go wrong. I have the entire army behind  me. Mosul is under lock and key in Antioch.  I know as much as the emperor. No, I know more."
  His expression was troubling. "But," she  whispered, "surely God does not smile upon this  treachery."
  "Treachery! Kalid is an enemy of  Tancred. He would kill him at once if he  could. Did I not tell you that even if I threw  away all my plans, Tancred would still confront  Kalid? So why not confront him for our  happiness? Come! Do not look at me that way,  Helena. It is the way of Byzantium. You  know it as well as I. And Tancred is learning  he must cooperate."
  
  "He will not wish to learn. He  resents your whip; I could see it easily. You  can push him only so far before he turns on you."
  "So you know him well, do you?" His smile  vanished.
  "Philip!"
  "Never mind. You are hurt," he said  swiftly. "I shall bring you back to the city. Your  injury will work to our advantage. Any delay in  being sent to Antioch will give Tancred and me more  time to arrange things."
  "I cannot go back! Irene knows I escaped the  garden banquet."
  "You have nothing to fear. I will have Constantine  convince her your injury took place at the  villa. She knows how you love to ride. Some  new horses have been bought, and Constantine will  tell her you were with him, insisted on riding one, and  fell."
  "Constantine?" she tensed. "Why would he wish  to make excuses for me?"
  "He has his reasons," was all Philip would  say, but he appeared confident. "I will ask him  to do so."
  "Since when will he listen to your wishes and  mine?"
  "He will," he said flatly. "Matters have  changed between us."
  "Why? What matters?"
  He smiled. "He will convince Irene. Leave  the matter to me."
  I have no choice, Helena realized. She  had made the decision to follow Philip and  submit to his headship the moment that she allowed  Tancred to walk away. She had chosen  Philip, and now she must rest under his lordship as the  man she would marry.
  She looked at him, troubled. Had she made  the right decision? Had she yielded herself and her  future to the right man? Philip was worth the  risk. How many years she had tried to win his  devotion, his commitment! And now she had him. For  all he was worth.
  Her eyes searched his. "So many lies,  Philip, so much scheming ..."
  "We must survive our enemies. And when this  is all over and the crusaders have marched on  to Jerusalem, we too shall have our peace, our  contentment."
  "What of Nicholas?" she asked worriedly.
  
"How can there be peace when there are plans  to arrest him if he enters the city?"
  "There will be no move against your uncle. He will  enter the city safely with Tancred."
  She stared at him, desperately hoping he was  right about peace, but fearful that he was not. Wickedness  knew no peace. God's holiness had willed it  so, and justly. And would Nicholas be willing  to forget the injustice heaped upon him?
  He must have seen her doubts, for he took  hold of her shoulders, his eyes imploring hers.
  "Helena, with the crusaders eliminating our  enemies in Antioch and Tancred supporting our  cause, we can now have what we want most--each  other."
  But at what cost to them? she wondered. Whatever  the price, it did not seem to disturb Philip--  but it lay like a heavy dread in her heart.
  "We can have Nicholas marry us at the  castle," he continued.
  Philip held her, but unnamed fears arose  to nag and spoil her dreams. The moment she had  longed for these many years was now in her hand, but the  victory was robbed of the splendor she had imagined  it would be. Despite his declaration, her heart  beat laboriously slow.
  What had happened during the interlude in which she  had last seen Philip in his chamber? Why was he  so confident that he could maneuver those in the Sacred  Palace whose plans conflicted with his own? How  had he been able to locate Mosul in Antioch?  Would his confidence continue? Or would some unforeseen  happening bring them both to a dungeon?
  And Tancred ...
  "If Tancred is successful in his mission,  the western princes will soon arrive in  Constantinople to vow their vassalage to the  emperor. I will then arrange for Tancred to command  the entourage that will escort you to Antioch, but  once out of Constantinople he will take a  different route to the Castle of Hohms."
  "Will Irene allow him to escort me? What  if she is suspicious? Especially now, after  my coming here."
  "I will arrange it somehow as though the emperor  wishes it. If I also ride in the entourage,  she will be less suspicious. She believes I  have come to peace concerning the matter of your marriage  to Kalid."
  "Hold me, Philip. I am afraid."
  
               * * *
  Tancred went swiftly down the steep steps,  snatching his helmet from the table. Outside the  guard castle he felt the chill rain beat against  him. His eyes smoldered as he tightened the strap  beneath his chin. Was Philip lying about having  Mosul? He did not think so. Philip had  looked too pleased with himself.
  There was one consolation to being trapped by Philip  in!complying with his wishes; the look of disappointment  in Helena's face as she had watched Philip  play out his game. Was he right? Had she been  repelled?
  Across the court he saw Bardas near the open  stable, feeding Philip's horses.
  Tancred placed the folded paper Philip  had given him inside his jacket. How much did  Bardas know? No matter that Helena would swear  her life to the safekeeping of his hand, he did not  trust the big Spartan any farther away than he  could watch him. He might confront him now over  running to Philip to inform him of how Helena had  sought his aid, but he was blind enough in his allegiance to the  noble to deny any wrongdoing.
  Bardas looked up and saw him. The  immobile eyes stared back briefly, then in the  essence of subservience he turned back to the  horses.
  Tancred lifted his gaze toward the guard  castle, knowing Helena was in the top of the keep with  Philip, blindly permitting herself to be convinced of the  devotion that she had planned so long to receive from the  fastidious and handsome aristocrat. Well, she had  him now. How much did it matter to her that  Philip would stoop to such low and dishonorable  tactics?
  Philip had Mosul, and he had Helena.
  That leaves me in the uncomfortable position of  vassal, he thought with cool anger. But not for  long. He must play along with Philip's  game for a time, until he had opportunity  to discover the whereabouts of Mosul from the Armenian  named Firouz. Once in Antioch, he would  break with Philip and follow his conscience. He  would not kill his cousin Kalid to allow the spineless  noble to have Helena. If he confronted Kalid,  it must be for her alone.
  The strong wind pounded the chill rain against the  stalwart guard castle and soaked through his riding  cloak. His eyes narrowed as the drops pelted his
  
helmet. Philip had made a  mistake, Tancred thought. He had unmasked his  ruthless character in front of her. Unless she remained  deliberately blind to what he was, she could no  longer defend his spotless honor while she  hurled stones at his own.
  If her disappointment in Philip did not  happen soon, it would be too late. A faint  smile turned his mouth. His dilemma might be  worth it after all.
  Placing his boot in the stirrup, Tancred  swung himself into the saddle and scanned the group of  men who would ride under his authority to meet the coming  Norman army. Philip had said that they were  loyal to him, and he did not doubt they were  handpicked.
  He gave a last glance toward Bardas, who  had his back toward him, then started toward the  road, the mercenary soldiers falling in behind.
  It would be good to see Nicholas! He was the one  man whose honor could be trusted.

             CHAPTER 10
           The White Bishop

  Tancred, having left the Byzantine guard  castle, followed the trade route used by merchant  caravans and religious pilgrims who once  journeyed toward Jerusalem on penance before the  Turks had taken the beloved city. After two  days he noticed more than the usual amount of the  emperor's patrols traveling in groups.
  "The Normans make camp a day ahead," the  lead soldier informed him. "Take caution: they  are a dangerous-looking lot."
  Tancred smiled, for the soldier did not know that  he too was a Norman. He gave orders to the  Byzantine guard to wait for him at the frontier  outpost and rode ahead alone.
  It was afternoon on the following day when he neared the  Norman camp. A group of dusty friars  traveling with the army paused when they saw him  approaching astride Apollo. The religious  men were well versed on the makings of war, and their  sharp eyes measured his chain mail visible under the  dark outer tunic.
  "Hail and well met, soldier. Do you come
  
peaceably to the Norman camp?"
  Tancred smiled. "When one Norman  greets another, what else can there be but peace?"
  They laughed but remained doubtful. "You are a  Norman?"
  "Proudly so. A distant cousin of Prince  Bohemond."
  They studied him. "But you wear a foreign  uniform, soldier, and if your sword is blessed  by Saint Michael, where is your proof of  purpose?"
  "With your leave, friars--" and he slowly  unsheathed his sword, aware that they also carried  weapons and undoubtedly could use them well enough.  He remained grave as he showed them the hilt of  his blade with its emblem of Michael the  Archangel.
  Saint Michael, believed by the western  knights to lead the standard for Christian knights  into holy battle, remained the favorite of the  Normans. They attended the church named after  Saint Michael in Le Puy for "sword  blessing" before their battles with infidels. War for the  knights and their accompanying friars or priests  was considered to be religious in nature, and men  fought with the idea that war for Christ wrought the tenderness  of heaven toward the forgiveness of sin.
  The friars eyeing Tancred's sword seemed  satisfied that it belonged to a Norman knight, and  they scanned him again, curiously, no doubt  wondering why he did not wear the leather garb of  Bohemond's men.
  "We are from the monastery at Reggio in the  extreme south," said a friar.
  Tancred turned in the saddle to peer ahead of  him. He was midway between two traveling groups,  and the second was nearing, some walking on foot and  others on horseback. To locate Nicholas  would not be easy in a multitude this size.
  "Are all in your caravan from the monastery at  Reggio?"
  "Nay, those behind are from Bari."
  The news was good, since Nicholas had first  set foot on its shores when excommunicated  from the eastern branch of the Church and was banished from  Constantinople.
  "Then I shall proceed on my way. Begging your  leave," and he sheathed his sword and rode ahead  down the road beaten into muddy ruts by passing  cavalries and footmen.
  
  The spring afternoon was chill, a breeze  stirred the new green leaves, and birds trilled  their mating calls. It was a good day to be alive,  and he experienced a rejuvenation that came to his  heart from being among his own people again. He understood  them, their warlike nature, their sometimes  superstitious beliefs mingled with religion.  Yet, for the most part, they were dedicated, and there were  many good Christians among them whose hearts bowed in  reverence before God and His Holy Son. They would  fight to the death for Him, believing that by fighting  political wars they were extending the shores of His  earthly kingdom.
  It was a satisfaction to Tancred that  Nicholas believed otherwise. He had always  been a maverick, a well-respected scholar  who could read, write, and speak fluently in  Greek and Latin, which gave him access to the  Scriptures. He had taught Tancred  well, and he loved him for it, but Tancred  enjoyed flaunting the fact that he could also do something  Nicholas could not--read and write in Arabic.  He smiled to himself, remembering the battle of  wits he had put both Nicholas and his  Moorish grandfather, al-Kareem, through by pitting  one against the other.
  Nicholas had usually countered by underscoring some  fact about the Scriptures:
  "There are three hundred prophecies concerning  the birth, death, resurrection, and earthly reign  of Jesus Christ," Nicholas had told him.
  "Three hundred!" As a boy, Tancred had  been amazed, for he'd been told Jesus was a  prophet like Adam, Noah, Abraham, and  Moses, but they were all of less importance than  Mohammed, the one true prophet of Allah.  "And how many prophecies told about the  importance of the coming of Mohammed?"
  "There are no prophecies recorded in the  Bible or the Koran about the coming of Mohammed.  Neither Mohammed nor the Koran existed until  hundreds of years after Christ returned to the  Father. The New Testament was already written and  complete."
  "But the angel Gabriel came  to Mohammed," said Tancred. "Allah's  messages were revealed in speeches given to him  at Mecca and Medina."
  Nicholas turned in the New Testament to the  epistle to the Galatians. "These words were
  
written hundreds of years before  Mohammed was born. Read what is warned about  receiving messages from angels that contradict the  Scriptures."
  Tancred read the portion aloud: "But though  we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other  gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto  you, let him be accursed. As we said before, so say  I now again, if any preach any other gospel  unto you than what you have received, let him be  accursed."
  The discussions had given Tancred plenty  to think about late into the night.
  "Christianity is not a religion seeking  God, but a revelation of God coming down in love  to seek and to save the lost sons and daughters of  Adam and Eve," Nicholas had explained.
  "If I were drowning in a lake," Nicholas  had illustrated, "Mohammed would walk up to the  lake and tell me to swim.
  ""I cannot swim," I would cry.
  ""Start moving your arms and legs," he would  say.
  ""It is too late. I am already drowning,  nor can I learn."
  ""Then you will fail and I cannot help you" is  his answer.
  "But Jesus Christ came to the lake,  removed His outer garments of glory, and swam out  to save me from drowning."
  Nicholas had looked at him intently. "Do  you see the difference? Mohammed says, "Try  to do good enough, so you may live!" But Jesus  says, "I give you eternal life as a  gift, and then out of thankfulness you may do good.""
  Tancred had considered well. Islam offered  no forgiveness of sins. Each person's lifetime  deeds would be weighed on the Judgment Day, and they  would merit either heaven or hell. His grandfather  al-Kareem had taught him the five statements  of faith called the Pillars of Islam.  Prayer five times a day; profession of faith  --"There is no god but Allah and Mohammed  is his prophet"; alms-giving to the poor; fasting  from sunrise to sunset on Friday and for the month of  Ramadan; and at least one journey to Mecca.
  "You must bow and pray toward Mecca,"  Tancred had told Nicholas.
  But Nicholas believed Mohammed had gotten  the idea of bowing toward Mecca from the Jews in the
  
Old Testament, who faced east and  prayed toward Jerusalem, where the Temple of  Solomon had stood.
  "But even Israel's King Solomon, who  dedicated the temple, knew that the true and living  God was omnipresent. "The heavens cannot contain  you," Solomon had said in his prayer when  dedicating the temple. "How much less this  temple I have built?"'
  "Did not Jesus say to the woman at the  well, "Woman, believe me, the hour comes  when you will neither worship at this mountain nor yet in  Jerusalem. God is a Spirit and those who  worship Him must worship in spirit and in truth."
  "Truth, my son, is what matters in the  end, not how religiously sincere we may be."
  Tancred had listened politely but kept his  distance. Al-Kareem had told him the  opposite. It was too painful to choose between his  grandfather and Nicholas. He knew that one day he  must make his own decision based on truth, not his  love for either man. What kind of god was  Allah? Was he the true God?
  Al-Kareem had told him there were  ninety-nine names for Allah. Allah was said  to be great, powerful, to determine all things. But  Tancred became disturbed when Nicholas asked  him which names for Allah spoke of his love,  mercy, grace, and forgiveness.
  But al-Kareem was indignant when Tancred  told him this on a visit to Palermo.
  "It is blasphemy, Jehan, to even think of  knowing God in a personal way. Such an idea  presumes that God comes down and makes himself  available to humans. It is beneath Allah's  dignity."
  "Ah, but that is the wonder of it all,"  Nicholas had said when Tancred told him of his  grandfather's words. "God did come down. He  pitched His tent among us. "He that has seen  me has seen the Father," said Jesus."
  Tancred was surprised at that and had said no  more. Nevertheless, he never forgot it. And thereafter he  had considered and carefully marveled over the words of    Jesus in the Gospels.
  His grandfather became agitated when Tancred  told him what he had learned from the Christian  side of the family. Al-Kareem would whistle  through his teeth and narrow his eyes, tapping his fingers  across his belly. "Jehan. You must not listen to that
  
infidel Nicholas. The Koran is  truth. And the Bible is full of errors."
  "How do you know, my grandfather?"  His brows had shot up. "Because the Koran is  the last revelation from Allah. And since the Bible  does not agree with the Koran, the only conceivable  explanation, Jehan, is that the Bible has been  changed."
  "But--Nicholas says that much of the Bible was  written about things that happened a thousand years before  Mohammed was even born."
  His eyes narrowed. "Nicholas lies."  "Maybe the angel was not Gabriel--  maybe--"
  "Jehan!" He threw his hands into the air,  overcome with horror.
  Nicholas had remained calm when Tancred,  a boy of twelve, sat cross-legged before him in  the monastery school and soberly lectured him to do  as al-Kareem said.
  "If you will read the Scriptures, Tancred,  then I will read your Koran. We shall match our  hours spent and report to the other of the wisdom we  have learned. We will compare wisdom for wisdom,  truth for truth, Allah with God Almighty, and  your prophet Mohammed with the matchless Jesus  Christ."
  "I accept, Bishop Nicholas."
  And so the long journey toward truth had begun.  ...
               * * *
  Tancred rode Apollo down the road toward  the Norman camp, thinking of the old one named  Odo, who had helped him escape from Redwan  Castle. Before his death he had given him an  object to return to the shrine at Jerusalem.  On one occasion he had nearly lost it when taken  captive by Rhinelanders. Tancred frowned  to himself, making up his mind. He would give the  relic to Nicholas to return to Jerusalem.
  He had ridden on for several minutes when he  approached a richly draped litter slung between  two mules and carrying an ancient man in an  archbishop's robe with a fur collar. A  wide-brimmed hat with a gold tassel sat  atop his white head, and Tancred recognized the  sign of an esteemed scholar.
  The old gentleman held a rolled parchment in  his hand and was speaking to a page who hurried along  beside him. The young boy wore a short velvet
  
jacket, tight purple hosiery, and a  pair of leather shoes with long points that flopped  in the dust. Around the cleric rode well-armored  knights who served the archbishop, while in front  and behind the litter were archers.
  A group of friars, with ankle-length tunics  tied around the waist with cord, followed behind.
  Tancred held his mount, and Apollo sniffed  the wind with his quivering nostrils.
  Waiting until the group came closer,  Tancred boldly rode into the road and held up  his gloved hand.
  At once, the knights circled into a  protective position, guarding the cleric. The  archers notched their bows.
  "Peace, father! I beg your interruption,"  called Tancred.
  The old cleric squinted toward him as though  blind, cocking his head to hear. The lead soldier, a  man with an unflinching countenance, raked Tancred  with suspicion.
  "Who are you? What do you want?"  "I ask your consideration in the name of Count  Dreux Redwan!"
  There came a brief silence among the  knights, and he felt their hard, scrutinizing  gaze.
  The old man leaned forward in the litter,  steadying himself on the arm of one of the bearers, and  cupped his ear toward Tancred.
  "Dreux?" he shouted. "Did you say  Dreux?"
  "I did, honorable sir."
  A suspicious glance sized him up. "What  do you know of Count Dreux Redwan?"
  "I am his son and heir," he stated  flatly.
  Again, silence followed, and he was certain the  old cleric was stunned.
  "He lies, my liege," said the soldier in  charge. "It is a ruse. Let us be on our  way before we are set upon from the woods."
  The old one responded cautiously now.  "Who is your liege?"
  "The Great Count Roger I of Sicily.  Bohemond is related to my father's kin."
  The soldier leaned impatiently from his saddle  toward the litter. "Anyone would know as much. It  proves nothing, my liege. Look at his garb;  it is anything but Norman."
  
  The old scholar lifted a fragile  hand, beckoning. "Come closer, young man. I would  look upon your face."
  Tancred eased Apollo forward and looked  down at the cleric. The man's clear gray  eyes appraised him, squinting.
  "Perhaps so, perhaps so. You have his goodly  appearance."
  It was Tancred's turn to be curious. "You  knew my father?"
  "He died in my arms in St. Peter's  Basilica the night Rome was defeated."
  Tancred tensed. The memory of that bitter  night when flames touched the city sprang up within  his heart. He had been there ... knocked from the  saddle of a scholar friend of his father--
  Tancred stopped, startled, and stared.  "Turill?" he asked.
  The thin lips of the old man moved into a  melancholy smile. "Yes. It is I,  Turill. So it is you after all, Tancred! I  lost you that night, my son. I was so intent upon  your father that when I turned about to bring you to his  final embrace, you were gone."
  Tancred clamped his jaw to control his  feelings. His father had wanted a last embrace.  ... "The fire and battle was all about me. I  ran."
  "Praise be to God that it was Nicholas who  found you behind the altar."
  Yes, thought Tancred, remembering. He had  hidden in terror, hearing the screams of a torched  city, of priests, of nuns, and of the citizens of  Rome being slain.
  In the quiet but suffocating chapel, the drape  had been suddenly jerked aside, uncovering his  hiding place.
  Tancred had expected a halberd to come  crashing down upon his head, splitting him in two--  just as he had seen his father's friends axed and thrust through  with lances. Instead, a warrior-priest with bold  dark eyes and a rugged face had stared down at  him, a look of keen interest ebbing the ferocity from  his expression.
  "Come out, my son," Nicholas had said. "You  are Count Dreux's son, are you not? You will be  safe with me. I shall take you to Monte  Casino."
               * * *
  "Well, well," Turill was breathing,
  
dragging Tancred's memory back from the  fiery past. "So it is you, Tancred! How  splendid you look. Your father would be proud. And  I suppose you are seeking Nicholas? He is  in the camp. And you, son of the great Dreux! Why  do you wear the uniform of the Eastern Empire? Do  you serve with your uncle Rolf at the Castle of  Hohms?"
  Although he trusted Turill, he was not certain  of the men listening. Explanation must wait. He  ignored the measured looks directed at him from  the lead soldier.
  "I am in service to the emperor, who has  sent me to meet with Prince Bohemond."
  The old archbishop turned his head toward his  lead knight. "Sweyn, take this man  to Nicholas. If this is Tancred, son of  Dreux, he will know. And you," he said turning again  to Tancred, "I wish you the benediction of  heaven." He raised his hand in the form of a cross.
  Tancred bowed his head and performed the required  response.
  The caravan moved on down the muddy road.  The soldier named Sweyn was silent,  probably wondering if he were truly in the  presence of the son and heir of Count Dreux  Redwan. Tancred questioned his own folly in so  quickly announcing who he was.
  Sweyn turned his horse to ride and Tancred  followed.
  Sweyn gave him a sharp glance, scanning  him. At once his warrior eyes fell upon the  scimitar--any experienced soldier knew that it  was not a weapon used by Normans. He studied  Apollo, as though judging if the horse were an  Arabian mare, also considered to be an  "infidel." Normans rode the Great Horse,  bred for its strength, stature, and weight in the  impressive Norman cavalry charge first used  by William the Conqueror.
  "You have a fine horse. And you carry a  scimitar."
  Tancred gave a slow smile. "You are  observant. Even though the horse is lighter  than we customarily ride as knights, I  prefer its agility and speed."
  Sweyn obviously did not agree. "In a  battle charge, he would be run down."
  "You are likely to be right, and if I were in war  in the West, or in a joust, I would prefer the
  
Great Horse. But in battle with the
Seljuk Turks to take Jerusalem, you will  learn quickly that they do not fight according to our custom.  They do not charge, but strike with arrows, weaving and  falling back. And the weather is different from what  we are accustomed to in our own land. Here, the  knights' heavy armor and the desert heat will wear out  the Great Horse."
  Sweyn did not like what he heard and glanced  again at the scimitar. "Does the son of the greatest  of Normans also prefer an infidel blade?"
  "Like my horse, it is swift and certain. But  I also use this." And before the soldier could  respond, Tancred had unleashed his Norman  blade and held it up, clutching the gemmed  hilt. He thought longingly of another sword that  had belonged to Count Dreux Redwan. Nicholas  had given it to him at Monte Casino.
  And now, Mosul had it--along with his Arabian  mare Alzira.
  In the Norman tongue, he quoted by memory  from the knight's Song of Roland:
  "Ah, Durendal! How white and lovely you  are, and your golden hilt so full of relics!"
  The soldier's expression changed to one of  grudging acceptance. The song was the heart and soul  of the belief of the Norman knights. To be a  knight meant you battled for God as well as your  earthly liege. To fight with courage, to die if  need be in defeat or victory, meant glory,  even heaven. And the infidel was an enemy for the  swift blade Durendal to strike  into submission.
  Tancred had not read of this in Scripture, but  the belief among the knights was real enough to go  to battle over, should any deny it.
  "I see you are truly a Norman knight,"  said Sweyn. Without another word, he rode toward  the camp.
  Tancred slipped his sword into its sheath and  followed. Apollo tossed his head, as though  to claim his place among the larger horses, his  mane shining like black gold in the freckled  sunlight that fell from the high branches of the  trees. And Tancred in good humor imagined the  stallion proud of all the boasting he had heaped  upon him and the scimitar.
  Apollo whinnied and pranced ahead.
               * * *
  It was toward dusk as they threaded their way through
  
a grove of cypress and tangled wild  berry vines. Tancred caught a whiff of  woodsmoke on the breeze, and the smell was  tantalizing. Campfires, thousands of them! It  would not be long now. He was hungry and he thought  of the good things awaiting him around Nicholas's  fire.
  Coming to a rise, they surprised two hawks  who flew up from the clearing. Squawking and  flapping their strong wings in the direction of the  eastward hills, they disappeared into the glow of a  lavender sunset.
  They rode a short distance along the rise  facing the sea and a Greek ship was at anchor.  Tancred suspected the emperor's men were keeping  a tight watch on Bohemond by land and sea,  reporting daily of his progress toward the  walls of Constantinople.
  "A beautiful ship," came the wi/l voice  of the soldier.
  "Yes. But no better than our own  galleons. As a boy I once sailed all the  way to Cathay."
  Sweyn marveled. "You have been to fabled  Cathay?"
  Tancred turned to ride on. "Cathay is as  real as Sicily. It lies beyond Hind, beyond the  tallest and greatest mountains upon which I have ever  laid eyes. They were constantly white with snow."
  The soldier said nothing and took the lead again  along the rise, and riding together with the sea breeze  to their faces, Tancred watched several other  ships now in view. They reminded him of  falcons patiently waiting to swoop in on the  walled seaport.
  "Over there," said Sweyn, and gestured with his  gloved hand.
  Tancred turned to look southeast. He saw  the Norman camp and his heart surged, for it  seemed to him the entire army of the three lords was  spread below him. Scouts had seen them coming from a  distance. Far off, he could see a group of  horsemen riding to meet them, no doubt wondering  if they were friend or foe.
  Then Tancred beheld a horse--a  magnificent animal of soft gray, one that he  remembered. There cannot be two horses like that in  all Sicily.
  The man seated, he knew. It was Norris  Redwan, a cousin.
  
  The breeze caught the gonfanon  carried by a knight, and Tancred masked his start  at seeing the familiar crimson flag with its  twin falcons in flight, one white, the other  black. He realized that he had blundered upon an  envoy from the Redwan family clan.
  It was too late to turn back.

             CHAPTER 11
       Growl of the Northern Wolves

  Tancred touched Apollo lightly with his  heels and grimly rode to meet the party of  horsemen carrying the Redwan family  gonfanon.
  His cousin Norris saw him coming from a distance and  responded with astonishment. Even if his cousins  rode with Bohemond for no cause but the  expedition to Jerusalem, they knew about Derek.  They knew their uncle searched for Tancred.
  Tancred rode slowly forward, keeping his hand  within reach of his blade. If he fell captive  to Norris there would be no audience with Nicholas  or Bohemond. His cousin, anxious for fame,  would hurry him off to one of the ships to be returned  to Sicily.
  The soldier Sweyn gave Tancred a sharp  glance. "I sense neither of you expected to see the  other. You are his enemy?"
  "He has made himself mine. He takes more  upon himself than he has the right."
  "Then you know him?"
  "He is a cousin."
  Sweyn looked confused, for the expression on  Norris's face was anything but one of kindred  spirit.
  Norris and the handful of esquires attending him  rode forward and stopped. "Seize that man!" he  ordered, pointing at Tancred.
  Tancred unsheathed his blade. "Peace,  cousin, let us talk in a council with  Nicholas."
  "I am on errantry for Turill of  Rome," called Sweyn. "There is to be no  fighting now. Turill bid me bring this man  to Bishop Nicholas."
  "Tancred is wanted by our uncle, Walter  of Sicily! Take his blade."
  "I am innocent of the charge," stated  Tancred. "I can explain if brought
  
to Nicholas."
  He spoke in the direction of Norris,  demanding in a clear, strong voice, "Where is  Nicholas of Monte Casino? I am to see the  bishop!"
  A half-dozen knights heard him, as he  intended, and curious now, they moved in around him.  Tancred challenged, "Who among you would dare  draw sword against the son and heir of Count  Dreux Redwan?" He gestured to his cousin,  who sat glaring at him. "This cousin of mine will one  day owe me his fealty! And does he order my  blade to be taken from me? A Redwan does not  surrender his weapon."
  The Redwan name arrested their attention and caused  a hesitation as Tancred expected. His motive  was simple: question Norris's right to command, and breed  doubt in the minds of the men under him. He  remembered that Norris had always been  hotheaded, and he suspected these men were not all  that favorable toward his rule.
  In the awkward silence, Tancred's voice  rang out clear and strong: "It is no secret  how I am accused of killing Derek, but my hands  are clean of my brother's blood. And I will  yet prove my innocence. I am the son of  Dreux and the rightful heir in Sicily. I am  also the adopted son of Rolf Redwan, whom you  all know and respect as a great warrior. Do you  deny me the simple request to speak with  Nicholas?"
  Norris was furious, more so because his horsemen  hesitated and were listening. "You are also the grandson  of al-Kareem. How did you escape the  castle? Did your infidel friend Hakeem get you  out? He too will pay for his treachery!"
  Tancred clasped his sword and turned in the  saddle to scan the sober-faced men.  Sentimentality was not a noted trait among  Norman warriors, and while they would die for him  if elevated to his authority, they could as  easily kill him if they thought him guilty of  treachery against Derek, whom they had loved.
  He clasped his sword. Apollo stepped  about, head extended, nostrils flaring, smelling a  battle, and ready to prove he was equal to the  Great Horse. Tancred quieted him and spoke  firmly to Sweyn. "I have come with important  news for Prince Bohemond. Deny me  audience now and you will do him and yourself a grave
  
injustice."
  He looked from man to man as they watched him  warily. They had not yet moved against him, giving  him confidence. Some must doubt the lie his uncle  had perpetrated accusing him of Derek's death.  Perhaps Nicholas had already spoken out on his  behalf during the journey.
  "How many of you are loyal to the memory of my  father?"
  The knights scowled and the esquires on foot  cast their eyes downward.
  "You know we are all loyal to your father,  Tancred," said one of the knights, shifting  uncomfortably. "But he is dead. So is  Derek."
  "And I will bring to our justice the man who  threw that dagger. It was not I."
  "That is not for them to decide," called  Norris. "It is for you to endure craven  to prove your guilt or innocence."
  "And if I cannot bring you the assassin, I will  walk the fire, if it is necessary. As the heir of  Count Dreux I have the right to be heard--a right  denied me in Sicily. Before any trial is  held, Rolf must be present as my adoptive  father."
  "Until he arrives we are to serve Walter  and his son Norris," said the knights.
  "It is Mosul Kareem who assassinated  Derek Redwan."
  There was an exchange of glances, then Norris  shouted, "Mosul? Do you ask us to forget that he  is your Moorish cousin? Nor will we forget that you  bear his blood--and have the heart of an infidel."
  Tancred hoped to gain time, for in the discourse  Sweyn had moved away, unnoticed, and he  believed him to be going to find Nicholas.
  Tancred lifted the point of his blade. "For  that, my cousin, I could easily take your head."
  Norris took the bait and kneed his great  charger forward. "Do you challenge me?"
  Tancred scanned him. "I would not contest a  babe so soon removed from his mother's milk. I have  my honor, and it is not to slay lads."
  Laughter erupted. Norris looked at the  knights angrily and they grew silent. He  drew his sword. "By the gods of the Vikings! I  shall not waste you on craven--I shall have your blood  myself! A joust!"
  Tancred affected indifference. "As you wish,
  
Cousin. Will you meet me on horse or  on foot?"
  Tancred had no desire to harm him, only  to unhorse him, a shame that Norris would not  lightly forget. The men drew back, moody,  looking anything but eager for the fight. Despite the  death of Derek, Tancred was the one remaining son  of their liege.
  Tancred deliberately took his time, leaning  over and checking the reins as though he had trouble.  Norris had already taken his position and was  impatient as always.
  Tancred rode Apollo opposite  Norris, then turned slowly to face him.  Despite his words, he knew that his cousin was a  fierce swordsman and owned a more powerful horse  for the charge.
  He patted Apollo's shining neck. "You have  your chance, boy. Will you be bested by a barbarian  nag? This one is for your mistress and  Byzantium!"
  Apollo snorted as if he understood and pawed  the earth.
  Norris held his sword ready. Tancred  unsheathed his blade and gripped it tightly to stand the  bludgeoning force.
  His cousin's Great Horse gathered speed like a  massive avalanche.
  "You will need courage, Apollo!"  The sleek stallion raced ahead, as light  on its feet as though aided by wings.
  The Great Horse headed straight toward  Apollo in an attempt to run him down.  Tancred held him steady and kept to the rein. As  they approached he veered to the side, smashing a  solid blow against his cousin's blade. The  horses cleared, sweeping past with nostrils  flaring. Turning Apollo, who proved more  agile, Tancred approached Norris and  confronted him.
  Tancred lowered his blade. "I wish only  to see Nicholas, then I will leave. Stay out of  this. You need prove nothing."
  Norris laughed, his blue eyes wild with  passion.
  "You ride well!" he said almost gleefully.  Tancred studied him. It is madness--he  is enjoying this!
  The horses began to warily circle each  other. Norris swung. Tancred barely had
  
time to block his blade. They fought,  thrusting. Tancred, unwilling to kill him, was  using all his skill to simply hold him off. A  gratuitous shout went up from the Norman  knights as the two men hacked at each other.
  Circling again, Tancred delayed, holding him  off with his sword until the knights shouted  impatiently for action. He struck a ringing blow  to the side of his cousin's helmet. Norris let  out a stunned gasp as the powerful force rocked him  off balance and a shout went up from the knights.  Dazed, he slid from his saddle to the dirt.  Beaten, Norris lay disabled with wounded pride.
  Sweyn had not returned with Nicholas, but a  second group of horsemen arrived, and a second  cousin--this one, Leif Redwan.
  Leif was five years Tancred's senior and  unlike their other cousins, a man who preferred  the sea and had sailed the northern waters in command  of the family galleons. Because of the age difference  between them and Leif's long voyages, Tancred  had not known him as well as he had the others.
  He hardly recognized his maverick cousin.  His mother had been a Norman, and unlike  Tancred, Leif's hair was golden, his eyes  an ice blue. His hair was not short in  typical Norman style but formed a thick  golden mane that reached to his broad shoulders.  It was now tied back with a strip of leather, and the  handsome features typical of all the Redwan men  were heavily bronzed by the sun.
  Leif's halberd was battered from skirmishes  across Europe and his clothes were dusty. With the rest  of the Redwan cousins he had left Sicily  three months earlier to ride under the gonfanon of  Prince Bohemond.
  His eyes swept Tancred's handsome  Byzantine uniform mingled with Norman chain mesh  and helmet, and then swerved to Norris, sprawled  on the ground. He lifted a hand to the men with him,  and they formed a line of chargers that kept Tancred  from passing through the camp.
  "You assassinated your brother, and now do you  turn on your cousin also?"
  Tancred regarded Leif carefully. He was  not hotheaded like Norris, and he seemed to have as  much question as accusation in his voice.
  "If there were more sound reason in our family  than the superstitious beliefs of our Viking  ancestors, I would not be hunted down and
  
encircled like some crazed beast fit for the  kill. I can prove my innocence by capturing  Derek's assassin."
  "You will have a difficult time finding him if he  exists. We are determined to hold you. The clan  from Sicily is all here with Bohemond--  including our uncle Walter.
  "Call it superstition if you will, but as head of the  Redwan clan, Walter will demand craven--"  He stopped suddenly, looking past Tancred's  shoulder, his expression one of alarm, then anger.  "Norris! No!"
  Tancred turned Apollo's reins but not  swiftly enough. Norris had remounted and was  riding toward him, a twisted expression on his  sweat-stained face.
  Tancred had not yet sheathed his sword and  lifted it to absorb the blow. Norris struck  again, and Tancred felt the chain mesh give.
  He struggled to hold his sword as blood ran  down his chest from somewhere. He had a glimpse of  Norris, sword lifted.
  An arrow whizzed, making a sickening impact.  Norris gasped, then slumped in the saddle.
  Several men ran to help Norris down from his  mount and kneel beside him. "He yet lives."
  Tancred dismounted and stood, dazed, steadying  himself beside Apollo as Leif rode up holding his  bow.
  "You are good with that."
  "I did it not for you but for our customs--you must  undergo craven. And I would not wish yet another  cousin to be accused of murder."
  Tancred met the ice blue gaze as chill as  the northern waters and reached to the spot near his  collarbone that seeped with blood. His mouth thinned  with cynicism. "Thanks. Then you best hope your  arrow missed his heart."
  "And you?" He looked at the bloodstain growing  wider. "You are turning as white as the ice caps  of the northland."
  "I will live," Tancred said abruptly and  snatched his satchel from the back of his saddle.  Ignoring Leif, he fumbled with the bag, removing  wine and dried sphagnum. Soaking it, he  pressed it into his wound, then turned his attention  to Norris.
  His cousin lay grimacing with pain as he walked  up. Even so, Norris glared his rage at both  him and Leif.
  
  "I will have both your skulls for this! Just  wait until Walter finds out what you have done,  Leif! I would have been commended for returning the  assassin! And now--"
  "Your tongue acts before your brain,"  interrupted Leif, yet holding his bow. "Thank  God you live. And that I am the best archer in  Sicily, lest you would be carried by angels  to Abraham's bosom."
  Tancred enlarged the rip in Norris's shirt  with a jerk of impatience. "Are you so certain of his  heavenly destiny?" Examining the location of the arrow,  he decided it could be withdrawn without internal  damage. He took hold with both hands.
  Norris glared up at him. "I do not trust  you! Let another remove it."
  Tancred smirked. "You speak of trust? You  who would attack my back?"
  Norris turned his head away, sullen. "I  was a little angry," he mumbled.
  "Only a little?" mocked Tancred. "What do  you do when you are in a rage?"
  "You humiliated me. You, a physician,  unseated me."
  "Count your blessings that I was allowed to study  medicine at Salerno." Tancred gripped the  arrow more tightly.
  But Norris would not be consoled and groaned,  "Count Roger's own bodyguard made me a  knight! I lay all night on my face before the  holy altar!"
  "It did you little good. I suggest less hours  sprawled on the cold floor and more time devoted  to learning the Scriptures."
  "Cease your sanctified tongue and pull the  arrow!"
  Tancred smiled with malicious humor.  "Think you are man enough to endure it without piercing our  eardrums?"
  "Me? You are not man enough to make me yell."  "Your boasts are as empty as the wind."
  With a smooth and straight pull Tancred  produced the arrow, holding it up for inspection  while Norris groaned. Tancred smiled down  at him. "My skills never cease to amaze me.  You can thank me later when I am your liege."  He poured in wine as Norris paled. He  covered the wound with a clean cloth. "I will consider  you for the duties of carrying my medical satchel and  weapons."
  
  Norris gritted at him. And
Tancred, feeling weaker than he let on,  managed to stand, reaching a hand to his own wound. He  grew sober. "I forgive you for your treachery, my  cousin, but only Christ can forgive your sin."
  He turned and walked toward Apollo,  struggling to remain on his feet. ... He must  reach Nicholas--
  At any moment he expected Leif's order    for the men to take him prisoner, but silence  followed, as though they wondered why he would aid a  kinsman who had sought his death. Nevertheless, he was  certain the order would come.
  Perhaps they were in no hurry, knowing he could not  get far in his condition. He strapped his satchel  to the saddle, fumbling now and leaning against  Apollo. His head throbbed, his left arm and  shoulder numb. Unloosening the strap on his  helmet, he pulled it off, his hair damp.  Only a moment was all he needed ... a moment  to rest. ... His helmet fell to the ground--
  Leif's voice rang out, "Yohan! Bring  our cousin to the tent of Nicholas! Our uncle will  want him well before he walks the fire. I will  alert Walter of our quarry."
               * * *
  The Norman camp resembled a rambling tent  city. Gonfanons bearing various insignias  hung on wooden poles outside large tents  where nobles loitered with hunting dogs and falcons.  Knights from Sicily and southern Italy gathered  with those from Normandy, each group eyeing the other with  respect mingled with wariness. Among them stood  two tall bishops, each bearing swords.
  Troubadours practiced their entertainments and  midgets were running through their acrobatic stunts  with a trained bear; a lute player performed a  lilting tune while an archer practiced shooting  into a haystack to the jibe of others who boasted they  could do better. Heralds stood outside  important tents, ready to dispatch messages.  And, as with Duke Godfrey and the other arriving  princes, there was a large peasant following in the  rear of the camp. Entire families followed their  feudal lords wherever they went, doing washing and  cooking and tending of animals. And from many tents  there came the cry of newborn babes. What  will become of them? Tancred found himself wondering.  Would they grow to knighthood in and around  Jerusalem, or be buried in the sand, known only
  
to Christ? He who had been born in a  stable and had to flee from His enemy across the  Egyptian desert with only the stars for a roof and a  mother's breast for a cradle.
  The clink of metal, the whinny of a horse, the  barking of a dog, the laughter of rough men not yet  disillusioned with the task of liberating Jerusalem,  brought Tancred's wandering mind back. There were the  familiar smells of a large camp on the  breeze; of leather, of horses, of woodsmoke.  Here, he felt at home, and yet--he also  felt a stranger to the cause that fired their souls.  He preferred the peaceful chamber of the Royal  Library, the smell of parchment and ink, the deep  thoughts of great men who had come and gone down the  road of the past.
  As he looked about the camp he saw clerics  as well as soldiers. The nobles--and even some  famed knights--had their own personal priest who  traveled with them, and the Norman clergy was not  exempt from battle. They had developed the  calling of the "warrior-bishop" who was also skilled  with weapons.
  Now inside Nicholas's tent, Tancred  rested briefly on the cushions while  Nicholas paced, digesting the news he had  given him, most of it ill.
  The formidable figure of handsome Greek blood  hadn't worsened for wear in his journey across  Europe, thought Tancred. Over the black  woolen tunic he wore fine chain mesh, his  scabbard of leather housed a sword, and though he  couldn't see it, Tancred believed that a dagger was  kept at his left boot top and a small  Moorish dagger was worn in a wrist-sheath  strapped along his forearm underneath the mesh--a gift  Tancred had given him several years ago.
  His thick hair was midnight black with a  flattering tinge of iron gray, like the feather tips  of a bird wing. His eyes too were dark and robust,  and his hard features were well-proportioned according  to Greek lines.
  "Sweyn told me of your trouble with  Norris."
  "Norris tried to kill me. I unseated him  and his pride was wounded."
  Nicholas scowled. "Norris is  impulsive. The news of what happened will  spread quickly. You know Walter searches for you and  all Sicily believes you guilty of Derek's
  
death, even those who knew you best. It was  dangerous to come here so boldly."
  "Does Bohemond think me guilty also?"  "I have spoken to him of your innocence and I think  he is willing to accept my testimony, but not  even he will risk defending you from craven."
  "The news I bring him will win his favor and his  support."
  At that, Nicholas ceased his pacing and looked  down at him, curious. Tancred reached inside  his uniform and brought out a sealed document. "I must  speak with Bohemond. I am liaison of the  emperor."
  Nicholas scrutinized him, surprised, then  appeared humored. "Well, indeed!" And he  relaxed, as though the news bought them time and  protection. He lowered himself onto a chair  tossed with a fur, tapping the edge of a rolled  parchment against his chin, seemingly digesting the news.
  "Liaison of the emperor, you say. You have  moved quickly," he commented dryly. "The next thing  I will hear is that you have married into Byzantine  nobility."
  Tancred remained smooth and inscrutable beneath his  dark, robust gaze. "Not yet."
  Nicholas was quick to catch his eye.  Tancred smiled faintly. "I left  Helena in the arms of Philip Lysander."
  "Ah, so you have met her. ..."
  "I have met her," came Tancred's indolent  voice.
  Nicholas watched him. "And what do you think of  my niece?"
  Tancred reached across the cushions to a skin of  water and, meeting Nicholas's musing gaze,  drank, aware of the veiled good humor and alert  interest in his mentor's face.
  "I survived. You never told me you had a  niece in all the years I was under your tutelage  at Monte Casino."
  "You kept me too busy mentally parrying with  my opponent, your notable grandfather."
  "Helena is spoiled and willful," commented  Tancred easily, tossing the skin aside.  "Her attitude begs to be tamed and her  Byzantine superiority is trying."
  Nicholas continued to tap the parchment, his dark  eyes flickering with amusement. "I assume you  think Philip is not the man to tame her."
  "Philip has captured her devotion from
  
childhood. It will take time for her  to mature enough to awaken from the illusion that he is a  mighty statesman, a hero garbed in  gallantry. She was weaned on Byzantine power  and Philip represents its greatness.  Otherwise," he said, "I have been too busy  to actively consider my feelings toward her."
  Tancred leaned back against the soft pillows,  locking his hands behind his head and staring up at the tent  ceiling.
  "I am certain you will eventually realize what  your true feelings already are," said Nicholas.
  Tancred turned his head at the faint  suggestion in his voice that he had already made a  favorable decision, despite his words to the  contrary.
  Nicholas showed nothing behind his even gaze and  continued to tap the rolled parchment.
  Tancred stated firmly, "But this one thing I  do know, and I would warn you--Philip cannot be  fully trusted where she is concerned. His emotions  are volatile. One day he is his own man,  vowing her protection from Kalid and Antioch, the  next he follows the plans of his mother. He can be  sullen and defeated by life, and at the same time  imagine himself a great military leader wise enough  to become emperor."
  Nicholas was grave, as though remembering  something that troubled him about Philip, or was it  Irene? "If I were you," continued Tancred,  "I would not permit her to marry him at the Castle  of Hohms. He is not the strong seigneur that  she needs."
  Nicholas's black brow lifted. "I see  you understand the manner of man Philip has    become. When he was a boy, he was different. His  heart was tender and he had an ear to hear and  distinguish truth from error. I was very fond of him.  ..." A troubled frown creased his rugged face,  browned by the months of sun while crossing  Europe. "Irene has destroyed his soul. It  is a curse that children can have parents who mold and  shape their minds inffbelieving the devil's lies.  Irene has planted the seeds of astrology in his  soul and now he is filled with pride and dreams of  self-glory."
  "Philip believes he will one day become  emperor," said Tancred, remembering back to their  meeting in the Baths of Zeuxippus. "I could  never leave the service of the emperor--it is my
  
life," Philip had said.
  Just how sincere was he in telling Helena at the  guard castle that he would align himself with her against  the wishes of the emperor and Irene?
  Tancred's doubts surfaced. Philip  expected to use him to accomplish his ends with  Kalid, but then what? Even with Kalid dead,  would Philip remain committed to Helena should  Irene have political cause to contest?
  "Philip believes in the stars," Tancred  told Nicholas quietly, knowing it must be a  grief to him.
  "Yes," murmured Nicholas thoughtfully, as  if remembering back to his own dealings with  Irene. "She is a mouthpiece for the spirits of the  ancient Greek gods. She has seen  Philip's future written in the zodiac."
  "And he believes it," said Tancred with  scorn.
  "Hmm ... but Helena does not. Even as a  child she warmed to the truth of Christianity.  Adrianna taught her well. We both did.  But Helena also nurtured the notion of one day  marrying Philip. Even Irene agreed until  this vile plan for a political marriage  to Kalid."
  Tancred sat up and winced as he touched his  shoulder, feeling sudden irritation toward    Norris. "What will you do about Antioch?" he  asked.
  "I think it best we carry on the plans you have  already mentioned. We will bring her to the Castle of  Hohms and leave her under the protection of your  uncle while you seek the assassin. Seigneur  Rolf will have a garrison of strong warriors, able  even to defend the castle against a siege if necessary.  Once Antioch falls, the plan to marry her  off to Kalid will no longer be profitable. We shall  then take matters from there, and the future rests with  God."
  That Helena would be safe at the castle  Tancred was certain, but she expected Philip  to be there with her--and Nicholas to marry them.
  No matter, he thought firmly. He had his  own quest to fulfill. Unless Philip was lying,  Mosul was even now held a prisoner in  Antioch awaiting his own arrival.
  Tancred stood, anxiously. "There is much  to do. I cannot waste time lounging about while healing.  Can you bring me to Bohemond?"
  
  "It is best you are not seen about  camp. I will send a message for him to come here."
  Nicholas went to the tent opening and called for a  boy, and when he turned back, Tancred's  gaze fell on the red crusader cross on the  left side of his cloak.
  "You have taken the cross?" His voice showed  surprise, even displeasure.
  "Deus vult!" murmured Nicholas to himself,  looking at the parchment in his hand. He laid it  aside in a satchel and removed a small  leather-bound book.
  Tancred paid no attention to the book but studied  Nicholas, wondering. He could not believe that  Nicholas would accept the edict that waging war  against the Moslems and liberating the Christian  shrines in Jerusalem was of God. Was he  wrong? After all, he had not seen Nicholas  since before Urban's speech at Clermont.
  "I am surprised you would take the vow. For  years you told me that God cannot forgive sin apart  from the redeeming sacrifice of Christ."
  "Thus it is written. I am pleased my  patient teaching has rooted in your mind. May it  also blossom in your heart."
  "It has. But why did you take the cross?"  "Does it offend you? I am the pope's  representative to the Norman army, even as  Adehemar rides with Count Raymond."
  Tancred pondered. He was not satisfied with the  too-simple explanation. At Monte
Casino, Nicholas had been the maverick  spokesman who did not always agree with the teachings  of the Church in Rome, insisting more emphasis should  be placed on Scripture rather than tradition.
  He frowned. "I cannot believe you would sanction  jihad."
  Nicholas looked at him, surprised. "I  do not. Nor do the Scriptures. The one holy  war yet to be fought is in the future, when the King  of kings rides forth on a white horse."
  "Therefore," challenged Tancred, gesturing to the  cross, "why did you vow?"
  "I have my reasons. What better way to enter  Constantinople, avoiding the traps of my  enemies? Yet your concern is valid. To wage  carnal war in the name of the cross is profane.  The cross represents redemption, forgiveness,  the love of God for humanity--even," he said  with a wry glint in his eyes, "for the infidel
  
Saracen."
  "You should preach that truth to Count Emich and the  Rhinelanders," said Tancred, remembering the  havoc among the Jews. "The People of the Book have  reaped a hellish reward from false zealots with  crosses sewn to their tunics."
  Nicholas was grave. "Yes, the devil has  won a victory. I have heard what was done to the  Jews by some of the crusaders." His eyes flashed.  "They will answer for it. They have lifted sword  against the earthly family of our Lord. You know why  the devil wishes their destruction? Because  Scripture promises Christ will return  to reign over them from Jerusalem.
To annihilate the Jew would eliminate the very people  He is to reign over! Ah, the twisted mind of  Satan! How insidious is his hatred for the  Jew."
  Tancred told him about his journey through  Worms, Cologne, and about Count Emich's  ridiculous goose that was used to "guide" his  Rhinelanders against the Jewish communities. He  removed the handwritten booklet he had  retrieved from Rachel, its pages worn from her  use, and now his own.
  "These words are from the New Testament. I  translated them at the Royal Library in  Constantinople."
  Nicholas examined them. "A good work." And  he looked at Tancred, pleased. "I have something  for you. I have spent the last two years preparing  this. It is a birthday gift." And he handed  Tancred the leather-bound book.
  Tancred accepted it curiously, feeling the  leather. "A book? Aristotle?"
  Nicholas smirked. "Open it."
  Tancred did so--then stopped. The New  Testament. The entire New Testament in  Greek! His complete personal copy!
  His eyes came to Nicholas's, andwitha rush of  emotion he could not contain, Tancred threw his arms  around him.
  Nicholas laughed. "Ah! Your heart and soul  belong to Christ! I can see that it is so! A  thousand prayers have been answered, my son  Tancred. I have made intercession and petition for  you before His throne since I found you hiding behind the  altar in Rome. How I feared that I would fail  to win your heart! But now--"
  "I discerned much more during those years than you
  
thought. My grandfather knew it when you did  not." Tancred's smile faded as he thought of  al-Kareem, for he loved him dearly. "He will  be grieved."
  "But heaven rejoices. Do not be angry or think  me hard because I feel no sympathy for your  grandfather. May he too come to know the true  God."
  "Yes ... and he will always be my beloved  grandfather, but I am not certain I will remain his  "precious Jehan." Not now. You do not know  how painful it is to break a family bond when it  is held together by a manmade religion.  Islam is also a culture. To forsake that  religion means the family circle is torn  in two. He will now say that I am dead to him."
  Nicholas sobered and said gently, "But alive  to God. "This my son was dead, but now  lives." The Father rejoices. And yet I too have  experienced pain. I was banned from the Eastern  Church and dishonored by my emperor, then sent as a  Judas to the barbarian West."
  Tancred regarded him. "You rarely showed your  sense of loss."
  Nicholas shrugged, easing himself back into the  chair. "It is better so. But it is not your  mother's house alone who will reject you--so does  your father's clan. Maybe you should consider remaining  in Byzantium. Did you not mention the medical  school at Jundi Shapur?"
  "Such dreams seem impossible now. There will be  war, and I have yet to prove my innocence in  killing Derek." Absently, he removed the  Koran from his satchel and stared at it, remembering  his grandfather, his mother ...
  Nicholas cocked a brow. "Do you still  seriously consider the Koran?"
  Tancred looked at him with a faint smile.  The question was typical of the Nicholas he  remembered as a boy. "Thanks to your patience in  teaching the writings, I was able upon closer  inspection to detect paraphrased Scripture  rewritten to fit the cause of Mohammed. But  no--I shall one day use this to speak with  al-Kareem." Tancred's eyes returned his  taunt. "I have another object for you, one to be  returned to your holy sepulcher."
  "Ah, the Holy Sepulcher! What do you have,  the robe of our Lord?"
  Tancred smiled and reached for his satchel.
  
"One day if you continue to speak  skeptically, you will also be excommunicated from the  West. Then what will you do? No--what I offer you  is a stolen object. My great-uncle took it  when very young, so he told me. His dying wish was that  I return it to Jerusalem. I vowed that I  would, but since you are going--"
  Nicholas dismissed the offered object with a  wave of his hand and lounged back in his chair.  "No more relics. I have one too many to carry about  now. If you vowed to Odo, then you must see to it."
  Tancred was disappointed; he had hoped to be  done with this burden. "It is enough I must face  sword and scimitar in Antioch to deliver  Mosul to the clan. But Jerusalem! Who knows  when the crusaders will take the city!"
  Nicholas looked confident as he stretched out  his booted legs, his chain mesh glinting along with the  cross. "They will take it," he stated. "But you  are right, when indeed?" He sighed and looked at his  sword. "It will be a dreadfully bloody war,  Tancred."
  "One I am not inclined to be involved in,"  stated Tancred, gesturing toward Nicholas.  "It is more fitting you should return the relic. You  are a bishop, and you have taken the cross, whereas  I have not. I have one mission." No, he thought,  remembering, I have two. Helena's mother and the  house of ibn-Haroun in Jerusalem. He had  promised her he would seek information, and when  told, Nicholas would surely wish to accompany  him.
  Tancred carefully changed the subject away  from the crusade.
  "I bring you dark news about Lady  Adrianna."
  Nicholas looked uneasy, as though he  expected the worst. "Helena wrote that she  lives--is that so?"
  "She is alive." And he told him all that  Helena had shared at the guard castle.
  Nicholas stood, restlessly pacing. "I must  find her. Helena is right. There can be no rest  until she is safe with us again. Adrianna, my  poor sister, may the grace of our Lord sustain  you in your impossible situation."
  "I have contacts," Tancred assured him.  "I may yet locate her." And he removed the  signet ring of al-Kareem and placed it on his  right hand, remembering his grandfather's words: "Then
  
take my ring, my son; it will open the  mouths of the dumb."
  Nicholas looked at the ring, then at  Tancred. "You think ibn-Haroun will  cooperate?"
  "He is a friend. He will know the chieftain who  now has her. There is one thing, Nicholas. I  have said nothing to Helena, but it is possible ...  Adrianna may no longer be a slave but a  wife or concubine, even a member of a harem--  I am sorry."
  Nicholas's jaw tensed and the dark eyes  glinted. "Say nothing to Helena of that. It is  best that she thinks her mother is only a slave."
  Tancred thought that Helena already suspected her  mother to be in a zenana. "There is something else,"  he said quietly. "Once back at the Mese  I will visit an Arab friend in the bazaars."
  "Tancred, your help is a Godsend. For the  first time I am thankful you have the heritage of a  Moor."
  "A Moor who must also accomplish much inside  Antioch."
  "You are certain Derek's assassin was  Mosul?"
  "Informers from the House of al-Kareem have  sworn it is so. Ibn-Haroun's brother for one.  I met him at the black tent at Palermo before  I left. Mosul also boasted of his guilt at  Le Puy."
  "A man who boasts of his sin is the worst  fool. Then you will go with the Normans to take  Antioch?"
  "No. I go alone to find him. It is between him  and me. Hakeem waits there now. And as soon as  my business with Bohemond and the emperor is  finished, I must be about my own quest."
  "Then you are right," mused Nicholas. "I must  be with the crusaders when they take Jerusalem. More  than the fate of the city now weighs on my heart.  Ibn-Haroun must be protected. He alone can  tell us where Adrianna is."
  "Maybe," said Tancred. "There may be  others closer at hand. I will do my best."
  He told Nicholas how the emperor insisted  all the princes must swear their fealty to him before  he ferried their armies across the Bosporus  into Anatolia.
  "He fears Bohemond, and with cause. We  both know he has no intention of surrendering any
  
castle taken from the Turks, or any  city, least of all Antioch."
  "Bohemond," said Nicholas, "will not agree  easily to entering the city alone. He has his eye  on obtaining a new kingdom."
  Tancred shadowed his personal concerns and  dislike for the plan, but Nicholas must have guessed.
  "And what did Philip offer you to carry out his  plan?"
  "He has paid me with secret information."  "On the whereabouts of Mosul?"
  Tancred's eyes hardened. "I knew he was  in Antioch. Rufus, the bodyguard to Lady  Irene, informed me weeks ago. Mosul was  serving as bodyguard to the Turkish commander  Kerbogha."
  Nicholas looked concerned. "Was? You mean  he is not there now? Then what did Philip offer  you?"
  Tancred looked at him. "He holds him a  prisoner. For the head of Kalid he will deliver  him to me. There is also one named Firouz who is  willing to betray Antioch to Prince  Bohemond."
  Nicholas stared at him, astounded.
  "I think," said Tancred, "we should call an  urgent meeting. Bohemond will find the information  tempting enough to cooperate with the emperor."
  "This news of the surrender of Antioch must not be  hinted to the other princes. They will all want the  prize for their own plate."
  "I too have a reason to keep the matter  secret. It offers me immediate access to Antioch,  to Kerbogha, and to Mosul. Without him to swear to my  innocence I will wander the rest of my years as a  mercenary soldier, unable to return to Sicily.  I have no choice but to cooperate with Philip."
  And Helena, thought Tancred. She was now  convinced Philip had redeemed his valor.  Tancred dare not contemplate how her image  disturbed his dreams, how the thought of her marriage  to the noble brought undeniable disappointment. Why he  would feel this strongly was obvious, but he would not  openly admit it even to himself. She was the concern of  Nicholas now--and soon Philip's prize.
  Tancred glanced impatiently toward the tent  entrance. "What keeps Bohemond?"
  "Bohemond is never rushed. And your injury  will not be rushed either. Let us hope Walter of  Sicily does not come looking for you now, lest we
  
have a fight on our hands."
  "Worry not. With the information I alone have about  access to Antioch, I can have Bohemond and his  entire army of knights sworn to my freedom.  They will never turn me over to craven."
  Nicholas smiled. "I had not thought of it. And  now! Show me this stolen object we must bring  to Jerusalem for the peace of Odo."
  "We?" Tancred smiled, then took the  object from his satchel and removed the layers of  cloth.
  Nicholas waited, growing more curious as he  noticed Tancred's solemn expression.
  "Will you keep me in dark suspense? What have  you?"
  "It is the ancient head of a lance."  "A lance!"
  "Have a look. What do you think? Another  presumed relic of import?"
  "No doubt."
  "There is an inscription in Latin."  "Read it."
  Tancred held it to the candle, squinting. As  he made out the words and the meaning implied, he  hesitated, then looked at Nicholas.  "Golgotha, the year of our Lord's  crucifixion. The lance of the Roman soldier  who pierced His side?"
  Nicholas frowned. "It could not be. The  spearhead that pierced the heart of Christ?" He  leaned back in silence, contemplating.
  Tancred resisted the awesome yet  superstitious notion to fear it as though it were holy.  He wrapped it back into the cloth. "It could not  be," he repeated. "It would have rusted through by now."
  "Yes, yet we will return it to the Holy  Sepulcher," said Nicholas quietly. "Odo  was your great-uncle. I assume you wish to keep  the vow you gave him at his dying breath?"
  Tancred noted the gleam in his eyes. "Have I  a choice? I will keep the lance head with me. It  has escaped detection on many harrowing  escapades across Europe. To whomever it once  belonged, we will see it returned from whence it  came."
  Tancred stood with Nicholas when minutes  later Bohemond entered the tent, his bodyguard  waiting outside. He stood in a crimson  cloak that fell over his armor. His light hair  was cut the style of the Normans; short and rounded
  
at the ears. He was a man both big and  tall, broad of shoulder and chest, yet lean in  flank and loin, an unquestionable warrior in mind and  body. His passion was war; he was a man destined  to command: implacable, ruthless, courageous.
  After they were seated, Tancred delivered him the  letter from the emperor and watched Bohemond peruse  the message with cunning consideration.
  "He expects you to ride into the city alone  without your army."
  "Am I a fool?" Bohemond was about  to toss the letter aside when Tancred said calmly,  "You will have your own bodyguard of eight men."
  Tancred could see his scorn and reluctance and  moved to relay the secret information from Philip  about the Armenian spy. "He can aid us from within the  city and Antioch will be delivered to you."
  Bohemond's iron blue eyes flared with a  surge of passion that must have made his heart pound.  He smiled, ironically amused.
  "Tancred, my kinsman, I have  reconsidered. It would grieve me to think of  causing the Eastern emperor to toss the night  away upon his bed with worry. I will do as he  requests of me. I will leave my army here and come  with eight men only, and I will bow the knee. I will  seek to convince the other princes to do the same,  including Godfrey."
  "Then we have an agreement. Yet there is a  small matter. One concerning a misunderstanding between  myself and Walter of Sicily."
  "So I have heard."
  "He and my cousins believe me guilty of  Derek Redwan's death. By now Walter knows I  am here, since I have had trouble with a cousin.  Walter will request from you the liberty to take me  prisoner to stand trial according to Norman custom."
  Bohemond scowled, then gave a wave of his  sword hand. "Any man who seeks to take you will  know my ire. I will dispatch word to Walter at  once. As long as you ride under my gonfanon,  Tancred, you will be aided."
  "Then we have a bargain, seigneur."
  "And a war to fight and win."
  When Bohemond left the tent, Nicholas  laughed softly. "The wolf has been baited."
  "Yes. Philip has shown his ability  to scheme as successfully as the emperor,"  Tancred said thoughtfully, disturbed. He did not  like to be placed in a situation where he needed
  
Philip. He looked at Nicholas.
"You too may be facing a trap, not from Philip  but from your enemies in Constantinople who do not wish  your return. Is it wise to show yourself in the  open?"
  "I will be vigilant against their intrigue.  Helena insists Irene was involved in the fate of  Adrianna. I am aware of Irene's treachery  and she knows it. And Constantine once wished me  dead. He may try to accomplish it."
  Tancred watched him. Was there an unresolved  matter concerning Irene? He did not ask him,  believing Nicholas would explain if he wished.  When it came to a woman and the dregs of a bitter  cup, Nicholas was the manner of man to handle it  alone.

             CHAPTER 12
          Gathered Before the Throne

  Helena returned to Lysander Palace near the  St. Barbara Gate. In her opulent quarters,  she recovered well from her injury, a credit  to Tancred's skilled care at the castle.
  In the days following her return from the burning  castles, Helena waited for her dread  confrontation with her aunt and wondered at the  delay. Had Constantine been able to convince her that  she received her injury riding a new horse?  Somehow, Helena remained doubtful. Irene was  no fool.
  Sometimes she would awaken from sleep with the startled  realization that she was actually going to marry  Philip. The years of crisis in their  relationship was at last coming to a satisfactory  end, with the final road of escape opening before them.  Only the delay in Tancred's bringing Prince  Bohemond into the city disturbed her repose and  delayed plans.
  Daily she walked in the garden hoping to give  opportunity to Bardas to bring her any news about  Tancred, but the days and nights inched by, adding  anxiety to her other concerns.
  As soon as all the western princes arrived  to vow their loyalty to the emperor at the imperial  palace, the sooner she and Philip could escape  to the Castle of Hohms.
  Surrounded by Lady Irene's loyal  slaves, and unable to speak at any length with  Bardas, the days crept by and Helena was able
  
to discover little of what was transpiring.  Surprisingly it was Zoe who became her  welcome eyes and ears, though unwittingly, as  they sat in the garden of the summer palace. Zoe,  a year younger than Helena, with ebony braids  wrapped becomingly about her head, lounged lazily  on a sedan chair and ate the sugared fruits  brought to them by slaves. Who her parents might have  been remained obscure, but the family said she was  the daughter of Constantine's brother, Photius.
  "The barbarians took possession of their old  campsites by the gates."
  "You mean Duke Godfrey?"
  "I suppose that's his name. After the burning  castles and what happened to you, the emperor should  send soldiers out to teach them a lesson."
  Zoe pursed her lips thoughtfully. "But the  beasts are handsome, are they not? They say the duke  is a rare specimen, that his hair is red-gold  and reaches to his shoulders. Is it true?" she  asked, her eyes showing keen interest. "You saw  him?"
  "Yes, his hair is long; all of them wear it  that way. ... Is there any news of Prince  Bohemond yet?"
  Zoe's eyes mocked her. "Is it the  Norman prince you are interested in or  Tancred? Every woman in the palace has  noticed him, including you, though you pretend  differently," and she tipped her head back and  squirted the juice from a lush purple grape  onto her tongue.
  "Have the Normans approached the city yet?  You saw Philip this morning; did he say  anything?"
  Zoe shrugged and tucked her gold-slippered  feet beneath her brocade tunic. "Philip  says little. He is plagued by bouts of  moodiness."
  The news was puzzling after his exalted  proposal to her just ten days ago. "Moody?  Did he say why?"
  Zoe made a bored face. "Philip never  explains. He says I am incapable of serious  thought." She waved a hand as she always did when  changing a subject and not wishing interruption.  "They say the duke waits for the Normans,  thinking to merge armies and take the city. The  emperor fears nothing of the barbarians." She  sighed. "He is so handsome."
  
  "The emperor?" Helena scoffed.
"You have weak eyes, Zoe. You think every man is  handsome."
  She looked offended. "Well, not as  good-looking as Tancred."
  "Tell me of the duke's army--what  happened?"
  She tossed aside the cluster of grapes.  "War, such a boring subject! It is only the  men who fight who are exciting--well; while the  imperial cavalry continues to harass the duke's  foot soldiers, the emperor withholds food  supplies to bring him to his senses."
  "Has it sufficed?"
  "Nay, some of his men attacked one of the  gates."
  "They stormed the gate?" cried Helena.  "Only a small band. It is not known if the  duke even knew of it. It is said they believed  several of their princes were being held captive by the  emperor. Imagine, they were willing to try to storm  the imperial palace to free them! You should have  heard the women nearest the gate screaming! They were  certain they would be taken and made slaves. The  emperor sent archers into the gate towers to kill their  horses."
  The thought of any horse being wounded angered  Helena, and she knew every horse was needed for the  upcoming battle against the Moslems.
  "Then Duke Godfrey commanded a retreat at  sunset. He sits irresolute in his tent  pavilion refusing to swear loyalty to the  emperor, while his army must forage for food. But  there is none to be had in the fields until  summer, and the cattle are hidden."
  Helena looked from Zoe to a slave who bowed  with immobile face. "Madame, Lady Irene  asks for you."
  Helena sat motionless, looking uneasily  toward the portico, and Irene came out onto the  wide pavilion, her hair shining like gold in the  sunlight.
  "Now you are in for a scathing trial," said  Zoe. "Aunt believes you ran away to find  Tancred."
               * * *
  An hour later in her chamber, Helena sat  on the brocade footstool watching her aunt  pace, while she tried to hide her alarm at being  questioned.
  
  True to Philip's promise at the  guard castle, both he and Constantine had come  to her defense after her return, but did Irene  believe them? What if she discovered Philip's  true plans? Helena sat watching her, trying  to read her expression as Irene paced the red  carpet, her gown with its decorative  gold-threaded hem trailing behind. Her hair    hung in a looped braid across her back and was  woven with red and green gemstones. Her  amber-colored eyes, as equally hard as the  gems, turned and riveted on Helena, who sat  expressionless on the ottoman, hands folded in  her lap, praying she would not be discovered.
  "So you fell from a horse," she mocked. "You  left the emperor's grandiose garden banquet  to journey all the way to the villa to ride a  horse. Such idiotic fables! And Philip  expects me to believe this?"
  Irene walked up to her and Helena winced,  expecting a sharp slap across the face, but  Irene's eyes narrowed into burning slits. "You  might as well spare yourself and tell me."
  "I have nothing to say, madame."  "Nothing?" derided Irene, arching both thin  brows. "You fled to the guard castle. You  expected the Norman warrior to bring you  to Nicholas." She began her energetic pacing  again. "I give credit to the audacious mongrel  Godfrey. Rampaging the towns along the  Bosporus at least kept you from accomplishing your  plans." She stopped and looked at her. "You  fool! You might have been carried away by some  barbarian!"
  Helena's head lowered and she stared at her hands  clasped in her lap.
  "How much did you pay Tancred to bring you  to Nicholas?"
  Then she does not know about Philip.  If Helena admitted the cause that brought her  to the guard castle, could she divert the discovery of the  real purpose to their plans?
  She regarded her aunt with serenity. "I offered  him twice what Philip pays, but he refused  me."
  "He refused you! Do you think I am fool enough  to believe that?"
  "Evidently, madame, some men cannot be bought.  He insisted his obligation to the emperor must take  precedence over my wishes."
  
  Irene silently stared at her.
Helena hid the faint shiver her gaze  provoked. It was true that Tancred had refused  to be hired. His offer to aid her had come in the form  of knightly gallantry. And if Philip had  not come ... she would have ridden with Tancred to meet  the Normans. By now she would be safely in the  company of Uncle Nicholas.
  Helena refused to entertain a small prick  of regret. Had she made the right decision  to reconcile with Philip? His scheme to coerce  Tancred in!complying with his strategy over  Antioch remained a troublesome matter, one that she  had not yet been able to resolve.
  She straightened her shoulders as she sat on the  footstool, reminding herself that Philip too had  been coerced into making desperate decisions. Could  she truly blame him for resorting to scheming?  Nothing must come between them now.
  Irene must not guess that it was Philip and not  Tancred who had vowed his heart and strength to see  her avoid Prince Kalid and Antioch.
  "He refused me," she repeated. "And
I've no more interest in the offspring of an  uncivilized mongrel," said Helena in an  attempt to throw her aunt off her trail.
  "Fair speech, but a mongrel wolf can give  birth to a fine-blooded cub. A cub only  too welcome in the golden chambers of nobility  and slave alike."
  "I would not know of such matters," said Helena  flatly.
  Irene looked at her. "He bears the handsome  flesh of a prince. Do not think I am unaware  of the whispers going on. All speak of the new  warrior in the imperial guard."
  Including you, she thought but retained her bland  expression. "I do not listen to the foolish chatter  of mice. If some wish to make themselves into fools  by chasing men, who can stop them? It is not my  way."
  Irene impatiently turned from her and resumed  pacing with quick steps. "The world is full of  fools. And you've done your own chasing after  Philip. Do not misunderstand about Tancred  Redwan. Did you think that in questioning you I concerned  myself over a girlish romance with a handsome warrior?  It is his sword I was confronting you about. Take  heed, Helena. If I discover you are being  deceptive about Tancred, I will have you locked in
  
your chamber until your departure  to Kalid."
  Helena knew she must pretend disinterest.  "Since Philip also wishes me to marry  Kalid, I see little hope but to cooperate  until, as you say, my work in Antioch is done  and the city has surrendered." She stood  to emphasize her resignation.
  "That you have decided to cooperate is commendable.  The sooner the deed is accomplished, the sooner you  will be able to return to the imperial palace. And,"  she added wearily, "the sooner you may have my son  to your bosom."
  Helena watched her walk across the chamber to the  door and masked the chill that passed through her heart  like an arrow.
  Irene looked back. "You will rejoice to know that  Philip has accomplished a feat for which the  emperor has rewarded him with favors. The dread  Norman Bohemond will ride into Constantinople  without his army. He comes with a bodyguard of eight  men to swear his loyalty."
  Then Tancred has been successful,  Helena thought with excitement. By now Bohemond  knew of the Armenian spy who would deliver  Antioch to him. And Tancred would soon be leaving  Constantinople to quietly enter Antioch  unseen. Her thoughts raced to Uncle Nicholas,  hoping he rode with Bohemond. She ached  to inquire about him, but doing so would alert Irene,  and she swallowed back the words on her tongue.  Calmly, she watched her aunt, who now  appeared occupied with thoughts of her own.
  "You will attend the ceremony tomorrow night with your  cousin Zoe," she said, and left the chamber.
               * * *
  The next morning, Helena's eyes searched for  Nicholas as she stood beside Zoe and the other  daughters of the Purple Belt, including  Princess Anna Comnenus, the daughter of the  emperor. Anna had exclaimed that she would one  day write about the western princes and the crusade  to take Jerusalem.
  They stood on the balcony watching  Bohemond and his Norman entourage riding  slowly down the Augustaeum past the senate  building toward the imperial palace. Tancred  too would be riding beside Bohemond, and Helena  looked for him astride Apollo, hoping to conceal  her interest.
  
  "Look at the barbarian," whispered  Zoe, awed. "No wonder they call him  "Bohemond"--behemoth would fit as well.  Let's call him Leviathan!"
  Helena agreed, for the Norman prince  appeared exceedingly tall with broad shoulders and  muscled arms. Without a helmet his golden head  sat proud and erect, and his tanned face,  unlike the Byzantines, was clean shaven. He  wore a fur-lined mantle, and there was the look of  dignity to him, yet overall, Helena sensed  something cunning and fearsome.
  She had heard that his journey across Europe was  rife with fighting along the road, much of it done  with the emperor's mercenary army who patrolled the  Byzantine territorial frontier. Now he  entered peaceably into the Byzantine Empire with the  ambition to accomplish his own ends.
  "They say he likes his meat raw and rips it  apart with his hands," whispered Zoe, fervor in her  eyes.
  "That is foolish talk," whispered another,  disdainfully. "He is related to Tancred.  Does he eat raw meat?"
  "I would not care if he did," giggled  another.
  "Your speech bores me," said Helena. "You  are like twittering birds with nothing better to do than  run about seeking tidbits of refuse to feed  upon."
  "Pay Helena no mind," scorned Zoe.  "She feeds upon her religion and it makes her  self-righteous. Look! There are barbarian  women!"
  Helena was more curious about the Norman women  than about Bohemond, for she had heard Tancred  mention them favorably.
  From the silence that followed their passing, the  Daughters of the Purple Belt were disappointed  to discover that the Norman women were indeed as grand as  their men.
  Helena caught sight of a certain young woman  riding near Tancred. She sat erect and  proud, her flaxen hair elegantly braided.  The northern look of fairness, with  well-sculptured cheekbones and widely spaced  eyes, suggested a woman of boldness and beauty,  and Helena eyed her coolly.
  These, she thought, must be the wives and daughters  of the nobles. They were all blond and, she
  
suspected, blue-eyed, and she was  intrigued that they rode bareback on horses and  could keep up with the men.
  And just who was this royal-looking woman riding with  Tancred?
  Zoe leaned toward her, her cheeks faintly  tinted with excitement. "It seems as if the  "count from Sicily" has an admirer. Who  is she, do you think?"
  "I have no idea," breezed Helena, "nor  do I care."
  "Tut, tut--perhaps the daughter of  Bohemond?"
  "Bohemond is not so old. He looks  only thirty-five," said another.
  "She is too old," said Zoe, pouting.  "Look at her! She grows wrinkled by the eastern  sun."
  Laughter contradicted. "Old, by Zeus!  Look at her--she is as fair as any  Daughter of Purple--including you, Zoe."
  Zoe made a face at her. Then  impulsively grabbing an armful of sweetly  scented flowers from the agate urn on the  balcony, she boldly tossed them down toward  Apollo as Tancred neared the balcony.
  Tancred turned Apollo to keep the hoofs from  crushing the flowers and looked up. Zoe waved, and  some of the others laughed at her boldness, but  Helena did not. As his gaze met hers and  lingered, Helena sought to reject the odd lurch of  her heart.
  He smiled, and in spite of herself--and perhaps because  the Norman woman also stared at her unsmiling--  Helena removed a single white blossom from a  vase and tossed it down at him.
  "Helena--" gasped Zoe.
  The blossom failed to make contact, and she  could not tell what he thought, for just then a shadow from  the building blocked out his expression.
  Realizing her audacity, she wondered at her  actions and looked quickly for Uncle Nicholas.  Her heart sang! A handsomely rugged man in his  forties rode a few horses behind Tancred.  He was laughing up at her, evidently having  seen her toss the blossom. She laughed too and  waved; then snatching many flowers from an urn, she  tossed them down. "Uncle Nicholas!"
  He waved and called something up to her, but she  could not hear.
  
  "Uncle Nicholas!" cried
Helena, tears blurring her eyes. "Welcome  home!"
  Just then she noticed the expression on his face  change. Helena turned her head to find Irene  standing at the balcony looking down at him, a  picture of golden splendor.
  Helena, fearful of what she might see in her  uncle's face, anxiously sought his eyes, but  Nicholas wore a faint sardonic smile as  he stared boldly at Irene. He lifted his  wide-brimmed black hat with mock decorum.
  Helena felt a sickening flutter in her  stomach and turned to scrutinize Irene's    response. The feral gleam in Irene's amber  eyes startled Helena. It is Irene, not  Nicholas, who is moved by emotion.
  For the first time ever, Helena saw something in  Irene that she had never witnessed before--a passion that  brought a glow to her cheeks.
  Helena's breath wanted to stop.  Nicholas watched Irene evenly as he rode  by, and Irene walked to the edge of the balustrade,  her gaze following after him until he was out of  view behind the senate building.
  Her hands clenched, Helena stared at her.  She cannot have Nicholas.
               * * *
  On this special night when the western princes  were to vow to the emperor, a dozen royal sedan  chairs arrived to bring Helena and the others to the  imperial palace. Muscled slaves,  bare-chested and glinting with oil, trotted down the  royal avenue carrying them past the senate to the  city within a city called the Sacred Palace,  constructed of numerous marble porticoes,  galleries, arcades, and buildings.
  The Augustaeum, a magnificent square  surrounded by colonnades and segregated on the  south and west by the senate building and the imperial  palace, was unrivaled for splendor. From the  slope cascading down to the Sea of Marmara, there  were terraced buildings of marble and tile forming what  was called the Sacred Palace. Since the days  of the Roman Emperor Constantine, who moved his  seat of authority there, each successor to the throne  took care to add to the great residence.  Palaces, reception halls with gold  mosaics, pavilions cloistered in fragrant  greenery, barracks for the imperial guard,
  
libraries, famous baths, and churches
--the Sacred Palace had all the pomp necessary  for the ceremonial life and culture with which  Byzantium dazzled her barbarian visitors.
  Beneath the stars glimmering down upon her while  hearing the excited chatter and laughter of Zoe and the  other young women, Helena's heart bubbled with  happiness as she watched the shafts of moonlight  filtering between puffs of clouds, sprinkling gold  dust upon the Sea of Marmara. Nicholas is  here, her heart throbbed again. And she and Philip  had their plans, undetected by Irene. What could  go wrong? No matter that a strange tug brought  her emotions back to blue-gray eyes, hair the  color of autumn wheat, and a smile that stirred  strange yearnings--she would not listen. It was  Philip she loved. How could it be otherwise?  I have loved him all my life, she thought.  There can be no other man.
  Her sedan chair stopped before the steps of the  palace, and slaves came to assist her down,  while the scent of Judas tree blossoms  sweetened the night air. The echo of the hoofs of the  arriving imperial cavalry brought the laughter  to an expectant silence. Helena looked down  the avenue, aglow with fiery torches at the arriving  guard, resplendent in their black-and-crimson  uniforms.
  Tancred rode with an assembly of young    Greek nobles escorting Philip's arriving  chariot. Her eyes reluctantly sought
Tancred astride Apollo, and she told herself  that it was her horse she wished to glimpse looking  so smart in an imperial saddle.
  But her eyes fixed on Tancred, his uniform  outlining his muscular body well. In cloak and  helmet with a royal plume, he rode ahead of  Philip's chariot as guard. Her eyes  narrowed. He deliberately flaunts his  handsomeness before the other women, she decided. It was  not enough that, as Bardas reported, the emperor's  mistress had secretly inquired about him. He  must add fuel to the overheated fire!
  Helena lifted her chin when their eyes  collided. Tancred did not smile, yet the  appraisal he gave her caused her to blush.  She rebuked her response, and with difficulty  dragged her eyes from his. She must not give him  more cause to challenge her commitment to Philip.
  Helena tilted her head and swished her royal
  
blue peacock fan.
  Lady Irene was arriving in a sedan chair.  The giant ebony bodyguard named Rufus,  astride a magnificent white horse and wearing  chain mesh beneath a gilded cloak, escorted her like  a queen across the marble pavilion courtyard  to meet Philip.
  As though Philip were the emperor, thought  Helena, and she the Queen Mother!
  Guards and slaves were everywhere, serving with  trained ease and watchful eye to guard their  superiors. The slaves moved with dignity, their  heads erect. Chosen for strength and beauty, their  presence was as unobtrusive as the magnificent  Greek statues showing beneath the burning torchlights  and ornate lanterns.
  Did Irene hope Nicholas would make a  daring appearance? He was too wise to behave so  boldly, she comforted herself.
  A swift glance about her showed that he was not  present. She believed he would play as  illusive as a shadow, troubling both Irene and  Constantine with uncertainty. Knowing her aunt's  reaction to his arrival, Helena expected that  there were spies out searching for him.
  The emperor's chariot was approaching and the  royal guard took their positions. The  procession began walking through the gates, and then with  escalating pomp ascended the wide street beneath the  white walls of the palace. As they neared,  trumpets called and male voices thundered,  "Hail to the emperor!"
  The smart clip of the horses' hoofs echoed in  the torchlight processional, and Helena somehow  believed that her Apollo was content and proud in his  new calling, as well as satisfied with his new  master, who now appeared to own him, though she had not  yet given the horse to Tancred. She would, of  course, at the appropriate moment. Perhaps when  they said their last good-bye at the Castle of  Hohms.
  The majestic horses pranced to a steady  drumbeat, their thick glossy manes and tails  brushed until they gleamed in the torchlight,  adorned with gold and silver ornaments. She  glanced toward Tancred, militarily handsome as a  member of the guard, and wondered how it would be between  them when she spoke her final farewell. She  stirred in the warm breeze, refusing to consider why  the thought disturbed her. She was a Daughter of the
  
Purple Belt. He was a barbarian!
  As the procession neared, the trumpets blasted  forth their tribute.
  "Hail to Emperor Alexius, always  fortunate and victorious! Hail to the emperor!"
  Zoe, eyes shining, nudged her awake. It was  time to form the receiving line for the entry of their emperor.
  "Hail to the emperor!"
  Tradition fixed his costume in a purple  mantle over one shoulder held in place with a  rope of luminescent pearls. His heavy dark  hair and short beard were curled and oiled, while  his magnificent Greek eyes stared ahead,  serious and deep.
  The Varangian Guard escorted him through the  arched colonnades of carved ivory into the palace  receiving hall, where the western princes would be ushered  to swear their fealty.
  Once inside the palace, Helena stood in  studied silence. Her thoughts were now far removed from  the business of the empire and lodged within her own  turmoil. Any moment Philip and Irene would  enter, escorted by Rufus. Still her eyes searched  cautiously for Nicholas.
  Her heart beat so fast that her dress felt  uncomfortably tight about her still tender ribs.  Imperial Byzantium dictated what she  wore and when, even as it did the emperor, and this  evening she must conduct herself according to status.
  She wore a chemise of Byzantine-style  patterned squares of violet-blue with purple  and gold threads interwoven to form delicate  crosses throughout. The customary belt-sash of  purple silk encircled and graced her slender  waist. Pearls were stylishly woven throughout her  rich dark hair and culminated with a loop, which  hung down each side of her head to her shoulders,  a shimmering creamy white rope that danced with each  motion of her head.
  "She is beautiful," whispered Zoe at her  elbow, and Helena followed her cousin's wi/l  look toward the entranceway. Irene entered in a  costume of sheer spun-gold silk worn over a  tunic. Multicolored gems flashed from her  hair.
  "She wishes the emperor to notice," whispered  Zoe. "I wonder if Mary the Alan will show  tonight? I hear she despises Aunt. Do you  blame her?"
  Helena, knowing of Irene's carefully laid
  
plans to reach the bedchamber of the emperor,  whispered, "It is his wife the emperor should be  looking at and appreciating."
  "Your Christianity is too condemning. Even    Bishop Constantine has his affairs."
  "He is no bishop. He is as carnal as the  priests serving the ancient idols."
  "How self-righteous you sound," mocked Zoe.  "And how tiresome and boring."
  "True love knows commitment. And it is not  boring at all, but exciting and real."
  "How do you know?" she mocked.
  "Hush, do you think the emperor would even cast a  glance at either Irene or Mary if they should  unexpectedly become horribly scarred? Will  he hold their hand to his lips and vow it is their  character he adores? Nay! He would look  swiftly enough for new beauties with foolish hearts  that are flattered by his frivolous attention."
  "You are a fair one to speak so! Does not  Philip permit you to bed the Moslem prince  without so much as a whine? If love brings  commitment, he loves you not!"
  Helena looked at Zoe, wishing she might  tell her that Philip had rallied to acts of  nobility, but she could not.
  Zoe's pale eyes were triumphant and her  mouth turned smugly as she looked away.
  "I will follow in the footsteps of Irene,"  said Zoe.
  "And live to regret how you tossed away your  virginity," quipped Helena. "You feed a lust  that will not be quenched. What your mind feeds upon will  eventually betray your actions--"
  "Quell your words. Look, Constantine  comes."
  He is back from Antioch. Helena  turned, feeling the tension choking her breathing. She  gazed across the marble floor as the bishop entered,  Philip and Tancred with him.
  Helena and Zoe lowered their heads with respect  as the bishop walked up and greeted them, their  voices echoing demurely, "Good evening, Lord  Bishop."
  Helena was careful to keep her expression  serene as she looked into his baronial face with  its dark reddish brown beard, remembering, with a  chill, their confrontation over her mother several  weeks earlier. What had he discovered?  Anything? And even if he had, would he tell
  
her? Her eyes searched his, but his  thoughts were obscured with shadow.
  "My child Helena, I am at peace to see you  looking so well after your unfortunate riding  accident."
  She pretended not to notice the flicker of  irony that swam in the pools of his eyes.
  He turned to Philip. "I understand you have  made suitable arrangements for Helena's  travel to Antioch."
  Philip's sullen look, tinged with pompous  splendor, revealed his constraint in the presence of  his father.
  "Prince Kalid grows impatient," he  said, nothing in his voice. "The delay caused  by her injury is not understood. It was needful  to appease him by sending her sooner than advised.  Kalid affirms the Moslem physicians are  more judicious in handling their skills than those in the  West, and Helena will be treated with care."
  "It seems you also are skilled in the ways of  medicine, Tancred," and Constantine turned in his  direction. "I understand we have you to thank for coming to the  aid of Lady Helena."
  Tancred was standing a tactful distance away from the  others, playing the role of the disinterested and silent  bodyguard. His handsome face reflected anything  except subservience as his eyes flicked over  Constantine, Philip, and Zoe, coming to rest on  Helena. He offered her a brief bow.
  "An art learned at Salerno from my  Moorish ancestry. That I have proved myself  useful to the future princess of Antioch is  heartening."
  Helena met his gaze as he bowed toward her.  "I am in your debt, sir," she murmured,  remaining unresponsive.
  Zoe stared at him like a hungry lioness. He  looked back evenly until her gaze wavered and  two red stains showed on her cheeks.
  Constantine watched them. "Captain Redwan will  journey to Antioch with you, Helena. You will need  a trusted bodyguard in charge of the entourage."
  Helena did not trust herself to speak. He must  not suspect the plan had been arranged  by Philip at the guard castle of Herion.
  Philip eased the silence by turning toward  Tancred. "Your services have proven loyal and  noteworthy. As captain of the entourage, the  emperor feels assured she will arrive
  
safely."
  Tancred again bowed lightly. "Perhaps it would be  best if another fulfilled the mission."
  Helena nearly gasped. Why was he saying this?  He would jeopardize everything if he persisted!  Afraid he would ruin matters, she glared at  him, but saw that he watched Constantine.
  "Kalid is a cousin in my mother's family,"  Tancred told him. "He and I are enemies.  To bring his bride might offend him. Perhaps the  emperor would prefer me to ride with the Normans.  The city undoubtedly will be conquered for your  emperor."
  Constantine measured him, as though taken off  guard. It was only then that Helena understood why  Tancred had spoken as he did. Constantine  already knew that he was Kalid's cousin and he had  brought it into the open, disarming Constantine.
  In the momentary but tense silence that locked them  in, she scarcely breathed, waiting.
  "There is no need to decline your services,  Captain Redwan. Philip has made it  clear the emperor wishes you to lead the entourage.  Helena's safe arrival and her marriage  to Kalid is crucial for the empire."
  Constantine now appeared satisfied with himself.  "It so happens the emperor also requested I  accompany her in your entourage."
  Helena could not look at either Philip or  Tancred for fear she would give away her  despair.
  Philip turned stiffly toward his father. "You will  ride with us?"
  Constantine smiled at him coolly. "You are  not pleased?"
  Philip's mouth thinned. "Yes--why yes, of  course. Your presence will be welcome."
  "Good. Then we will leave the city within three  days."
  Our plans lie in ruin. Helena  believed she must look pale and kept her gaze  averted.
  "We have important contacts in the city, working  with Kalid and Commander Kerbogha," continued  Constantine. "Any danger of the city falling to the  crusaders, and it is agreed upon they will first  surrender to you, Philip." He glanced at  Helena, then turned back to Philip. "I will  stay on in Antioch to work with you. Together, we will  make certain of victory."
  
  Something in his gaze flickered, and she  watched him, certain he meant more than merely  taking the city from the Moslems. He offered no more  explanation and bowed, then met the angry stare of his  son, who wore a tight white line about his mouth.
  "You have proven yourself a skilled diplomat,"  said Philip, his voice cold.
  Constantine looked at him sharply. "I am  ever your loyal counselor. It was necessary. We cannot  afford to fail, can we?" he stated meaningfully.  He gestured across the wide marble floor toward the  audience chamber. "The emperor waits for us."
               * * *
  "A hypocrite of shrewd means," came  Tancred's low voice, and Helena, startled  back to the moment, was reminded she was not alone.  Her troubled eyes darted to his, but he watched  Bishop Constantine bowing piously toward the nobles  gathering for the emperor's arrival.
  Tancred turned his head to look down at her,  and his stormy blue-gray eyes arrested hers.  "He's surely on to his son's plans  to escape with you. And he's clever enough to replace  Philip's men in the entourage with soldiers  loyal to him. We will need to alter our plans."
  A shiver, like a chilling wind denying the arrival  of summer, passed through her. "No, let it not  be. It must not be. All our plans, all our  hopes to be dashed yet again!"
  A sardonic half-smile appeared. "We?
I assure you, madame, grief is the last  emotion to wrap its tentacles about me. You should  give thanks that the bishop appeared tonight to give  himself away, lest we had gone on our way like  sheep for the slaughter. At least now we are  forewarned."
  His words went past her. "Perhaps he does not  know," she whispered a protest, for it was  devastating to taste the cup of defeat. "Perhaps--"  she began hopefully, but Tancred firmly  interrupted, this time with impatience for her refusal  to accept the obvious.
  "He knows. Believe me. Why else would he  arrange to journey with us? His master plan is  conceived and born of his own making. He arranged it  himself. No--do not protest. I am sure the  emperor has appointed him to go, but Constantine  first planted the tare in his mind. It is a way for  him to keep his eye on Philip." He gave  her a searching look. "Yet I think more compels
  
him. Some cause of his own."
  She thought of her mother and unconsciously touched  the loop of creamy pearls at the side of her  head. "Constantine schemes and sacrifices for  Philip. His success means everything, because it also  guarantees his own, and Irene's."
  Helena could see Tancred was not convinced.  "He may have other plans as well. Have you  any idea what they might be?"
  She averted her eyes. She dare not risk the  wrath of Constantine, not when there was a hope he  would locate and free her mother.
  "No ..." she murmured, disliking her lie,  for she needed Tancred. Her convictions also warned  her to do nothing to betray his trust, his apparent  willingness to help her at last. "Why should I have  any idea what his personal plans might be?"
  He studied her face until she looked  away again.
  "I thought you might know. You have paid informers."  "No longer," she said flatly. "He is  dead. I believe I told you so at the guard  castle."
  "And I believe you told me it was our  sanctified bishop who had the poor wretch  killed."
  "Please, must we discuss this now?" Her  despair grew. "I must be brought to the castle.  If he suspects Philip and me of escaping  --what can we do?"
  An unlikely dash of amusement darkened the  vigor of his gaze. "You might give up your  childhood ambition of marrying the noble."
  Exasperated, she clenched her hands. "You  mock me at a time like this, when I am wounded with  worry and fear?"
  He was not sympathetic, but smiled  pleasantly. "Fear not. As physician I am  sworn to your healing. All I need is  opportunity, which you deny me."
  "Indeed?" she tossed her head, pearls  dancing.
  "I once told you I do not surrender anything  of esteemed value to an enemy. You forget. I  too shall be in Antioch. And Kalid and I shall  decide your fate together, even as the Normans will  decide the fate of the city."
  The daring words took her aback. "Assuming  I will even be in Antioch," she corrected.  "I will not."
  
  "I do have a concern about Antioch,  however. Kalid is an impatient man. A  warning: you must not goad him. Kalid does not  waste time on pretending to be a gentleman. He  would as soon see you in his harem than as his  princess."
  Helena flushed. "My Christian beliefs  demand more of me. I will kill myself before I  surrender to the immorality of a harem."
  "At least give me time to get there. My  scimitar will pave a path of escape."
  Her eyes narrowed at his audacity. "I will  escape aforehand with Philip, somehow, some way."
  "Nicholas may deny you marriage to Philip  as ferociously as Lady Irene, but for  opposite reasons. He is here, and being his  beloved godson, I have made known to him my  concerns for your future as the wife of the noble."
  "How kind of you, Sir Knight. I will ask  you to not pry into my private concerns when it comes  to the man I wish to marry."
  "It is the obligation of a knight to come to the aid  of a damsel befuddled and bemused over the false  trappings of a war hero."
  Her nails dug into her palms. "I am neither  befuddled nor be--" She stopped, a breath of  pent-up exasperation escaping. She raised her  head to reinforce the conclusion that she was Helena of the  Nobility, born a Daughter of the Purple  Belt.
  "Where is Nicholas?" she asked swiftly,  anxious to escape Tancred's presence. If  she were bemused at all, it was over her unwilling  response to his masculine good looks.
  "He avoids his enemies--Irene the golden  goddess being chief of them all, so I  suspect," he said dryly. "She has spies  out searching now. Nicholas will come to you instead."
  "Where can I expect him?"
  He glanced in the direction of Lady Irene.  "Where she least expects him. Lysander  Palace. Bardas waits to bring you there."
  While she had the opportunity of slipping  away unseen, she turned to make a swift  exit.
  "Wait," and his hand caught her arm.  Her gaze came doubtfully to his, aware of the  strong warmth of his hand. "Warn him of Constantine.  About the likelihood of Philip's soldiers  being replaced with his own. I will meet you both
  
later tonight at your family's palace.
We will need to make new plans."
  Her eyes warmed with hope. "Then ... you have not  changed your mind about helping me? You will find a  way to bring me to the castle to await Philip?"
  "I will help you, yes, and seek to bring you to the  castle, but whether or not it is in order  to rendezvous with Philip will be left to the discretion  of Nicholas."
  "Nicholas will approve. You will see.  Philip is--"
  "And any aid I offer to Philip is not for his  sake. Unfortunately for me, madame, the noble  and I are bonded together of necessity. You forget.  He has the assassin who killed Derek. And  he is the only man who can secure my innocence  of murder, and hence my future--as Philip  knows only too well. As you say," came his  sarcastic tone, "he is a gallant and  admirable man, one worthy of your devotion, of  your highest passion."
  Her cheeks flamed. She remembered with a sting  how Philip was using the assassin to tighten the  screws on Tancred, to try to force his mercenary  service to kill Kalid.
  "You are certain you invest your devotion  wisely?" came his low voice. "He is not  worthy of such trust, or love."
  She could not meet his eyes. Her heart  increased its thumping in her ears.
  He took in the rope of pearls. "He is the  wrong man for you. As wrong as Kalid."
  Against her will an internal flame warmed her.  Her emotions threatened to sweep away her will  completely. To survive, she withdrew behind  Helena of the Nobility. "Surely, Sir  Knight, you have not altered your opinion of me?"  came her dignified but taunting voice.
  A look of disarming innocence came to his  attractive smile as he seemed to see through her  demeanor. "My opinion of you, Lady? I  worship at your feet! I would see the head of  Kalid on a pole marched through the streets!  Perhaps Philip's head as well. ... I swear  my indubitable service! As a knight, I am  willing to be sacrificed upon the altar of Zeus  to safeguard the purple hem of your skirt from  brushing the common filth of the street! Ask of me  what you will--it is yours, to the half of my  kingdom!"
  
  She resisted the impulse to laugh at  his deliberate absurdity. It had irritated  her back at the guard castle when he had  lightly stated that he would never wish to marry her.  "You are impossible, Tancred. Am I to take  this change seriously? You did say at the guard  castle that you did not wish to be romantically  involved with a spoiled Byzantine damsel. You  do remember?"
  "I do. However, having twice saved you from  Rhinelanders, I feel duty bound to have some say  in your destiny--even if I do not want you for  myself, I would save you for a knight more worthy than  I. Anyone except Philip."
  Her eyes narrowed. He persisted in hinting of  caring with one breath, then shrugging her off with disinterest  in the next.
  "A say in who should marry me? Surely you  jest," she managed a soft laugh. "Since when  would I ever allow you to have any say in my  future?"
  He smiled. "Perhaps it is not a matter only    of your say, but the decision of Nicholas. I could  never permit the niece of my spiritual father to fall  prey to despicable dogs in purple or  turbans."
  "You may forget your chivalrous duty, Sir  Knight. I do not want it, nor anything else  coming from the barbarian West."
  "No? So soon! And only weeks ago you  braved Godfrey's army to beg for my  service!"
  "I did not beg."
  "But then, that was before Philip simply turned  up and beckoned you to fall at his feet! "Oh,  great one, I love thee!""
  "I did not! He succumbed to me."
  "Did he? You swooned in his arms. Philip  is moved by little except his vain dreams of  glory. He is as much a slave as those you see  walking about offering trays of dainties. He could  not leave Constantinople and be content to have only you.  Can you not see how he schemed to find some  diabolic way to keep his favor with the emperor,  and you as well? And his ambitious reasoning  rallied to his Byzantine nature. I am the  bait he will throw to the bears. Like the coward he  is, he watches from the arena while I am bidden  to kill Kalid for him."
  Helena's breath came rapidly. Her hands
  
turned icy, her palms sweating. "I  will not hear!"
  "I could tell you so much more if you had ears  to hear."
  "Ears to hear lies, jealousy, envy."  "But I? I have stormed the arena twice to save  your fair face, and what small favor have you  offered me of your gratitude--a castle!  Jewels! Gold!" he mocked.
  "Oh--but you are so knightly and honorable,  sir, that you wish nothing else from me--remember?"  she taunted sweetly.
  His gaze left hers to study her lips.  Her hand brought the gilded fan to her face.  Her eyes watched him over the rim. "You may  keep your duty and your opinions," she murmured  breathlessly. "I offer you nothing."
  "I must make do with a castle?" came the  affected tone of disappointment.
  "I will hear no more of your romantic  inclinations, Sir Knight."
  A brow lifted. "My romantic inclinations  you have not yet heard. Should the moment come, I  assure you, you will not be disappointed."
  "It may be I shall tell Philip to hire  another escort to bring me to the Castle of  Hohms. You are growing quite bothersome."
  "I would be sorely disappointed. It will take  me two weeks traveling beneath the desert stars and  dining before the firelight to convince you to seek the right  man for a lover and lord."
  "Only two weeks?" she managed in a  lightly mocking voice.
  "I will be too busy as your guard to convince you  sooner, yes," Tancred said, pretending  to consider thoughtfully. "Two weeks."
  Her breath ceased--she tore her eyes from his and  turning, walked swiftly toward the door leading  to the garden, head high, her ropes of pearls  swinging with regal opulence.
  Her heart was beating much too fast. In the  doorway she paused and looked back at him.
  He bowed low at the waist, as though she were the  empress.
  Helena whipped away and out into the evening  fragrance. She breathed in the cool air, fanning  herself rapidly.
  
             CHAPTER 13
         The Golden Mistress and
            the White Bishop

  Emperor Alexius Comnenus had managed  to keep the western armies separated from each other  by receiving the feudal lords one at a time upon their first  arrival from Europe. He gave them gifts of  gold, then transported their armies across the  strait to a designated camp on the Asiatic  shore. All this he had managed to accomplish before  the Normans arrived. Thus he prevented the  armies of the West from uniting in front of his city  gates, casting hungry looks toward  Byzantine wealth.
  Now that Bohemond had arrived, the appointed  hour for public assembly of all the princes was  announced. More gifts of gold were sent to the  princes, while copper tartarons were given  freely to the poor on foot traveling under the  prince's gonfanon. Then the imperial heralds  called the leaders to the grand assembly at the  imperial palace.
  Tancred stood with feigned gravity in the  royal receiving hall glittering with gold and marble.
  One by one the stalwart crusader princes were  ushered into the hall by the imperial guard--some with  sullen faces, others with affected sobriety:  Robert, Count of Normandy, son of William  the Conqueror; the Norman Lord Bohemond,  grandson of the Conqueror; Duke Godfrey of  Lower Lorraine with his two brothers, Princes  Baldwin and Eustace; Count Raymond of  Toulouse; Hugh, Count of Vermandois and brother  to the king of France; Adehemar, Bishop of Le  Puy and official papal legate on the  crusade; and Peter the Hermit, who had fled the  massacre of the peasant army in Anatolia  several months earlier.
  Tancred watched as they congregated with their  honorable men, all of them fitly clad in fine  mantles with gold borders and ermine collars,  bearing their swords. He knew that most of them were  not serious in their task of vowing their vassalage  to the emperor, but rather relented out of necessity, many  of them grudgingly. Some, like Bohemond, had  agreed to vow for his own purposes. Tancred  knew Bohemond's mind was set on ruling  Antioch.
  Except for Count Raymond, the eldest of the
  
crusader princes, most of the fiery  warriors had little except secret contempt for  Byzantium and its emperor.
  Slaves carrying golden wands beat a clear  pathway for Duke Godfrey to pass through the  crowd that gathered on the white marble Augustaeum  near the throne. While distant music echoed its  tribute, Emperor Alexius leaned forward on  his throne to greet his "new sons" with a kiss of  peace.
  Tancred watched the arrogant and sullen  Duke Godfrey stiffly bend to one knee.
  The emperor spoke warmly: "I have heard you  are a man to be trusted utterly, the most mighty  knight and prince of your land. And so I take thee  for my adopted son, and I place my trust in  you, that through you my empire may be preserved and my  lands restored."
  Godfrey, pledging, held his sword and  kissed the emperor's knee.
  As the duke stood and was escorted into the receiving  hall to wait, slaves followed him bearing  gifts of gold, fine cloaks, and bottles of  wine. Perhaps of more value to the princes than all  the gifts were the promised horses and food  markets that were to be established as far as possible  along the line of their march toward Jerusalem. The  emperor vowed that he would "safeguard the  crusaders who came after them," and aid them in the  battle with Byzantine forces by land and sea.
  So he said. Tancred was concerned about the continued  support should the princes refuse to yield any  conquered lands taken from the Turks. He now  understood the mind of the emperor well enough to believe  he would not hesitate to cut them off should their  loyalties prove false. Should that occur,  famine and pestilence would become the grim reaper  among the western armies, for the Moslems would  burn the harvest fields and destroy the houses in  their march before surrendering goods to the despised  Christians.
  Alert for trouble, Tancred's gaze was arrested  by a movement near the entranceway into the pavilion  courtyard. It was only a Norman soldier who  loitered, casting a glance about the royal hall, but  something unpleasant stirred Tancred's memory.  He soon found the man watching him.
  Their gazes locked. The soldier quickly  turned away, then walked back into the courtyard.  Tancred grew uneasy and, looking in the
  
direction where Bohemond had stood  only moments ago, saw that he and Count  Raymond of Toulouse had left with the emperor.  It dawned on him then--the soldier loitering near  the courtyard had accompanied his cousin Norris  back at the camp.
  His cousins were here. Perhaps Walter as well.  But Bohemond was not present. Apart from the  company of the Norman prince, his uncle would not  hesitate to make a move to capture him.  Tancred might seek the protection of  Bohemond, but there was no time.
  Tancred slowly edged toward the opposite  door. He stopped, confronted by a rawboned  Norman with a ruddy complexion and a shock of  grayish blond hair falling across his forehead.  Walter of Sicily stood watching him, his pale  blue eyes relentless. Behind his uncle gathered  several Redwan cousins, but neither Norris nor  Leif were among them. Did they wait elsewhere?  Or were they not privy to what was happening?
  Tancred's brief gaze moved across the room  to an open terrace that dropped to a garden below.  Walter's gaze also shifted to the terrace as though  his thoughts followed his, and he looked disturbed.  He gestured to his men standing across the wide hall  and they began to move hesitantly in that  direction, for it was off limits to anyone except  the emperor's guards.
  Tancred must be cautious. Did they wait  near the stables where Apollo was kept? He must  escape on foot and come back for his horse  later.
  Tancred moved quickly through the crowd toward the  window. The Norman soldiers serving Sir  Walter swiftly retreated through the entranceway  hoping to overtake him in the garden. He swung  himself over the balustrade and, grabbing hold of a  tree limb, began descending.
  If his uncle came upon him now, he would be  an easy target. The shrubs below the tree were  dark and quiet. He landed on his feet in the  garden.
  From behind him there was a rush of feet. They were  close. Tancred darted through the trees, jumping  over shrubs, and came to a wall. It was high--  he leaped, catching hold of the top and pulling himself  up. He was about to drop to the ground when he  froze. Below, a Byzantine guard looked up,  startled, then drew his weapon.
  
  "This is a private residence!"
  "I am in service to the minister of war. I  need your assistance."
  The guard stepped toward him, lifting his  sword, but hesitated when he noticed the  Byzantine uniform. "But you speak with the brogue  of a Norman."
  "I also speak Greek," he said in the  guard's language. "Quickly, which way from here to the  barracks?"
  He remained suspicious. "The Normans have  come. Their prince, Bohemond, has sworn  vassalage to the emperor. You also have vowed tonight?"
  "With deep devotion!"
  The guard lowered his sword and stepped back  while Tancred leaped to the ground.
  Hearing the sound of running feet from behind the  wall, the guard had second thoughts. He was about  to call out when a man of the religious order  emerged from the trees, donned in a rugged black  riding cloak and chain mesh. Using the side of his  hand he walloped the back of the guard's head, and  he slumped to the grass.
  "It is about time you showed up," said Tancred  dryly, and Nicholas lifted a dark brow.
  "I thought you could handle matters on your own,  my son."
  Tancred shot him a glance. Nicholas  smiled and pulled the unconscious guard into the  bushes. He touched Tancred's shoulder. "Come!  Helena waits with the horses."
  They ran through the garden, ducking under branches  until at last they emerged on the other side.  There were magnificent buildings with great walls  decorated with medallions and huge domes.
  "You know where we are?" breathed Tancred.  Nicholas glanced over his shoulder. "You forget  I was born and raised a Byzantine!"
  "I could never forget that--Helena forever reminds  me."
  "Walter and your cousins will be out in force looking  for you," said Nicholas. "It will be dangerous  to return to the barracks."
  They walked briskly through the courtyard,  glancing cautiously toward the tall hedge where  hired assassins might lurk. Suddenly  Nicholas turned onto an open walkway  lighted by blazing torchlight. Guards were everywhere.
  Tancred walked casually beside him, glancing  toward the strolling guards. Did he imagine that
  
the eyes of strong men bearing swords were  fixed upon him? How many were his true friends? How  many would turn on him if given the opportunity?  Although he had served their emperor and Philip,  he had felt the resentment of some who were jealous of  his swift rise to command. "I hope you know what you  are doing."
  "Trust me."
  Had he not known Nicholas so well and  believed in his abilities as a warrior,  Tancred would have refused to be led. Nicholas,  however, was no soft-bellied priest. His  half-cleric, half-soldier garb included both  the red crusader cross stitched across his black  leather vest and a Norman long blade housed  comfortably in his scabbard.
  Nevertheless, Tancred paused when ahead of them,  a big baldheaded man emerged from the cloister of  darkened shrubs where he'd been concealed.  Nicholas, too, stopped. Tancred's hand went  toward his scabbard, but Nicholas lifted an arm  to halt him from unsheathing it.
  "It is Bardas."
  "I do not trust him. He's been a thorn in  my side since I first met your niece."
  Nicholas chuckled. "The mother bear growls and  grumbles for her cub. Pay no mind. I sent for  him."
  "A mistake," but as Nicholas strode  forward, Tancred followed, maintaining his caution.
  When Bardas saw Nicholas he came  to meet them, and for the first time Tancred saw a warm  smile on the eunuch's broad face. He  tugged at his walrus mustache with enthusiasm.
  "Greetings, Master Nicholas! The gods  rejoice at your presence in Constantinople again!"
  "One God, Bardas! One true and living  God. Remember."
  "Yes, Master Nicholas," he hastened, "a  slip of the tongue."
  Tancred eyed him. He'd never seen Bardas  so quick to respond, so willing to pay respect to a  man. He sized up the situation and decided that  Bardas could be trusted when carrying out any order  of Helena's beloved Greek uncle, even those  orders which included himself.
  To his surprise, Bardas reached behind the  hedge and produced Tancred's satchel and gear  taken from the barracks, but he did not even seem  to notice Tancred as he quickly explained
  
to Nicholas where the horses were hidden and  where Helena waited for them.
  Tancred briefly searched his things to make  certain all was there and decided Nicholas must have  ordered Bardas to bring them.
  Nicholas stooped beside him and said in a low  voice, "Our plans have changed and must be  completed tonight. You must go on without me. I trust  you with her life."
  "She explained about Constantine?"
  A sliver of heated anger showed within  Nicholas's dark eyes. "Yes, and you were right  to mistrust him. Philip also sent a message  urging me to leave tonight without him."
  He was surprised Philip would rally to such  unselfishness. "Where is he?" he inquired  cautiously.
  "Yet with the emperor. And Constantine and Irene  both watch him."
  Tancred had doubts about Philip, but he'd  already made them clear to Nicholas in the tent at  the Norman camp. Any further warning might  cause Nicholas to attribute his conclusions  to jealousy. Nevertheless, his own lack of confidence in  Philip remained.
  "But bring her to the camp of the Norman army?  Is it wise?"
  "There is little choice. Constantine will have the  road to the castle watched, ready to ambush. The  long journey will grant us time to arrange her  safe delivery to the seigneur of the Castle of  Hohms when they least expect it."
  They stood, the darkness about them. "Rolf  Redwan, you will agree, will prove a mighty  protector until the crusaders take  Antioch," said Nicholas.
  Tancred hesitated, yet uncertain. There  would be battles along the way, and the army was no  place for a woman of Helena's breeding and  culture. He imagined she would soon revolt  at the hardships of travel and deprivation sure  to come upon them.
  Tancred considered the possibility of having  Byzantine spies in the camp as well as on the  road to Antioch, and did not like the plan. Nor  had he intended to journey with the Norman army.  He could move faster alone and arrive at  Antioch before them, undetected by the Seljuk  Turks. He was resigned to the fact that  Antioch would not simply surrender in the face
  
of the approaching crusaders, however  intimidating the masses of knights on Great  Horses and foot soldiers would appear from their  lookout towers built on the great walls. They  surely knew the crusaders were coming, and they would have  made provision for a long and terrible siege. He  understood the proud minds of the Moslems.
  Then there was Helena's mother. ... Tancred had  not forgotten his promise to use his association with the  Moslem allies of al-Kareem to seek her  whereabouts in the desert tents. Nicaea would be a  good place to begin, but should he arrive with  Bohemond they would hardly allow him through the  gate into the city to visit Asad.
  "Helena will be safer among us than on the  road alone with you and a few mercenaries," said  Nicholas. "Both Irene and Constantine--should the  man appear--realize I will not easily  surrender her. They will pretend to believe we  cooperate together to escort her to Kalid, but in  their hearts they know I will refuse the Moslem  wedding of my Christian niece."
  Tancred remained uneasy, but he could see  Nicholas had accepted the plan as their only  recourse.
  "Once she is in the crusader camp, they will  have little cause to contest. It is for you to get her there  before they know what we are about."
  "Constantine has other plans in mind as  well," suggested Tancred, frowning. "Be  assured they benefit his ambitions. And his  son's."
  Nicholas's alert gaze came to his. "Then  you know he is the father of Philip?"
  "Helena explained." He wondered what  Nicholas thought of this.
  "It is good that she did. You now understand some of  what is happening."
  "Enough to know that the sooner I am about my own  quest of finding my brother's assassin, the  sooner I can return to peace in Sicily."
  Nicholas laughed. "Peace? In Sicily?
The Normans are at each other's throats. And  if you return anytime soon to claim the Redwan  castle, you will be fighting Count Roger."
  "You underestimate me, Nicholas. When I  return, I shall be a free man to direct my  life and goals in Palermo. And if I cannot,  I will not return," he said with an unexpected  determination that surprised even him.
  
  Nicholas appeared to consider, but the  gleam in his eyes convinced Tancred he had thoughts  of his own. Nicholas was a man who planned  well and usually got what he wanted. Just what  did he want? He had returned  to Constantinople under the cloak of the crusade, but  he was not a man to take pleasure in such a war,  and neither did he long to retake his position as a  bishop in the Eastern branch of the Church.
  "You will find your assassin," said Nicholas with  more confidence than even Tancred shared. "And I?  Constantine and I have much to settle before this  campaign to take Jerusalem is over."
  Tancred believed that Nicholas was the man to do  it.
  "I will join you in a few days at  Bohemond's camp," said Nicholas. "I will  come quietly. Expect me in the shadows of the  night."
  "What keeps you in the city?" Tancred  asked, curious that he would not join them for several  days. "Is it wise? Even now Irene's  spies are out searching for you."
  "Then I must not disappoint her."  Tancred looked at him, but Nicholas's  mouth turned into a grim smile. "See  to Helena. I will take care of Irene."
  "The horses and my mistress wait,"  Bardas reminded them anxiously.
  Tancred hesitated, still uncertain in his own  mind about the plan, but what concerned Nicholas,  he told himself, concerned him also. He owed him much  --at least where his niece was concerned.
  "It was not my intention to become involved in this  war, nor is it now."
  "Your wishes will be carefully guarded."  Tancred regarded him and wondered that the reply  did not satisfy, but Nicholas remained as  elusive as always.
  "We have a destiny to fill at Jerusalem,"  Nicholas told him. And with that uncomfortable  reminder of the holy object to be returned to the  sepulcher, he slipped away like a mysterious  shadow into the night.
  With Nicholas gone, Helena had again been  placed in Tancred's charge. Bardas also  slipped away, expecting to lead him to where she  waited with the horses. And Tancred did not wish  to stay--somewhere not far behind, still searching for him, was  Walter of Sicily.
  
  Gathering his cloak about him and snatching  up his gear, Tancred followed into the darkness.
               * * *
  Nicholas frowned, his mind engrossed in the  unpleasant task at hand. He was not  anticipating the need to see Irene again.  Despite the confidence he had shown over the  matter to Tancred, an uneasy dread settled  over his heart. He had loved her once,  until, like Gomer, the wife of the prophet  Hosea, Irene too had behaved the harlot.
  His mind wandered back to when, as a younger man,  he had left for Athens to enter the Church, a  betrothal to Irene fully agreed upon. On that  night so long ago they had lingered in the garden  sweetness to vow to each other and to God their  devotion, their worship, their bodies, even as they  vowed purity to each other. He had returned two  years later to find Irene the emperor's  mistress.
  The pain he had felt back then, thought to be  dead after twenty years, stirred like sleeping  coals coming to life. Only the prophet Hosea  could know the anguish he had felt, the desolation,  the disappointment, the bitter loss of his pure and  beautiful Irene of Troy to the purple robe and  pearls of the harlot selling her wares.
  Nicholas walked along, stroking his short  beard, contemplating. He slipped silently through  the palace garden and neared the low walled gate that  led in the direction of the Augustaeum.
  He strode forward, musing, his dark eyes  reflective of the turmoil stirring in his soul.  He was unprepared for the soldiers who emerged from the  darkness, their swords lifting in the moonlight,  flashing silver.
  Nicholas halted and had only a moment  to respond before he was surrounded. His blade  came swiftly from his scabbard, but a wicked blow  struck him across the head from behind, and he fell, his  face striking the stone floor of the courtyard.
  In a moment of down-spiraling consciousness he  heard Irene say, "Bring him to the villa. We  will be uninterrupted there."
  With all his will Nicholas struggled to move, but  a surge of darkness swallowed him, and through the  haze he heard the click of her heeled  slippers close beside his head, felt her  fragrant silk skirt brush the side of his  face. She stooped, laying a cool palm to the
  
side of his brow. She stroked it.
"Poor Nicholas. Poor deluded but beloved  Nicholas. You are mine again, at last."

             CHAPTER 14
    The White Bishop's Secret Past

  The daylight stabbed into Nicholas's eyes like  daggers. He groaned and tried to move, but his  limbs tingled a thousand sharp needles of pain.
  "The bear awakens from his long slumber," came  Irene's distant voice, sultry and mocking.  "If I did not care to ruin my cushions, I  would have you splashed awake with water from the pool."
  Nicholas agonized to gather his wits, but the  effort proved vain. He felt slaves roll  him over on his back, and while he tried  to resist, he could not. A moment later he felt  a cold, startling splash of water, and he shouted  his protest as he raised to an elbow, blinking.  As his blurred eyes cleared, he saw Irene  staring down at him, hands on hips.
  "When he has eaten and dressed, bring him  to me," she ordered.

               * * *
  Nicholas entered the open tiled courtyard and  glanced about at the familiar surroundings of the  villa where he had spent his youth with his sister  Adrianna and other members of the Lysander  family. The court spread out toward the pleasant  olive orchard. Pigeons cooed and water  trickled peacefully over the rocks in the tiered  fountain. He fought back the bitter memories like  demons trying to conquer and defeat him.
  Over the dark woolen undertunic he wore chain  mesh, and then a second leather tunic. His thick  dark hair was still wet and held back by a thong.  He knew his looks had not yet declined, even  as Irene's subtle beauty had not yet faded,  and he was cautious. He threw his cloak over his  shoulder and walked to meet her.
  She has deliberately chosen the place  where we had vowed our love.
  His sword and scabbard were missing--but not his  dagger, housed safely under his left wrist.  Evidently the female slave attending him last  night and this morning respected his holy office  too much to remove his inner clothing.
  His dark, robust eyes saw her, and waiting for
  
him, she arose from the carved bench--not  wearing shimmering silk but a plain tunic with a  simple belt. Her face was scrubbed of all  beauty paints and her hair was covered with a white  scarf.
  This he had not expected. He had steeled his  emotions against the temptation of silk, perfume, and  strong seduction; she came to him looking a  virgin, her eyes pleading. He stood there while  the warm breeze nodded the colorful poppies  growing at his feet.
  Irene approached him delicately and held  out his scabbard with both hands. "You may kill me  with your blessed sword if you wish. I would count it  a mercy if you would."
  His black eyes mocked her. She was a master  at deceit.
  "You always were dramatic. And if I took your  lovely head, would your soul no longer bear the  crimson stain of murder?"
  "Murder?" she asked innocently, and walked  toward him barefoot, her white tunic trailing.  A gust of wind blew back her hood, and her  pale silky hair swirled about her waist.
  He took her in from head to toe and he wondered  that his heart beat as coolly as ever. Nothing  remained of the passion that had once set him  aflame, only a strange dull pity toward  her, the same odd emotion he felt for a wounded  bird who could no longer fly, or a lily that  fell crumpled beneath careless feet. It was always  sad when something once lovely died and withered with the  blight of sin.
  "I wish to die," she sobbed. "If your hands  performed the deed, I would find it a mercy."
  A smile appeared above his short dark beard.  "I know you too well, Irene. You forget that you  have lied to me so many times. I could not be tricked  again. Your repentance wears the beautiful face of  morning mist, but all too soon it vanishes.  Do not mock us by pretense."
  "It is you who mock me, Nicholas." She  walked up to him softly, and her eyes surrendered  to his. She knelt before him and laid his sword  at his feet. "I am yours, Nicholas. Do with  me as you will."
  "My will belongs to another Master. The same  One you will also answer to," he said gently. "The  One you refused, but your rejection was not enough--you  also demanded I too walk away from Him. The
  
price of your love, Irene, was always  too high."
  "Your god-- I despise your robe with its  cross! How untouchable, how righteous you were in your  rejection of me."
  "I came to you not as a priest, but as a man  who loved you until I discovered what you were.  I never rejected you, not even when I returned  and found you the emperor's mistress. I wanted  to help you, to bring you to Christ. I would have loved  you, Irene. You rejected me when you turned to the  idols of the zodiac. You demanded I throw away  my greatest treasure for you."
  "Your god is nothing but an illusion. What  has he done for you? Look at you--nothing now but  a homeless bishop with a horse and a sword! But  I! In turning to the gods of the stars, I will be  empress one day."
  "Should you reach so far as to grasp the stars, you will  yet die as humbly as the lowest slave. And  unlike the poorest among men who dies with  Christ as Savior, you will be the pauper."
  "So I will go to hades, will I? You pity me?  Your pity is worse than the sword you could  plunge through my heart. I hate your god, for  he took you away from me."
  "Did you hate my brother also? Is that why you  poisoned Leo? You schemed to have me banished  to Bari, then lied to him about my death. You deceived  him into marriage for the Lysander inheritance, only  to learn it was mine after all, and not his. Mine and  Adrianna's. You had no further use for him so  you poisoned him and claimed Constantine.  Adrianna found out about Leo, and you schemed against  her also."
  Irene winced, suddenly frightened. "I did not  poison Leo."
  "You did," he stated. "Adrianna wrote  me. It is the cause for which you plotted her  death."
  "He killed himself!"
  "If he did, it was because you tormented him so  badly he was driven to it."
  She fell at his feet. "Nicholas," she  whispered, and tears filled her amber eyes as she  looked up at him. "Nicholas, I have dreamed  of you a thousand nights."
  "In whose arms did you lie as you dreamed--a  slave, or the emperor's?"
  "Mock me all you will. I love you still."
  
  "You never loved me at all, nor do  you love any man. Not even your own son  Philip. You barter him like an Arab barters for  camels! You desire power, you love the thrill  of keeping others enslaved to your demands. Why it  should be, only God knows. Do not cheapen the word of  love by speaking it on your tongue."
  Her fingers curled hotly about his ankles and  moved up his legs. "Nicholas," she whispered.  "If you only knew how I have cursed myself these  years. Cursed myself until I despise my  image in the looking glass."
  "Your pride, Irene, would have you sitting before the  glass for an hour adoring your face. Do you  speak of self-judgment?"
  "I only know that I love you, Nicholas.
I will be yours alone. Always yours."
  He grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet,  shaking her until her hair flew about them, and her  sobs wailed.
  "Have you no shame at all? What do you know of  sacrificial love, the love of God? You cannot  love. You desire the ways of a harlot. I  knew it even then when we were young, when you were yet a  virgin. Even back then, when innocence was on your  lips and your cheeks would flush with humility, you  would have lain with me before our marriage bed had I  asked. I knew it, yet I refused to see it.  It did not take you long to throw it away on the  first man who would have you! I went to Athens to pray,  to seek the mind of God about you--for even then I  had doubts. I knew what you were. And when I  returned you had already slept with the slave boy.  You boast of the emperor? Did you tell him of the  slave boy who came first?"
  She reached to claw his chest, but he gripped her  wrists tightly, holding her away from him.
  "And even now your words are still lies. Yes, you  are beguiling indeed. You knew you could not come to me  with the face of Jezebel. So you subtly adorned  yourself with a worse hypocrisy! You come to me as an  angel. And why? You would see me fall prey  for the sheer joy of having conquered me at last."
  Her sobbing ceased and her eyes turned hard and  brittle.
  "Surely you are a man inside that bishop's  cloak! I can see you are. I remember how you  once held me, how your lips took mine, how  you vowed your love. It is not too late,  Nicholas. We can be together now." She reached for
  
him, but he caught her wrist firmly.
  Sudden bitterness sparked in his eyes. "You have  bludgeoned me a thousand times with your taunts.  Do you think I am a boy, that you can tempt me so  easily to succumb?"
  She pulled away from him, her face hard with  rage. "Why did you come back? What do you  expect to do about the past, about Leo? Go to the  emperor? Convince him to hang me? Force me  to live out my days in the convent? He will not listen  to you! And if you go to him, he will arrest you."
  His eyes ran over her. "Is that why you threw  yourself at my feet pretending love? You feared  I would haul you before the throne as a murderess?  I would not waste you to the laws of Byzantium.  Your end will come in its own way. Nay, woman,  I came for the villa, for the Lysander inheritance, the  Castle of Hohms. It is Helena's, not  Philip's."
  "The Lysander inheritance! Do you think you can  convince the emperor of that?" she scoffed. "He  listens to me, to Philip, to Constantine, not to you."  Her eyes mocked. "I have firm control over the  empress."
  "No doubt. Have you enslaved her with your evil  drugs and sorcery?"
  "I could easily have you killed," she warned.  "I have not done so before now because I do care for you,  whether you believe it or not. I will always care for  you."
  "You are never more venomous than when you speak of  love. I do not fear you, Irene, nor  Constantine." Nicholas let go of her arm and she  stepped back, cautiously watching him.
  He looked toward the olive orchard, for he  knew she had guards. "I will gain the inheritance,  eventually. First, I shall lay claim to the family  castle at Hohms."
  "You will need to stop Kalid first," she said  scornfully. "He has bargained Antioch for the  castle."
  "I expect to stop him," he admitted.  "Helena will not marry Kalid."
  "You will not be able to stop it. You are a fool if  you try. Even now I can have twenty guards in  here. Your death would be so simple," she breathed.  "I could have your arrogant head on a platter."
  "And sleep well for having done so."
  She scanned him, her eyes burning with anger  and passion. "I do not want your miserable head--
  
I want you. I always have, and I will  until I die." She raised her chin, tossing  her silken strands. "I will yet have you,  Nicholas. You will see. I will never give up."
  She moved toward him and slid her arms around his  neck, pressing her warm mouth to his.
  Nicholas succumbed for a brief moment, then  unwrapped her hands from about his neck and held her  away from him, with her arms behind her back. He  studied her face as her breath came rapidly.
  Her eyes gleamed triumphantly and she  laughed, holding her head back. "For all your  pious talk your heart beats the same as any  man's. You do want me," she whispered.
  His eyes held hers evenly, then he released  her. "You are to be more than pitied," he said, and  caught up his cloak from the courtyard. He  turned. "I have the deed for the castle."
  "You deceive. Leo hid it and no one has ever  found it. He would not tell me where it was."
  "So you poisoned him? Let this haunt your  dreams--he could not tell you. He did not know.  You murdered him for nothing. The Lysander deed  granted by Emperor Nicephorous was safely  hidden all these years at the monastery of Mount  Athos."
  An ugly look came to her face.
  He smiled and carelessly lifted his chin. "That  was where I placed it before you and Constantine convinced  the emperor I committed treason. It was within your    reach all these years." He turned to walk  away. "I advise you not to come to Hohms."
  "I will come. I will follow you wherever you go,  Nicholas. One day I will convince you to stay with  me."
  He turned and walked away.
  "Nicholas!" She ran after him, her voice  pleading, even whining, "Nich-o-las!"
  He felt nothing but emotional release as he  walked, leaving behind damaged emotions that had been  buried painfully in his soul for years. Let  God handle the injustice and death, he thought.
  He paused and looked toward the summer sky as  blue as a topaz. Consciously he released  Irene and Constantine and the murder of his brother to the  will of God.
  I am now free to pursue the future.  Nicholas walked on, taking in a breath of  fresh air, flinging his bishop's cloak to lie  across his shoulders. There was one quest now to concern
  
him--not vengeance, but the safety of  Helena and Adrianna. He could not have mentioned his  sister to Irene, though he had wanted to confront  her, for he did not want Irene to know that  Adrianna was alive.
  He heard Irene's feet running behind him and  he imagined a dagger in her fist.
  She caught his arm, sobbing. "Wait,  Nicholas. It is not true that there is no love  in me, no sorrow, no regret. I am a  woman; I have my bitter memories. If I  could go back--" Her voice cracked with deep  emotion. "I swear I would have vowed to follow your  god, your life. I would have chosen differently."
  He gently removed her hand from his arm and his  dark eyes were grave. "I am sorry, Irene.  The years have been lived and are forever gone. It is  their memory which haunts us in the night; but the  fruit will be there to meet us in eternity. While you  have an hour left, choose the life He yet  offers. There is no sin so crimson that He cannot  wash away. You can become as pure as the virgin  snow."
  Nicholas plucked a blossom from a nearby  vine and pressed it into her limp, cold hand.  "All too soon the beauty fades. Your  beauty too will fade. You will end up one day an  old woman with nothing but regrets."
  Irene blanched as she looked into his face.  "Pity," she whispered. "You dare pity me?"  She trembled, clutching the crushed white flower.  "I will have an empire," she said hoarsely.
  "Ask the ghosts of the Caesars if it was enough."  "I shall make you pay for this," she cried. "No  one treats me this way. Do you think you can,  Nicholas? If I cannot have you--then, I will see  you dead."
  "Good-bye, Irene."
  Nicholas stepped into the stirrup and mounted his  horse, turning the reins to ride toward the  Golden Horn. There he would board a boat and  sail to the shores of Anatolia. Soon he would  join Tancred in the camp of Prince  Bohemond. The deed to the castle was in his  satchel and his weapons were within easy reach. He  rode away, leaving the ghosts behind him.
  
             CHAPTER 15
           To Escape the Web

  It was night and no light from the lanterns  broke through the darkness of the filthy streets. Here,  in a squalid section of Constantinople,  thieves and beggars were as numerous as the poor who  lived in low, cramped houses among the narrow  alleys.
  It had rained. The mud was deep. The stench of  debris hung in the air, crowded with bursts of  drunken laughter. Tancred heard a wary  movement from above his head. Instinct halted him.  At once he touched Bardas's arm and they  paused.
  Tancred looked up to a small ledge that  extended out below a dark window. A man crouched  with a dagger, ready to spring. The robber made a  desperate lunge at Bardas, hoping to bring him  down, but as he did, Bardas knelt and thrust  upward through his chest. The weight of the man's body  drove the sword to the hilt, sending Bardas  sprawling backward into the mud. He shoved him  away and wrenched his sword loose.
  "Quick, there will be more," said Bardas. "This  way."
  "Why did you bring her to this foul place  to wait?"
  "She is guarded with three soldiers loyal  to Philip." They came to a dimly lighted shop  where food and wine were sold, and Tancred removed  his splotched cloak to enter with Bardas.
  It was crowded and they took a wooden table in the  back. Within a few minutes the chief bodyguard  who served Irene entered alone.
  The giant ebony warrior stood as  elegantly shaped as if chiseled from marble by an  artisan. He boasted the colors of the imperial  guard, his rich purple cloak edged with gold.
  Tancred was faintly surprised, for he had  come to know Rufus rather well in the month he had  been in Philip's service. Rufus had  proven a friend, and in the past he had alerted him  to Irene's plans to control him, even as she  controlled Rufus and others. He remembered that  Rufus had told him he could not free himself from  her mastery because of his son Joseph, who served as  a translator at the Royal Library. He  had also warned him about Mosul serving the Turkish  commander Kerbogha at Antioch.
  
  Tancred watched as the guard's  black eyes scanned those seated in the room.  He had wisely chosen a section of the city where  he was not known and where Lady Irene was not likely  to venture. Apparently seeing no one he  recognized, Rufus strode up to the table where  Tancred and Bardas sat and pulled out a chair  to join them.
  Although seated, he remained a giant of a man  with strong shoulders and big hands, and Tancred  noticed several eyes shift his way uneasily  and then stare into their cups.
  Rufus had told him that he had come from  Ethiopia as a boy and worked his way into the  mercenary army serving the emperor. Later, he had  gone to the Castle of Hohms to serve Tancred's  uncle Rolf Redwan. From there, Irene had  acquired him. Tancred suspected that there had  once been a romance, at Irene's instigation, for  there were few men around the palace she did not  consort with to gain their usefulness.
  Rufus wasted no time. "Despite all  care, I believe we were followed. Lady  Helena waits in one of the back stalls under  guard. You must take precaution. Your enemy is  a tigress who stalks her prey."
  Tancred lifted a brow at his description of  Irene. A fitting one, he thought.
  "What of you? You will come with us?"  "An important opportunity I have long  awaited is near at hand; otherwise I would  accompany you."
  His suggestion hinted of more than personal  plans. He despised Irene. Did it have  anything to do with her? As Tancred measured him with a  glance, a mask came down over his face.
  "She has my son Joseph."
  "I remember. I have been thinking of a plan  to secure his freedom."
  Rufus smiled for the first time. "As have I. But  we have made our plans. One of the Venetian  ships has done trade in Ethiopia recently  and for the right price will bring Joseph to freedom."
  Tancred scanned him. "And you?"
  His eyes hardened. "I will remain behind long enough  to see he escapes. If there is a trap, I  will see madame fall into it."
  "Then we understand each other. Yet hate knows  no freedom. You would not wish her blood on your  hands, Rufus."
  
  His heavy shoulders sagged a little, and for a  moment he appeared a man to be pitied, like a  majestic eagle on a short chain. Tancred's  jaw hardened.
  "Do nothing on your own. I fear your hatred will  push you to a decision you will live to regret. If  something goes wrong with your plans for Joseph,  wait for me to return from Antioch. I will see  to his freedom, somehow."
  Rufus looked at him and tears welled in his  magnificent eyes.
  "If she were dead the city would be a better  place." He picked up the metal cup and in  one hand crushed it.
  Bardas shifted uneasily and shot a glance  toward Tancred.
  "Do not kill her. Wait for me."  Rufus slumped, his emotions spent. He said  nothing but gestured his head in affirmation.
  Tancred lifted his cup and drank.  "Nicholas has his own plans where Irene is  concerned. I think he will see to them better than  you."
  Rufus stood, in control of his emotions again,  his face immobile. "We dare not meet again  until you return from Antioch. It was dangerous  for me to come here tonight. I think not of me, but  Joseph. She knows that I could not bear harm coming  to my son. If anything goes wrong, I can do  no more to help Lysander's daughter. You must get  out of Constantinople any way you can."
               * * *
  The view from the stall-like chamber of wood was  restricted to the narrow street. Helena was standing in  a hooded cloak, peering out into the darkness when  Tancred entered with Bardas. She turned  expectantly, and at seeing him, her manner  changed to a guarded look, for awareness of him  brought unease.
  Tancred deliberately offered a deep bow  at the waist. "Your servant, madame. You  called?"
  She walked up to him like a princess, an  attitude most becoming if it had not been used  with the usual attempt to make him feel like a  servant.
  "Does my arrival disturb you, madame?"  he inquired smoothly.
  "Why should it? It was I who asked Uncle  Nicholas to have you escort me to the crusader
  
camp."
  "I am, of course, at your beck and call."  She smiled, lifting her dimpled chin, and  turned her back toward him, quipping, "And also  Philip's. These are his new plans. He is  quite adept at such things."
  "Then perhaps," said Tancred flatly, "I should  leave you here until he arrives to see to your  safety."
  Helena turned to face him quickly, hand  outstretched as though she expected to see him  walking toward the door.
  Tancred stood waiting for her. He smiled.  "Shall we go, princess?"
  Her eyes looked into his, questioning, then she too  smiled. "I am ready." She turned.  "Bardas? You have the horses?"
  "Everything is prepared, little one. The sooner  we get out of this vile place the better."
  "It is hideous. I did not know such places  existed in the city."
  "Neither does the emperor, evidently," said  Tancred.
  She looked at him surprised. "The emperor  knows everything about his city. Why do you say that?"
  The slight pride in her voice irritated  him. "Because he does nothing to help his poor  peasants. But then, I suppose he is too  busy to bother. Along with the nobility, he must  grow exhausted attending games, the circus,  hiring barbarians to fight his wars."
  She brushed past, and he walked beside her,  Bardas and a guard in the lead, two more guards in  back.
  "Of course life for the poor will change for the  better once your beloved Philip becomes  emperor," he told her.
  Helena raised her head. "I am glad you  think so. If you do your duties well, soldier,  perhaps I will ask him to hire you when that day comes.  You may drive our royal chariot as  bodyguard."
  She stopped at the door and looked at him with  an innocent smile.
  Tancred reached to open it and bowed her past.  Helena swept through and out into the street.
  On an impulse he swung her up into his  arms. "A Daughter of the Purple Belt must not  soil her golden slippers."
  "Put me down."
  
  It was dark, but by the rushed tone of her  voice he knew she flushed.
  "I am your humble and dedicated servant,  princess. How could I allow you to walk through the  filth as a common peasant?"
  He strode with her in mute silence down the  narrow alley. She felt good in his arms. "I  think you belong here," he said gravely.
  Her head turned sharply. "I beg your  pardon, Sir Knight!"
  "In my arms, madame, not amid the  squalor."
  They reached the horses and Bardas waited, his  eyes cool and hard when he saw Helena in  Tancred's arms. He held the reins, and when  Tancred set her onto her feet, Bardas  moved at once to step between them, holding her  stirrup so she could mount.
  She sat her horse well and looked to ride  even better.
  "It is good that you are able to ride," he stated  as he mounted Apollo with ease and turned the  reins. "It is a long journey to Antioch."
  "I am not going there," she countered, "but to my  castle to marry Philip."
  Tancred scanned her, ignoring the ever-watching  eyes of Bardas. "I can see why he marries  you--for the castle."
  "He does not! But for love."
  "The castle is of strategic importance  to Philip, but not to me."
  They rode forward at a smart trot with guards  riding in the lead and flank.
  "You already have a castle, remember?" she  mocked. "Unless you spoke only from your ego,"  she laughed. "I doubt there are castles in the  barbarian West. I suspect they are dirt  hovels."
  "Now, a galleon! Ah, that is quite another  thing to consider," he went on as though he did not  hear her. "I would easily marry a girl for a  ship."
  "A ship!" she repeated with surprise. "But  why?"
  His eyes taunted her. "Because I could sail  to Cathay, to Hind, to many such exotic places.  I could enjoy the peace of a cabin while I read  my cherished books and stayed free of her nagging for  several years at a time."
  She flipped her reins and rode ahead beside
  
Bardas.
               * * *
  When Tancred arrived at the harbor of the  Golden Horn he discovered that the Byzantine  navy under orders from the emperor was already engaged in  the monumental task of ferrying the crusader  armies across the Bosporus into Anatolia, also  called Asia Minor. Great contingents of ferried  knights and soldiers were making their camps on the  shore fifty miles from the first Moslem  fortress.
  Curious as always--for she was, he believed,  an intelligent woman--Helena rode up beside  him. "What is it? Are we too late?"
  "No, the foot soldiers tell me there still  remains a large section of the Normans on the  Golden Horn."
  "What about Walter of Sicily? Suppose  he sees you?"
  "You are concerned for me?"
  "I would not like to lose a good bodyguard," and  she rode back to Bardas.
  Tancred rode toward the tents, gazing  longingly at the ships in the background. He  half wished he might buy passage and sail  to the other side of the world, forgetting Mosul, and more.  He would not, of course. He could not respect  himself if he chose the easier path through life.
  She was right. He would need to carefully avoid  his uncle and cousins. Had Walter decided not  to come on the crusade?
  Wishful thinking, he told himself dryly.  Like starving wolves they now have my scent and will  stalk me to the bitter end.
  An hour later he rode back to where she and the  others waited out of sight.
  "I've secured private supplies and  hired a Levantine. The boat will take our  horses aboard. He will bring us to the other side  of the Bosporus tonight. In another day or two we  will reach the crusaders."
  That night under a clear sky with their horses  stored amidships, they slipped away from the  harbor and down the Golden Horn toward the  Bosporus.
  Helena stood alone and Tancred knew she  watched Constantinople recede into the distance,  moonlight glinting on the great domes of  Byzantine churches.
  "Do you grieve at the loss?"
  
  She had not heard his approach and now  turned her head at the sound of his quiet voice.  A wi/l smile touched her face, and he  watched the summer breeze play in her hair.
  "No, I think of my mother."
  "I would not hope too strongly," he told  her casually. "But it may be that I can help  Nicholas learn where she is. Once Hakeem  reports back to me from Antioch, we will both  know more of what to expect concerning our future."
  "Our future?" she asked, mistaking his  intention. "I did not know we shared one."
  "My mistake, princess. We do not. A  reason for which to give thanks." And he  deliberately left her there.
  He went to where the horses were tied and fed  Apollo and the others from a canvas bag of  apples that he had bought. He knew she was still  thinking about his remark and glanced in her direction,  amused. As he had guessed, she stood watching  him, and he imagined that she was puzzled over his  pretended indifference toward her. The more she  shielded her emotions with superior pride, the more  he would reject her. And if he knew anything  about her at all, his indifference baited her interest  in him.
  Being sought after by men who cared not for her but for her  beauty and position, she could not understand why he  behaved differently.
  He carelessly turned his back toward her,  lounging against the side of the boat, and bit into one  of the apples.
               * * *
  When they arrived on the other side of the  Bosporus in Anatolia, the morning sun was  hot and bright in the June sky. As they rode  into the crusader camp, Helena recognized the  flag, or rather, what Tancred had called a  gonfanon of Prince Bohemond. Other  feudal lords from Normandy had arrived, and as they  stood about, she noticed the same red crosses  sewn upon their garments. There were also more soldiers  who had recently arrived on Venetian ships,  and Helena saw the men gathering near the tent  headquarters receiving crosses to be sewn on.
  The size of the spreading camp amazed her. She  stared, shading her eyes as she rode slowly through the  compound between Tancred and Bardas.
  Bardas tugged on his flowing mustache and  quietly grumbled, "There are even more barbarians
  
here than with Duke Godfrey at the  town across the bridge. I hope Master  Nicholas was right in bringing you here."
  Though Helena did not question Nicholas's  decision, the sight before her was intimidating. As  far as her eye could see there were tents, horses,  donkeys, carts, wagons, and soldiers--  thousands of them. And, as Tancred had explained,  these men were not the half-starved and tattered mob of  deluded peasants who had followed Peter the  Hermit to their massacre, believing Christ marched  ahead of them to kill the infidels.
  These strong-belted knights wore iron-ringed  leather, while their chief pieces of armor were  kept polished and ready by what Tancred called  "esquires," the young lads in training to become  knights. She took in the magnificent Great  Horse, bred for war.
  "They are as important to the knight as his own  body," said Tancred, following her gaze. "The  horse is kept by a groom near the knight's  personal tent and fed and blessed with good foraging."  He added, glancing at her with an amused glint,  "They are treated better than their women."
  "I am most assured of that."
  "Each knight usually has six footmen who  fight beside him, guarding his horse, or in front  of him, hacking away at the enemy." He  gestured to another group. "These are the famous  archers. And over there--stone slingers. They claim  David as their mentor. Then there are foot  soldiers. They wield the halberd--an ax on  a long shaft that also includes a spearhead in its  arsenal, and others carry the morningstar--a heavy  iron ball studded with sharp spikes attached to a  handle with a chain."
  Helena gave him a side glance.
  "So you see, madame, you will be well  protected." He gestured to the tents of the  blacksmiths. Helena heard the ring of steel upon  anvils.
  "All these weapons and more are kept in  readiness," Tancred told her. "The vigil  never ends, in order to split an opponent in  twain, hack off a nose, or leave a skull  crushed."
  Helena could not tell by his smooth voice if  he were being cynical or deadly serious. "I am  profoundly impressed," she murmured.
  "You should be. The knights have every wish to kill the
  
Turk--and though told they are sent to do  so by heaven, they were not above looting a few  Christian towns along the route across Europe.  Many of them, especially the princes and nobles, are  out for gain--land, gold, especially new kingdoms  to rule, and of course, the great adventure."
  She gave him a wry glance. "I am  surprised you would admit this."
  "Why not?"
  "They are your kin, your national people."  "So are the Moors. Am I the crusaders'  liege? And anyway, it is not my cause to either  defend or condemn this expedition."
  She scanned him as he rode astride  Apollo, and believed he looked every inch the same  manner of knight as the rest of them. "Will you join  them, then?"
  He squinted toward the camel hills of the  East, growing ever nearer. "Not if I can avoid  it. I was against crusading from the beginning and I still  am, but that means nothing to them. They are anxious for  battle. Many of the knights and their esquires,  along with the common foot soldier, believe they  fight for Christ and His honor. They were told their  sins would be forgiven, that heaven would open for their immediate  entry if they went on crusade and fought under the  cross. Their swords were blessed before they  journeyed, and they are ready."
  She mused. "But you do not believe God has  called the Church to destroy unbelievers, even  to retake the most sacred Christian city of  all, Jerusalem."
  "How the bishops can believe that has me  puzzled."
  "Nicholas does not," she hastened.  "Because he understands the Scriptures better  than the common priests. And from what I have read,  the last words of Christ before His ascension were to bring  the message of hope and forgiveness to the uttermost  parts of the world."
  "And if they do not receive it?"
  "Then they do not receive, to their eternal loss. From  what I have read, it is for Christ to ride forth in  final judgment against His enemies and bring in His  earthly kingdom. The Church will not do it  by physical force, for the weapons are not carnal but  spiritual."
  "And you do not think He rides forth "spiritually"    to judge through the earthly sword of the crusaders?"
  Tancred looked at her as though he wondered
  
if her question were sincere. "If He  does, then we will never lose a battle. But  what of the evil done in His name when many of the  crusaders attacked the Jews as they came through  Europe? Even those with Peter the Hermit  looted and burned, though they denied it when  confronted with their guilt."
  "I believe you are right about the crusade," she  said quietly. "Though I have not thought much about it.  I have been too occupied with my own problems. I  fear there will be great loss of life between here and  Jerusalem."
  "Yes" was all he said.
  She shivered, considering.
  "I am glad you will not join them," she said after  a small interlude of silence.
  His blue-gray eyes held hers momentarily  before she looked about at the tents and soldiers.
  "I may have to," he replied tonelessly.  "There are times when a man finds himself caught up  in circumstances that he cannot avoid. To live, I  must battle. No matter what my convictions,  I have no wish to surrender my sword and die the  martyour's death beneath the scimitar." His smile  formed. "Who would save you from the embrace of  Kalid?"
  She turned her head away, brushing a dark  wisp of her hair from her cheek. "You will not need  to concern yourself for that. I will marry Philip  soon."
  "Will you?"
  She did not reply, for just then she looked  ahead toward Prince Bohemond's tent and said  with surprise, "Why--Philip is here." Her  breath caught with alarm. "And is that not Constantine  standing with him?"
  Tancred followed her gaze to the large tent  headquarters belonging to Bohemond with its  crimson flag staked proudly by the entrance.  Both Philip and Bishop Constantine stood  waiting for them. And with them, General Taticus,  commander of the small Byzantine force journeying with the  crusaders.
  "What is Constantine doing here?" she  whispered. "I wonder if Nicholas knows."
  "I am certain he does not. Nor has he  arrived yet. And when Nicholas does come, he  will do so as quietly as the falcon's wings."
  "Until he arrives, Philip will see to my  comfort. He will have a few servants and set up a
  
tent for me near his own."
  "He would naturally think first of ease and  comfort," came Tancred's bored voice. "I  hope he survives the long journey  to Jerusalem. There may be famine before we gaze  upon David's city."
  "He will survive! Have you forgotten Philip  too is a soldier?"
  "Forgotten Wieselburg? I make it my  cause to remember well. What of your safety?  Will he see to that also?"
  She looked at him coolly. "Why you dislike  him so is obvious."
  "Is it?"
  She flipped her reins and rode ahead,  Bardas in close pursuit, followed by the three  guards. Bardas glanced back at Tancred with a  scowl.
               * * *
  Tancred slowed Apollo to a stop and rested his  elbow on his saddle. He watched General  Taticus, a spy for the emperor, no doubt. It  would be his secret ambition to make sure that every  fortress taken from the Turks would be returned  to Byzantium. The crusader princes had hard    lessons to learn about outsmarting the emperor of the  Eastern Empire. Alexius had no notion of  surrendering past territory taken by the  Moslems. By now, the emperor would have spies  stationed at every outpost along the way, already trying  to make secret deals with the various petty  sultans and emirs to surrender to General  Taticus instead of the dreaded barbarian lords.
  Constantine was a far different matter. Like  Nicholas, Tancred believed that his presence  meant more than mere devotion to the rule of his  emperor, or even seeing his son Philip  claim the glory of any upcoming victories.  Just what did Constantine want or expect  to find on this arduous journey toward Jerusalem?
  One thing seemed certain: Helena had not yet  told him everything about her mother, Lady  Adrianna.
  He watched Philip leave the side of  General Taticus and come forward to assist  Helena down from her horse. They stood for a  brief moment, eyes holding, then Philip,  behaving as though she were only a friend, turned and  walked to Constantine, saying something to him.
  Astride Apollo, Tancred walked the
  
stallion toward the impressive gathering  of Byzantine officials beneath the canopy boasting  the flag showing the doubled-headed eagle looking west  and east. Since the days of greater Byzantium,  however, Constantinople had lost control over  territory in both directions.
  Philip left the platform under the canopy and  walked up beside Tancred's dusty horse. He  seemed as though he would quietly ask about  Nicholas, but Constantine joined them, ending the  opportunity.
  "You are surprised to see us, Captain  Redwan?" said Constantine with a thin smile. "I  forgot to inform you when last we met that Philip and  I have been chosen as the emperor's legates  to journey with General Taticus and his  Byzantine troop. We will travel with the  crusaders on the road to Antioch and  Jerusalem. I, however, will journey with Count  Raymond of Toulouse."
  Tancred looked at Philip, who appeared  tense. Had he come for Helena under the ruse of  working with General Taticus? Or was his mission a  genuine one for the emperor?
  "You have safely delivered Helena to our  care," said Philip. "Well done, Captain.  Any trouble along the way?"
  "Was I to expect it?" he asked  innocently. Nicholas had been right. Both  Constantine and Irene would have their private  soldiers hiding in the hills, ready to sweep  Helena away to Kalid should his son seek  to escape with her.
  Philip was silent, but Constantine's  hawklike face hardened. "There is always  danger. You can expect trouble from here  to Jerusalem."
  "I will be on guard, Bishop."  Constantine's eyes flickered. He walked  to his horse and mounted, turning to ride. "A  pity I have missed Nicholas. Does he not  ride with your Norman liege? Or has he  decided to trail behind like a weak shadow, darting behind  the desert rocks?"
  Tancred's expression showed nothing except a  military response. "Do you wish me to send a  rider for Nicholas?" he asked innocently.
  A flicker showed in his bold eyes. "There is  no need, Redwan. I am certain Nicholas  knows I am here among the crusaders. He will
  
find me at Count Raymond's army with  Bishop Adehemar when he chooses the moment."
  "Then you will be close at hand, no doubt."  Constantine's brief gaze ran over him.  "As a legate of the emperor I will always be  close to Philip. It is his responsibility  to make certain the rest of the princes keep their vow  to surrender all territory to the emperor."
  "With you here to aid him I am certain neither of you  will fail in your task, Bishop."
  Constantine's mouth twitched and Tancred  turned to Philip, who stood tensely. "With your  leave," and lifting a hand, he turned Apollo  to ride on.
               * * *
  Tancred stood near one of the pens that kept  several of Bohemond's Great Horses.  Apollo was kept separated from the others for they were  uneasy around him. Tancred was attending its  hoofs when a lone, distant whinny carried on the  east wind. He straightened, peering off into the  black night. As always, his weapons were at hand and  he was cautious.
  Nicholas arrived in the desert night like a  mirage, wearing a Norman-style coif of chain  mesh over his head and a short warrior's cloak.
  A good-humored smile showed on his rugged  tanned face, and he gestured to Apollo. "Do  you expect to join a Norman charge riding a  spoiled thoroughbred?"
  Apollo rolled his eyes and lifted his head as  though he understood the insult.
  "Do not mind him, Apollo," Tancred said.  "He forgets how we intend to ride circles  around them all--including his nag."
  Nicholas kneed his charger forward and leaned there,  resting his arm across the saddle, his black eyes  sparkling in the silvery moonlight, his white  teeth showing beneath the dark mustache.
  "I hear Constantine has been inquiring about  me."
  "Are you a phantom that you know and hear words when  you are not present? Maybe you have other spies  besides me," said Tancred.
  "Raymond informed me. I visited him before  riding here."
  "Did you see Constantine?"
  "No, but Raymond is burdened down with  having several of the emperor's spies traveling with  his army, besides Constantine. Where is Helena?"
  
  "She is safe. Her tent is among  the Byzantines. I've wondered why Constantine  has not spoken to Philip about transferring her  to his own entourage? There must be a reason why  he's left her unguarded so close to Philip.  Maybe," said Tancred thoughfully, "he has  reason to think Philip won't escape with her  to the castle after all?"
  Nicholas looked off into the starry night as the  wind gusted against them, warm and dry. "You think  Philip may be cooperating with him more than he's  told us? Perhaps. I'm beginning to think he may  also have spies reporting to him from inside  Nicaea."
  Tancred gave him an alert glance. "I  too have news from Nicaea. It concerns your  sister, Adrianna."
  "Ah! We shall talk in my tent--or am I  doomed to sleep among the scorpions and fleas?"
  "Your Byzantine blood shows. You retain a  fleshly desire for luxury. Yes, you have a  tent, a fine one at that. And I am not above  appreciation of comfort myself. While it stood  empty and waiting, I've taken advantage of  it. I will move my gear among the knights."
  "There is room for us both, and I wish you near  at hand. There is much to discuss." Nicholas  swung down from his charger and led it toward the pen where  food and water waited and two young peasant lads  dozed. They jumped to their feet when they saw the    bishop and hastened to greet him. "Christ be  praised, Lord Bishop!"
  "May He be praised indeed. Take care of  my charger-- I mean, my "nag,"" he said,  glancing surreptitiously at Tancred, and they  walked together into the camp that was bright with myriads of  campfires, the wind scattering the smoke across the  barren land.
               * * *
  Her spacious tent glowed with lantern light as  Helena paced across the floral Tabriz rug,  her lustrous dark hair undone and sweeping in  tresses down to her small waist. Hearing a  "scratching" sound on the entry flap, she wavered  and turned, eyes cautious. Surely Tancred  would not be so bold to come to her tent so late? She  had not spoken to him since their arrival days ago,  and she had wondered where he was. Anxious about  Nicholas, she had pressed Philip for  answers to her questions, but he claimed to be as much in
  
the dark as she. Bardas too had not been  able to tell her what Tancred was about--or was it that  he did not want to?
  She pushed aside the flap and silenced a start  of surprise when Nicholas grinned at her,  tossing the coif back from his thick black hair.
  "Do you have room for two renegades?" he  whispered.
  Two? She glanced past him and saw  Tancred.
  Swiftly she drew back the opening and  beckoned. "Hurry, I will lower the lantern.  They'll think I am asleep." She rushed  to turn down one of the lights. "How is it the  guards did not see you?"
  "Bardas diverted them. A clever Spartan."  She lowered the second lantern. "Philip  has my tent watched. He fears Constantine  has spies watching us, expecting us to try  to slip away to the castle."
  "Is that what he told you?" asked Tancred.  She looked at him, catching the veiled doubt  in his voice. "Yes, what other reason would he  have?"
  Tancred didn't explain and drew a  second curtain across the entrance to block their  shadows, then turned toward her. She noted that  he'd exchanged his Byzantine uniform for the rugged  leather of the Normans.
  She lowered herself to the rug opposite Uncle  Nicholas, ignoring Tancred but aware of his  presence.
  "Shall I call for Philip?" she asked her  uncle quietly. "If we discuss our  plans--"
  "Not yet, Madame," interrupted  Tancred's smooth voice, revealing nothing of his  motives. Helena thought she already knew them and  turned her eyes in his direction. He had  lifted a silver urn of fresh fruit that  Philip had sent her earlier and inspected the  lush produce, choosing a cluster of bright  purple grapes. He passed the urn  to Nicholas, who was smiling--as though entertained  by some though of his own--as he watched their response  to each other.
  "Tancred is right. Do not call him yet."  To have Nicholas agree so readily with  Tancred convinced Helena that the relationship between  them was closer than she had thought. Learning this could
  
have been disappointing, since she wished  Nicholas to show more approval of Philip. Her  uncle had not yet given his blessing on her  decision to marry Philip at the castle. In the  end, she expected his final approval, but it would  have pleased her had he been more enthusiastic. After  all, Philip was a relation, and she would expect  Nicholas to be proud of his important position  as minister of war.
  "You have news?" she asked quietly.  She watched him expectantly, but Nicholas  drew a dagger from inside a wrist sheath and began  to peel an orange, deep in thought.
  She stirred a little uneasily, not certain if  it was because of his sudden look of sobriety or the  dagger he so comfortably wore. She saw that it  bore an engraving of two crossed scimitars and  suspected the dagger had been given to him  by Tancred.
  "Do you have the drawing of Nicaea?" he asked  Tancred.
  Tancred caught up his satchel and joined them  on the carpet, handing his half-eaten cluster of  grapes to Nicholas. He removed a drawing,  and Helena lifted the lantern down to spread the  light.
  "As you know, Nicaea is a formidable walled  city," Nicholas told her. "Tancred has  been inside recently."
  The information surprised her, but she was beginning  to learn that she should never take Tancred for  granted.
  "With good reason. It now guards the main road  for the supply line for the Crusader armies.  To leave a strong Turkish garrison behind them would  be deadly."
  "So the princes have made plans to attack  Nicaea," Nicholas told her. "The news  is beneficial to our personal cause."
  "What have I to do with it?" she asked  uneasily.
  "I first hoped to speed you on your way to the  castle to Tancred's adoptive father,  Seigneur Rolf Redwan, a man of  lionlike abilities, but it is not possible  to bring you there yet. Constantine expected the move  and has soldiers posted. We must wait for the  opportune time." He looked at Tancred for  explanation. "And your discovery in Nicaea?"
  She saw the exchange of glances between them, then
  
Tancred turned to look at her.
  "The citadel is ruled by the Sultan,  Kilij Arslan," said Tancred. "You know him  as the Red Lion. Your mother was last seen riding with  him to Nicaea from Jerusalem."
  Stunned, she stared at him. Mother, in  Nicaea? So close at hand?
  "You are certain?" she whispered.  "My sources of information are reliable," said  Tancred quietly, "but I cannot promise she  is still in the citadel."
  My mother with the Red Lion of the Desert!  Nicholas reached a sympathetic hand as tears  welled in her eyes, despite her effort to hold  them back.
  "She must be there," she repeated again.  "If she is, we will find her," said  Nicholas.
  She was on the verge of telling him about  Constantine. Did he also know? She remembered  his cold warning. Should Constantine locate her mother  first, it was crucial that she not anger him  by unmasking his plans. At least, not yet.
  "You do not believe she is there now?" she asked  Tancred.
  "I do not know. I was told the Red Lion is  not there."
  "You are certain?"
  "No, but do not hope."
  "There is nothing left but hope."  Nicholas drummed his fingers on the carpet,  musing to himself. "I am remembering something. ...  When Alexius became emperor, he found it in  his interest to make a treaty with the Red Lion--or  was it his father?" He looked at Tancred for  help.
  "His father. Sulieman was caliph of all this  region, but he is dead. Since his death the  Moslem empire has broken into many warring  bands, each with a contesting emir. If the emperor  made a treaty, he did so with the Red Lion.  Why do you bring it up? Are you thinking of  Constantine and Philip?"
  "Yes, and if Nicaea is surrendered to the  Byzantines, the emperor has vowed in that treaty  to safeguard the family and wives of the Red  Lion. ..."
  "I see what you mean," said Tancred.  "But I do not!" whispered Helena.
  Tancred looked at her. "When the Red
  
Lion left Nicaea, he may have  arranged for safe passage of his family to a  secret place in Constantinople, according to the  treaty."
  Helena looked at them, her hands in balled  fists, thinking of Irene. She would hear of the  arrangement and find her mother. ...
  "Has Philip said anything about the treaty with the  Red Lion?" asked Tancred.
  "No, I'm certain he doesn't know."
  "I beg to differ, Madame, he knows as much  as we do, perhaps more."
  "Philip? How can you say so!"
  "He is minister of war, is he not?" came the  smooth reminder. "As such, he is the head of the  secret intelligence."
  She stared at him, confident he meant something  unflattering by his words but not certain what it  was. She looked at Nicholas and found him  lost in troubling conclusions of his own.
  She stood and walked away, icy fingers  gripping her heart. She guessed what Tancred  was hinting--that Philip might notify Irene of  Adrianna's presence in Constantinople. How  could Tancred even think he might?
  She stood there in emotional isolation, too many  thoughts bounding and leaping through her mind to grasp even  one of them for long. She sank slowly onto the  brocaded stool. My mother is in Nicaea,  she told herself. I will find her. God will hear  my prayers.

             CHAPTER 16
   Knights, Valor, and Courtly Love

  The gonfanons of the crusader princes tossed  in the Mediterranean wind as the four-day march  to Nicaea got underway. The knights rode their  Great Horses while soldiers with axes moved  out ahead to clear a road through the wooded area for the  wagons and the multitude of followers who  traversed on foot.
  The long, hot days brought them through the hills  fringed with pine and cypress trees, marking the  border of the present Byzantine Empire, and  toward Anatolia--the Seljuk kingdom of  Moslem Turks. After the city of Nicaea the  warriors would battle against Dorylaeum,  Antioch, Edessa, Tripoli, Damascus,  Tyre, Acre, Jaffa, Bethlehem, and finally
  
Jerusalem!
  Riding some distance behind Bohemond and his chief  knights was the small, elite Byzantine  entourage consisting of Philip and General  Taticus surrounded by a dozen Greek  soldiers.
  Helena rode between Tancred and Bardas, with  Nicholas a horse length ahead beside  Bohemond. Friars and monks walked nearby  carrying the church standard and their prized relics.
  Helena's horse had been rigged with a small  canopy of red silk with gold fringe, and as the day  wore into the afternoon and the wind grew still, she fanned  herself, wishing for a cooling breeze.
  "How much farther until we make camp?" she  inquired, directing her question to Philip, although  Tancred was nearer at hand as guard.
  Philip reined his horse back beside her as  Bardas made room by dropping a length behind.
  "Not weary already?" He smiled at her, then  beckoned a serving man to ride forward with  refreshment. The servant had been trained in the  emperor's assembly and he miraculously  balanced a gilded goblet while pouring from a  silver urn. Philip sipped first from its rim,  meeting her eyes then handing it to her.
  Helena smiled and raised the goblet, drinking from  where his lips had touched, and as she did, she found  herself compelled to glance toward Tancred. He  looked pointedly at the goblet, sparkling like a  multicolored nugget in the sun's rays.  Helena ignored him as he lifted his battered  waterskin from the saddle and quenched his thirst,  watching her. Once again she was reminded of the  immense differences between the two men. Had  Philip not ridden beside her she would have expected  some smooth but goading remark from Tancred about  Byzantine excess.
  As Helena topped the side of the rocky  ravines and their entourage was greeted by the  frontier of Asia Minor, she sucked in her  breath, startled by the sight.
  Decaying half-skeleton bodies in rotting  rags! Bones! Heaps upon heaps of rag-clad  bones! And they were grotesquely arranged  into fortlike enclosures!
  Her hand went to her throat. "Who--are they?  Who would mock the dead so?"
  Tancred was grim as he followed her  horrified gaze. "You are looking at the
  
pitiable remains of the peasant army under  Peter the Hermit. Take a long look and  consider. This was the first contingent of crusaders who  sallied forth with Deus vult on their  tongues."
  Helena looked at Philip for confirmation and  he wore a grave expression, staring at the  sight.
  "Why are they arranged--like that? Into forts? It's  revolting!"
  "The Moslems have a morbid sense of  humor," said Philip.
  Tancred glanced casually toward the hilly  horizon. "Undoubtedly they know of the advancing  crusader army under the princes and wish to encourage  us with this monument."
  She shuddered, recalling the shameful debacle  of months earlier under Peter the Hermit and his  misguided peasant mob. The restless and  undisciplined horde--arriving before the  legitimate armies of the feudal princes--had  refused to pay heed to the emperor's advice  to abide in the camp by the Bosporus. They had  crossed the waterway into Anatolia with little more  than mistaken religious zeal, believing Christ  would lead them to military victory. Tragically,  they had moved against the Seljuk Turks and were  horribly massacred. Except for some of the  women and children who were carried away as slaves,  all were dead.
  Helena sobered, thinking of her mother. She  too is a slave, perhaps to the Red Lion. A  shudder went through her, and Helena whispered a  prayer that their long journey would not be in vain.
               * * *
  "Nicaea hosted the first universal council  on the deity of Jesus Christ," Tancred  told Helena on the fourth day as they looked upon  the ancient citadel.
  Unwillingly, she looked at him--long and  hard--and tried to resist the strong pull she felt  that seemed to draw her toward him emotionally,  physically, and now, spiritually.
  She was curious about his faith, and the moment offered  a choice opportunity, one free of danger as  they rode along, the fringe on her canopy swinging  with the horse's rhythm.
  "I am surprised you would know. Bardas has  seen you reading the Koran, devotedly."
  "Devotedly? That is his interpretation. I do
  
not call study a devotion, but a  process of learning the vast differences between  Christianity and Islam." Tancred reached  into his satchel and removed two books: a  leather-bound New Testament and the Koran.
  "My grandfather gave this to me when I fled  Palermo. "Take it with you and you take  wisdom," he told me. I could not admit  to him then that my heart asked questions for which no one  gave me answers. I felt a need to search for  truth. I already knew the Koran ... but I  wanted to know more about the Bible. At Monte  Casino I studied Christ under Nicholas. The  school was the only place where there were complete  copies of both Old and New Testaments. ...  Hebrew I could not read for myself, but I was  taught Greek by Nicholas and Latin at the  medical school, and I speak Arabic  fluently, so there was opportunity given me that  has not come to all."
  He placed the Koran back into the satchel and  handed her the New Testament. "Nicholas  presented this to me at the Norman camp. Take  a look. He did the copy work himself."
  Helena's fingers accidentally brushed  Tancred's as she reached for the Scriptures,  and for a moment he held her hand before letting go. She  could not tell if the move were deliberate or not and  did not meet his eyes. She held the New  Testament tightly, awed by the fact that Nicholas  had gone to such profound work in preparing this  masterpiece for Tancred. It not only spoke  well of her uncle, but also revealed his thoughts  toward Tancred. The work must have been several  years in the making, and she found her heart stirred.
  "So that is why you read the Koran--to compare with the  words of God," she stated quietly.
  "I knew that one day I would study the Bible for  myself wherever my travels took me in life, not  just sitting in a darkened cloister with the ancient  manuscripts consigned to the church vaults.  Nicholas has made it possible--or I should  say, God heard my heart's longing."
  Tancred paused for a moment, deep in thought.  "Ultimate truth is not locked away in
Rome, nor in Mecca or Medina--nor yet  Jerusalem, but in having access to the Word of  God itself. The truth of His Word now shines upon  my path, and while I may stumble because of my inner  weakness, my upbringing, my culture--I know that
  
I am known of God.
  "My grandfather gave me the Koran, and I  expect one day to use it to show him the truth. If  I threw it away--he would never respect me enough  to listen to me. In winning him, I must never insult  him, but honor him and show unlimited patience.  For me, that will be hard to do. I am not ready yet.  One day, perhaps I will be."
  Helena was touched by his honesty. He had  opened a door to reveal his soul, his spiritual quest  and deep longings. She felt respected by him because  he did so, but something else was ignited within her  own heart. Helena fingered the pages, her eyes  skimming the Greek she knew so well, mulling  over what Tancred had said. Her soul burned  with a fervency that expanded far beyond the physical to a  spiritual oneness she had never shared with Philip. It  kindled a desire far deeper--and mingled with the  physical attraction she had long felt for  Tancred.
  She remained silent, staring at the Testament in  her hand as her horse trotted along, the  sunlight glinting on its auburn mane.  Apollo, his black mane gleaming, his strong  neck sprinkled with sweat, seemed to nudge  closer to her mare, tossing his head  provocatively.
  Helena read the words inscribed in fine gold  lettering:
  For Tancred Jehan Redwan, my son in  the common faith.
  Nicholas Lysander, Bishop at Monte  Casino. A.d. 1097.
  "Nicaea," said Tancred easily, "is  rich with history, much of it Christian."
  "The Nicaean Council?"
  "You know of it?"
  She smiled. "Again, it was Nicholas. He  taught us when we were children at the villa."
  He seemed curious, glancing toward  Philip, who rode ahead in conversation with  General Taticus. "By "we," do you mean  Philip?"
  "Yes, and Zoe--a cousin. You met her?"  "I remember her."
  Helena cast him a glance, but he was replacing  the Testament back into his satchel.
  "Philip had his own interpretations of  Christianity," she said, masking her voice.  "I suppose he's adopted the Arian
  
belief."
  "Arian?"
  She suspected he already knew but found it  to his entertainment to hear her expound on the  religious subject. Well, if he thought her  unlearned about such things--
  "At the time of Emperor Constantine there was  heated controversy going on in Alexandria, the  largest city in Egypt and the center of Christian  theological development."
  "Egypt? I am surprised!"
  She did not believe him and fanned herself as they  rode along, staring straight ahead at Nicaea.  "The church in North Africa was the center of  theology at the time. The controversy was a serious  one--it centered around the person of Jesus  Christ. Was He God, or was He not? Two  churchmen who opposed each other on what the  Scriptures taught were Arius and  Athanasius.
  "To put it most simply for barbarian understanding,  Arians believed that God was supreme, but  Jesus, while the greatest of all "created"  beings, was inferior to God. The Athanasians  taught the truth of Scripture: God,  Jesus, and the Holy Spirit are equal members  of the Trinity--a Latin word meaning one in three."
  "And Emperor Constantine settled the matter  by calling for a church council at Nicaea?"  Tancred asked innocently.
  "He himself presided over it. Bishops were  called from all parts of the empire, and they concluded  the Bible taught that Jesus Christ was indeed the  God of all ages, a member of the Trinity.  And the doctrine officially became the view of the  universal church."
  "You are wiser than I thought--for a woman."  She looked at him. He wore a faint  smile.
  "For a woman?"
  He lifted an indifferent hand. "Islam  implies women are spiritually inferior."
  Helena looked straight ahead.
  "You were made to produce sons," he said.  "Indeed?"
  "And to please in the bedchamber."  Her eyes narrowed and turned to his.
  He smiled. "Also, to please over the cooking  fire."
  "Anything else?" she inquired coolly.
  
  "No, that will suffice." He leaned and  gave Apollo a good pat on his neck. He  looked at her. "In some places in the East,  as a follower of Islam, a man would be willing  to pay more for this excellent specimen than for a  woman. But," he said airily, "a woman is  permitted into paradise if her husband agrees and  wishes to be bothered with her. Then again--the Koran  pictures paradise as a man's delight with many  beautiful women pouring wine and keeping his wants  satisfied. Why should he bother with a wife who  nags and has grown old and fat?"
  Tancred's warm blue-gray eyes scanned  her. "Kalid expects you to keep him happy."
  Helena sucked in her breath.
  "Nicaea has important Christian  history," he said smoothly, changing the  subject. "And the Church believes it has the right  to redeem it from the rule of Islam. Nicaea was  once also a Roman stronghold. See that  masonry wall?"
  Helena was still fuming over his earlier comments.  "It was built by Rome," he said. "It's  miles long and over six feet thick. And the  crusaders will have a difficult time tunneling through,  if that is their ambition. I've looked at it when  visiting with Hakeem. It's been hardened  to impregnable stone under the heat of the desert sun."
  Her heart was quickened as she contemplated a  hope that even now her mother might wait somewhere  inside its walls. "And my mother may be there,"  she whispered. "Oh, Tancred, do you think she  is?"
  "If I had only known about her when I  visited," he said quietly.
  She stared intently at the walls. Had she  heard about the coming crusaders? Did she pray for  their success? Perhaps she was gazing out the palace  window watching the dust trail rising from the tramping  of horses and soldiers. Perhaps she heard the  slave girls whispering excitedly of the warriors  who came from the distant barbarian West.
  Philip rode back beside Tancred, gesturing  ahead to the city-fortress that was built on the  shores of Lake Ascania, with much of its thick  wall facing the water. "The gates are all shut  up tight against us. The siege will be a long one."
  Helena noticed the expression on  Tancred's face and believed him suspicious of  Philip's presence among the crusaders. Why
  
had he come? Was it to seek a way for their  escape to the Castle of Hohms undetected  by Irene and Constantine's spies, or to deliver  Nicaea to the emperor? She had to admit that thus  far on the tiring journey Philip had been more  interested in military matters than in discussing  their upcoming marriage at the castle.
  "I suppose a long siege is what your  emperor wishes," said Tancred.
  Philip's proud dark head turned sharply.  "The emperor wishes success for the crusaders."
  Tancred toyed with the reins, his every movement  suggesting he rejected his glib words. "Then it will  take more than battering rams to break down the  walls." He gestured. "Adjacent to the lake  there is a forty-foot moat encircling the walls.  We need more from the emperor than his good wishes.  The princes will need Byzantine weapons. Will you  supply them? You are the minister of war."
  Something flickered within Philip's eyes. "Do  you doubt my sincerity? They have but to ask. Am I  at fault because their western ego restrains them?  If they wish to camp here till the end of summer,  it is their decision, not mine."
  "Which makes the delay all the more convenient."  Philip remained undaunted, his dark eyes  cool and scornful as he gazed off toward the  walls and moat. "The crusaders are not concerned.  They already speak of filling in the moat."
  Helena considered, glancing at Tancred  to judge his response--but he did appear to share  his confidence.
  "It is useless to even think of scaling a double  wall of defense," came his restrained but  impatient voice. "Look at the positions of the  projected towers. They make for deadly  crossfire. With the Seljuk bowmen and their engines  of stone-casters, they can easily defend the  walls. We could be here for months."
  Months! Again, Helena gazed upon what must have  been hundreds of towers built with embrasures  to defend the open ground.
  "Nevertheless, siege is the sensible approach,"  said Philip stiffly.
  "For the emperor? Certainly not for the army.  Among the peasants and foot soldiers there is  even now scarcity of wheat to make bread."
  Helena thought uncomfortably of the abundance of  delicacies that Philip had brought for themselves and the  Byzantine delegation under General Taticus.
  
No wonder Tancred had glanced  mockingly at the splendid goblet. She heard him  contesting Philip: "What good will a siege do us?  Without boats, can we cut off supplies from being  smuggled into the back gates facing the lake?"
  "Smugglers?"
  "Even the most unmilitary minded among us can  guess how the Turks will continue to supply the  city with food under our very noses," he said,  bored.
  "We have no proof."
  "Last night, knowing we neared the city, I  rode ahead. On the bank I boldly watched  as the Red Lion sent boats carrying food  supplies to the gate towers along the wall facing  Lake Ascania."
  Philip's handsome face was scornful as he  reined in his sprightly horse to keep prance with  Apollo. "Until this hour their pride is  unwilling to take my presence seriously. I  suggest you convince the barbarians to cooperate with  me. Unless they wish to fight with naught but sticks  and stones."
  "It is to the benefit of the Moslems and  Byzantium to maintain a long siege. If I  convince the princes to appeal for siege weapons,  are you and Constantine prepared to send  to Constantinople for them?"
  Philip's eyes flashed. "Do you suggest the  emperor wishes the crusaders' defeat? For the  Moslems to maintain their stranglehold on  Nicaea? That is absurd."
  "Perhaps nothing is absurd in Byzantine  intrigue. I do more than suggest, I ask  bluntly--does your emperor have plans to take  the city? His own purpose may not require the  same haste as the crusaders', since his table is  well supplied with meat and wine, while the monks  and the peasants who walk on foot become  gaunt."
  Philip's nostrils flared and his knuckles  showed white as his grip tightened on his reins.
  Helena glanced from one man to the other.  Philip gave him a cold appraisal, then  turned his horse. "I will see that your emaciated  monks have meat." And as he rode ahead,  Helena's eyes followed him to the side of  General Taticus.
  "You enjoy goading him," she chided.  Tancred looked at her with faint surprise.
  Her brows drew together as she studied  him. "Philip did attend military training  at a Greek school. But you scorn his  expertise as though it belongs to a student."
  "Maybe. He needs to be reminded. His  pride is an obstacle."
  "And you, Sir Knight, are not what I would  call humble!"
  "And will you always be the mother hen rushing to defend your  chick?" His mouth turned. "Fear not--your  emperor has arranged for his victory. And if  not, you can be certain Constantine and Irene have done  so."
  "What do you mean, .his victory? Is it not  to the benefit of the crusaders that Nicaea fall?"
  "It is. And they will not be pleased to turn over  their spoils to Philip. It will be their soldiers  who die to win the victory."
               * * *
  It was late June, and the weeks wore on.  The morning was warm and turning desperately hot  beneath the eastern sun in the long valley surrounded  by ridges of distant scrub pine. Nicaea, with  its yellowing walls, was well under siege. The  princes with their armies, each bearing their own  gonfanon, had set up siege lines against the  citadel, whose gates were shut and barred.
  Tancred mounted Apollo, and with Nicholas,  they rode from the Norman's sector and took the  dusty, rutted road in the direction from which Count  Raymond of Toulouse was expected to arrive  shortly from the court of Constantinople.
  Much to his irritation, a fellow knight named  Erich who rode with them continued his habit of making  up riddle songs and sharing them loudly with a thankless  but captive audience.

... her hair so gold,  she wept when I left  with my sword so bold--

  "You should have been a troubadour," Tancred  interrupted. "On second thought, they wouldn't have  you. Can you not do better than that? "Sword so  bold"!"
  Nicholas chuckled, but the young knight scowled  at Tancred. "I suppose you could do better,  Redwan?"
  "If you don't keep your eyes open you may  need your sword to be bold. Are you certain you  saw a foraging party of Turks near  here?"
  "Am I dimwitted and blind? I saw them. More  than a dozen infidels prowling about on  horseback. I have never seen more odd-looking  fellows."
  "You will see a good deal many more before you reach  Jerusalem."
  "These have vanished," said Nicholas. "We  best ride back."
  Erich's pride was wounded. "With your leave,  Bishop Nicholas, I will ride to the south and  see if I can find their trail."
  "And lose your head if they come upon you," warned  Tancred.
  But Nicholas lifted a hand. "Let him go.  We will ride east. If there are Turks spying  out our defenses, Bohemond wishes to know."
  "They are about," said Tancred. His past  experience made him cautious. "They will    eventually wish to test our fighting abilities  to discover if we are as weak as the peasants under the  Hermit."
  The knight named Erich gave a smirk and  rode ahead, determined to prove he was not  imagining things. Tancred reluctantly followed  Nicholas on a rutted road into a field.
  They rode for a distance in silence, the sun  becoming hotter as it climbed. Nicholas  gestured to a tree and they stopped beneath its  branches for reprieve from the sun. Tancred  shaded his eyes.
  "The camp of Count Raymond is ahead."  The blue gonfanon of Toulouse fluttered  proudly. Behind the siege lines where there was a  measure of safety, horses and pack animals  grazed contentedly, and children were busy filling water  jugs as women attended tables. The sight of  women, children, and even the aged and sick among the  crusaders disturbed Tancred. Many of them had  brought along their entire families and belongings--  a declaration that they had no intention of returning  to Europe and relinquishing any territory taken  in the war. One of those determined not to return  to Europe was Count Raymond.
  "He swore an oath never again to set foot  on western soil," Nicholas told him. "He  has brought his wife, his child, his riches, and I  think he has a secret desire to rule  Antioch or Jerusalem."
  "He will need to contend with Bohemond when it  comes to Antioch."
  As they rested in the shade of a cypress  grove, which proved to be a Moslem cemetery,  an old monk from Raymond's camp sat on a  gravestone unawares.
  "A delightful morning," said the old one  to Tancred and Nicholas.
  Tancred cautiously scanned the wooded  heights near the road. "Think so?" he breathed.
  The monk eyed Tancred curiously. "Ah,  a very well-equipped warrior. You are no foot  soldier, and you look more than a knight."
  Tancred looked down at him, smiling. He  nodded to the gravestone. "The bones of the Moslem  are so insulted at your presence the ground rumbles  beneath you."
  Nicholas smiled as the monk stood at once  and shook his robe as though contacting some  uncleanness. He looked down at the stone and  squinted, seeing what it was for the first time, then up
  
at Tancred with a strange expression.  "Did you hear voices?"
  Tancred tensed, glancing from the monk toward the  hills. "Yes ... but not of the dead."
  Distant cries! Tancred saw lines of  Moslem horsemen emerging from the wooded heights  and trotting in a warlike stance toward Count  Raymond's camp. At the same time, Erich  charged his horse madly in their direction shouting,  "Infidels!"
  Nicholas drew the horn on his saddle and  sounded an alarm that rolled across the camp of Count  Raymond. The knights rushed from their tents  to stare.
  Tancred looked in the direction of the  Moslems. In the rolling dust clouds the  Seljuk cavalry approached with swinging  scimitars, their short bows loaded and ready.  Yelping shouts of "Allah il-Allahu!
Allah il-Allah!" broke through the hot afternoon.  Tancred believed they were the advance of a stronger  cavalry under the Red Lion, who intended to break  the siege.
  "There rides Raymond," said Nicholas.  "To the battle, Tancred!"
  "Sire," the old monk shouted as Count  Raymond rode forth with his chief knights.  "God aid thee!"
  Tancred unsheathed his sword and rode beside  Nicholas to join Count Raymond, the crusader  cross blaring red and bold on the standard.
  The Moslems rushed forward intending to throw the  camp inffconfusion. They were halfway to the camp when  Tancred rode to meet them, Nicholas at his  left and Erich beside him. The knights under  Raymond scrambled for their weapons and horses  and were soon in the field without armor or saddle.  The foot soldiers stumbled forward in their haste  to reach their captains and protect the chief knight  and their Great Horses.
  The Great Horses of the knights were a force  unmatched in an all-out charge. They gathered  speed, the dirt flying, their armor glinting like  flashes of silver as they rode toward the open  field of battle. Among the shouts of fury,  swords and battle maces struck and the Turks  fell from their horses under the crushing hoofs of the  Great Horses.
  Tancred's sword struck a blow against the  light shield of his attacker, cutting through it and
  
leaving him defenseless. Tancred  followed with a heavy blow that slashed through the  Turk's chest. The long swords of the knights  swung above their heads, gathering force and crashing  down upon heads and hacking the warriors  into pieces.
  The Moslems, surprised by such strong  resistance, retreated back toward the hills.
  "We have beaten them," yelled Erich  jubilantly.
  "Do not underestimate them," warned Tancred.  "They wished only to test your skills. They will  return."
  Word of the earlier attack brought groups of  knights from the other feudal lords who rallied  to Raymond's blue standard. By early afternoon, as  Tancred had said, the Moslems gathered again on  the ridge, this time quiet and sober, weapons  ready.
  "Hold your line!" shouted Count Raymond,  riding before his knights.
  The Turkish horsemen rushed straight forward,  scimitars swinging, the name of Allah on the wind.
  "Christ be praised!" shouted Bishop  Adehemar beside Count Raymond.
  The priests shouted, raising the cross. "There  is no God but the Living God, Father of our  Lord and Savior Jesus Christ!"
  Tancred drew his sword and entered the battle  with Nicholas, dust flying, shouts and opposing  screams smothering the afternoon.
  The two opposing forces struck with equal  religious fury, swords halting scimitars;  scimitars slashing through the line of knights to behead  the priests who ran into the battle armed with nothing  but the cross they clutched. Tancred battled  to protect them, angry at the scene and compelled  to make a stand.
  With savage determination they fought--pain,  blood, and screams of death filling their ears. As  suddenly as the attack came, it broke. Again,  to the bewilderment of the Moslems, the western  Christian knights held fast. There would be no  heaps of bodies left to rot in the sun as the  peasants under the Hermit had been left.
  The knights briefly rested as the monks and  even women and children rushed to them with buckets of  water. The priests knelt in the dust, praying and  evoking the sign of the cross. The wounded were carried  back to the tents, and new foot soldiers ran
  
to take their positions to guard the Great  Horses.
  The Moslems also regrouped and struck for the  third time with their green standards bearing the crossed  scimitars. The Moslems withdrew, only  to close in again, yelping praises to Allah,  followed by a barrage of arrows from the Turkish  short bow, whizzed from behind round shields.
  The field was now soaked with blood of  Christian and Moslem, and dead and wounded  littered the ground. Friars ran to the dying  knights to pray but fell under the deadly arrows before  reaching them. Priests crawled with their last breath  toward the weeping knights crying out for forgiveness  where their wounded horses had fallen.
  Tancred looked about for Nicholas; he had  lost sight of him in the battle. Nor did he  see Erich. But as he turned in his saddle he  felt an arrow strike his helmet, and for a moment  he was stunned, but the famed steel held, saving his  life. Caught off guard, he could not respond  to the Seljuk rider who charged past him, his  scimitar tearing through the links of his chain mesh,  leaving Tancred wounded and bleeding. Nicholas  emerged from the dust, his heavy charger bearing down, his  Norman long blade hacking into the enemy's round  shield and knocking him with great force from his lean  horse.
  "Ride back, Tancred!"
  But again the battle broke with both sides  thundering forward and he had no time.
  The Seljuk cavalry, unable to scatter the  knights, rode back toward the hills, and the  crusaders shouted their victory as Count  Raymond and Bishop Adehemar led in  pursuit until the last rays of the setting sun  slipped behind the horizon.
               * * *
  Tancred awoke to find himself resting on  blankets in a quiet tent in the company of a  familiar young woman named Adele, whom he had  first met in Bohemond's camp. He had no  notion how he had come to be brought to her tent and  assumed that he was in the camp of Count  Raymond. Her gold braids were wound about her  head and her blue eyes watched him gravely.  She handed him a flask of water.
  "Do not be weary, brave knight. You shall  prevail mightily."
  Norman women took great pleasure in the
  
knightly abilities of their men. He  wanted to smile his irony but did not, and reached a  hand to his wound and found that it had already been  attended.
  "Your words cheer me, Adele. You are sure  of this?"
  She looked gravely puzzled that he would question  her statement. "Seigneur?"
  "I am a knight who moans and groans,"  he said as he struggled to an elbow, wincing, for he  knew that there was romance on her mind, and he wished  to discourage her infatuation with his bravery as a  knight.
  "As you can see, I am no champion. And so  ... I should like to know who brought me to your tent?"
  Her eyes fixed upon him with awestruck  devotion. "You are surely wrong, Count  Redwan. My uncle has told me how brave  and valiant you are. And Nicholas firmly  agrees."
  He did not need Nicholas sounding his  praises before starstruck young women. "He did,  did he? And just where is Bishop Nicholas?  Or has he left me here as an invalid to be  cared for by you?"
  "Nicholas is with Count Raymond asking  questions about the Byzantine bishop named Constantine.  It seems he has disappeared."
  "Not dead, I hope?" he asked flatly.  "No. He broke tent and with his dozen guards  rode away."
  The news was disturbing. "He has left?"  "Yes, a day before the battle. No one knows  where."
  Had he returned to Constantinople having  become weary with the siege? Tancred suspected  otherwise--he may have gotten inside Nicaea  by the help of officials loyal to the Red Lion.
  "There is no Norman knight as worthy as  you," she murmured, leaning toward him, and he  felt her hand move to his bare shoulder.
  His eyes flickered across her face to her  full, rounded mouth. "And ... what would Bishop  Adehemar do if he knew his niece was rubbing the  shoulder of an assassin wanted in Sicily?"
  She pulled away, shocked into sobriety.  "There is no more unworthy knight than I,  except Erich. And I advise you not to try  to rub his back. He is more cooperative than  I. And I would like you to send for him--we need
  
to talk."
  "I have met Erich. I do not see how he is  unworthy. He was very gallant and rescued me  at the field. He is the one who brought you here  at Bishop Adehemar's orders. And as for  you--your smile tells me you are no villain."
  "I cannot help my smile." Tancred tried  to sit up. "I am a villain." He held her  away. "Madame, you do sorely try me. Where  is your father?"
  "I have no mother or father."
  "I was afraid of that," he murmured.  "You spoke, seigneur?"
  "My tunic," he said gesturing. "And my  armor--I have no time to rest here."
  She placed her palms on his shoulders and  pushed him back, smiling. "You must rest, my  count. I am Adele, remember?"
  "I remember well."
  "I met you in the Norman camp. Bishop  Adehemar is a relative." She smiled.  "So, shall I also have Adehemar come and see you  here?"
  Tancred visualized the stalwart  warrior-bishop coming to unwanted conclusions about his  relationship with Adele, and so when she started  to jump to her feet, he caught her wrist, wincing  weakly from pain as his shoulder moved. "Wait.  Please."
  She looked at him curiously. He added  wryly, "He will not come. He is too busy out  hunting Turkish heads. We will wait."
  "Do not grow despondent," she said, mistaking  his cynicism for regret that he was not out doing the  same. "You too will soon be better again, and  chasing infidel heads. You are very strong," she  murmured, scanning his chest.
  Tancred fell back against the pillow.  Outside, he heard horses carrying singing  knights arriving back at the camp after their first  victory over the Turks. Erich came in as  proud and arrogant as a young cock, singing the song  of Raymond.
  "Spare me your wretched singing. You sound like a  mule with an aching throat."
  The girl threw her hands over her mouth and  giggled silently, but Erich was undaunted. "The  infidels have run away," he boasted.
  Tancred corrected, "They always scatter, but  they will regroup and return to fight you all the way
  
to Jerusalem, being joined by others who are  not as weary as we. They have the advantage of  fresh soldiers, and we fight in a land they know  far better than we."
  "Your Moorish blood tells. Nay, they  fled like feeble rabbits below a circling hawk.  We took a prisoner. He says that the Red  Lion has sent word to his garrison in  Nicaea that he cannot aid them from without. And so the  knights sing."
  The news was interesting, and as Tancred considered  it, Erich turned his complete attention on  Adele, something he did very well.
  "I am glad you are cheered," said Tancred,  reading his smitten expression. "I am not. Hand  me my tunic. The Red Lion may have learned  the manner of warrior they are up against, but he is  no fool. And," he concluded, "the walls of the  city still stand."
  "Not for long. The city has been encouraged  to surrender."
  When Tancred's eyes questioned him, Erich added  with a toothy smile, "We catapulted some  infidel heads over the walls and pinned others before  the gate. They will see them in the morning."
               * * *
  As Tancred prepared to ride back  to Bohemond's camp in the morning, nothing moved  but the warm wind against the tent. The sound of a horse  was followed by a low voice asking questions of Erich.
  Alert, Tancred raised himself to an elbow and  looked toward the tent opening, reaching for his  weapons. The flap pushed back and Helena  entered wearing a hooded riding cloak. She threw  it back revealing intricately worked dark  clusters of curls woven with golden cloth. Her  luminous spicy brown eyes glanced about.
  "I heard you were wounded and ..." She stopped,  the words trailing off into silence as her eyes fell  on Adele, who stood up from beside Tancred's  bed.
  The two women stared at each other. Tancred  leisurely weighed their expressions. Adele  looked bold and confident, hands on hips as she  took Helena in from head to toe. But it was  Helena whom Tancred watched with concealed  satisfaction. He managed to keep from smiling  at her expression as she stared at Adele. A  faint color warmed Helena's lovely  features. Her mouth tightened and her shock
  
swiftly altered inffconfusion. Her eyes  rushed to his.
  Tancred held her gaze until with  satisfaction he saw what he was searching for.  Those eyes that could send his heart pounding betrayed the  jealous anger she felt over finding him in the care  of Adele.
  This, I must drag out. ... He pretended  to reach for the waterskin and fail, as though too weak  from his injury. As he expected, Adele rushed  to bring it to him, kneeling beside the bed.
  "Water, seigneur?" she asked swiftly.  "I die of thirst, damsel. Are you real,  or do I envision an angel?"
  Adele blushed and Tancred acted too weak  to lift his head. She slipped a hand beneath his head  and brought the skin to his mouth, her arms wrapped  about him. He drank, watching Helena through his  lashes.
  She stood staring, eyes flickering over them  both.
  "Did you come to seek Nicholas?" he asked  a moment later, resting his head against Adele's  arm.
  Helena faltered, then stepped backward.  "No, I thought--I mean, I was mistaken,  Sir Knight. When news reached the camp of the  battle, someone said you were gravely injured and I  thought you might need help. I see you have all that  you need, and more."
  Adele looked at her evenly. Tancred  affected sobriety. "Your generosity is  appreciated, madame. It is not often a    barbarian can expect a Byzantine Daughter  of the Purple Belt to grace his humble tent, but  as you see, her hands well attend me," he said  of Adele.
  "Yes, so I see!"
  "This is Adele," he said. "A Norman  woman. Adele, this is Lady Helena, a  Byzantine."
  The two women exchanged appraisals, and  Helena stood as though she expected Adele  to acknowledge a lesser position and leave the tent,  but she did not and turned her back to make certain  Tancred's wound was clean and covered.
  Helena glanced about; then with a flicker of pain  in her eyes she turned to leave.
  It has gone far enough. Tancred suddenly  appeared to regain his waning strength and, pushing
  
Adele aside, managed to get to his  feet, though needing to steady himself on a pole.
  "Wait, Helena. I intend to return to the  Norman camp with you and Nicholas."
  He snatched his tunic and slipped it on over  his muscled chest, wincing as he did. Adele  watched boldly, but Helena rushed through the tent  flap and into the night.
  Tancred caught up his weapons and did not  respond to Adele, who took hold of his arm,  her eyes searching his.
  "Let her go, seigneur. She is not the  manner of woman to please you."
  "I am in service to the Byzantine minister of  war. If Nicholas comes searching for me, tell  him I have returned with Helena."
  Adele's hand dropped with resignation.  Outside, the warm wind came against him and  stirred his hair pleasantly. A thousand stars  illuminated the black heavens, writing a new  message of desire upon his heart. He saw that  Helena had reached her horse and was prepared  to mount and ride.
  A quick glance told him that Bardas had not  accompanied her. She had come to him alone.  Tancred strode ahead, catching her wrist and  pulling her back around to face him. "Helena, you    cannot ride back alone. It is dangerous. There  are soldiers everywhere."
  She shook his hand free and stepped back, then  whipped about, placing her foot into the stirrup and  mounting with the air of a princess. She snatched her  reins, then looked down at him, her eyes hot  and bright. "Return to your Norman woman.  Does she not wait with adoring breath?"
  Helena turned to ride, but he caught and  jerked the reins from her grasp, holding her mount  steady. "For a woman who insists she is in love  with Philip, you behave strangely. You show me  the raw sparks of jealousy, madame. And I like  it. It shows in your eyes, in the lovely warmth of  your cheeks. Get down."
  "Cretin," she hissed. "Nay."
  "Get down. Look at you, you are  trembling."
  Helena tried to lash him with the reins. "I am  not. Jealous? Such presumption. I ... I  came out of Christian charity. And, Philip and  I will yet need you to bring us safely to the  castle." She took him in. "You need anything
  
but consoling, lounging about without cloth  to cover your chest. It was revolting."
  She tugged at the reins. "I see you are  well enough to live, Sir Knight, so--with your  leave."
  He held them firmly, irritated, considering  hauling her down and taking her into his arms. The  moonlight fell on the Byzantine cross she  wore around her neck and the rubies glimmered like  blood. As though rebuked by heaven, he looked  at the cross again, then at Helena. Her face  was pale in the moonlight and he noticed the  anxiety in her eyes for the first time. It struck  him then that she was more overcome than he had  realized.
  She tugged violently, the sound of tears in her  voice, tears of fright. "Turn loose my  reins or I shall scream for Nicholas."
  Tancred sobered. "You will indeed need to do so,  because I will not permit you to ride alone through camp.  Relax, madame. Now," he said quietly,  "please dismount, or will I need to lift you down?"
  She grew suddenly still, but he could see her  breath came rapidly. The moments slipped  away, then she smiled unpleasantly. "Your  company is forced upon me. I do not wish it."
  Her words stung and prompted a gritted  retort. "Don't you? Your insult makes me  want to prove you wrong. But I will not. I have  too much respect for the One we both adhere to.  I would not breach His laws. I will wait until  you wish to bestow it."
  "You will wait until your hair is gray and  your muscles turn to fat."
  A sardonic smile touched his mouth. "Your  words are discouraging indeed."
  She turned her head away.
  Tancred studied her, and against his will saw her  lovely in the starlight, the contour of her face  soft and sweetly alluring, the wind tossing her  dark tresses like silken strands. An ache raged  through his heart, but it turned to frustration.
  "The high princess Helena!"
  She said nothing, her hands clutched in her lap,  one lone tear slipping down her cheek.
  "When will you be honest enough to look at your heart?"  he asked.
  Helena looked straight ahead. "Very well.  You insist on backing me into a corner. Have your  way. I will wait for you to escort me."
  
  Tancred hesitated, cautious,  wondering if she meant it, then released her  reins. "I will only be a moment. I must saddle  Apollo."
  He whistled for the stallion, who trotted  forward, but before he knew it she flipped the reins  and galloped away.
  Tancred gritted his teeth, his blue-gray  eyes flashing frustration as he looked after her.

             CHAPTER 17
      The Knight and Helena's Tent

  The siege of Nicaea dragged on. Gathered  before its walls were about fifty thousand knights and  foot soldiers, the largest army that Tancred had  yet seen put into the battle. Still, the  impregnable fortress held out against the determined  crusaders.
  Their past experience--limited to the destruction  of wooden ramparts and the breaking down of smaller  gate towers or the single large tower of a castle  --was no match for this.
  Tancred, while healing from his injury, listened  as Nicholas reported on the crusaders'  tenacity.
  "It is admirable indeed. So is the  creativity of Raymond of Toulouse. He has  taken your advice."
  "How goes it?"
  "He built screens of woven aspens and  willows to shield his archers and engineers from the  Turkish garrison in the towers above the walls.  He built a low shed open at the ground, and  moved his men up against the eastern tower at the  corner. They mined the walls and lit fires in  them so the tower would collapse. Unfortunately,  it did so during the night." He gave a short  laugh. "The wily Turks worked through the darkness and  rebuilt the stonework so effectively that entrance  is now impossible."
  Nicholas paced. "We cannot abandon the siege  and march toward Antioch. Nicaea lies across the  direct route to Jerusalem. Leaving a fortified  Turkish garrison intact behind us would cut off  our supply line from Constantinople. We need  Byzantine siege equipment: portable  fortresses that can be wheeled to the walls, scaling  ladders, and mangonels."
  "But it is to Philip's benefit to see the
  
siege protracted, so he does not  request them."
  Nicholas looked at him, alert. "You share  my thoughts. There is more. We received a message  from Rufus."
  Tancred was wide awake now. He  remembered the secret plans of Irene's  bodyguard to try to escape with his son Joseph.
  "What message?"
  Nicholas removed a piece of paper from under  his tunic, tapping it on his chin. His eyes  glinted with musing displeasure and suspicion as he  handed it to Tancred.
  Nicholas resumed his pacing. "Rufus informs  us that Constantine has quietly returned to the  imperial palace where he meets with the emperor."
  Tancred read the brief message.  Nicholas was right to be disturbed. Why had he  left the camp?
  "Constantine suspected Philip of making  plans to escape secretly with Helena. I  find it a matter of curiosity that he has now  left them unguarded," said Tancred.
  "Maybe not so odd after all ... if his  return to the imperial palace has something to do with  Philip's plans for Nicaea."
  Tancred stood and slipped into an undercloak of  light maroon cloth. Over it he placed the chain  mesh and then a black tunic. He belted on his  scabbard and looked over at Nicholas. "Did  you not say the emperor made a treaty some years  ago with the sultan?"
  "I have been thinking much of that. ..."  "With good cause. It dawns on me now that we  may have our reason for Constantine's disappearance.  He could arrange for the secret surrender of  Nicaea to Philip."
  "Yes, and it makes sense. But I cannot help  thinking there is something more, Tancred. It eats in  my bones like burrowing worms. My enemy has  some cause of his own besides Philip's ... but  what?"
  Tancred filled a cup with steaming broth and  drank thoughtfully. He would speak again to Helena.
  Erich arrived, entering the tent. "The princes  hold an urgent meeting and ask that you both  attend."
               * * *
  During the night the jackmen had busied themselves  with timber and rope, building a rough pavilion
  
in the center of camp. The council was  underway as the hot June wind rippled the proud  gonfanons of the western princes who gathered beneath  the pavilion canopy with their chief knights.  While united in cause, their temperament and ego  provided a bristling atmosphere. When  Tancred arrived with Nicholas, the mood between the  princes crackled with the energy of the fat thunderclouds  forming over the distant eastern hills.
  Nicholas took his seat beside Bishop  Adehemar serving with Count Raymond of  Toulouse. Tancred, who continued to represent  Byzantium, chose to stand, leaning against a wooden  post.
  Count Raymond, perhaps the most pious and  sincere in the Christian cause, was somewhere in his  fifties, the eldest of the crusader princes. His  well-groomed silver hair and short beard was  oiled, and his deep-set eyes looked with  impatience upon the younger and easily riled Duke  Godfrey.
  "We have little choice except to appeal to the  emperor to send war engines. We have all heard of  their Greek fire and flaming missiles! If  we could fire projectiles over the walls of the  Moslem citadel--"
  "Has this Greek beguiled you as well?"  Godfrey cut in, his temper as warm as the  color of the red-gold hair brushing his shoulders.  "I have had dealings with their conniving ways before. We  cannot trust their face, for while they smile with  brotherly cause, they plot to gain the  advantage. Any weapons manned by the  Byzantines will muster their demand that we yield the  infidel fortress to General Taticus."
  Count Raymond, however, was at least partially  determined to honor his vow to the emperor. He had  been better received than the other princes whom the  emperor did not trust as genuine in their vow. The  emperor believed the Count of Toulouse, along with  Bishop Adehemar, to be the true leaders of the  crusaders, and he had come to trust and respect  them.
  "There is no other way. We have already wasted  weeks in a siege. If the emperor has  artillerists, let us ask for them. Did we not  vow to cooperate with him?"
  "It was forced upon us." Duke Godfrey  looked at the other princes. "It is our  blood that will be spilt fighting Christ's
  
enemies. And where is this minister of war and  his weak general who follow our armies like spies  among us? They sit in tents eating dainties and  sipping from silver goblets! But look at us! We  are soiled with sweat, our hands are bruised and  bloodied, our reputation as lordly knights of  valor is mocked by the infidels who gaze down  upon us from the walls! Let us rise up and as one  man scale these walls. Is God among us  to bless, or not?"
  In the silence that followed his outburst, Prince  Bohemond stood to seize the moment for his  advantage. The lordly Norman, looking the  cool wolf that he was, walked to the center of the  platform, his crimson cloak moving about his  boots.
  "Who among you does not know how my father fought this  same wily emperor and nearly prevailed? Had  it not been that we Normans are soldiers of the  Church and were called back to Rome to defend the  pope against the German empire"--and he looked  at Godfrey--"my father would rule  Constantinople to this day!"
  Duke Godfrey wore a faint ruddy tint  to his cheeks. Tancred recalled that Godfrey  had zealously served King Henry of the German  empire in the war against the pope over the right  to appoint bishops. And Godfrey had been the  first to climb the walls of Rome and bear arms  against the pope.
  "The Byzantines may scheme, yet we will  insist on our right to rule Nicaea," declared  Bohemond.
  "And who among us will claim this prize?" came  Count Raymond's cool voice. "Will you,    Bohemond?"
  The Norman's blue eyes glittered. Then  he laughed, a snorting sound that matched his height  and broad shoulders.
  "I think only of us all--of our vow  to liberate this land from the infidels. Are there not enough  kingdoms waiting for us all, Raymond? If it  is Nicaea you crave, then take it. As for us  Normans, we will remember our vow to see the  gates of Jerusalem fall to its true liege,  even Christ."
  Nicholas left his seat beside Adehemar and  looked about at the others, his lively dark eyes  glinting. "Some of you came to me at Le Puy and  bent the knee, offering your sword for blessing, your
  
hearts as servant-soldiers of the
Church. And now will you permit inter-rivalry and  envy to divide and conquer your great strength as  Christian knights? We could lay siege against  Nicaea until winter sets and starve doing  so--only fifty miles from Constantinople.  What of Jerusalem? Siege engines are  needed! Let us send Tancred at once to the  minister of war with a request for the emperor's help!  Have we not sat here long enough? It is a thousand  miles to Jerusalem!"
  Bishop Adehemar laid a strong hand on  Nicholas's shoulder.
  "Hearken! He speaks the words of truth and  valor. Let the noble cause for which we have all  set forth on this expedition shine as a light before us.  The Moslem has scorned the true king of  Jerusalem, even Christ. They have defamed our  holy places and denied us access. We have come  to liberate Jerusalem!"
  The barons and knights glanced at each other,  then Duke Godfrey walked forward and knelt  to one knee, bowing his head. The others followed  suit, and soon a sobriety settled over the  meeting as prayer was offered and confession was made  for the sin of self-seeking and envy.
  The princes stood and embraced, and soon a  pleasant mood circulated. Several men  walked over to join Tancred.
  "You have served these months in the imperial  guard," said Duke Godfrey. "What is your  opinion of the Byzantine equipment?"
  Tancred straightened from the post. "I have little  doubt that a battery of ballista could break through the  citadel. The engines I have seen can shoot heavy  iron arrows with great force."
  The idea commanded Godfrey's attention as  well as the others. And Bohemond was already  acquainted with Greek weaponry from his father's war  against Byzantium. "What of the lake?" he  reminded Tancred. "It is as troublesome as the  walls. The Turks are able to bring in supplies  on boats. Until this is halted, our siege  will fail."
  "The emperor can prepare a fleet of shallow  draught vessels. I have seen them in  Civitote. The minister of war can also request  iron arrows, boats, and siege weapons from the  emperor."
  Bohemond turned to the princes, and they
  
spoke quietly among themselves as he  assured them Tancred's description matched  what he had seen in the earlier war. They spoke  to Bishop Adehemar and Nicholas, then turned  to Tancred.
  "We are of one mind. Seek to arrange for the  Byzantine engines of war."
               * * *
  On the other side of the camp near the  Byzantine headquarters, Tancred secured  Apollo beneath a cypress tree and looked toward  Helena's tent, frowning to himself. As expected,  Bardas was on watch, but the day was hot, without a  breeze, and he sat outside the tent  cross-legged on a cushion, dozing.  Tancred's frown turned to a faintly amused  smile.
  He walked up silently, but Bardas continued  his snoring. Wryly, Tancred lifted his foot  to nudge the old bear awake but changed his mind.  It would teach him a good lesson in diligence  to find that he had been able to slip past him.
  Tancred quietly entered the regal tent and  glanced about the bright silk cushions and rugs for  Helena. She was seated before a small ivory  vanity table with a mirror, braiding her dark  tresses.
  Helena glimpsed him through her mirror and her  eyes widened over his temerity. Swiftly she  stood and turned to face him, holding a gilded  hairbrush.
  Tancred offered an exaggerated bow, saying with  too much humility, "A thousand pardons at my  intrusion, madame, but it is necessary I speak with you  alone. I beg your grace!"
  He straightened to see her eyes run over  him, and it brought him a moment's pleasure.  Surprisingly, she did not appear indignant  over his intrusion.
  "Well, indeed, could it be?" she whispered  mockingly. "Why yes--I believe it is so--it  is the knight who allows the Norman woman  to keep him comforted and consoled in her tent."
  He stood staring at her. "Your memory is  keen and active. You have thought about it much."
  She tossed her jeweled brush down carelessly  and walked toward him, this time with an unflinching  gaze, as though memory of their previous encounter,  and her fluster, left her determined to behave  otherwise this time.
  
  "Do you carry a dagger?" he asked  dryly.
  "With such a bold and strong knight to overpower  me?" she asked innocently. "What good a  dagger? I doubt that the Norman woman carries  one. I suspect she deliberately hides your  scimitar, hoping you will try to take advantage  of her."
  "Dare I hope you too have reconsidered?"  "I have not wasted time thinking of you. How did you  get past Bardas?" she whispered.
  He resumed his informality now, and to show her that  her royal position did not intimidate him, he  tossed his riding cloak on a chair as though he  were at home.
  "A snoring watchdog does not bark a warning  to his mistress." He gestured his head toward the  opening. "You will need to hire a better guard  to keep me at bay. But if I deem it necessary  to see you, nothing could deter me."
  Her eyes unwillingly responded, but she was  quick to retreat behind her armor, turning a shoulder  toward him.
  "After your uncomely behavior in that woman's  tent, I can think of nothing which needs to be said."
  "Uncomely, you say? That she attended my  wound? I flinch at your heartlessness--and after you  braved a lone ride through camp to do the same!"
  "Only because I needed your sword."
  He laughed softly. "Do you blame me still,  because I awoke from unconsciousness in her tent?  Would you prefer I bled to death on the  battlefield so you would need not be jealous?"
  "You appeared to be quite at home in her tent."  "I would have preferred yours. I still do."
  "Sir, you forget yourself."
  "Not at all. How could I in your presence?  Now, as for Adele; she is a noble damsel,  related to Bishop Adehemar who watches her every  move."
  "Enough, knight," she said breezily. "I have  no wish to discuss your relationship with her."
  "There is no relationship. I confess," he  sighed, "I wait for you to grow weary of the haughty  and ambitious Philip and turn your yearning  attentions upon me."
  "We will not speak of that," she said airily.  Despite her denial Tancred noticed that  she looked pleased to learn that Adele was the  relative of a bishop.
  
  Helena walked past him, trailing a  long golden scarf from her shoulder to her ankles.  "You best go at once, or I shall awaken  Bardas." And she made as though she would sweep  past him toward the opening.
  Swiftly he intercepted her but kept his  distance. "Nay, my lady, I can think of a great  deal that needs to be said."
  "What makes you think I wish to hear?"  "Your eyes--they betray you."
  She looked at him, her delicate dark brow  forming a dignified rebuttal. She folded her  arms calmly, tilting her head. "You are so  certain of yourself. So utterly conceited as to  think--"
  "As you wish." He stepped back and bowed, with  an arm extended toward the opening of her tent.  "If you wish to scream, do so. Alert Philip  and the entire Byzantine guard and they will come rushing  in. They will be certain to detain me--if that's  what you want."
  For a moment he thought she would call his bluff,  for she walked toward the opening. She paused.
  Tancred smiled to himself, but his expression  became inscrutable when she turned about to look at  him, a rueful smile on her lips.
  "What a pleasure it would be to see you detained  until I wish to convince Philip you meant no  harm in coming here."
  "Yes ... I am certain you wish me at your  feet. But you will not betray me."
  Helena seemed to consider his boldness, then  slowly walked to the crimson cushions on the  rug and sank comfortably into them. "Perhaps I shall  consider showing grace."
  Tancred's wry smile was disarming. "I am in  your debt, fair damsel. It is your grace for  which I long, like a dying man, water."
  She leaned forward to the urn, poured a goblet of  water, and handed it to him, her eyes amused. "I  always show mercy. Drink."
  He took the goblet, refusing to permit his  restraint to crack. He finished it in one gulp,  watching her evenly.
  She relented first, looking away to the bowl of  fruit. As though intrigued by what she saw, she  chose a plum. "If you wish to explain about that  barbarian girl, I assure you, I have no  further interest."
  "It is well you do not wish to know, because I had
  
no intention of a long explanation. I  did not come about Adele." He gestured. "May  I join you on the cushions?"
  "No." She lifted several and tossed them at  his feet. "Do stay your distance."
  Tancred's irritation began to climb. He  caught up the cushions, abruptly arranging them  for his ease, and sat down, tossing the empty  goblet toward her as though it bored him. She  looked at it, shimmering with jewels. Snatching  it, she set it down firmly.
  He rested his arm across his knee, watching her  steadily. Her long hair fell across her  shoulder, down past her waist.
  "If you have words to speak, do so," she urged.  She avoided his gaze, nibbling the plum.
  His voice came, quiet and toneless as he  watched her. "Gathered about Nicaea is the  largest number of crusaders that have ever been put  into the field. Yet the siege lingers with no hope  of surrender, and summer is upon us. One thing could  end that siege--boats from the emperor to patrol the  lake in order to halt supplies from being brought  into the city by the Red Lion. We also need siege  weapons to scale the walls. You heard me mention  all this to Philip weeks ago when we rode  in."
  "Yes, I remember." She looked at him,  troubled. "And if my mother waits in Nicaea in  the palace of the Red Lion, each day longer adds  to my agony. I believe you are right, but why do you  say this to me and not again to General Taticus?"
  "Because the general answers to Philip. You can  get those supplies by convincing him. As you say, it  is also to your benefit if your mother is there."
  "Me, convince Philip?"
  "Why not?"
  "But you are in his service! Oh, I know he  wishes to pretend he does not pay heed to your  words, but he listens more than you think." She  tossed the nibbled plum aside. "If he  behaves superior at times, it is because he is  afraid of his own inadequacies."
  "I am astounded you would admit this."  She shrugged. "I do not think less of him because  of it. He must achieve a high level of  military success--he dare not fail."
  "My conclusion exactly. Except he does  not have my sympathy. If he wishes success it  is for himself, because he is a slave
  
to self-adulation. He wishes to build  a monument to himself and all he has achieved. And  he doesn't mind trampling on thousands to make  his causeway to the pinnacle."
  "I refuse to entertain your insulting words."  "Then think on this; why does Philip wish  to prolong the siege? Is it at the emperor's  orders, or Constantine's?"
  At the mention of those names she picked up her  gilded fan and swished it uneasily. "Even if  Byzantium wishes to prolong it, Philip  has broken with my aunt and Constantine. We have  our own plans now. In due season we will  escape to the castle."
  "You are certain that a favorable season will  arrive? It seems to me that Philip shows no  impatience. For an ardent groom, he is content  to sit in his tent and scheme with General  Taticus."
  Helena snapped her fan shut. "Need I  remind you that it is Nicholas who bids us wait  because Constantine has guards watching the escape  route to the castle? What can Philip do but  cooperate?"
  "Constantine is no longer with Count  Raymond. The bishop has returned quietly  to the imperial palace. What would you say if I  told you Philip knows this? He also knows you could  escape now to the Castle of Hohms."
  A flicker of alarm showed in her eyes, but he  could see that she tried to mask her feelings.
  "Philip does not know. If he did, we  would leave tonight."
  "He does know," he said evenly. "And--as for  Constantine, I am certain he brings a  message to the emperor, one from Philip, perhaps from  the Turkish official inside Nicaea as  well. A message that benefits his cause, and  Philip's. Constantine will return to Nicaea  to negotiate its surrender--not to the crusaders,  but to Philip."
  Helena hesitated, then a flicker of fear  showed in her eyes that alerted him. She was concerned  about more than Philip--what was it about Constantine  that she was keeping from him?
  "How do you know all this? You presume."  He reached inside his tunic next to his chain  mesh and removed the message Rufus had sent.
  "Nicholas received this earlier." He handed it  to her to read.
  
  "I informed you the night I came here  with Nicholas that your mother was last seen with the Red  Lion, and that there was a possibility she was held  within Nicaea. There is something more I have not told  you, until I could be certain. Because my grandfather  is al-Kareem, I have--shall we say--certain  unlikely "friends" within the Moslem world. I  had Hakeem prowl the citadel two months  ago before I ever decided to take a position with the  imperial cavalry. He brought me news that the  Red Lion was not at Nicaea, but was warring on  his eastern frontier fighting another clan of  Turks for the control of a small Christian  Armenian state.
  "His wives and family, however, are still in the  city. So are members of his harem. No--do not  interrupt. There is more."
  Helena hung on his every word, moving closer  to him and placing a hand on his wrist.
  "I have also spoken to the Turkish prisoner which  Count Raymond took in the recent battle.  Though he speaks some Latin, I was able to converse  fluently with him in Arabic. He assures me  the wives and family of the Red Lion are still within  the palace under tight security."
  "Then my mother is there!"
  "I cannot promise. If I could get inside  ... but friends would have to risk their own lives. ..."  Tancred grew thoughtful.
  "Does the emperor know about the sultan's  wives?" she whispered.
  "Yes. And he will make good use of the  information."
  She looked alarmed. "So will Constantine. If  she is there he will find her. You asked the  prisoner about her?"
  "I did. I am sorry ... he did not know  of any Adrianna."
  Helena stared at him, then said, as if unable  to accept the truth, "She would have a Moslem name  by now."
  "I thought of that, but he knew nothing more. I  went back the next day to bribe him, but he had  escaped--at the same time Constantine left  Count Raymond's camp."
  "You think he set him free?"
  "Or had him killed to protect the information he  wished only for himself. It is what the emperor  knows that disturbs me as well. Do you recall  Nicholas saying that the emperor made a treaty
  
with the Red Lion after the Christian  defeat at Manzikert?"
  "Yes, but what has this to do with my mother or  Constantine?"
  "The emperor could send a secret  negotiator by ship to the other side of Nicaea  to meet with the ruling Turkish officials serving the  Red Lion. He will bring a message from the  imperial palace saying that they will be slaughtered  by cannibalistic barbarians if they do not  surrender first to him. This way he bargains for the  surrender of the city before the crusaders can take it.  I believe Bishop Constantine is that secret  negotiator."
  "Constantine must not enter the citadel first--he  will find her," she whispered, frightened.
  "What is it?" he asked. "What have you not  told me?"
  She buried her face in her hands. "I ...  I could not tell you. He threatened me."
  He took hold of her wrists, lowering her  palms so he could see her face, drawing her  toward him. "Who?" he demanded quietly.  "Philip?"
  "No! No! He does not know. ..." She  hesitated, and as their gaze held, she let out a  breath of resignation. "Constantine. He knows about  my mother. He came to me weeks ago before I ever  spoke to you at the castle."
  "Explain."
  "He told me he knew I searched for her,  that he too searched. That--that they were passionately  in love and always had been."
  Tancred saw the flicker of pain as she  struggled to accept what must have been to her incredible.
  "Then Constantine believes your mother is held  in the Red Lion's palace?"
  Helena nodded. "He must. And if he is  inside the citadel as you say ..." Her voice  with its concern trailed off.
  "How did he learn she was alive? Earlier  you told me both he and Irene believed her to have  died in a plague at the convent."
  "He intercepted my informer on the Mese. I  begged Constantine to tell me where she was, but he  refused. If I had known then that it was Nicaea  --but I had no idea. I thought of Tabriz,  or Baghdad. And then I was told it was  Jerusalem with ibn-Haroun. And all this time she  has been but fifty miles from Constantinople!"
  
  "I have doubts, but Constantine may  believe it. Philip must also think so. ..."
  "No, he does not know!"
  His grip on her wrists tightened. "When will you  awaken to the truth that Philip plans first for  himself, and not for your best interest? Why else do you  think he wishes this siege to be prolonged? His  presence among us is a ruse. He and  Taticus are here to watch, to play the  Byzantine game of chess. And they expect  to win. It fits his plans--perhaps better than he  first anticipated. And he expects Nicaea  to surrender to him, not the crusaders. How all this  affects Constantine's personal plans  to locate Adrianna, I do not know, but they work  together."
  "Philip would never keep such information from me."  Tancred's mouth turned. "Madame, if you  would trust me half as much as you do the noble,  we--"
  "I do trust you, Tancred. Did I not share  my fears just now about Constantine's plans?"
  "Then trust me explicitly. There is something  you must do. The crusaders must take the citadel.  Any secret surrender to Philip must be  foiled."
  He saw her stir uneasily at the thought of  denying him a victory.
  Helena followed his line of thinking and stiffened.  "I will do as you require, but what makes you think  Philip will listen to me?"
  "You must try. There is no one else to get  through to him. He knows we need boats and weapons.  As minister of war he can write an official  request and they will be sent at once."
  He held her arms, aware of her, but she  seemed unconscious of their nearness. Her  fragrance was heady, so were her eyes, her hair  ...
  Tancred withdrew and pushed himself up from the  cushions. He grabbed his cloak, avoiding  looking at her. "I will leave Philip to you," and  he prided himself that his voice was calmly  indifferent. "If he cares for you as you insist, there  is nothing he will not do for you, including writing that  request for boats."
  Helena scrambled to her feet. He turned  now, his eyes meeting hers, and he knew she was  puzzled, wondering if she had imagined the moment  earlier.
  
  "Are you suggesting I deceive him? ...  the man I am soon to marry?"
  Tancred masked his anger with her childish  romantic inclinations. "Whether or not you marry  him is uncertain. As for deceiving him, it is the  other way around."
  In frustration, she walked away, her back  toward him, arms folded.
  "I will leave you with one consideration. If a man  loves a woman, he will risk his life for her.  He will be ever anxious to carry her off to his  castle as his beloved. I ask you to decide why  he prefers to sit in his tent and connive with  General Taticus when you would marry him this  moment, with Nicholas performing the ceremony."
  She turned to look at him, and Tancred  gestured toward the tent opening. "I will need to get  past Bardas again."
  She hesitated. "No, wait. It is best  he doesn't know." She went to the veil that led  into her bedchamber and drew it aside. "There is  another way out."
  He followed her past more bed cushions,  ivory bottles of perfume, and bundles of  silk clothing to the back of the tent. She drew  aside a tall woven basket to reveal an  opening. "You may leave this way and not be seen."
  "My expectations of the Byzantine mind have not  been disappointed. Only a Daughter of the  Purple Belt would have a secret exit in a  tent."
               * * *
  Philip has sent an official request  through General Taticus to the emperor for engines of  war and other weaponry.
  Tancred looked up from the written message.  "Return, Bardas, and tell your mistress the  crusaders are in her debt, though it may be too  late."
  Bardas showed his puzzlement as Tancred left  the camp and went to join Nicholas at the lake as  he had requested. After three weeks of  stalemate, the crusaders planned an attack  for the following day, June nineteenth.
  The night was still and black, yet moonlight  shimmered on the distant water near Nicaea's  walls. Tancred took a silent position beside  Nicholas, who stared ahead. Within a short time  they heard the distant lapping of the water as boat  oars cut through the Lake of Ascania in the
  
direction of Constantinople.
  Tancred squinted into the darkness and was able  to make out the silhouette of small Byzantine  boats, each guarded by soldiers. As they  skimmed beneath the amber moon, he caught a  glimpse of Turkish turbans, gilded cloth,  and scimitars strangely mingling with the familiar  uniform of the imperial guard. Seated in several  boats were a number of veiled women.
  Tancred turned his head toward Nicholas,  whose hard brown face wore a bleak smile.
  "The Red Lion's wives and family," said  Tancred.
  "And by morning the flag of Byzantium will fly  over the gates of Nicaea."
  Tancred watched the distant boats silently  slip away into the night, his thoughts turning  to Helena. She would be bitterly disappointed. Was  her mother among those veiled women?
  As June nineteenth broke over the hills,  dawn lifted above the horizon and the sky bled with a  mixture of gold and crimson. A cry of  alarm surged through the crusader camp like a rolling  trumpet blast.
  Emerging from their tents, princes, knights,  footmen, and peasants awoke to find the bold  insignia of the Eastern Empire gazing down upon  them from Nicaea. Flags, boasting the double-headed  eagle, waved victoriously from the high city  towers.
  The news spread like fire. The treacherous  Greeks have betrayed us!
  The news of surrender was followed by a swift  and determined Byzantine edict:
  "The emperor has issued orders that all  Turkish inhabitants of Nicaea may be  granted safe conduct to Constantinople. There will  be no entry into the city of any persons except  those of notable excellence as determined by the  Byzantium authorities."
  The announcement, made first to the sullen  princes, knights, and nobles under the gonfanons,  soon made its way among the commonfolk. Armed  Greek soldiers on horseback rode through the  camp reading the official paper in Latin to the  priests, who in turn sought to calm the anger of the  people, who believed themselves cheated.
  Stunned, Helena learned the news from  Bardas.
  "During the night, the emperor sailed a
  
flotilla of his boats out on the lake.
A surrender treaty was signed with the Turkish  garrison serving the Red Lion."
  "Where is Philip?" she cried.
  "He sent word bidding me bring you at once  into Nicaea. He waits at the Moslem  palace."
  Her heart pounded with equal amounts of fear and  hope. "He has located her?" she whispered.
  "I could not find out. He does not seem  pleased." Bardas scowled. "I do not like this,  mistress. Perhaps you should not go."
  "When Philip requests my presence? He  will have news, Bardas. Come. And what of Bishop  Constantine? Is there any news of his arrival?"
  "Master Philip said nothing."
  Had he been a member of the delegation sent by the  emperor to sign the treaty with the Turkish  garrison? Could Tancred have been wrong about him?  What if he were not involved in the negotiations?  Then Philip and not Constantine would be the first  official to enter the citadel! Hope flooded  Helena with renewed strength as she rode under  guard across the drawbridge and over the moat  into Nicaea.
  What of Tancred and Nicholas, did they know  of the surrender? They must, yet she saw none of the  crusaders in the nearly empty street now  patrolled by Byzantine soldiers on  horseback. Her eyes scanned the domed  mosques, the minarets, the alabaster screens on  the windows of two-story stone houses and small  singular palaces. The palace of the Red Lion  stood golden in the June sunlight, but she paid  scarce attention to the dazzling sights as  Philip's guards led her down a gilded  hall. She was escorted into a receiving room where  there was a crimson drape surrounding a raised  dais. The sultan's seat was empty, but not the  chamber.
  "Helena."
  She turned at Philip's tense voice.
  He walked toward her, his handsome face  drawn, his dark eyes warning her--of what? she  wondered, suddenly becoming rigid.
  Standing farther behind him and near a lattice-worked  terrace of ivory, she saw only the familiar  members of his entourage. Moving forward in her  direction was General Taticus, and holding  to his arm was a woman.
  
  Helena's heart surged with  expectation, then drained from her and she paled as her  aunt greeted her warmly.
  "My dearest Helena, you have fared well indeed  through this ordeal," came Lady Irene's  musical voice. "A few weeks resting here in  the palace, however, will renew your vigor for the  happy arrival of Prince Kalid."
  Irene's smile was unpleasant but  victorious, and her amber eyes laughed at what  Helena believed must be her own ashen expression.
  "Philip my son, bring a goblet of wine  to your cousin Helena. She looks faint--it must    be the heat." She smiled at Helena. "You will be  pleased to know I have sent word to Kalid that you wait  for him here in the palace of the Red Lion. It will  save you a wearisome journey by camel. The  marriage will take place here amid the beautiful  surroundings of the new Byzantine Nicaea."

             CHAPTER 18
        The Unexpected Summons

  The crusader princes, feeling the brunt of  what they considered to be not only treachery but  insult to their knightly honor, wasted no time.  A second council meeting was convened. Tancred  paced, waiting for Nicholas to arrive. A sense  of restlessness nagged at him. He had heard that  Helena was in the company of Philip and the  Byzantine officials in the palace of the Red  Lion.
  As he had suspected, Nicaea surrendered  with trumpets and flags to Philip Lysander,  Minister of War, Legate of the Emperor.  Constantine had stood at his right, Lady Irene  on his left, and with her, General Taticus and some  three thousand of his regiment that now patrolled  Nicaea.
  Debate raged as the princes discussed  alternatives to what they considered was the rotting  fruit of deceit.
  "Did I not say, never trust a cunning  Byzantine?" grumbled Duke Godfrey.
  "He is right," said Bohemond. "There is  naught left for us to do except leave this place  and set out toward Antioch."
  Tancred was no longer listening. Minutes  earlier a peasant had brought him a hastily  written letter from Bardas.
  
  Master Nicholas has disappeared and I  fear he is a prisoner of Constantine. I am  searching for him now. My mistress is in danger  within the palace of the Red Lion of the Desert.  She bids you come to her with all speed. Meet me  in the Court of the Oranges.
    Bardas
               * * *
  Philip's hurriedly written message had  reached Helena through a slave soon after she had  been escorted under guard to a chamber in the  sultan's palace. Tonight we will escape.  The two of them would ride as far as a certain  olive grove near the family villa and meet  up with Nicholas. From there they would ride to the  Castle of Hohms and remain within its secure  walls until the Normans liberated  Antioch.
  She shivered. Kalid was to arrive at the  palace. Was he even now on his way?
  The changes in plans spoke of danger, but  she consoled herself, remembering that Philip would  arrange for their escape.
  Her mind wandered to Tancred. ... Did he  know she was being kept in the sultan's palace?
               * * *
  Inside the tent he shared with Nicholas,  Tancred changed into his black-and-crimson  uniform, then mounting Apollo, he rode slowly  beside the high walls of the citadel until nearing a  drawbridge over the moat to a gate of  Nicaea.
  The day was sultry without a breath of air coming from  the lake. Before him the gate yawned open and  guards kept watch on any and all entering or  leaving. This was the moment of failure or success.  His Imperial Cavalry uniform and the  half-hearted position he still held with Philip  offered a cover, but it could easily wear thin.
  Several soldiers loitered, watching, but  Tancred rode Apollo forward and past them.  Then ahead, he heard a familiar voice.
  "None of the barbarians are to enter the city. That  includes the knights. Understood? It is the  order of the minister of war."
  It was Rufus!
  Tancred continued riding forward and glanced at  him. He saw him and their eyes held, then  Rufus turned away and gave an order to one
  
of the guards. The fact that he had  pretended not to recognize him warned of danger.
  There was no choice. Helena and Nicholas were  both in peril. He could seek out the secret friends  of al-Kareem--but not in the garb of a  Byzantine!
  With a taste of irony he realized how he must  balance his identity. Inside his pack he carried  the clothing of the Moors, and also the rugged leather of a  Norman. But the heart and soul of Tancred  Redwan, who was he truly?
  He rode into the side streets where he would be  less noticed by guards. He knew of the court  where he would meet Bardas for he had come here before  with Hakeem. How long ago those few short  months seemed.
  Late afternoon shadows clung to the sides of  ancient stone buildings and latticed windows, where  heat seeped from stone baked by the day's intense  sunlight.
  He dismounted, leading Apollo behind, hearing his  hoofs echo on the ancient cobbles. As he  walked, he wondered that Bardas would have him come  to the Court of the Oranges. ... What did  Bardas know of this public court? Perhaps Helena  had learned of it in the short time she was in the  sultan's palace.
  He turned a corner where the street ended with a  high iron gate that was shut and surrounded by a high  stone wall cooled by green vines and purple  flowers. There was another street that turned and  widened, leading into a maze of buildings. A  glimpse beyond revealed cypress trees--a  favorite of Moslems who considered them  sacred. There were gardens green with vegetation and a  colonnade of Moorish arches. Beyond the arches  lay the public court, full of orange  trees, their boughs heavy with the juice-laden  fruit.
  Tancred secured Apollo, then walked across  the courtyard, his feet crushing the fallen orange  blossoms until the overly sweet scent  filled his senses. The shadows were deepening and the  strollway was deserted where on any other day but this  day of defeat, the Turks and Arabs would walk  toward the fountains, or to the places of prayer.
  Tancred stopped--as though a haunting voice  from his Moorish past came calling him across the  court. The muezzin was calling from his balcony,  and the faithful hastened to cleanse themselves and kneel.
  
...
  Allah is almighty--Allah is  almighty. ... I witness that there is no other  god but Allah--I witness that Muhammad is  his prophet. ... Come to prayer--come to prayer  ... come to the house of praise. Allah is  almighty--Allah is almighty. ... There is  no god but Allah!
  His eyes flickered with memory. No god  but Allah?
  As though compelled, he reached into his satchel  and drew out the leather-bound New Testament.  Nicholas had written a personal message of  God's attribute of love and concluded it with  several verses from the prophet Isaiah. His  eyes searched until they found the words he sought.
  He read them aloud, his voice a whisper but the  words echoing across eternity:
  I am the Lord, and there is none else. ...  And there is no other God besides Me, a righteous  God and a Savior; there is none except Me.  Turn to Me, and be saved, all the ends of the  earth! For I am God, and there is no other. I  have sworn by Myself, the word has gone forth from My  mouth in righteousness, and will not turn back, that to Me  every knee will bow, every tongue will swear allegiance.  They will say of Me, "Only in the Lord are  righteousness and strength." Men will come to Him. ...
  "Redwan!" came an anxious, low voice.  Bardas hovered in the shadows of the grove, concealing  himself with a dark hooded cowl.
  Tancred walked toward him. Maintaining his  caution, he paused, but Bardas gestured over his  shoulder where the domed palace roof was visible in the  golden twilight.
  "Prince Kalid has unexpectedly  arrived."
  Kalid! It had been several months since  Tancred's last unpleasant meeting with him in the  armory at Constantinople. He was certain  Kalid had befriended their cousin Mosul and that  Kalid was now his avowed enemy.
  Tancred had doubts about Bardas. He  searched his marblelike eyes that shielded inner  thoughts. How would Kalid know the siege had ended?  How could he arrive so quickly?
  "He expects your mistress to be brought  to St. Symeon. Why would he come to Nicaea?"
  "He was sent for by Lady Irene. The  marriage will take place in the palace of the Red
  
Lion."
  Tancred's jaw flexed. "Where is Kalid  now?"
  "In the Red Lion's palace. He makes  plans to travel with her to Aleppo instead of  Antioch, but Master Philip has arranged for  their escape."
  "Philip is with her now?"
  "They both bid me urgently to send for you.  They have horses waiting and will leave for the Castle  of Hohms tonight."
  Tancred hesitated. "What of Nicholas?  Has he shown himself?"
  Bardas stood rigid. "He will join us at the  gate. He comes by a boat."
  Tancred watched him, fingering the hilt of his  sword.
  Bardas stepped backward into the deeper  shadows. "Would you have me bring Apollo here to you?  Where have you left him?"
  Bardas had not shown this much cooperation before--was  it because Philip also requested his presence? They  would need another man with a sword, and perhaps  Bardas was concerned with the threat so near in the  presence of Kalid, and yet ...
  "Yes, bring him. He is back at the  gate. Be quick."
  Bardas disappeared into the shadows, and Tancred  looked after him, stroking his chin.
  The fragrance of blossoms hung sweet in the  evening air, but the stark silence walled him in,  adding to his growing tension. Was he a fool?  Minutes slipped by, narrowing his chances of  escape as he left himself at risk, and all because  of a princess with warm, vulnerable eyes.
  Tancred noticed the gate in the garden wall.  It stood ajar, where once it had been shut.
  He unsheathed his blade and stepped back into the  shadowed vines.
  From behind him came a faint clink of metal.  He turned, but at the same moment three men  emerged through the gate, swords drawn.
  Before and behind, Byzantine soldiers encircled  him.
  "You should have left when you had opportunity,"  said Rufus, no emotion betraying his voice.  "Unfortunately, I am under orders to arrest  you."
  "Whose orders? Irene's? She is here?"  "Yes, but it is Constantine who has ordered
  
you to be brought to him. I have no choice,  Redwan. Come."
  "Since when do you serve the bishop instead of  Irene?"
  "Since he offers hope for the freedom of my  son Joseph."
  Tancred lifted the point of his blade. "I  am sorry, my friend, but I have no interest in  becoming the sacrifice for the release of your son.  It is important I ride from here tonight."
  "My son's freedom cannot wait. That ship  I told you about? It leaves for Ethiopia, and  we will both be on it. Sheathe your blade. You have  no chance against so many."
  Rufus gestured to the soldiers. "Take  Redwan to the boat--"
  A voice from the darkness interrupted sharply:  "You will pay for your treachery against me, Rufus.  Release Tancred Redwan!"
  Tancred's head turned sharply toward the  familiar voice. Rufus also turned, and for a  moment his shoulders stooped with defeat.
  "You heard me," Irene demanded angrily, a  dozen soldiers at her side. "All of  you--sheathe your swords. You are outnumbered. You!  Rufus! So you think to serve Constantine? I shall  deal with you later."
  Rufus stood rigid as Irene warned, "I  have Joseph in my control. Have you forgotten? I  will yet need you for future battles. If you are  wise, you will not contest me." She said more gently,  "If you serve well, I shall send you both  freely to the Castle of Hohms. Constantine's  promise of a Venetian ship to Ethiopia is a  lie. He is a traitor to me and the emperor."
  Tancred listened, alert. Did this mean the  relationship between her and Constantine had come to a dark  end at last? Had she learned that he was searching for  Adrianna?
  Rufus and the guards sheathed their blades.  "All of you, return to your duties," she said  scornfully. "Except you, Rufus. Stay  there."
  The guards melted away into the darkness, and  Tancred and Rufus were left standing alone.
  "Both of you--come at once," she commanded.  Mercenary soldiers appeared on horseback  with immobile faces, their eyes empty as they  stared ahead. Tancred guessed they were in a  similar position as Rufus, unable to break
  
free from her iron web.
  Rufus walked forward and took his place  resolutely behind the chariot reins. Seated in  back, Irene smiled pleasantly toward  Tancred.
  "My handsome Norman--or should I say  Moor? You will join me?"
  Tancred bowed suavely. "Madame, do I  have a choice?"
  "None," she said sweetly. Then her smile  faded and her voice hardened. "Unless you wish  to die here."
  "Thank you, no."
  "I agree it would be a pity. I have  important plans for you."
  "And if I refuse them?"
  "You are too wise to do so," she said  confidently. "Unless you wish me to turn you over  to Walter of Sicily?"
  Tancred looked at her sharply.
  "He waits near a postern gate where  Bardas foolishly hoped to lead you."
  So the old warrior betrayed me after all.  "Where is Bardas?"
  "He escaped, but that is of no concern now. You  have me to thank for intervening and sending soldiers  to thwart your ambitious uncle. For my  generosity, I expect a good return."
  "I have no doubt of that."
  Tancred walked up to the side of the chariot and  eased himself into the comfortable leather seat beside her. The  chariot moved ahead, followed by guards on  horseback.
  Now what? he thought wryly.
  He pondered Bardas. What had prompted his  betrayal? What had he hoped to gain by turning  him over to the Redwan clan? And what of the information  about the disappearance of Nicholas, of Helena and  Philip escaping--had it been a ruse?  Bardas has learned well the art of the  Byzantine, he thought bitterly.
  He must escape, but how? And what did the  "lioness" want of him?
  A casual glance over his shoulder convinced him  there was no chance of bounding from the chariot and making a  run into the dark shrubs.
  Irene sat closely beside him with a faint  smile, her amber eyes warm and bold. Her  fragrance was strong, provocative, and meant  to be. She wore shimmering gold silk beneath a
  
white fur cape, but he imagined that  armor would fit her better.
  "This is a unique situation--to be the  prisoner of a woman," he said with an  imperceptible smile. "I feel as though I am  in even more danger."
  "Would you prefer Walter of Sicily?"  "If it comes to a choice, I find your chariot  lush and comfortable, but I prefer my freedom,"  he said lightly. "I was about to congratulate you  and the emperor on a successful surrender of  Nicaea, and take my crusading spirit elsewhere.  If you permit--"
  "Permission refused. You have something I  want." Her eyes mocked him. "Information."
  Tancred lounged back in the seat, arms behind his  head, and gazed up at the vivid stars in the  black sky.
  He sighed. "Ah, yes, information. ... For a  foolish moment I forgot the favorite pastime  of the Byzantine. Since you collect spies as  some women collect pretty slippers, what  information could I possibly have that you do not already  possess?" He looked at her with a smile.
  Irene's eyes toyed with his. "You may rest  assured you are valuable, Tancred, or I would  not have arrested you."
  "Yes, of course, forbid such a foolish  thought. Surely you do not wish my skills with a  sword. You have Rufus and the others. What, then?  Does it concern Philip?"
  Her eyes hardened and she settled back in the  seat. "I make it my ambition to know everything  Philip does. My son is a charming boy, but  irrational and given to foolish changes in mood."
  "Very risky for a minister of war! But I am  sure the emperor will have no need for concern since  he does have your stability to lean upon."
  "I suppose Helena sought once again to hire  you to bring her and Philip to the Castle of  Hohms?"
  He believed her too cunning to deceive now, but  could he lead her to a false conclusion?
  "She did. Like Philip, she too is a  charming girl, but irrational. Your niece holds  no romantic inclinations for my cousin Kalid.  She wished to escape to Athens, but I could not  help her. I have my own quest. As you saw tonight,  my uncle seeks me for the death of my brother.  The assassin is in Antioch and I must find
  
him."
  "I have known about your escape from Sicily and the  death of Derek Redwan for weeks. It may be that  I can help you locate Mosul--for the right  price."
  That she knew was no surprise. Rufus had  already informed him of the danger connected with Irene's  informers. However, she did not know that Philip had  Mosul incarcerated until his work with the Armenian  spy was finished to his satisfaction.
  "You know of Mosul?" he asked, pretending  innocence.
  "As you said, I make such matters my  ambition. There is one thing you do not know,  Tancred, for Mosul is no longer in  Antioch." She smiled. "Your expression  gives you away. You are surprised? No doubt  you would be."
  He had not expected this turn. Mosul not in  Antioch! Had Philip lied, or had  Kerbogha moved him to a more secure place? The  news unsettled him, for unless Mosul was in  Antioch there would be little chance to find him until  Philip kept his bargain; and he did not trust  Philip or Kerbogha.
  Irene settled back, her jewels flashing.  "Kalid warned Mosul and he escaped, but I  have access to secret information and I can tell you where  he is if you cooperate."
  His heart thudded. He felt the python of  temptation slowly encircling his soul. What  information did she want from him now? Could he give  it without compromising the safety of Helena and  Nicholas?
  "I have effective ways of dealing with  Helena," Irene was saying. "Philip as  well. So do not think I need you to explain their  foolish plan to run away. It will do them no  good. Kalid will come here to Nicaea." She  turned her riveting gaze on him. "No, the  information I want from you concerns the whereabouts of  Adrianna Lysander."
  Her words could not have struck him harder had she  slapped him. He watched her, his expression  deliberately inscrutable. He must delay.  ...
  "She did tell you about her mother?" inquired  Irene, watching him intently. "At the guard  castle of Herion, I suppose?"
  "Her mother? She told me she died several
  
years ago during her incarceration in a  convent."
  "Am I a fool that you think you can mock me?  I have learned she is alive, and a threat to me and  my son as long as she lives. You too know  Adrianna lives. Helena would have told you.  Nicholas knows as well."
  "Then you admit Philip is your son?"  "Helena would have told you that also. She  delights to play the victim, to indulge in  vicious gossip about me. It is no secret  she despises me because Philip listens to my  counsel. Not that her gossip about his birth  disturbs me, nor will it ruin my plans for his  career. Why should I deny it? Yes, he is my  son. And one day he will be emperor of  Byzantium. It is written in the stars."
  "When a boy, Nicholas would bring me to a  great rock on a summer's night when the sky was  cloudless and bright with ten thousand stars and planets.  "Why trust the stars? Trust the Maker of the  stars!" he would say. "The heavens declare the  glory of God." He quoted the greatest  writing of all time--the Scriptures. Your  zodiac astrology was born in ancient  Babylon and was the religion of the Tower of    Babel. Since it was cursed by God, any  message you think to receive from the alignment of the  planets is foolishness. If Philip  becomes emperor, it will be because his mother is adept  at poison."
  "You audacious fool! Do you dare speak to me  like this? I could have you killed at once and there would be  none to question me."
  "The One who flung the stars into space,  madame, remains in final control of my  destiny, but perhaps the one appeal for staying your hand  is a lesser consideration--the need for the information you  insist I have. Kill me, and your plans will  falter."
  Her eyes were cool. Then she gave a short  laugh. "Nicholas and his devotion to Christianity  has also misshaped your sound judgment. He was  always a determined man, but also misguided  by devotion to his God. He threw away the  opportunity to become emperor, and so--" She  stopped as if having said too much.
  Tancred followed her twisted logic. "And so  you reread your astrology and decided your  calculation was in error; the crown you claim to see
  
belongs not to Nicholas but to Philip!  Very convenient, madame. When prophecies  prove false, simply change their meaning. But  God's truth does not change." He looked  at her, his gaze mocking. "I am surprised you  did not convince Constantine that the crown belongs  to him. Is it because he is not as easily  manipulated as Philip?"
  "Like his father, Constantine is devoted."  "Devoted to his own ambitions, or  Philip's?"
  "They are one in the same. It is Philip  who is bent toward a wayward path, and his father and  I must keep him on the ordained path. We cannot  permit his marriage to Lysander's daughter ...  at least, not yet."
  "His marriage to Helena would mean the end of  your control over her inheritance."
  She shrugged. "You might as well know, yes."  "And Lady Adrianna?"
  "If Adrianna lives to return  to Constantinople, we will all lose our positions  close to the emperor. I have worked too devotedly  to ensure Philip's reign to permit such a  mistake to happen. Enough of your questions! It is you  who must answer to me. I want to know where she  is."
  "And if I do not tell you?"  "Then--before this night is over, you will." Her  eyes grew scornful. "Come, Tancred, you are  a clever man, and no fool. You are far too  experienced with danger to play games with a woman  of my determination. You know I will not hesitate  to have you strangled if you refuse to tell me her  whereabouts."
  "I am disappointed. I would expect you to come  up with a more extraordinary way of disposing of an  enemy."
  Her smile was brittle. "To make you talk?  I have Helena at my disposal. A gallant  knight will face torture and death to retain his  honor; but would he see his damsel arrested and  punished?" Her smile came, calm and cool.  "I see by your angry expression that you are  beginning to understand. It need not happen, of course.  And for a worthy prize I shall tell you where you can  find the assassin."
  
             CHAPTER 19
        Dark Shadows of the Zodiac

  In the audience hall of the Red Lion's  palace, Irene sat upon low cushions before a  crimson curtain of silk. Tancred watched  her, wondering how long he could hold out. What  would she do if she found out he did not know where  Adrianna was? He was playing for time. And if  Helena was also a prisoner somewhere in the palace,  what could he do?
  He watched Irene, as cool and methodical  as a stalking leopard. Was she bluffing? For the first  time he found himself hoping that Philip had roused  himself in time to have already escaped with Helena. And  Nicholas. Obviously Bardas had lied about  his being in trouble just to lure him here. Then where was  he?
  "Dungeons are ugly places," Irene  reminded him, and when he remained ambiguous, her  gaze raked him. "Not that I expect to waste time  on your imprisonment. You would stubbornly resist  me to the end. No, in order to make you talk I  must bait you with information on Mosul, or use one  weaker than you as leverage. Helena is fearful of  dungeons and has a phobia about rats."
  Her lips curled. "As intended, my  suggestion has located its vulnerable spot. I  am sorry. I hate to be cruel." Irene  stood and walked to a low table where she filled a  golden goblet with wine. "She braved a dungeon  once. It was dark, the air stale and cold.  Rats were everywhere. Very large, hungry ones."  She looked over at him. "Helena was a child then.  She was nearly crazed with fear. It took me  several months to bring her mind from the horror."
  Tancred remained without expression. She was  even more of a shrew than he had thought. No wonder  Nicholas had rejected her in the end.
  Her amber eyes glistened. "If you tell me  the location of her mother, the tragedy need not repeat  itself."
  The silence lingered. The advantage of  permitting her to believe he knew of  Adrianna's whereabouts gained him time, but little  else.
  "Kalid will have something to say about this breach in your  bargain. If he discovers his bride pines away  in a dungeon, he will not cooperate in the  surrender of Antioch to Philip."
  
  "That is why I offer you the whereabouts of  Mosul. Think of your own freedom. You could  return to Palermo if you wish, or settle in  Constantinople. The emperor thinks well of you.  I could arrange for a seat of power. You could even have  Helena. I could arrange even that--after  Kalid."
  Tancred lifted his goblet and took a mouthful.  The witch!
  "You will not cooperate, or do you muse?  Believe me," she warned, "I will not deliver  her to Antioch at all if it becomes a necessary  choice between finding Adrianna and the surrender of  Antioch!" She threw her goblet at him and he  ducked. It smashed against the tile mosaics.
  Her face was white and her eyes were hot. "I  will find some other way to get what I want! Do  not underestimate me. If I must, I am willing  to lose much of my present plans. Locating  Adrianna is far more important." She  paced, the silk swirling about her dainty  slippers. "I can always make new plans," she  said to herself. "There will be other cities to reclaim  from the Seljuk Turks to insure the success of  Philip. Nicaea is a prize to please the  emperor, and it is Philip's gift to him.  Look at this palace! It's fat with riches."
  "And Philip?" Tancred warned. "He will  stand by and see you put her into a dungeon? He  may surrender his will to yours, but he is also  selfish. He wants Helena as much as  Kalid."
  "And as much as you. I am no fool when it comes  to men. I have seen the way you look at her." Her  golden brows lifted. "Philip will have Helena,  one day. He is patient enough to wait, knowing his  position is also secure. Like the gods--two  horses pull him apart."
  Irene walked toward him, her body seething with  energy. "I must find what pulls you apart. And  when I do, you will do as I wish, when I wish, and for  as long as I insist."
  Tancred drew in a breath and lifted a brow.  "Madame, you frighten me!"
  She laughed. "Do I?" She reached a cold,  slithering hand and wrapped it around his neck, then the  other arm, drawing his head down toward hers.
  He reached and untwined her arms. "You leave  me cold."
  She shrugged. "It is just as well. I would
  
prefer distance. The others whom I  control, however, wish it otherwise."
  "All except Nicholas?"
  At the mention of Nicholas an ashen look  glazed across her eyes. She turned and walked  back to the cushions and sank onto them, lounging  there, an arm draped across a pillow, her shimmering  tunic catching the torchlight. She looked  unreal, like a statue of some pagan idol from  Troy.
  "There is no need for Philip to know I have her  in a dungeon, not yet. As far as he knows, I  may have already sent her to Prince Kalid. And when  he does find out, well, I can arrange an  illness for Helena and pretend I kept it from  him, knowing how precious she was to him. I did not  want him to suffer." She reached over and picked  up the wine, pouring a second goblet.
  Tancred thought of his options. He had his  sword, but against so many guards what chance would he  have?
  Holding her goblet, she sipped as she arose,  walking toward him. "I suppose you may wonder  why I have not confronted her on the whereabouts of her  mother, but I am quite certain she does not know, nor  does Nicholas. The answer rests with you, and  Constantine." Her lips curled. "That fool.  Constantine betrayed me. He's escaped to find  her, so that leaves only you."
  So Constantine had escaped. "He loves  her?"
  "He was always an idiot about Adrianna. I  believe him to be mentally unstable. He used  to follow her wherever she went and make wild  claims of how she met with him and wished to marry  him. None of it is true. Adrianna," she  said with disgust, "is too much the saint to care for a  man of Constantine's appetites and spiritual  hypocrisy. Even as Nicholas scorns me.  He looks on me with sympathy--can you  imagine?" She threw back her head and laughed.  "He pities me, he said. He thinks when I  die I will go to hades!" She looked at  Tancred thoughtfully, and her smiled faded. "Do  you think so too?"
  Constantine is not the only one in the family  who could be said to be insane.
  "Probably so, madame," he said  silkily.
  She laughed. "My other warrior pets would
  
say, "You, madame? Spend eternity  in hades? Oh no, madame. Not you!" I like  you, Tancred--it is true, you are not afraid of  me. Neither is Nicholas."
  She sank into a chair, looking unexpectedly  weary. "I could bribe Kalid to tell me where  she is. Even the Red Lion, but it would take  time. Weeks. Constantine would find her first."
  "Then he knows where Lady Adrianna is?"  "Yes." She lifted the goblet and stared at it.  "Even if Helena knew where her mother is being  held, she is foolish enough to resist me, though a  dungeon await her. She is a child who clings  to sentiment. Her "beloved Christian mother" is  worth her own death."
  Again Irene stood, as restless as a trapped  cat.
  "Your niece is a woman of valor," said  Tancred. "I suspect the same of her mother."
  Irene turned and looked at him, angry, as  though the complement enraged her.
  "Do they not spoil your morning when you rise  to look at yourself in the mirror, madame? Or  are you so vain as to think your beauty is enough to win the  devotion of a man?"
  "When I wish a man's service, I may  obtain it as easily through fear as through devotion."
  He thought of Rufus and the other warriors bound  to her.
  "But you would do well to heed caution; when given  a chance, the half-starved dogs may not hesitate  to devour their Jezebel."
  Her palm whipped across the side of his face like  the dart of an adder. Her nostrils flared.
  Tancred rubbed his chin, watching her. As cool  and heartless as she was, she did not like to be compared  to the Jezebel of the Old Testament.
  "I was a lady too, once." Her eyes  turned toward the open balustrade where the  horizon glowed as though the hills were on fire.
  "Once," she repeated, "I was as innocent and  sweet as Helena, as religiously devout to the  Church as Adrianna. Nicholas knew me then  ... loved me then. Then he went away to study  at Athens. And I, well ... I changed. I  could see my meekness got me nowhere, while  others less talented were called to the chamber of the  emperor. ... Why shouldn't I go there? I thought.  It is the only way to get what I want."
  Irene looked at him, nothing in her face.
  
"And I went. When Nicholas  returned two years later I was the emperor's  mistress. He said nothing to me, he simply  looked at me with that insufferable pity of his and  walked away! Oh, I hated him for that  superior pity!" Her voice broke and a  strangled gasp came to her throat, as though  tears had come to her eyes. Swiftly she brought  her hand to her throat to force back the emotion.
  She turned toward him, and for the first time he could  see the lines of age stand out on her stricken  face. She appeared vulnerable, and yes, a  woman he too could pity.
  Tancred lowered his gaze and concentrated on his  goblet, studded with emeralds and rubies and  sapphires. It all meant nothing in the end.  Character, a woman's soul, her self-respect--  these were the virtues that mattered, that drew men like  himself and Nicholas.
  Silence filled the gilded chamber. Irene had  gained control and slipped behind her Byzantine  mask again, her emotions encased in armor.
  "Despite your cool attempts at shrouding  your disciplined emotions, I know you find Helena  a woman of particular interest. Therefore, I offer  you a choice."
  "A choice?" he asked flatly.
  "Yes. An exchange of information. I will  give you the whereabouts of Mosul and Helena's  freedom from the dungeon if you will tell me where  to find Adrianna before Constantine."
  Tancred glanced casually toward the terrace.  She followed his glance and read his mind. "Do not  try it. Guards await." Abruptly she  turned. "Rufus!" she called.
  The giant bodyguard appeared from the outer  hall, his features taut.
  "Come here!"
  Tancred tensed when Rufus did not move but  watched her. An unease crept through Tancred  when he saw the rabid hatred that sprang to life  in the Ethiopian's face.
  Irene did not seem frightened. She smiled.  "Come, Rufus. Or the guards who hold  Joseph will flog him. Do you think I fear you,  Rufus? Not as long as my presence back in  Constantinople means that Joseph will live. If  anything happens to me--he will die. You know that.  Now," she said. "Come to me."
  Tancred could not bear the scene and turned
  
away, his shoulder leaning against the  column. He heard Rufus walk forward,  heard her laugh. "Bend the knee," she mocked.  "That is so--very good. You are very handsome, Rufus."
  Tancred let out a breath and looked up at the  ceiling with disgust.
  "Our Norman friend must be convinced. Have the  guard bring Helena here," said Irene.
  Tancred unsheathed his sword.
  She turned sharply. "Do not be a fool. I  have a dozen soldiers. And, like Rufus, they are  all my slaves. They may despise me, but  they can do nothing to help you."
  They came into the chamber, lean, tough men with  drawn blades, hard faces, and glazed eyes.
  "Now--sheathe your sword," she ordered  Tancred. "It will do you no good here." She  turned to the guards. "Take him away. I will  call for him when Helena arrives. Where is the  minister of war? How is it I cannot find him?"
  "He is meeting with the officials."  "Send for him. I have no more patience left in  me tonight for fools!"
  As several guards left to carry out her  orders, others led Tancred up the steps to a  chamber. Irene called, "I am certain if you  rest awhile, Tancred, you will see the wisdom of  cooperation. I will let you ride free as soon as  I am certain your information is accurate. If  not, you will be turned over to Walter of Sicily."
  Rufus brought him to a stone chamber. Tancred  turned away from him with impatience and walked to the  one small window.
  "There is no way of escape," stated  Rufus, following him to the window. "She has  made certain. And now you know why I have been  unable to throw off her chains. She thinks of  everything," and he gestured below.
  Tancred peered into the courtyard. It was  enclosed with a high, insurmountable wall. He saw  something else--two leopards pacing nervously in  the enclosure.
  "A dozen guards serve her obediently--she  has control of their wives and children. If they serve  faithfully, she rewards the family with gifts and  bounty, keeping them at peace and happy. If we  turned against her--she would see to our ruin."
  "If we all move in unison--"
  But Rufus turned away. "She has spies  among us. We do not know whom to trust. The risk
  
to our loved ones is too great."
  "I would choose death before a life of  servitude to her."
  "So you say now. What will you do when she brings  Lysander's daughter?"
  Tancred wondered. God, he prayed,  there must be some way!
  "Find Nicholas," he told Rufus.
"He must be somewhere in the Norman army. Tell  him of Helena."
  "What you ask is impossible! I cannot leave  the city." He turned his back to walk out. His  black eyes smoldered with bitter frustration.  "She has Joseph somewhere in the city and I know  not where. If I betray her again--she will turn  against him." He strode out the door and a heavy  bolt jammed into place.
  Tancred made careful search of the chamber,  though he was nearly certain he was trapped. There  was no ledge on the outside wall facing the  window.
  Frustrated at his impotence, he threw himself  down on the bed and tried to sleep, but he kept  thinking of Helena. Longingly he thought of  Hakeem and his falcon, but by now his Moorish  ally would be in Antioch waiting for him. He was  not likely to know that Mosul had already fled!
  Angrily he stood. He pushed a table  aside that blocked his pacing. The shrew! She  not only tempted him with information on Mosul, but  threatened harm to Helena.
  Could she be lying about Mosul? No, for her  information matched Philip's. He could not think of  Mosul while the dilemma of Helena gnawed  at him. What a fool he had been to allow  Bardas to detain him. His fingers wrapped around the  window bars.
  And Bardas, just where was the foul betrayer?  He saw torches flickering below. What if  he continued his ruse and offered Irene false  information? She would keep him a prisoner until  her work was done, and still send Helena to Kalid.  By the time he was free and able to go to Antioch, she  would be Kalid's reluctant bride--or just  another woman in his harem.
  Think, I must think. But for the first time in his  life he was trapped, not by his Norman uncle  and wolfish cousins, but by a woman of delicate  beauty with a reprobate conscience and the iron will of a  gladiator.
  
  His eyes darkened beneath his lashes as the  image of Helena came to mind. No, he was not  trapped by Irene, but by his feelings for Helena.  He could easily get out of his situation if he  wished to betray her. He would even find Mosul  and avoid the danger of entering Antioch as a  spy, avoid the blood-soaked battles ahead  of him before the gates of Jerusalem opened wide.
  It was time to admit to himself that she had captured  his heart. Tancred turned from the window and, seeing  the chair in front of him, booted it across the  chamber.
               * * *
  Dawn broke above the hills and ushered in the  Moslem call to prayer. Tancred watched as a  guard walked the courtyard wall and heaved several  hunks of red meat to the leopards.
  Tancred mused with a cynical expression, then  came alert. The leopards are being fed. It  could mean that Irene did not expect to use them as  a threat. Had she discovered something in the late  hours of the night that altered her plans?
  He turned toward the door, hearing heavy  footsteps in the passageway and a moment later the  key being turned in the lock. The door swung  open on creaking hinges and Rufus stood there  alone, immobile.
  "Irene has left. You are free to go.  Apollo waits at the gate."
  Free to leave? The unexpected change in  circumstances troubled him, and he stared at  Rufus evenly, searching his grim face. "What  happened!"
  Rufus's eyes flickered with heated emotion.  "You are no longer needed, but do not tarry lest she  change her mind."
  "Not needed, why?"
  The dislike Rufus felt spilled over in his  voice. "The minister of war gave her the information  she wanted."
  Philip ... "Where is Helena now?"  "Locked in a chamber until Prince  Kalid arrives."
  "Kalid--coming here? When?"
  He shrugged. "A week, two weeks, who  knows?"
  "I must speak with her."
  Rufus turned stiffly. "There is nothing I  can do. Your horse waits at the back gate."  He paused, adding quietly, "Philip has
  
sent a secret message to her, saying  that he plans their escape tonight."
  "She knows this and expects him?"  "Yes."
  "He is a coward," Tancred said  disdainfully. "He will not risk it. Together we can  help her."
  Rufus shook his head. "No. I can do  nothing."
  "Then take me to her chamber. I must see her  before Philip arrives, if only for a moment."
  Rufus considered this as he glanced down the  hall, uncertain. "All right. ... For you, I  will do this. For the memory of your father. I cannot leave  you in her chamber for long."
  Tancred strapped on his scabbard and threw his  cloak over his shoulder, then followed Rufus  down the passage and up a flight of marble steps.
  They came to a door. Beside it stood another  guard. Rufus spoke to him quietly.  Tancred watched a gold besant fall into the  guard's hand. The key turned in the lock, it  opened, and Tancred stepped inside. A moment  later he heard the rattle of the key locking him  in.
  The chamber was lavishly decorated with purple  hangings and thick rugs. He glanced about for  Helena. She had been asleep in a chair  covered with a silk coverlet, but at the sound of his  entry she awakened.

             CHAPTER 20
          A Knight's Honor

  Helena must have thought him to be a slave bringing  her a breakfast tray, for she did not look at  him. "I am not hungry. Please go away."
  Tancred leaned his shoulder against the door,  watching her. In the uninterrupted stillness, she  must have sensed his presence, for she stirred and lifted  her head.
  Her eyes widened, then settled with a rush of  cool anger, and something else that puzzled him--  disappointment?
  Bewildered by this response, he wondered whether  Irene told her of his incarceration.
  "Good morning," he said, and extended her a  bow.
  She jumped to her feet, tossing the cover  aside. "Get out," she whispered, hands in
  
balled fists at her sides.
  He studied her expression, trying to read her  mind. "Are you always so ill-tempered upon rising?  Or am I to blame for the fall of Nicaea?  If you had listened to me at the tent--"
  "Silence." Helena walked toward him.  Tancred straightened from the door. "I've about  had my fill of women cracking the whip over my  head."
  She stopped in front of him. "So you are  gallant, are you? A man of integrity? Of  honor? A knight? A man I could trust with  my life, with secret information about my mother?"
  He remained calm and thoughtful, rubbing his chin.  "You traitor! You barbarian! You--you--"  She drew back her arm and he caught it.
  "Venom must run in the family. Your aunt  also packs a wallop. I dare not think what  storm rages you against me."
  Helena jerked her arm free, her breath  heaving.
  "I am leaving. I decided to say good-bye,"  he said.
  She turned her back toward him.  Tancred scanned her rigid stance. "I will be  joining the Norman knights under Bohemond," and  he waited for her response. "We will be leaving  soon for Antioch. So I will not see you for some  time. There will be the war--"
  "I care not what you do, barbarian," she said  over her shoulder. "And I hope a scimitar  takes your head before you ever reach Antioch." She  reached past him to open the door and found it locked.
  "Do you have the key?" she demanded.  He was becoming irritated, all romantic  inclinations swiftly turning to ashes beneath her  scorn. He threw his riding cloak on a  nearby chair and stood, hands on hips, scanning  her.
  "Now just why would I have control of the key? Am  I your captor?"
  "Oh no, never that--but you are her captive,  are you not?" she hissed meaningfully.
  "Of what do you accuse me? If you knew what  I've been through trying to save my hide and  protect you at the same time--"
  "As if you did not know of what I accuse you.  Who let you in my private chamber?"
  "Irene's bodyguard, but I regret asking  to see you. I would rather stare into the icy eyes of a
  
poisonous adder. As for Rufus, trust  him. He may prove a good friend."
  "I trust no one," Helena spat. "Not  now. You will not see me in Antioch, nor anywhere  else. After you vowed to find my mother and learned all  you needed to know--you betrayed her whereabouts to Irene  last night so you could find Mosul."
  He grew still, watching her, and felt an ache  in the pit of his soul. "I must be a fool," he  said quietly. "I thought I would be the last one you  would accuse of treachery. I see I am the first."
  "The first? Yes, Bardas was right about you; so was  Philip. And no--do not try to explain. Your  smooth excuses will not deceive me this time. I have  heard one too many."
  She whisked past him toward the open terrace.  Swiftly he pulled her back and against him.  "Not so fast. Not this time."
               * * *
  Helena's heart leaped at the impact of their  touch, and she grew taut. She pushed against his  chest with both palms, turning her head away.  "Let go."
  "Stop struggling."
  "Do you want me to scream? I will!" Her  voice shook and it made her angry that it did.
  "For what it is worth, I did not betray your  mother. I do not yet know where she is, but Constantine  does. He has left to find her. Irene thought  I knew and she hopes to thwart him."
  Helena could still envision her aunt's smug  smile when telling her how she had gained the  information from Tancred. The shock of disappointment  she had felt when told the lurid details still  weighed with a sickening force in her mind and heart.
  "Do you know me so little as to think I would betray  you?"
  "I suppose you think I will believe you if you  deny it?"
  "She did not get the information from me. Did she  tell you she did? And you believe her witness  against mine?"
  As Helena stared into his eyes she faltered.  She did not know what she believed. Confusion  stalked her spirit, bringing grief.
  "No? Then how did she learn? Not from  Constantine. He escaped last night on one of the  boats. And not from Bardas--"
  "Bardas! That traitor! Next time I see  him I will wring his neck. Ask Philip how his
  
mother received the information."
  She read the accusation in his smoldering gaze and  rejected it at once. "Philip? He would  never tell. You are mad."
  "Philip! I am as weary of him as I am  of your childish trust in him!"
  Helena fought in vain to pull free. "You  betrayed us for information on Mosul. I know what  it means to you to find him--and you spent the night with  Irene; she told me so."
  Tancred released her so abruptly she took  a staggering step back.
  He watched her, his intense blue-gray eyes  holding hers. "You do not know me at all."
  The quiet disappointment of his voice startled  her to sobriety. In the silence she searched his  face.
  "Irene boasted, she said that--"
  "And you believed her?" came his ironic  voice. "A woman you have long lamented to me about  being your nemesis? You will swallow her lies and  refuse the truth I give you?"
  She faltered. "I ... do not know ... how  else would she find out but through you?"

  He bowed with exaggerated cynicism. "Thank  you, princess. Your high opinion of my character  overwhelms me. It so happens I risked a  great deal that is important to me to protect you  and your mother. She did offer me more than you might  suppose and I turned it down--bed and all,  including information on the whereabouts of Mosul.  Information that would have freed me from servitude  to Philip. Mosul is not even in Antioch,  yet Philip sends me there to accomplish his  cowardly work for him."
  Helena stared at him, his anger giving her  cause to reconsider. Against her will, she began  to wonder if perhaps Irene might not have lied  simply to hurt her. She struggled against  bewildering feelings that were beginning to flow through her  soul, warming her like a fire on a frosty  morning.
  "The formative years you have spent in the palace  have made you cynical about men, Helena. You think  every man will sell his soul for ambition, greed, or  lust. I must do something to restore your trust.  Especially in me."
  She resisted his intense gaze, for it was proving  as dangerous as her dilemma in the Red Lion's
  
palace.
  "I spent the night behind a bolted door.  Alone. By choice."
  "Perhaps so, but that does not make you innocent about  my mother, and furthermore--I do not care where you  slept."
  "You are contradictory and impossible to understand.  One minute you accuse me of evil, and when I  deny it, you reject me and say you do not care."
  "Because I do not care!"
  "However," he continued, "I do care what you  think. And while I was alone, it was you who consumed  my restless thoughts and longings."
  Helena whirled away, fear coursing through her.  "Please stop. I will not listen. ..."
  "Yes you will--" Tancred came to her, turning  her about and drawing her to him again. As he bent  toward her lips she jerked her head away.
  He pretended dismay. "And to think you would turn  me down for Philip! A betrayer, a coward!"
  She broke free, backing away from the danger  of his embrace. Her eyes narrowed. "You only  despise him because he is everything you are not."
  "The day I envy Philip, I cease to be a  man."
  "Your ego is unbearable."
  "I do envy him something. Your indomitable trust  and devotion."
  Dare she believe him? Dare she risk the  strange, confusing yearning in her heart?
  "After your betrayal? I wish you would fall in  love with me so I could tear your heart  into pieces."
  He stared at her, and suddenly, Helena felt  a dart of fear, of regret. Why had she spoken  thus? Why did she deliberately seek to hurt  him, to ruin anything between them?
  "I think you truly mean that, Helena," he  said so quietly that she turned cold.
  No, she wished to cry out, I do not mean  it, Tancred!
  "I thought you may be a different woman under that  armor of superiority, but now I begin to wonder  if I have been deceived. I shall remember  to protect my vulnerability from your claws."
  Tancred's hands loosened from her shoulders and  he gently held her away from him.
  Pain sprang like fire to her heart, burning and  hurting. She stepped back, then under his cool,  distant gaze, she felt the chill wind blow across
  
her soul. What have I done?
  She walked to the terrace, keeping her back  to him, feeling weak. There she waited, expecting  to hear the door shut behind him. Gone, forever ...
  He did not leave.
  She turned, pale and emotionally weary,  holding to the back of a chair. "Well? You are  going to war, like the mercenary you are. Go! And may  your betrayal of my mother come back on your head a  hundredfold."
  "I am going, fear not, but I cannot bear to leave  you with the satisfaction of believing that it was I who  betrayed Adrianna. Did you tell your  dauntless hero about the Red Lion?"
  "If you speak of Philip, yes. Of course  I told him. I can trust him," she said  coolly. "That is more than I can say of others  who claim to be gallant. Philip is to be  my husband. Should I keep secrets from him?"
  He laughed, leaning against the door. "A  miserable husband he would be. You will never know if  what you whisper in his ear in bed finds its way  to Irene."
  Her eyes narrowed. "Get out."
  "With Philip as minister of war you do well  to keep your deepest secrets locked in your  heart--especially if they could bring greater  success to him and Irene."
  "Do you think I would ever believe Philip  betrayed my mother?"
  "No, because you wish to think I did."  Helena met his gaze steadily. "Philip and  I are to be married tonight. He has decided  to leave Constantinople and his position. That  proves your estimation of matters false. He  had no reason to betray me. He no longer  needs the power and glory of the imperial palace."
  "Philip will need it as long as he breathes.  It is his reason to live, his god."
  She winced, for the words penetrated her armor and  touched something frightening inside of her, something that  caused her to recoil because it might be true.
  "Philip is free now, is he? Do you  truly believe that about him? Even if he left  with you, and you became his bride, you would soon learn  that he can never be content without Byzantium. He  will wither and die."
  Helena swallowed, staring at him, her heart  thumping and aching.
  "He gave the information about Adrianna to his
  
mother. Ask Rufus. He will tell you the  truth; he has no reason to lie, nor to defend  me. And since it was Philip who cooperated with  Irene last night, ask yourself why he did so,  if he truly wishes to give up his position with the  emperor. I thought you were wiser than this."
  She found no words to answer him and looked out  upon the terrace. The hot morning air poured over  the ancient stones and sapped her faltering strength.  "I don't know," she murmured.
  "You do not love him, Helena. You have only  convinced yourself, because all these years you knew nothing  else existed in life except Philip,  Byzantium, your dreams."
  Helena shut her eyes against his words. "I  don't know," she murmured again. "Go away from  me. Please."
  "How do you expect to escape the guards?"  She looked at him. "Do you think I would  tell you how we expect to escape? It is enough that  Philip has arranged everything."
  "I do not know what he has in mind, but I would  not trust him. He will not come for you. You will travel  to Antioch. And I will find you there."
  She shook her head. "He will come, as he  promised."
  Tancred walked toward her where she stood on  the terrace, his eyes troubled, but there was something  else smoldering in their depths, something that halted  her tongue and held her fixed to his gaze.
  "Please ... stay away from me," she  whispered.
  "No ... I cannot stay away. I told you  at the castle that night when you came to me that neither  I nor my sword can be bought cheaply.  Willingly I offered you my help, but you  rejected it when Philip arrived. Now you wish  to think that same allegiance can be bought cheaply  by Irene. You hope it is so, because such thoughts about  me make it easier for you to reject your  feelings."
  Helena stirred, moving away from her smoldering  emotions. "My feelings?" she asked  innocently. "You insult Philip. You tell  me I am a child who does not know what she  wants, then you are conceited enough to tell me it is  you I really want."
  "You just said you wanted me; I did not."  "I could never have any feeling toward you except  disappointment and pity for what you have done."
  
  "Pity! Spare me, madame!" He  followed her across the terrace as she backed  away. "I insist that you are deceiving yourself. You are  afraid of the feeling between us. It is strong, is it  not? Like the ceaseless pounding of the surf, like drawing  wind tugging irresistibly."
  "Do you fancy yourself a poet?" she mocked in  a whisper, hoping her expression appeared calm,  her voice steady.
  "With you in my arms? I could be anything you  wish."
  Philip did not ignite such wild pounding of  her heart, nor did he vow such passion.
  "Admit it," he said. "We were attracted  to each other from the beginning, from the moment we met on  the road near the Danube. For me, such  attraction has not come before. No matter what you  insist about Philip, I do not think it comes any  easier for you. You only imagine you love  Philip."
  Helena tried to smile, appearing bored by the  words that drew her to surrender to his embrace,  an embrace upon which he did not insist.
  "But it is you I really love?" she asked.  "One day I will hear you say, "Tancred, it  is you I love.""
  "This has gone far enough. Leave me at  once!"
  "Do not marry Philip. Wait for me. I will  come to you at Antioch."
  "I will not be there."
  "You still think he will come?"  "Yes. Regardless of your conceit, I am in  love with him."
  Tancred's arms went around her. "I will make  you forget him. You have only to ask for my utter  devotion, and I will give it."
  She grew confused and uncertain as heated  emotions rampaged through her heart. "Since when  does the invulnerable Tancred Redwan ask a  woman for anything?"
  "I am not so invulnerable. Not when it comes to the  one woman I want."
  "Did Kamila ask you to love her?"  "Yes."
  "Did you--love her, I mean?"
  "No ..."
  "I will never ask you to stay."  "Suppose I am determined to see that you do.  If not now, one day. And, if it is the last thing
  
I do, I will be with the Normans when they  take the city. And I will kill the Seljuk who  owns you and take you to myself. Is that in keeping with  my reputation as a barbarian?"
  Tancred's determination, and the desire he showed  toward her, was both strangely thrilling and  unnerving, and her voice trembled. "I think you have  suddenly gone mad."
  "Do you? Perhaps so. For the first time I am mad  about a face I see at night when I close  my eyes, a form so lovely she moves with the wind  ... and I will make her my bride, my friend, my  lover, the mother of my children, the--"
  "Stop," she whispered. "Please ... go."  "Do you really want me to?"
  "Yes ... yes!"
  "Never to see each other again?"
  Her eyes turned to meet his and she weakened,  though words would not come.
  "I have no choice but to leave for a time, for  Walter of Sicily searches for me. Before I can  ever know peace, before I can ever offer you my  devotion, there is something I must do. If I can  prove my innocence I will be free. But before I  go, there is something for which I have yearned from the moment  I saw you. ..."
  I can't bear this ... she thought.
  "You would not begrudge a simpleminded  barbarian the memory of the touch of your lips on  mine, would you? Should I die in battle, I would  have your memory to comfort me."
  "No ..."
  "Your eyes say yes. Which shall I believe?"  Her breath paused. He bent toward her.
  "Shall we say ..." Tancred hesitated, "that  it is a Byzantine generosity? You know in your  heart I would die for you."
  What manner of request is this? What  manner of challenge robed in false humility?
  "You once asked me the price for my sword,  my devotion to you and your cause. I now make  known my price. A simple kiss."
  She could not move as they stood so near, his hands  resting lightly on her arms.
  Why did she not pull away and denounce the  entire thing as foolishness? Because she had  secretly dreamed of this--perhaps as much as he?
  Helena told herself to refuse him, that it was a  trap as carefully laid as any Byzantine  plot. He could be dangerous; she knew that. Still
  
... was she to be the first woman to own the  feelings of the elusive Tancred Redwan? And  what was a small kiss?
  "Your request is minor payment, Sir  Knight. After all, you did save me from the  Rhinelanders."
  "And became your dedicated physician."  "Yes ..."
  "Then ... with your permission, madame."  Her eyes closed and she pursed her lips.
  "I am humbled, fair damsel," he teased,  "to think that Helena of the Nobility would permit me  to take such a memory with me to war. Perhaps you also  will remember?"
  Helena's eyes opened at the bold  suggestion, but then his lips touched hers and her  heart raced loudly in her ears.
  The brief exchange was over too quickly. She  wondered, puzzled, and looked at him  cautiously from beneath her lashes.
  His eyes were amused.
  Her arms moved around him, drawing his head  to hers, and he swept her into his embrace.
  Her head went back against his arm, and uncounted  blissful moments blew away.
  "What was it that Solomon said ..." he  whispered. "You are all fair, my love, there  is no spot in thee. Your lips are sweeter  than the nectar of the vines, your--"
  She breathed, "Enough ... you must go now. ..."  "Come with me to Cordoba, or to the end of the world.  If you wish to run away, then do so with me. One  day I will claim ships, lands, a castle. I will  build you a castle worthy of your beauty; you will  have servants, jewels--anything you want."
  The drugging words roamed through her mind and  emotions until they did not seem absurd at  all, but right. His eyes were blue ... she thought.  No, they were like cobalt ... like a storm on the  sea sweeping away everything in its path.
  "You would not lie to me, Tancred?"  "Do you think I would do anything to hurt you?"
  His tender voice and manner was anything but what  she had expected.
  "You did not betray my mother?"
  "I would die to protect you, to guard your  secret."
  "And Philip? You believe he will not come  to me? He lied?"
  "He will not come. He met with Irene last
  
night and gave her the information she  requested."
  "Where will you take me?"
  His embrace tightened, and their lips met again.  "Beloved Helena. To the Castle of Hohms,  and we will find Nicholas. Marry me there?" he  whispered.
  She kissed him. "Yes ..."
  The trotting of horse hoofs echoed below the open  terrace.
  "Someone is coming," she murmured.
  A familiar voice called out a command to a  guard. Helena stiffened. Philip!
  But ... Tancred just told her that he would not  come--
  Her eyes darted to his. Tancred was wrong.  And if he had deceived her about this, what about the  betrayal of her mother? What about the promise of his  devotion, his love? Who knew what he actually  had in mind for her, or the castle? Perhaps Bardas  had been right after all. Tancred was a spy for the  Normans!
  Under her deliberating gaze, he was unreadable.  Tancred walked over and looked below, and she saw  his expression harden. Helena rushed to his side  and peered into the courtyard.
  Below, Philip dismounted his fine horse,  tossing the reins to a servant and giving orders.
  Turning swiftly, Tancred started for the  door, but she rushed ahead of him and whirled  to confront him. For a moment they stared at each  other.
  She slapped him harshly. There! That would tell  him what she thought of his deceit.
  "I meant every word, Helena."
  "Until you had what you wanted. Your clever  words come smoothly enough and I was a fool to believe  them--but then, you have had so much practice speaking  them to any woman who will allow you. Including  Irene last night! Why did I ever listen to you?  I am only indignant with myself for having  believed you. You lied about Philip, trying  to make me think he would not come."
  She rushed to the door and found it unlocked.  Rufus must know that Philip had arrived. She  flung it open.
  "I will tell Philip how you insulted me.  How you forced me into your arms."
  "Was that what it was? I rather thought we were both  willing victims."
  
  "I shall always remember that you lied. That  you accused Philip of betraying Adrianna.  What did you expect to do with me at the castle?  Sell me to Kalid for information on Mosul?  Get out. I will tell Philip, and he will kill  you."
  His eyes glimmered with anger. "Or I will  kill him."
  "Touch him and I will despise you until I  die."
  He studied her for a moment and her expression  must have revealed her fury. His jaw tensed, then  he bowed obligingly and walked past her into the  passageway. Before he could turn, she shut the  heavy door as loudly as possible.
               * * *
  Tancred leaned there, his fury boiling over.  He had gone to the emotional heights only  to fall and splatter on the rocks below.  Resentment burned like a branding iron on his  heart.
  He contemplated what he thought to be her  willful, spoiled emotions running out of control.  He had bared his heart and she had slapped his  face. Yet she would trust Philip over and  over again. She went running back to him like a  bird with clipped wings.
  He felt his heart harden. Very well. If that  was the way she wished it, so be it.
  Rufus strode quickly toward him from his lookout  down the passageway. "Be swift, Redwan.  Philip comes. Your horse awaits at the  back gate. If he finds you here, he will order  your arrest, and mine for allowing you to speak with her.  Follow me."
  Cold reason flooded back into Tancred's  brain. Enough of dungeons and threats! Enough of this  impossible woman!
  He snatched up his helmet and satchel and  took the back steps down to a door which Rufus  threw open.
  "May the wind bring you to freedom also,"  Tancred told him.
  At the gate he found Apollo, the friendly  whinny giving him some solace. Tancred mounted and  looked back toward the palace fortress,  considering. It was one thing to tell her good-bye, a  far different matter when he found that her memory  would ride with him wherever he went.
  "Adieu, fairest of damsels," he said
  
wi/lly, and rode Apollo through the  open gate.

             CHAPTER 21
            Bound by Enchantment

  Philip entered the room and came to her  swiftly, burying his lips in her hair. "I  went mad when I realized what they might do  to you."
  He turned her face to his and kissed her.  Helena felt cold and tired and blamed her  fears, but at her lack of response, his dark  gaze sharply arrested hers and held it until a  tiny flush warmed her cheeks.
  Her emotions gave her away, proving once  again that Tancred held more control over her heart  than she wished, or would admit to herself.
  "I am afraid," she whispered. "What if  Irene expects us to escape?"
  His jaw tensed with determination. "She will not find  out. Everything is arranged. We will not ride toward  the castle. It is the first place she will send  soldiers searching. We will return  to Constantinople, then ride to the villa. Once  I gather more loyal soldiers, we will leave for  Hohms."
  "We must find Nicholas first--how can I  leave without him? You must send word to the Norman  camp."
  The alarm in his eyes set her on edge. "He  is not with the princes. We will send word once we  arrive at the castle. There is much to concern us and  little time to see our plans to fruition. If we do  not leave now it will be too late for us."
  She held him, frightened, her mind in a whirl.  "I thought Constantine might have discovered our  plans, but his mind is so consumed with finding  Adrianna that he has blundered," he said.  "His failure is our success. We have our  moment."
  Her head raised from his chest and she looked at  him, searching his face. "Then you know?"
  Impatience etched lines on his face. "Know?  Know what? About Irene arresting you last night?  Of course I know! And I came here as soon as  I could. I would have taken you from the dungeon no  matter what her evil plans. She told me  everything."
  "But I did not tell you about Constantine
  
searching for my mother." She watched him,  troubled. "How did you know? Irene says  Constantine disappeared last night. She is  furious and searches for him."
  A flicker of impatience hardened his face.  "For the sake of Zeus! Am I on trial? I  am the minister of war! There is little going on I do  not know about!"
  "Yes, and you knew I searched for her," she  accused faintly. "And I also told you that she had  been with the Red Lion."
  "Oh, that!" He waved an impatient hand.  "I too have searched for her for your sake, knowing that  you believed she was alive. But I never expected  to discover her whereabouts. Constantine,  unfortunately, came across the information. I am  sorry, beloved. Yet I believe he cares for  her. He will find her before Irene. There is nothing  to fear. He is a determined man and he will not be  bested by anyone, not even her."
  "I am not as certain as you. And if you searched  for her all these months, why could you not tell me?  We could have worked together."
  "There was too much risk to your safety. Your  informer is dead."
  "So Constantine told me," she said coldly.  "Is he an assassin also?"
  Philip's face went taut. "He is my  father. Do not speak of him so flippantly."
  "You knew all this about the Red Lion through your  post as minister of war. Yet you allowed precious    time to elapse. They may have brought her elsewhere."
  "Can we not discuss all this later?"  "No, Philip. We cannot. I want to know  now."
  His dark eyes flickered impatiently. "Of  what do you mean to accuse me? Do you think it was I  who told Irene where to find Adrianna?"
  The bluntness of his question shocked her back  into emotional retreat. Helena felt ashamed and  realized that for a short time she had allowed herself  to seriously consider the possibility. She had  attacked him, backing him into a corner as though  he actually were guilty. She realized that  Tancred's accusations against him had been  successful in planting seeds of doubt.
  She rushed to pluck the suspicions from her  heart. "Oh, Philip! I am sorry. I do  not accuse you of anything. How could I? I was just  surprised that you knew. ..." She turned away
  
bewildered and walked toward the terrace.
  "Everything is happening too quickly," she  confessed. "I am worried, uncertain about ...  about how I feel, about so many things."
  She looked at him sadly, and his face was  pinched with anxiety. Her heart felt pity for  him.
  Dare she explain the reason for her outburst?  Should she confess Tancred's accusations? But he  did not know that she had seen Tancred and somehow she  feared to admit it, remembering his embrace, his  kiss. ...
  Her eyes closed and she turned away. "I  am so confused."
  Philip walked swiftly up behind her, taking  hold of her shoulders and turning her to face him.  "Helena, I have long known Constantine cared for  Adrianna. I thought it a matter to upset you.  I knew how you disliked him, how you believed he  and Irene betrayed her and Nicholas. So I  found no cause until now to mention it, not wanting  to burden you with more worry."
  Helena searched his eyes and saw his sincerity.  "There is hope, for Constantine will find her before  Irene is able to carry out her evil schemes. And  we too must flee. If we are caught, it will be  the end of us, Helena."
  "She would not harm you. You are her son.  Constantine too adores you. It is me they  want, and Adrianna. I suppose you know  why."
  His hands dropped from her and he shrugged  impatiently, looking below into the courtyard. "The  lands and castle, what else? Why else do  families seek to destroy each other?"
  "Not all families, Philip. Only the  Lysanders."
  He gave a scornful laugh. "If you think  that, then you are indeed naive. Treachery and greed  are everywhere. It is in every ruling family. The  empress herself seeks an occasion against the  emperor--for she has learned about Irene. And  I, as a favorite of the emperor, am fought over  by the strong wills of those who would use me to gain  power."
  He shook his dark head. "My independence is  crumbling, Helena. I find myself more and more  Irene's slave. What is more troubling, I  find myself willing to be that pawn. If I do not  escape now, I never will. I am my own worst
  
enemy!"
  He turned and gripped her tightly, his hands  cold.
  Fear also gripped her. "I believe in you,"  she hastened. "You care for more than power and glory.  Do not doubt yourself. If you did not care, you would not  have changed your mind about us at the guard castle.  Tancred was wrong about you. He ... he cannot be  trusted. You are gallant and honorable."
  Philip stared down at her, his face taut and  pale, his hands squeezing her shoulders.
  "Tancred? When did you see Tancred?  What did he tell you about me?" He turned his  head sharply and looked toward the chair.
  Wondering about his sudden change in action, she  followed his gaze. Her stomach tensed.
  Tancred's cloak remained where he had  carelessly tossed it. Philip walked over and    snatched it up, staring. She saw the knuckles of  his hands whiten. He looked at her angrily.
  "This is Tancred's cloak. The one I sent  him."
  She drew in a breath. "Yes." Her voice  was calm; why should it be otherwise? After all,

what did she have to hide? She refused his  marriage offer in the end. That was all Philip  needed to know.
  "He left it," she admitted. "He was in a  hurry to escape when he heard you arrive in the  courtyard."
  A dark expression held his face. "He was  here?"
  "Yes. Irene arrested him. She sought information  about my mother and he claims he refused to tell  her, but I do not believe him."
  Philip merely stared at her.
  She went on to explain in a dull voice.  "Mosul is no longer in Antioch. Irene  bribed Tancred with secret information in return  for my mother's whereabouts."
  He stood in utter silence, watching her, his  dark eyes flickering.
  As the silence grew, she wondered at his  response. At last he spoke, and when he  did his voice had lost the emotion that had driven  him until now.
  "Anything else?" he asked quietly.  Should she tell him? She sank weakly into the
  
chair.
  "Yes. Tancred insisted it was you who betrayed  my trust to Irene. He told me you would not come  to me, that you would not leave Constantinople, that you would  be, now and always, a slave to power and glory."
  Philip's lean jaw tightened; his mouth  thinned. Unexpectedly angry, he threw the  cloak down.
  "What else could we expect from the Norman  wolves? It is my fault. It was a mistake  to have ever hired him."
  "What about Bohemond? What about Antioch?  What of the plans to have Tancred contact the spy?"
  "Unfortunately we have no choice but to go through  with it. Without Tancred, Kalid will survive.  Only in his downfall will we be free to return  to the emperor with Antioch as a gift and the Castle  of Hohms in our command. The fact that we escaped  and married will be overlooked if we deliver  Antioch to the emperor."
  Philip drew her toward him. "No more can be  said now, beloved. We will go to the villa."
  "They will never find us. We will have each other,  and a new life."
  "Yes, we will be happy."
  "Of course we will, Philip."
  The momentary silence brought a tight smile  to her mouth. Something was dying between them and she feared  to admit it. She grasped his arm. "Remember  when we were children at the villa? How we used to sit  at the window and watch Bardas training the  horses? You said you would ride as emperor. And  I, with eyes shining with pride, told you I would be  in the hippodrome cheering for you?"
  "Yes ... I remember, Helena."
  "Philip, I still want to cheer you on to be the  man you can be, the man God wants you to be. You  do not need the adulation of the people. How fickle their  love is! Anger them, disappoint them, and they could  dethrone you and cast you to the chariot wheels."
  "Yes, I know, I know," he said, and looked  toward the terrace.
  "A man must respect himself and know that there are  values he believes in that are worth living for,  dying for if necessary. God, honor, courage to do  right," said Helena, thinking that she had been  influenced by Tancred's words.
  "Do you espouse the calling of the western knight,  Helena?" he asked quietly.
  Her eyes rushed to his. "If you hint of
  
Tancred--no. I espouse your own  integrity."
  A half-smile touched his face. He took  hold of her arm. "The horses await. So  does our destiny. Or as you would say, the  guidance of God."
  "He surely keeps the path of His  worshipers. He will keep us," she said, and  wondered that she felt so weary.
  "Then we will ride forward boldly and with  honor," he said with a wi/l tone and a sad  smile.
  "With you, Philip, I am not afraid."
  He drew her into his arms suddenly,  fiercely, and held her as though she would vanish.  "Your words make me want to be all your brightest  dreams! We will make it; you will see."
               * * *
  It was late ... the night very dark ... yet  they could see the horses where guards who were bribed  to silence turned their backs. Bardas too was  there, waiting and holding her reins.
  Helena wore a hooded cloak and walked beside  Philip beneath the shower of stars. Not a word was  spoken, for everyone knew what to do.
  They mounted the horses and rode out the gate where  several men waited on horseback to bring them  safely on the road toward Constantinople and then  on to the family villa. Perhaps by then a message  could be sent to Nicholas, who could meet them at the  castle, for undoubtedly he would journey on with the  crusaders toward Antioch and Jerusalem.
  "We will not wait to reach the Castle of Hohms  to marry," he said. "We have our opportunity, and  nothing must come between us this time, beloved. Time slips  through our fingers like stardust."
  It was enough for the moment to be with him, to believe again,  and they rode in silence.
  There was no moon tonight and the stars throbbed with  intensity in the black sky. She turned in the  saddle to glance back. "I cannot believe we are  really leaving," she whispered.
  Before and behind them rode the armed guards.  "We must ride all night," he said. "I  hope it will not be too much for you."
  Helena tried to reach him with her hand. "If I  am with you, I will not grow tired."
  The road passed large fields and distant  farmhouses, and farther behind, the dark mountains of  Asia slept like a caravan of camels.
  
  Staring ahead, Helena saw the darkness  as a grim reminder of danger. They would be sought  --Irene would see to that--they would be hounded until  so far exiled from Byzantium that she and Philip  would be given up for dead.
  Her mind continued to dart in many directions.  Her mother? Would Constantine find her? She  resigned herself to that fact, for there was little she could do  now.
  And Tancred--had he made it safely back  to the Norman camp? He would surely tell  Nicholas that she had escaped with Philip.
  Toward dawn, the sky began to lighten over the  hills. Weary, cold, and hungry, she rode  in silence, her muscles cramped, her mind  dull with the need for sleep.
  One of the soldiers ahead of them rode back  to Philip. "There is an inn. There is room for  all the horses and provender."
  "We will stay the daylight hours, then ride on  to the villa," Philip told her. She nodded,  only too glad to have an opportunity for  sleep.
  Bardas helped Helena down from the horse.  "I do not like this place," he whispered for her ears  alone.
  "It will do," she said, glancing about  cautiously.
  Travelers were leaving now, soldiers,  merchants with camels and donkeys, and a peasant  woman with an infant. For the first time Helena  wondered what it would be like to be so poor, so  helpless, and in this woman's situation with no real  home to go to, always wondering if the man you were with  could provide shelter and basic food. And the  infant. So tiny, so defenseless against great  empires, armies, and imperial lords.
  Helena's eyes wandered to Philip. His inner  strength was not confined to Byzantine life. He would  fare well without the culture to which he was  accustomed. He would survive, dauntless and  content. He would not live in shattered dreams,  growing bitter and defeated by change.
  Strange that she should be concerned now, on the  verge of her wedding. Why had it never plagued her  before? She would not admit that Tancred had shaped  her thinking of the image of true commitment between a  man and woman.
  Philip slipped his arm around her and led her  toward the inn. "I am sorry to bring you here."
  
  The situation appeared to bother him more  than it did her. She smiled and shook her head,  thinking of the Virgin Mary giving birth to the Son  of God in a cave, having neither attendants,  nor a soft bed for herself or the Christ Child--and who  was she to murmur over sleeping by a warm hearth in  the inn?
  Tancred had claimed she was spoiled.  Well, she would prove she was not. She could ride  a horse and sleep in a common room that smelled  of unwashed bodies; she could turn her back on  the splendors of the Queen City, and unlike  Lot's wife, she had no longing to look back  upon the comfortable culture she left behind. Her  heart did not cling to the fine things, nor did she  take interest in the vulgar. It dawned on her  then that Tancred would not know, nor would she see him  again. It should not matter to her what he thought. A  tiny qualm, like the ripples of a raindrop  shattering the stillness of a pool, spread through her  heart. It did matter. And would she ever forget  him? I dare not consider such a festering pang!  she thought, surprised and dismayed at her discovery.
  When the innkeeper did not wait on them at  once, Philip grew scornful.
  "Such slothfulness is unheard of in  Constantinople. There, my peasant friend, I would  see your inn closed until you learned how to treat  worthy company. Bring food and wine. Enough for us  all."
  "Philip, please, he is old and tired.  Look at his body--it is bent with years of  labor. You need patience."
  "I suppose you are right. I must get used  to my new position of unimportance."
  "You are important to me."
  She remembered little else after they had dined.  The warmth from the fire on the hearth put her  soundly to sleep.
               * * *
  Philip sat at the low wooden table staring  into the fire, his mind dull with the wine he had  drunk. His lips were tight, his artistic face  moody.
  "This should not be, Bardas. Look at us!  Helena and I, both of us nobility, yet  sleeping in a common inn on the floor, hunted like  fowl for the table feast!"
  He held out his cup. Bardas reluctantly  filled it again. "When problems loom large,
  
master, too much wine presents a  mirage of escape that is not there. It is a  yawning pit of ruin."
  "Do you criticize me?"
  "I would be a fool to speak ill of you. It is  the blood of the barbarians we cannot trust."
  Philip wondered about trust. If he had  been left alone to find his own purpose in  life, far from court, would he not have developed  into a far different man? The passion for  significance, the love of praise, and all that it  seemed to offer could be his downfall.
  But how could Helena give up Constantinople  with so little regret? Did it mean nothing to her?
  "You too must rest, Master Philip."
  He watched Helena asleep by the hearth.  "What dismal city can compare to the glories of the  Queen City?" he murmured. "I tell you,    Bardas, though we wander the world and cross the  unknown seas, where is there a kingdom such as  Byzantium?"
  "They say Cordoba is also a queen. And  ancient Rome--"
  "Rome, bah! The ghosts of the Caesars chase  each other among the ruins! Such is the destiny of  all civilizations, Bardas. Only ideas  survive, and they too perish, unless built on  truth and justice--listen to me! One would think I  was a philosopher! Bravo!" he mocked,  raising his glass. "Tancred the Norman would be  proud of me! He has learned honor; he has  learned the thinking of the knights!" He pushed his  cup toward Bardas. "Fill it. Let us drink  to the crusaders! Does not our hope of freedom  at the Castle of Hohms rest in them?"
  "Surely you jest, master. Are they not dumb  dogs ready and anxious for the kill?"
  "Do you call Redwan a dead dog?"  Bardas laid a hand on his arm. "Do not speak  his name so loudly."
  "He would call you out for that. Nay, he would  not--he would look upon your insult as the thoughts of a  fool blinded by his own prejudice."
  Philip smiled ruefully and set his cup  down.
  "The long road to the villa will soon beckon  with the dawn, and you will need your strength."
  Philip stood and Bardas assisted him to the  blankets and covered him.
  Minutes passed and still Bardas stooped beside
  
him, looking down at Philip, a  worried line between his eyes. Philip was wrong.  The Norman would as likely remove his head with  his scimitar as look at him again. Nay, I  did the right thing for Helena, he thought. Then why  did his conscience smite him like the old wound in his  arm?
  No matter. It is done.
               * * *
  When the sun rose the following day they continued  their journey toward the villa. They traveled with a  few armed men that Philip told her he would  trust with his life, and a favored slave he had  known from his childhood. Philip spoke of  revolution and the need for a new emperor, becoming  moody and intense.
  "The house of Comnenus must fall. Was not your  father Lysander a relative of the deposed  Nicephorus?"
  "Do not even whisper such treason, Philip."  "I would not whisper, but shout."
  Helena glanced at him, then toward the band of  soldiers, noting their immobile expressions.
  "You are assured these can be trusted?"  "They would die for me. I have known them since  I was a boy."
  "Which means little. Did not Tancred's cousins  journey across Europe to hunt him down?"
  "They had cause."
  Philip turned in his saddle to speak  briefly to his chief guard. "We will rest  ahead. There is a well."
  The sun was hot and Helena reined her horse  beneath a gnarled tree in the olive grove, and  Philip drew up beside her.
  In the distance a stone house belonging to Greek  farmers stood solid in the sunlight. They  watched several men working the field with oxen while  a woman operated an oil press.
  The silence between them lasted as the pleasant wind  swept along the wide field, rippling the  grasses. Tomorrow they would be at the villa, she  thought. Aware that he watched her, she turned to him  and smiled.
  "You have thoughts you keep from me. You are not  mourning the knight from Sicily, are you?" He  permitted his lips to form a smile.
  "On the eve of my wedding day?" she mocked,  but her conscience was throbbing ... she had been  thinking of him ... and soon, to think of him would be a
  
sin against Philip. ...
  "Why would I think of him?" she asked  lightly. "Have not I dreamed of you since a young  girl?"
  "You are not much more than that now, and a woman  grows and changes. The way of the Norman is more  attractive to you than your Byzantine culture  will admit. The knights who come are not the  ignorant barbarians we envisioned them to be."
  She played impatiently with the reins. "I am  surprised you would admit it."
  "The princes are ruthless, arrogant, yet they  have a spirit about them that is fresh and invigorating.  We Byzantines grow smug and lethargic.  Resting upon the past of ancient Greece, we  boast of bringing our civilization to the world. And we  did. If Rome built roads and kept the  peace," he said wryly, "we gave the world  language, art, and the beauty of earthly man  touched by the Greek gods. And now! Our vaunted  marble statues are no longer a reflection of us,  but of the knights from the West!"
  She was surprised at his words. This was a  Philip she had never heard before, and she found  herself agreeing in part.
  "Nicholas is the best of both worlds," she  said.
  Philip studied her. "He thinks well of  Tancred."
  Helena lifted her face toward the breeze,  feeling it stir her dark hair. Tancred had  told her the truth. Nicholas was his Christian    godfather, and he had shared in his upbringing along with the  scowling al-Kareem. He had told her of the  long-standing debate between himself and Tancred's  Moslem grandfather in Palermo, how they both had  sought to win him, and how he had seen through their scheme  and enjoyed playing one against the other.
  "But it is Christ who has won his mind,"  Nicholas had told her. "Now He must have his  heart." But she had doubted his character--what if she  had been wrong?
  Philip looked absently across the field to the  farmhouse. From his expression she knew he had more  to tell her and he was weighing the consequences. He  dismounted and came around to her, lifting her down beside  him.
  Something troubled him and because it did, she was also  disquieted. Leading their horses they walked  slowly through the deep shadow of the olive grove.
  
Ahead, the Greek peasant family  would offer them refreshment. She glanced back and  saw that the guards remained where they were, leaning  back against the tree trunks and letting their  horses rest from the long ride.
  Emptiness nagged within. She had Philip at  last, and they would eventually find their way to the  Castle of Hohms, yet sadness restrained her  anticipation. All was not as it should be, or perhaps,  could be?
  "Helena?" Philip's voice was questioning.  "What is it?"
  He cupped her face and searched her eyes and  she felt that they went to the bottom of her heart.
  "I am not at peace," she whispered. "Hold  me ... I am afraid."
  "Of our long journey to the castle?"
  "It is more than the journey ahead. This is not  the way I dreamed it would be, I--"
  "Dreams," he said with an indulgent smile.  "Wishing does not open the door to the future,  beloved. The hours pass, the days, the years, and  they leave lines on our faces and discontent in  our hearts. Can it be you have loved me with a dream that  vanished with the reality of the Norman knight?"
  "Philip!" she gasped. "No! No!"
  "Then?"
  She could not answer him, for her own heart beat  painfully with confusion. "I do not know. ... I  think I wanted the two of us together, living in  quiet contentment of who we are, with what He has  planned for us."
  "He? God? We choose our destiny. The  stars merge with our wills and thus history is  written. We can break the force that unites us, but  if we do there will be no peace until we find the  ordained road again."
  "Philip!" she whispered, pain making her  voice quaver. "You are yet bound in spirit with the  doctrine of Irene! I speak of the Sovereign  Creator of the universe! He who flung the stars  into space as lights for the night. There is no  divinity in the planets; our very souls are in the  watchful care of the heavenly Shepherd. ... What  was it Nicholas said? ..." and she looked toward  the hills, a longing on her face. ""I will  lift up my eyes to the hills, from where does my  help come? My help comes from the Lord, maker of  heaven and earth."
  "I am weary of those who plot and scheme. I
  
have seen the evil done to my father, my mother,  to Nicholas--to both of us, and others! For what  cause? Castles and thrones built on the minds  and souls of slaves! Of ruined lives! I  want more. Something of eternal value." She  looked at him and saw his impatience.
  "You speak with the sheltered voice of the cloister.  Life is meant to be lived, Helena! There is  the taste of sweat, of blood, of tears, yes--but  also the thrill of victory, the shouts of the  throng--"
  "A throng who quickly can turn into a fickle  mob. Hosanna, they cry today! And tomorrow?  Crucify him! If they did so to the Christ, how  much more to mere princes, kings, and emperors?"
  Philip drew her against him. "Helena!  What is all this? With what speech has  Nicholas filled your ears?"
  "I do not mind the taste of salty tears, nor  of blood if it must be. I would not hide from  life, and I do not speak of a hermit's cave.  I speak of the vanity of man's glory, of  seeking praise from men rather than from God. Of  denying Him for a throne, believing significance is  found in any other calling except to know and serve  Him as He bids us."
  Philip stared down at her and their gaze  held, with his searching and hers longing, yet their spirits  did not merge as one.
  Emotions spent, Helena leaned her head against  his arm and closed her eyes.
  When she opened them again he still held her  quietly and there was no passion in their touch. It was  the touch of friends.
  She gazed at the small stone farmhouse, the  quiet plodding of oxen, the unpretentious labor  of the olive press. "I would give anything if  we could be as they are now."
  Philip held her from him, smiling. "Have you  forgotten we are Byzantines and they peasants?"
  Weariness crept through her body and mind. Her  heart ceased its pounding and the fire of holy zeal was  quenched.
  "No," she said quietly, "I have not  forgotten."
  "Since you favor these poor peasants, let  us taste of their wine and oil and see if it compares  to even one evening in the imperial palace! Come--  the priest will arrive this night to make us one."
               * * *
  
  Purple dusk faded into evening  darkness and the stars became visible. An old  wooden tower was built near the olive press, and  Helena climbed the steps to the small room on  a platform encircled with a handrail. Standing at the  rail, she looked down and saw Philip, the  warm wind moving his short circular cloak. She  enjoyed the caress of the wind and thought, dazed,  Tonight I will actually marry Philip.
  In the silence the wood creaked as the gusts  struck against it. Below, Philip left the guard  and walked toward the flight of steps and began the  climb, calling up to her with a smile. Helena  walked to the landing to meet him, hands outstretched.
  "The priest is here," he called cheerfully.  "Are you afraid?"
  "I have dreamed of this moment since we were children."  "Children grow up."
  "My wedding eve, and look at me! I am  dressed in riding tunic and cloak!"
  "Excuses to change your mind?" He caught  her hands and drew her toward him. "Beautiful  Helena, how like the goddess you are."
  "Once," she said thoughtfully, softly, "I  believed we would walk the marble path of the imperial  garden, stepping on rose petals and hearing the  choir chant our blessing."
  His mouth was rueful. "And now you will marry in the  kitchen of a peasant with the smell of garlic and  olive oil."
  The warm, peaceful night hovered about them while  their minds mused the path they were set upon--but their  eyes were startled by a rush of flaming torches  moving swiftly toward the tower from the direction of the  field behind them.
  Philip straightened abruptly and scowled.  A cry of alarm split the night. Below in the  yard the guard shouted to their small troop.
  Bardas came running from the house, and  Philip leaned over the rail and called, "The  horses, quick!"
  Voices on the wind were overrun by the surging  thunder of oncoming horses galloping toward them  across the field.
  "Who are they?" cried Helena as the  once-peaceful darkness turned into terror.
  "We've been betrayed," he gritted.  Dazed, she watched, eyes wide, as more  flames were blazing and leaping through the dry grass and  spreading on the escalating wind.
  
  Philip grabbed her and she rushed with  him toward the steep steps, but the attackers were  swift and drove their lean horses forward at a  gallop to encircle the tower. Other warriors  holding torches galloped past the house.
  Helena heard screams from inside as fiery  torches were hurled through windows. Fire spread,  quickly catching up all that was not stone with its searing  tongue.
  "We are trapped," breathed Philip,  gripping her arm as the horsemen tightened their  circle about the tower.
  As the firelight illuminated the riders,  Helena's breath caught in her dry throat.  She stared at the strange turbanlike  helmets, the small round shields, the short  bows and quivers of arrows, the deadly curved  scimitars slung over their shoulders or carried  within easy grasp on their horses.
  The leader rode forward on a prized white  mare, sitting proud and straight, his lean bronzed  face all too familiar. Helena noted the  insolent features so well defined beneath the gilded  turban. His short, pointed dark beard and  mustache were vainly groomed, and he wore a  stunning tunic of red-and-gold silk over his  military garb.
  "Prince Kalid," she said, her breath leaving  her, unable to tear her eyes away from him to look  at Philip. But how! Yet there was no  mistaking the young prince she had seen once before,  riding in the emperor's train on the night she had  hidden in Philip's chambers. She recognized  that haughty face, that same look of ruthless  intelligence in the black eyes that looked up at  them with satisfaction.
  "You have betrayed me, Byzantine!"  Philip pushed Helena back against the wooden  wall and drew his sword.
  "You have my word as prince of Antioch that I will  not kill you!" called Kalid.
  "On what condition, that you order your followers  to do it?" scorned Philip.
  The bright flames and heat were becoming intense and  Helena pressed backward against the wall.  Please, God, help us!
  The nervous prance of the horses moved in closer  about the tower, and the curved steel scimitars glinted  in the firelight like mocking smiles.
  "Your life for the woman promised me by your
  
emperor! Send her down and you will  live."
  Helena's heart thudded. She looked from  Kalid to Philip, who stood angry and  grave, gripping his sword.
  Kalid turned on his saddle and gestured  to his horsemen. There was a stir, and a moment  later two of his men dragged forward the priest who  had come to marry them, the dust swirling about them. His  black robe was torn and his hands cruelly bound.  One of the Turks held a dagger point at his  throat.
  "You intended to betray me, to marry her this  night," called Kalid. "This dog who kneels  and kisses the idol of the Queen of Heaven will die  here and now unless you surrender!"
  Helena gasped and rushed to the rail. "Harm  him and I shall hate you till you die, Kalid!"
  He lifted his proud head and looked at her,  his bold dark eyes narrowing as they ran over her,  her hair blowing in the wind.
  "Let the worshiper of a woman go!"
  The two warriors let him fall into the dust.  Kalid looked up at Philip, who stood  pale and beaten, his face damp with sweat.
  "Why sacrifice your favor with the emperor?  Your position as minister of war remains secure.  The future is yours. Send her down to me and  all this will be forgotten."
  Philip stood rigid. "If you take  Helena, you must take me first."
  Helena whirled to stare at Philip.  "Then I will send up man after man, until  one severs your infidel head!"
  Kalid turned to the ring of soldiers. "Who will  go up first? In the name of Allah, who will take the  head of this infidel and bring me the woman?"
  Philip grabbed Helena and pushed her through the  opening of the small tower.
  She held him, her wide eyes imploring  his. "No, Philip, this is not necessary. They will  kill you and still take me away--"
  She stopped, hearing soldiers rushing up the  steps behind them. Philip whirled, but with a small  cry, Helena darted past him.
  Philip lurched after her. "Helena!"  She stumbled to the steps. "Wait! Kalid!  Tell them to stop!"
  It was Kalid on the steps, scimitar in hand,  his eyes fierce and dark as they collided with hers.
  
  She stood breathing heavily,  trembling.
  "Do not kill him. There is no need. I ...  I will go with you peaceably."
  He took her in from head to toe, then shouted for the  soldiers to cease.
  Helena brushed past him, holding her head  high.
  The light from the burning house illuminated the  yard, and she gazed at the ring of Seljuk  Turks on horseback. They stared back  impassively.
  Kalid went past her to his mare and mounted.  He rode his horse forward, his cloak glinting in  the fire like blood red rubies until he came  up near to where she stood. He removed his foot  from the stirrup and held out a hand, his eyes holding  hers evenly.
  Her gaze faltered and she stepped into the  stirrup and stiffened as his arm slid around her  waist, drawing her to the saddle in front of him.
  Helena clenched her teeth and blinked back the  sudden rush of tears. God, why? Why this!  Why me?
  Bardas pushed his way past the horses and  struck the guard below Kalid's mare with a blow that  sent him to the ground.
  "No, Bardas!" she cried, fearing for his  life.
  A warrior galloped up and kicked Bardas    viciously in the face, and he fell backward.  The sickening sound brought a cry to her throat as  Kalid reared back his mare and they charged forward  toward the road. A yelping cry followed from his  warriors and they followed with dust flying behind them.
  The mare raced on, leaping the low wall, the  wind coming cool against Helena's face. It was  madness, and trees rushed by like shadowed blurs, the  darkened earth flying beneath the mare's feet. The  grip about her mending ribs kept her from breathing,  and she feared she would faint. Onward they raced  into the darkness, away from the heat of the searing  flames, away from the road to the villa and toward  the distant horizon of the Moslem East,  to Antioch.
  
             CHAPTER 22
         Swords and Scimitars

  The last Byzantine guard tower was left behind  and a whole continent lay before the crusaders, as rich  in treasure as it was in soil. They had departed  Nicaea in late June and by July they were  nearing Dorylaeum.
  It disturbed Tancred that the various armies  did not travel as a unit, especially now as  they journeyed deeper into Moslem-held  territory. Bohemond and his Normans had  journeyed ahead of Godfrey's and Raymond's  armies, and due to a poor liaison between the  princes they were separated by a half day's  journey. Tancred was ever aware that the Red  Lion, having learned of the fall of Nicaea,  would have had time to gather a great force to confront the  barbarians from the West.
  Around them stretched red farmland, rolling hills  with an abandoned gutted palace, and a  half-deserted village on the skyline among  gray willows and green oaks.
  Mounted men of arms trotted by with a jangle of  rein chains and the clink of armor--a gust of  laughter drowned in the thudding hoofs. Dust  swirled over the bands plodding on foot, the  black robes of the priests, jackmen, and sturdy  pilgrims. Women clustered together on mules.
  Ox carts crawled by, creaking under loads of  grain from Byzantium topped with men sprawled  out, sleeping in the July heat. For miles through the  veil of dust, spear tips flashed in the  sunlight, and iron heads rose and sank, like the  waves of a dark river rushing on steadily.  Faces damp with summer sweat moved by.  Somewhere bagpipes wailed and a voice intoned a  common chant, made up on the road. Tancred  had heard them often enough. They made up new  verses every day.
  He watched the human tide flow past him before  he picked up his reins and turned Apollo  toward the head of the column. He had to ride for  an hour with Nicholas through the fields before they  reached Bohemond and his advance knights with their  esquires and foot soldiers.
  "We have seen a Moslem cavalry during the  day," Erich had reported to them.
  "When?" asked Nicholas gravely.  "Peveral, Normandy's standard-bearer, saw them
  
when they crossed a range of low  hills."
  Tancred gazed across the long plain but saw  nothing except a road leading down to a small  river. "A good place to make camp for the  night," he said to Nicholas. Bohemond must have  made similar plans, for the advance column  turned off toward the road for the night, avoiding the  flat country.
  He and Nicholas rode with Erich toward the  river. Here the hills formed in a rough  semicircle behind them, extending out on either side.  An ancient Roman ruin crowned a rocky  pinnacle in the plain, and Tancred and Nicholas  rode to search it and found it deserted.
  Tancred dismounted and walked to the edge of the  slope to look about the horizon but saw no sign  of the Turks. Looking down toward the river he  saw that the young esquires and some peasants and  priests were already fishing in the river, hoping for a good  supper.
  He joined the armed patrols that circled the    camp at night and reported to Bohemond that  all was quiet on the plain.
  "I do not like this," said Nicholas. "Nothing  has been heard from the main army with Godfrey and  Raymond."
  Tancred listened to the river running over the  rocks. Above, the stars shone on in the blackness,  undisturbed by the events of time.
  He awoke before daybreak and found that Nicholas  was already up and preparing to lead the morning prayers.  Tancred joined him and the Norman leaders at the  river. They knelt to one knee and bowed their heads  as Nicholas sought the blessing and protection of  Christ. Soon the camp was stirring, gathering  water, saddling horses, and yoking the beasts to the  carts and wagons.
  As Tancred cinched the saddle on Apollo and  prepared to mount, the young and daring Norman, Pain  Peveral, galloped in with several other chief  knights.
  "My liege, detachments of Turks are  advancing toward camp out of the mists."
  Tancred looked at Nicholas. "The Red  Lion. Who else could it be?"
  Soon the news was passed throughout the camp to the  multitude. Some of the horsemen, remembering the  battle at Nicaea and their victory, were eager    to catch sight of the infidels. Others were thronging
  
toward their feudal masters.
  Tancred watched, disturbed, as he saw an  almost holiday spirit permeate those footmen and  knights who had not yet contested the Seljuks.  He saw Frenchmen rushing off without their mail,  fearing the infidels would run away before they could  reach them.
  Women crowded to the tops of hillocks, staring  up the valley for a clear view. Others climbed  on the carts and wagons.
  Where are Godfrey and Raymond?  wondered Tancred uneasily.
  "We may be fifty thousand strong," said  Tancred to Nicholas and Erich, "but they are not  knights, nor even soldiers. They know no  discipline except the kindly restraint of  priests and the will of their feudal barons."
  Nicholas looked about, troubled as well.  "We ought to send a rider to locate Godfrey and  Raymond."
  Tancred watched as the commoners grouped themselves  by the knight who back in Western Europe had  been their liege, and the mounted knights sought the  standard of their baron, to whom they owed military  service. The barons joined one of the leaders and they  all rode toward the front of the camp.
  "Will Bohemond take command of these, besides his  own Normans?" wondered Tancred more to himself  than to Nicholas.
  "He will find it his duty to protect the  commoners. He comes now."
  Tancred saw the stalwart warrior already  astride his charger riding into the somewhat confused  mass of commoners and armed peasants.
  "Let all mounted men pass to the front. They  will ride with the Norman knights," he repeated  again and again as he passed through the camp. "Let  all men on foot who are armed follow after. The  rest of you set up our camp defense here, at this  spot."
  Bohemond's own army had already followed,  knowing what to do. They quickly aided the mass of  commoners to pull wagons into place, unyoke  cattle, and lift the heavy tents on poles.
  "All men who are unarmed, aged, or ill,  with the women and children, take refuge in the back.  Archers, and jackmen with pikes and axes, go to the  tents to guard them."
  The priests, monks, and friars were already  swiftly to prayer, bringing out their relics and
  
crosses to evoke the protection and aid  of Christ and the angels, and especially Saint  Michael and Saint George, who were expected  to lead the mounted knights into battle.
  Tancred swiftly aided the women and children  toward the tents, unloading pack saddles from the  animals in the baggage train. Horns were blaring  the warning of the approaching Moslem army.  Horses neighed, but the Great Horses, bred for  war and picking up the mood of their masters, pawed  the dust, nostrils flaring and eyes rolling toward  the brightening sky. The day would be hot; the sun was  already beginning to beat down on the armor of the  knights.
  Tancred now rode toward the front where  Bohemond and the main army of knights waited.  The night before, Bohemond had pitched camp beside  a wide marsh. The river was shallow, no more than  a stream in the summer, and the Seljuk horsemen  would have no trouble crossing it, but the marsh would  shelter one flank of the encampment, while the rest  waited near the foothills.
  In front of the tents the men of arms were standing  by their horses or forming ranks. Others knelt in  the grass to pray quietly, leaning upon their  lances, awaiting the moment when the sound would come for the  battle to begin.
  Tancred joined the section of knights with the  standard-bearer Pain Peveral, and a cousin of  Bohemond--another young Norman like himself with the  same name of "Tancred."
  Nicholas too joined them and rode along the  front line, reading from his Greek New  Testament, translating into northern French, for  almost all of the crusaders spoke the language.
  "They come," said Tancred.
  Across the plain in the early morning light the  Norman knights from Sicily and southern  Italy and the French knights from Normandy looked  with growing but silent dismay on the emerging sight.  Never in their wildest imaginations had they  expected this.
  How many armed Seljuk Turks and mercenary  soldiers rode toward them? A hundred  thousand? wondered Tancred. No, three  hundred thousand or more!
  A breath sounded from the Norman knights.  "God aid us."
  Astride his horse, Erich leaned toward  Tancred. "We are in trouble."
  
  "The Red Lion, no doubt," said  Tancred. "And he has gathered Persians,  Arabs, and Africans to join his Seljuk  warriors."
  Nicholas seemed not to notice as he rode  back and forth along the first line of knights who would  ride forth to meet them, reading the words of Moses  to Israel before they entered the battle:
  ""Arise, O God! Let your enemies be  scattered!""
  Across the plain, brightly clothed horsemen  moved toward them at a trot--lean, tough  Moslems with tanned faces, wearing pointed  helmets or white turbans. They rode  small horses that he knew were swift and  maneuverable, their saddles covered with red cloth.  Instead of lances or the Norman long blade,  they carried ready-strung bows and smaller round    shields. Tancred saw their flashing scimitars  in the sunlight.
  The green banners of the Moslems fluttered--  and then he saw what he had been searching for: the  standard of Kilij Arslan--the Red Lion.
  They neared.
  Bohemond, imperious and calm, yet as  deadly as a cornered wolf, rode toward his  chief knights.
  "Seigneurs and knights of Christ--the  battle is at hand on every side and we are  greatly outnumbered, with forty thousand  noncombatants to protect. Our honor and  courage will be tested by the flame of Islam! Go  forward!"
  They moved in unison around the young Norman  standard-bearer Pain Peveral with the crimson  gonfanon of Prince Bohemond fluttering in  the wind.
  Tancred touched his helmet to tighten his chin  strap and kneed Apollo forward. Nicholas, also  in chain mesh, the red cross clearly showing on his  black tunic, rode beside him, armed with sword,  lance, and mace.
  "What did you do with your Scriptures?"  asked Tancred.
  Nicholas gave a wolfish smile and patted  his heart. "Fear not, and behave yourself wisely--  no great feats this day, understood?"
  Tancred smiled and lowered his visor.  Suddenly, out of the Moslem horde came the  beating of drums and the crash of cymbals.
  
  The knights rode to meet them, the  long lances came down, and they shouted as one man  while the heavy chargers swept forward: "Deus  vult!"
  The clamor of the Moslems swelled louder as  if to drown out the name of the Christian God.  "Allah! Allah! Allah! There is no god  but Allah!"
  Tancred heard the arrows whipping. His heart  sank as the Great Horses began to plunge into the  dirt, neighing, wounded. The arrows crashed into the  loose-linked armor of their hauberks. Knights  toppled to the dust. Far outnumbered, the best were  going down. The myriad of Moslems surged  forward like a tidal wave ready to sweep away  all in their path. The Seljuks' skilled use  of the bow was accurate and deadly. Gritting with  dismay, Tancred saw the Christian knights being  scattered.
  "Erich," he gritted, and saw his friend  plummeted with arrows yet still fighting with his long  sword. Tancred rode furiously to his aid,  smashing his blade through a Turk, cutting through the  thin armor and toppling him, yet for every Moslem  who fell, ten more took his place. They were  surrounded. A scimitar struck Erich and in a  flash, Tancred saw the blood-soaked knight  slipping from his wounded horse into the dust under a  hundred pounding hoofs.
  "Erich--to was
  Nicholas was somewhere beside him, his heavy ax  tearing through the armor of the Turks. Wheeling and  striking back, Tancred's blade struck again and  again.
  The Moslems closed in on every side, and the  Norman and French swords met them with the ringing  clash of steel, but the Seljuks were at their best  this hour, attacking as Tancred had known they would,  driving, shifting, withdrawing, swiftly returning  in a weaving dance, sending a barrage of arrows with every  new wave.
  The wounded Normans yet astride their chargers  were easy targets for the Seljuks, who used  hand-hooks to pull the knights down from their  saddles to be trampled. Rearing horses and  shouting men added to the madness.
  The first wave of knights was forced to retreat and the  Moslems mocked them with shouts: "There is no  god but Allah!"
  Bleeding and somber, the Normans rode back
  
to the main line of crusaders, and a  second force of knights advanced, shouting, "O  Christ our Defender! Thy Name is to be  honored above all false gods!"
  The strident clashing of cymbals and drums from  the Seljuks sounded, and a new wave of  Moslems swept in, again outnumbering  Bohemond's choice warriors.
  Nicholas clenched his fist. "Erich is dead.  And the best of our knights are no match for three  hundred thousand! Where are Godfrey and  Raymond!"
  "A rider has been dispatched!" shouted Pain  Peveral. "Hold fast, seigneurs! We cannot,  we will not, surrender to the infidel!"
  Bohemond, looking tense and deadly, rode  boldly among them, displaying his bare head.  "Fight like the knights you are! Will you allow dogs  to defeat you? You who are Normans! Sons of  William the Conqueror! You are worth twenty  infidels! Go forward! Christ aid thee!"
  Sudden singing from the priests and knights swelled  louder and louder and the Great Horses shook their  sweating manes. The knights gritted with  determination and raised their gauntlets. "There is  no God but the Living God! In the name of  Saint Michael the Archangel, the warrior  angel--go forward and conquer!"
  Tancred interceded silently in prayer, his  jaw set, but Nicholas was in great dismay.  "Merciful Father of our Lord and Savior Jesus  Christ, when zeal deceives us, when our willfulness  is our true enemy, have mercy! These knights  sincerely love you, though they are oft misguided  and wrongly zealous! They battle for what they  believe is your honor among enemies, your  glory among the idols! Spare their lives this  dark hour! Send us help from your sanctuary on  high."
  "Monsieur priest, monsieur priest, it  is you! It is you," cried a woman's voice,  and Tancred turned in his saddle to the woman who  came running toward him, carrying a waterskin.
  "Modestine?"
  Her eyes shone and she smiled, grabbing hold  of his booted leg and handing him the water. "Thanks  be to God you are here and safe. Our God has  brought us together again!"
  Tancred smiled for the first time and grasped the hand  she thrust boldly toward his.
  
  Modestine took it and held it to her  cheek, despite the gauntlet he wore.  "God aid thee this day," she said.
  "Yes, and how good to see you alive," he said  with sincerity. "I thought you and Niles were killed  with the peasant crusade under the Hermit."
  Her smile faded. "Niles is dead. He  died saving me. And I was brought as a slave  to Nicaea. My baby also died, monsieur  priest," and her eyes flooded with tears as she  remembered. "They violated me, monsieur!  And my baby, not yet born, died."
  He squeezed her hand and, bringing it toward him,  saw that it was scarred and callused. He kissed  her palm.
  "My pity, Modestine. Take heart; your  baby and Niles are safe with our Savior. You  have lost them to this life, but not in eternity."
  "This life," she choked. Her eyes shut  tightly and her face contorted with sorrow and  depression. "Oh, monsieur, this life is  wretched. I wish to die also."
  "You must live, Modestine. God has spared  your life for a purpose. You are important  to Him, to His cause."
  She touched her snarled hair and looked up at  him, dazed. "Me? Me, monsieur!  Important? To the Seigneur Christ?"
  "Yes, you." And Tancred dismounted, taking  both her arms and giving her a friendly hug.
  She flushed with joy. "You mean--"
  He caught himself swiftly and frowned at her.  "I said important to Him. To me, you are also  important as a friend, but I love another.  Understood?"
  Her eyes faltered. "Yes, monsieur.  ..." She looked at him quickly, now ready  to accept her fate, and she smiled sadly. "It  is best, monsieur priest, for I am not good  enough."
  His heart was thudding from more than battle as he  searched her eyes, a hope flaring to life in his  mind. "You are good enough. It is only that my  love for another is too great for me to ever be  fair to you."
  She looked about. "She is with you?"  "No," he said flatly. "She is with  another. The one she loves."
  Modestine looked at him--scanning him
  
boldly, then rolled her eyes toward the  sky. "Monsieur, the lady, she must be weak of  eyes or mind. How could she want another other  than you?"
  Tancred smiled and lifted her chin. "Yes,  I wonder. How could she?" He grew serious.  "You were brought to Nicaea? Did you see other  slaves? Other women, like yourself? Women who were not  Turkish in blood?"
  She pursed her lips, bored. "Many,  monsieur. Yes, many. Some very lovely, but they  were the blessed ones. They were not with us--they were kept in  a different place as wives of important  Turkish officials."
  His hands tightened on her shoulders. "Did you  ever see these women?"
  "Many times. Unlike the Turkish wives of the  sultan, they did not live inside the Red  Lion's palace but in a royal tent. Oh,  monsieur," she sighed, throwing up her hands  toward the heavens, "it was very beautiful with rugs and  vessels and silk. And they all had silk  dresses, and gold bracelets, and earrings, and  nose rings, and--"
  He laid a finger against her lips. "You even  know the Seljuk name of Kilij Arslan. Did  you ever see a woman of Byzantine nobility,  a woman who called herself Adrianna?"
  Again she pursed her lips as though the matter were  obvious. "Oh yes, monsieur. Many times,  I saw that one."
  He stared at her, tensing. The unexpected  answer left him speechless.
  "She was one of the fairest," she said.  "You knew her?" he breathed.
  "Oh yes. But she has another name. She is  called Safia. She has white skin, with dark  brown hair with all manner of jewels. She was  the love of his nephew."
  His hands gripped her as though afraid he was  dreaming and she would vaporize. "Adrianna is  called Safia, and she is the wife of the Red  Lion's nephew?"
  "His name is Sinan."
  Sinan. ... Tancred tried to place that name  in his memory but did not know him.
  "She is with him now."
  He started, looking at her as though he had not  clearly heard. "She is with him? Where?"
  "In the army of the Red Lion, monsieur--the
  
army you fight. She went with him when they  left weeks ago. They heard the barbarian army  of the West was coming and so they rode to Aleppo  to meet his uncle, the Red Lion."
  He was silent. "She went with him gladly?"  She shrugged. "It would not matter. He would not  leave without her. She is with child now."
  Tancred's breath ceased. His hands left her  shoulders and he stared down at her. "You are  certain, Modestine?"
  She smiled sadly and ran her hands over her  stomach as though remembering her baby. "Yes  ... she was newly with child."
  Tancred rubbed his chin and glanced off toward the  cypress trees, musing. The situation between  Helena and her mother, as well as Constantine, was  becoming more complex.
  He asked simply, "As a woman,  Modestine, you would know--did she seem to love  Sinan?"
  She pursed her lips and looked toward the  cypress trees thoughtfully as he had done.  "For the life of me, monsieur, I could not say.  She is a very good woman. A saint. She  prayed much and she was always kind to the other women.  Safia was liked by all, even those who should have been  her enemies. Love Sinan?" She shook her  tangled locks. "Only God knows for sure,  monsieur."
  "Yes, only God knows."
  "I will bring you bread, monsieur." She ran  toward the tents and Tancred leaned against  Apollo, drinking from the waterskin and musing. He  became aware again of the noise of battle, of  death. He drank long and rested and wondered.  He would have much to tell Nicholas if they  survived this battle. And what would he tell  Helena?
  He remembered with a dart of despair that he  would not see her again. By now she would be the bride of  Philip.
  Tancred left the water and mounted. Giving a  pat to Apollo's sweating neck, he encouraged  with a whisper, "Bohemond needs every warrior,  Apollo. We must fight on. Summon your  strength and show yourself equal to any charger!"
  Apollo pranced forward, shaking his black  mane.
  Bohemond rode straight into the masses, his  great sword swinging about his golden head, and
  
Tancred followed. Richard of the  Principate charged with his men. Robert, Count of  Paris, followed with his men and fell wounded, dying  among forty French knights on the field. Then  Pain Peveral carried forward the standard of  Normandy.
  The Moslems drew back, then closed in about  them. The fighting spread over the plain. With  dismay, the western knights, fighting for their  lives, saw fresh armies of the enemy coming from the  foothills on either flank. Bohemond  swiftly sent a courier racing to find the main  body of the western army under Count Raymond and  Duke Godfrey. "If you wish to take part in  this day's battle, ride strongly!"
               * * *
  By noon the battle was worsening. The other  princes had not come to aid the Normans.
  Moslem horsemen coming by way of the swamps had  surged into the civilian camp. Modestine cringed  with the other women and children on the wooden platform,  terrified, watching as the Seljuks cleared a  path through the tents, riding down archers and foot  soldiers guarding the defenseless. Modestine  watched in horror, hearing the hysterical screams  of children and women as the warriors plundered the tents and  violated the women, passing their swords through their  bodies as they left.
  "Oh, monsieur priest," she wept, "where  are you?"
  Had not the Norman Ironmen driven away the  Moslems at Nicaea? Until now nothing had  been able to stand against the dread charge of the Normans  on their Great Horses. But like a plague of  locusts the enemy had flooded the plain and now the  camp. Modestine watched, dazed, reliving the  horrors of the peasant massacre in  Anatolia. As a civilian fell, she saw  not the stranger but Niles dying. As a baby  screamed, abandoned by the death of its mother, she  imagined her own baby lying uncared for in the dust.  She watched the Seljuks rushing upon a group of  clerics and monks and saw them killed.
  Then she turned to see a warrior rushing toward  her. No scream would sound from her throat--it died  in her heart as the sword pushed through her. She  fell. ...
  "Monsieur priest ..." Her lips moved  and then were still.
               * * *
  
  Bohemond drew back to camp but  refused to break and run. With him were the best of the  young knights of chivalry who still charged the  Moslems on wearied horses. By the standard of  Normandy, Nicholas held his position, a  strong figure in armor and cleric cloak,  holding the symbol of the cross. "Hold fast!"  Nicholas shouted to the knights. "Though you cannot  drive them back, nor withstand their numbers, God  is able!"
  The elite held on, dividing into struggling  groups, and formed again. They held out, as the sun  reached its zenith and the hours slipped by, their long  swords and battle maces smashing bones and  slashing heads from bodies.
               * * *
  Sinan read the sober expression on the  sun-darkened face of Sultan Kilij
Arslan, the Red Lion. The dark almond  eyes flickered like a heated pool, and the  hawklike nose seemed to smell death on the  July air. The green banners of Islam  fluttered about them as they looked down upon the plain  where the battle continued.
  Sinan, a young nephew of Arslan, recently  come from Cairo, sat proudly on his mare,  watching.
  "These Ironmen from the West are truly  warriors," said the Red Lion.
  Sinan reluctantly agreed. It was not a  simple thing to do so. He was proud of his own  warrior race, who had descended from the nomads  of Central Asia. He and his race, newly  converted to Islam, rugged and thus far invincible, were  noted for courage, and they respected the same  tenacity in other races. Differing from the Arabs and  Persians, the Seljuk Turks considered themselves  superior to the people they conquered, and they held power  through a line of illustrious sultans--Toghrul,  Alp Arslan, and Malik Shah. Before the  crusaders had arrived, Malik Shah had died,  and the resulting civil war occupied the various  Seljuk sultans from Jerusalem to the  Caspian.
  Kilij Arslan was a minor prince in their  great empire, but few of the crusaders knew it,  though Sinan did. His own father was a mightier  ruler in Cairo, and Sinan himself was an emir.  He wondered what his father and his uncles would say  when he returned with his foreign wife, a
  
Byzantine of splendid beauty named  Adrianna. What would the mighty Seljuk  princes say when he produced his firstborn son?
  For the child she bears must be a son, he found  himself thinking. If the infant is a female  ... But he could not be troubled by such disappointing  thoughts now.
  He followed his uncle's gaze down onto the  blood-soaked plain.
  "For the first time," said the Red Lion, "we have  met a people like our own. A people who are warriors and  who wish to conquer new lands. These men are as  steadfast as we. If they would become Moslems  we could live in peace with them and permit them  to settle here."
  The handsome Sinan scoffed, smoothing his black  mustache into his short, well-groomed Moslem  beard. His white turban was wound proudly about his  head and showed crimson at the top, glinting here and  there with rubies and pearls.
  "The Christian will never bow the knee  to Allah," said Sinan, studying his uncle.  "There is one hope for their defeat; the reason for  which I first came from Cairo to Antioch to meet with  you and Prince Kalid." And now Sinan's eyes  grew impatient. "All the sultans must  unite to destroy these Ironmen before they take  Jerusalem. Instead we feud among ourselves."
  But his uncle seemed to pay him no heed.  "Six hours of combat and they fought on, refusing  to yield or run. Against my will I must commend  them."
  Sinan glanced about the hills, becoming aware  of a new threat, and he said sharply, "You may  yet need to fight till the sun sets," he  gestured. "The standards of more Ironmen."
  The Red Lion followed his nephew's gaze  toward the foothills. He stood in his stirrups  for a better view.
  Sinan knew it was the main army of the West under  the other lords, for a scout had already reported to him.  He had prayed mightily that this would not happen.
  "They arrive in good formation," his uncle told  him.
  Sinan saw the armies of Duke Godfrey,  Robert of Flanders, and Prince Hugh, brother  of the king of France, riding toward the left flank  of the Red Lion's army. And toward their rear,  Sinan could see Bishop Adehemar and Count  Raymond, leading their army down toward the plain.
  
At the same time, the Normans under  Bohemond formed a new line and attacked.
  Sinan looked at the Red Lion and read the  grudging respect, but also the alarm that flickered  in the weathered face. Sinan believed he knew  what his uncle was thinking. They were now the  outnumbered ones, and they might easily be  trapped between two armies if they stayed on  to fight. Sinan thought not of the Ironmen, but of his  wife in one of the princely tents back in the  camp of the sultan. He had not wished to bring  Adrianna from Nicaea, but he would not permit  her to join the caiques carrying the other women  to Constantinople--not when he believed the child she  carried would be a son. Anything might happen  once she returned to Constantinople, and how would  he retrieve his newborn prince? He did not  trust the emperor, though Alexius Comnenus often  corresponded to his uncle. He had even  asked the Red Lion to turn now against the  crusaders.
  Sinan wondered what the Ironmen would do if  they knew the emperor expected to hire the Red  Lion to turn against the very warriors the emperor  called his "vassals from the West."
  Sinan turned in his saddle, his round shield  glinting in the sunlight. He was equipped with bow  and scimitar and prided himself to be a warrior of  distinction--even as his newborn son would be one  day. Sinan gestured to the bodyguard serving his  uncle, and the Moor named Mosul rode up.
  Mosul's dark eyes were unflinching, and a  faint, curling smile was on his lips. "You  beckon me, Excellency?"
  Sinan did not know why, but there was something in the  behavior of Mosul that disturbed him. Prince  Kalid of Antioch had sent Mosul to serve the  Red Lion, boasting Mosul to be a trusted  man of excellent skills with the sword, but sought  after by family enemies from the Moorish section of  Sicily.
  Sinan did not like Mosul, though the warrior  had done nothing to warrant his mistrust. It was the  look of superiority that Sinan did not like. The  Moor was ambitious. Sinan had seen that  hungry look before in others.
  "The sultan gives orders to withdraw," said  Sinan. "Bring word to al-Din at once. Then  break for camp. Where is Prince Kalid?"
  Was it a look of scorn or merely concern that
  
briefly passed like a shadow across  Mosul's face?
  "At the royal tent, Excellency. Shall I  tell him you wish to see him before the battle?"
  "Yes, make haste."
  Mosul turned his Arabian horse,  Alzira, to ride to the warlord who commanded the army  of the sultan.
               * * *
  Tancred watched the orderly retreat of the  Turks turn into an unexpected and seemingly  mindless flight--back in the direction of the camp  of the Red Lion. He turned the reins of  Apollo and galloped the distance between himself and  Nicholas.
  The horse lifted its head and snorted as  Tancred pulled rein, facing the rugged and sober  face of Nicholas. "The battle is not yet  over. We have opportunity to overtake the Red  Lion at his camp. Are you strong for the  battle?"
  Nicholas's dark eyes flickered as he  appeared to wonder at his words. "Have you not tasted enough  blood and sweat for one day?"
  Tancred gestured his head, his blue-gray  eyes meeting the friendly challenge. "Does not your  heart beat even as Helena's for the freedom of  Adrianna?"
  Nicholas's head lifted with the strength of a  wild goat. "Speak plainly, my son."
  Tancred smiled confidently and looked toward  the hills. Swiftly he told him of  Modestine's words concerning Adrianna. "There  is a chance," said Tancred. "But she is with child.  It will not prove easy."
  Nicholas let out a laugh, looking  victoriously toward heaven. He raised the  standard of the Church. "Praise be to God! Then  we too may slay a lion on a snowy day!"  he said, referring to the famous deed of one of  David's mighty men. "Onward!"
  Duke Godfrey, Robert of Flanders, and  Hugh the Great pressed ahead in pursuit of the    scattering Seljuk Turks until the raw hot  pink of the summer sunset splashed the skyline  over the hills. Tancred and Nicholas rode with  them.
  By sunset they came upon the camp of the Red  Lion sprawled in a plain between the flanking  hills of Asia Minor.
  
  "Ah," breathed Nicholas. "Like
Gideon, we look upon the camp of the  Midianites spread out before us like locusts  covering the land. And like Gideon we shall plunder their  camp and set our Christian captives free."
  "God wills it!" shouted Duke Godfrey,  his red-gold hair flying in the wind as his Great  Horse thundered in the lead. Apollo raced ahead  like a flash of black gold, his eyes sparking like  fire. Tancred drew his sword. "This one is  for Helena," he breathed to Apollo.
  So rapidly had the Seljuks retreated and  vanished into the hills that the tents were nearly  abandoned when the crusaders stormed the camp.  Camels, extra horses, goats, and sheep were  still penned in their grazing ground. Tancred saw a  wounded man crawling in the choking dust, hoping  to avoid the trampling hoofs of the crusaders'  horses.
  The man looked up and Tancred felt a  surge of pity. His eyes had been plucked out.  Obviously this poor creature was not a  Moslem. Tancred swung down from the saddle and  stooped beside him, bringing the skin of water to his  mouth.
  "Peace," he spoke in Arabic. "Are you a  follower of God's Son?"
  The man's breath caught and then he began  to weep, nodding his head. "Yes, yes, bless His  name! Are you an angel, sir?"
  "That depends on whom you ask," Tancred  replied. "Suffice it to say I am His  follower as well. Who are you and what do you know  about Kilij Arslan the sultan?"
  The man gulped the water, clawing at the skin  with both eager hands. "I am an Armenian. And  I was taken a slave from my goats near  Bethlehem a year ago. The sultan did not  own me, but a beast of a soldier named Dahir,  chief bodyguard of the emir Sinan. For seeking  to aid his wife, Adrianna, a Grecian  woman, Dahir plucked out my eyes."
  Tancred's jaw flexed and he exchanged  alert glances with Nicholas, who had stooped beside  them, producing a small leather pouch of medicinal  eye salve.
  "Sinan is the younger son of the caliph of  Cairo," Tancred told Nicholas. "He  has growing ambitions to replace his father. A  warrior and a man to be reckoned with." His eyes
  
held Nicholas's. "He is now your  brother-in-law."
  Nicholas's mouth turned up with the irony.  "Can there be peace in the house of my enemies?  What communion hath Christ with belial?  Brother-in-law! At whose choice, his or  Adrianna's?"
  "She wishes escape, my lord! I tried  to aid her. ..." The man began to sob.
  Nicholas laid a strong hand on the  Armenian's dusty head. "For your courage, my  son, I will see you well served. Another shall be  your right eye." He stood and called for one of the  friars, who came running.
  "See well to this fellow," Nicholas told  him. "He will go on with us to Jerusalem. He will  ride in a wagon and you will feed and bless him with the  Scriptures. And when Bethlehem is  retaken, he will abide there."
  The friar knelt to the Armenian. "Peace,  fellow pilgrim. God has sent us to you. Be of  good cheer!"
  Tancred laid a hand on the Armenian. "Where  is Sinan now? And Adrianna?"
  "Still in the royal tents. He hopes  to escape with her."
  A knight rode up. "The Red Lion  makes a stand by the tents!"
  Tancred and Nicholas mounted and rode  swiftly into the foray of frantic warriors,  rearing horses, and shouting men, their iron  implements smashing and hacking through the skulls of  those who rushed to block them. Tancred rode down  the foot soldiers seeking to guard the sultan's  tent. He fought his way forward through screams and  curses, Nicholas surging up beside him swinging the  spiked morningstar.
  The Seljuks were setting the tents aflame,  hoping to discourage the crusaders' advance, but the  gonfanons of Godfrey and Count Raymond  passed forward and made way for the crusaders'  dread mailed horsemen.
  "The royal tents!" shouted Nicholas, and they  fought their way forward.
  The crusaders were shouting as they stumbled  victoriously over dead and dying Moslems.  They tore into the bundles of booty, hauling out  tapestries and rugs, embroidered silk from  Baghdad and Cairo, vessels of gold and  ivory, and vials full of cinnamon oil and
  
perfumes.
  Tancred and Nicholas advanced, glancing about  them and glimpsing one of the Turkish princes leading  two saddled horses and shouting for help. Two  horses? That man, is he not Emir Sinan?
  "You have him! Be quick, Nicholas!"  Emir Sinan did not see Nicholas and  shouted through the burning tents, "Mosul! You  filthy insect! Eater of swine's flesh!  Betrayer!"
  Mosul?
  The name stabbed through Tancred's heart. For an  instant he could not respond. He wiped the sweat  from his face, clearing his vision, his blue-gray  eyes seeking a glimpse of his Moorish cousin.
  He is here? But where!
  He reached to the leather sheath slung over his  left shoulder, housing his scimitar. Mosul.  Where! He wheeled Apollo, looking among the  flames, but the evening shadows and smoke coming from the  burning tents became a shield to the assassin who  had killed Derek.
  In a moment a small royal entourage moved  forward on horseback through the darkness in a  last-minute attempt to escape. Through the haze,  a warrior appeared like a ghostly vision from among  the fiery tents.
  His cousin Mosul rode as one of ten men who  made up the bodyguard of the Red Lion. With them  were several Moslem princes and a woman.
  Tancred stared at Helena, her hands bound behind  her as she sat on a mare with a guard keeping the  reins. His heart surged with strong, new passion.  She is here! But where is Philip?
  Beside her rode Prince Kalid.  Tancred's eyes narrowed as he readjusted his  chin strap on his helmet and his gaze drifted from  Kalid to Mosul. Kalid must wait.
  Mosul had heard the angry words shouted a  moment earlier by Emir Sinan. He now turned  in his saddle to look over his shoulder, but as he  did, Mosul's startled gaze confronted not  Sinan, but Tancred.
  For a second their eyes locked. Then  Tancred rode Apollo forward over the fallen  bodies to cut off his escape route.
  Members of the royal entourage turned sharply  in his direction. Prince Kalid startled, then  tensed, muttering under his breath as his hand gripped the  handle of his scimitar, but Helena also saw
  
Tancred and gave a cry, kneeing her  horse savagely. The mare leaped forward,  breaking loose from the grip of the guard.
  Nicholas galloped to intercept the horse,  catching up the reins and turning it around.
  "She's in the royal tent!" cried Helena.  "Loose me!"
  Nicholas leaned swiftly, cutting the cord  binding her wrist, and Helena dismounted, running through  the smoking tents. "Mother! Mother!"
  Tancred tore his gaze from Helena's  retreating form and shouted to the Red Lion, "The  matter between Mosul and me does not concern you.  Leave now and I will see that the crusader princes  do not seek after you. That goes for you too,  Kalid. We shall meet again at Antioch!"
  The Red Lion and Prince Kalid spoke  together in low voices. Someone among the bodyguard  was heard to protest, but the Red Lion's voice  rose above his. A moment later he turned his  horse to ride in the other direction, followed  by Prince Kalid and his bodyguards.
  Mosul cast a calculating glance about him and  seemed to guess his dilemma. They had abandoned  him and he could not escape Tancred. Mosul's  hard face was grim and sweating in the flickering  flames. He wheeled Alzira to confront  Tancred, weapon in hand.
  Tancred came near, reining in Apollo.  "It is you and I, Mosul."
  "Swine. Take me if you can," and his  scimitar slashed boldly at Tancred's  throat but missed as Tancred's curved blade  blocked the full force.
  He followed through with a savage swipe of his own  that left Mosul shaken. I must not kill  him! thought Tancred, restraining his emotions.
  The force of their blades connected with a ringing  whack, withdrew, then collided again and again.
  Mosul was determined to kill him, but Tancred  was cool to the point of calm, as though he watched  a battle other than his own. He heard the steel  caressing, sliding away, smashing again with a force that  jolted them both in the saddle.
  They fought in the blazing firelight, their  horses circling. A soft whinny distracted  Tancred's concentration and for a second his gaze  shifted--his Arabian mare! She recognized  him and had whinnied to her true master.
  "Alzira," he breathed.
  
  Mosul took advantage of the  unexpected moment and struck. The scimitar cut  through Tancred's chain mesh, glancing his left  side. Before he could recover and respond,  Mosul leaped Alzira past him, andwitha last  swing of his scimitar struck a ringing blow against  Tancred's helmet.
  Mosul raced past the collapsing fiery tent  and away into the hot black night after the royal  entourage who had fled toward Antioch.
  Tancred held his side, staring after his sworn  enemy, feeling the warm blood seeping through his  fingers. Apollo blew through his nostrils and pawed  the dust.
  Tancred sat there for a minute, trying to clear  his head from the deafening blow, his emotions and strength  ebbing as he grasped the realization that the lost  opportunity could not be captured again soon.  Alzira was as swift as the desert wind and not  even Apollo could catch his beloved mare now.  Mosul and Antioch must wait.
  Becoming aware of the burning heat coming from tents  all around him, he heard knights shouting over their  great victory. They carried and dragged and dumped  booty into heaps before Duke Godfrey and Count  Raymond. Bishop Adehemar looked on  gravely as they brought gold and silver,  weapons, saddle horses, donkeys, sheep,  cattle, and camels.
  Tancred turned his head toward the royal  tent. Helena ...
               * * *
  Still astride his Great Horse, Nicholas  surged after Helena and toward the tent of Emir  Sinan. "Adrianna is there!" His spirit convinced  him that it was so, that his prayers and Helena's had  been answered. "Thou mighty Christ, strengthen  thy servant!"
  Wild eyes blazing, a Moslem guard on  horseback swept toward him through the shadows  to intercept his advance. "Allah Akbar!  Allah Akbar!"
  He rode straight toward Nicholas, his  short bow drawn.
  Nicholas raised the church standard and the blood  red cross showed in the light from the dancing  flames. The arrow whizzed, flying through the standard and  disappearing into the darkness behind Nicholas as the rider  drove past.
  The dust, which arose from the horse's hoofs like
  
scuttling clouds, ascended around
Nicholas as he steadily advanced toward the  royal tent. The green banner of Islam with the  insignia of two interlocked scimitars hung  limp in the curling smoke.
  Emir Sinan raced out from his tent to where his mare  waited. Nicholas rode toward him, formidable in  a torn black cleric's cloak worn over  chain mesh, and a gleaming lance in one strong hand  lifted to hurl straight into him.
  Sinan threw himself to the ground, rolling away as  Nicholas pitched the weapon with a groan. The  lance whisked through the air, missing Sinan by inches,  piercing the ground. He scrambled to his feet, his  black eyes smoldering, drawing his weapon.  "Idolater!" he spat into the smoke and dust.  "Thou worshiper of a weak woman!" He spun  around. "Dahir! Dahir!" and a Seljuk came  bounding forward on foot from somewhere in the flaming  darkness where tents blazed hot.
  Dahir, seeing Nicholas riding toward them,  threw himself beside the Great Horse, hoping to pull  its rider down from the saddle, but Nicholas  swung his mace with a crushing blow and the Seljuk  impacted the dust in bloody silence.
  A giant Turk emerged from the royal tent,  carrying a woman who lifted her voice toward the  sky as though her words sought to climb the ladder to the  sovereign throne. "Son of God, have pity upon  thy handmaid!"
  Helena raced after the Turkish guard, trying  to thwart him, beating against him with her fists, pulling  hopelessly at his huge arms. "No! No!  Mother!"
  "Adrianna!" shouted Nicholas, riding up,  his voice cutting through the fiery night.
  Her weak head turned toward Nicholas, and the  expression on her contorted face broke his  heart. She tried to reach a hand toward him, but  Sinan came between them.
  Emir Sinan, his eyes fierce and dark,  shouted an order to the guard who carried  Adrianna.
  Helena threw herself against him, but Sinan  struck her hard with his hand and she stumbled  backward. Swiftly he swung himself into the  red-gold cloth of his princely saddle and raised  his curved blade as a signal to the giant guard  to mount and escape with Adrianna while he  confronted Nicholas.
  
  Nicholas's ragged breath came  painfully as the sweat streaked his dust-stained  face. He drew his blade and charged past  Sinan, bludgeoning a blow against the side of the  neck of the guard and sprawling him face down in the  dirt. Adrianna stumbled to escape and fell  with a cry.
               * * *
  "Mother--" sobbed Helena. Still dazed from  Sinan's blow, she pushed herself to her feet,  swaying dizzily, trying to reach her.
  Nicholas dismounted and ran toward his sister, but  Helena's throat constricted with terror. Sinan  was coming stealthily up behind Nicholas, dagger in  hand. At that moment no sound would come from her throat  and she could only stare, unable to move.
  Firelight reflected on something silver lying  in the dirt near her feet. Her gaze fixed upon  an abandoned sword shining like the magical sword  of Durendal.
  With a gasp, as though moving to some unseen call,  she caught it up, stealing forward toward Sinan.  Helena roused her courage and new strength flowed  through her veins. Nicholas must live! She  lifted the sword high with both hands and brought the  sharp edge down, wedging it into the back of Sinan's  head.
  The sickening thud shuddered through her hands,  wrists, and arms. With horror, she let go and  staggered a few steps away from him.
  Emir Sinan sucked in his breath and fell  to one knee, quivering, catching himself on one  extended palm. He turned, his feverish eyes  full of rage at the sight of her. With teeth  bared, he crawled toward her, sweat dripping from  his face. His shaking hand fumbled, though still clutching  his dagger.
  Helena's stomach churned and she slipped to the  ground, too weak with shock to move.
  "Nicholas!" screamed Adrianna, stretching  a hand toward Helena as if to come between her daughter  and Sinan.
  Nicholas whirled with his weapon, slaying the  Moslem just as a sleek black horse  galloped up.
  In a moment Tancred dismounted and ran toward  her--"Helena!" His strong hands enclosed her,  grasping and lifting her to her feet. "Beloved,  are you all right?"
  Helena's dazed heart responded to his
  
vital touch, coming to life again as his  blue-gray eyes burned into hers.
  "Tancred," she sobbed, reaching both arms  to grab him eagerly, fearful that she only  imagined him standing there, that her hands would clasp  nothing but emptiness. All her foolish pride  had long ago fled, and now love surged through her  with a pulsating awareness that could no longer be denied.  He was no apparition and her fingers clawed into warm  muscle.
  Her eyes anxiously scanned the  blood-soaked tunic, reaching a hand to lay against  his muscled chest. Her gaze lifted to his.
  "I'll be all right," he breathed, loosing the  chin strap and removing his helmet.
  Helena's eyes moistened. His arm tightened  about her as though she too would melt away from him  into the heated night. She clung to him, shaking.
  Holding her gaze, he swung her up into his  arms and carried her away from the carnage.

             CHAPTER 23
       Two Hearts Beat As One

  Somewhere in the distance, a lute player had begun  his music, and the dark night began to dance with  heartrending notes that wrenched the listening soul. In  response, the stars filled the endless expanse of  summer night with their wordless song. Below in the  desert, damp with blood and sweat where lost men  scribbled their names in the dust, flickering  campfires wove through the night air like little  gonfanons.
  Helena and Tancred stood outside of the tent,  their embrace as fervent with love and desire as the  night was saturated with summer heat and throbbing  starlight. The noise of revelry and battle had  died, but the pounding of their hearts filled their ears.
  The lute sang on as its crowning notes  ascended, then ceased abruptly, followed by utter  silence that intensified their emotions.
  "I've been a fool," Helena whispered,  weaving her fingers through his damp hair that glinted the  warm color of autumn wheat in the firelight.  "I was too prideful to admit what I truly  feel about you, but I shall be a fool no longer."
  
  Tancred gently wrapped her lush  hair around his hand and brought her face closer  to his lips. "It can wait," he breathed. "There  is only one declaration I wish to hear you speak  now. ..."
  Helena's warm eyes held his and a smile  touched her lips as her fingers caressed him.  "Tancred, it is you I love. ..."
  His eager kiss silenced her lips with  passionate longing. Their hearts merged as one, and the  sweet haunting melody of the lute began to play  again.
               * * *
  When they arrived back at the main camp near  the river where the Red Lion first attacked  Bohemond's Normans, the dread news of  what had happened to the peasants awaited them.
  Tancred immediately arranged for Helena and her  mother to journey to the Castle of Hohms,  accompanied by two dozen soldiers.
  "It is not safe for you here, Helena,"  Tancred urged in response to the unspoken  plea in her eyes. "Rolf Redwan will care for  you until I return."
  "Then you shall return for me?" Helena's gaze  betrayed her vulnerability, the false mask of the  Byzantine elite stripped away from her in the  heat of battle.
  Tancred held her close. "My dearest  Helena, I vow it. I do not know the day or the  hour, but I shall return for you."
               * * *
  Hours later, Tancred buried the body of  Modestine beneath a cypress by the quiet, tumbling  river. His heart was heavy as he remembered  back to the first hour he had met her near the river  Rhone in the Auvergne region of France. He  seemed to feel the drizzling rain in his memory and  hear her voice calling: "Monsieur priest,  take me with you."
  Tancred thought of the words of Christ upon the  cross, only seconds before his death: "It is  finished." He stared down at the humble grave.  "Adieu, Modestine ... you who have known sorrow  --now laughter." He looked up toward the sky  as a small bird winged its way on the summer  morning. Then he turned and walked away for the  last time, his heart no longer heavy.
               * * *
  Tancred neared Bohemond's tent
  
headquarters with its crimson gonfanon  staked proudly by the entrance. The other princes had  arrived, and as they stood about he took thoughtful  notice of the red crosses sewn upon their garments.  There were also new soldiers who had recently  arrived from Nicaea. They had come  to Constantinople by Venetian ship from Genoa and were  gathering near the tent headquarters to wait for  Nicholas. This morning he would lead them in the  solemn ritual of their vow, and afterward hand them their  red crosses to sew on.
  Tancred stood there, musing.  Nicholas soon emerged with Bohemond and the  newcomers lined up. One by one they bowed the knee  to God and accepted a cross cut from the crimson  cloth, voicing their allegiance to the Jerusalem  expedition.
  There was a stealthy movement from the cypress  trees. Tancred turned to find his Redwan  cousins Leif and Norris. Their blue eyes  glinted with gravity beneath golden locks, their  bronzed skin damp with sweat. He was about to reach  for his sword but noticed their arms were folded across  their chests. Slowly they walked toward him--  Leif, grave and emotionless; Norris almost  smirking.
  "We come in peace, cousin," said Norris.  Tancred looked from one to the other, weighing their  sincerity.
  "Leif has convinced even me that you did not    kill Derek," said Norris. "If you had the  heart of an assassin you would have left me to die.  Instead, you aided me with your medical skills and  even forgave me for attacking while your back was  turned. I have thought much of it, and I cannot forget  it. We come as your kin to aid you in your search for  your Moorish cousin."
  "The one you call Mosul," added Leif.  Astonished, Tancred searched their faces and  saw something in their eyes that convinced him.
  He smiled--and it turned to laughter, and they  came toward him, their own laughter joining his,  each gripping his arms, Roman style.
  "The three of us," boasted Norris with a grin.  "Who can stand against us?"
  "We will find him," said Leif.
  "What of Walter and the others?" asked  Tancred uneasily. "If you align yourself with  me now, you will also be hunted. And if Mosul should  die in the war, I may not be able to prove my  innocence."
  "We no longer follow our uncle from  Sicily as our true liege," said Leif.  "We believe he is envious of your inheritance and  sought an occasion against you by making it appear as though  you were guilty of Derek's death."
  "We will follow Seigneur Rolf Redwan  at the Castle of Hohms," agreed Norris.
  "Then we will seek him together," said Tancred.  "For we have Antioch to take from the Turks."
  Norris frowned, inspecting Tancred's  leather tunic for the crusader cross, but not finding  it. "What is this, cousin? You have not taken the  vow?"
  Tancred glanced over at Nicholas and  Bohemond and the line of new soldiers.  Circumstances had progressed too far to ever  turn back now. Willingly or not, he was  caught up in the crusade on the long and bloody  road to the gates of Jerusalem. And it appeared  as if he would accompany Nicholas to return the  relic to the Holy Sepulcher after all.
  Tancred turned from Nicholas to look at his  cousins. For a moment he imagined seeing the  smiling, hopeful faces of the peasants, of  Niles, Modestine, and Erich. The crosses  on the strong shoulders of Leif and Norris  stood bright red at noontide. He thought of the  pregnant Adrianna carrying the child belonging to the  house of the caliph of Baghdad. He thought of  Helena. ...
  Tancred removed his dusty riding cloak from his  bloodstained tunic and walked across the ground  toward Nicholas.
  Leif and Norris glanced at each other with a  smile, then followed, watching.
  Tancred unobtrusively merged into the line of  warriors.
  Nicholas automatically turned, prepared    to pray, but seeing him, he stopped. Their eyes  locked.
  "What are you doing here?"
  "I came to vow," breathed Tancred evenly.  "Are you sincere?"
  "At such a time as this? Have you not also taken the  cross? On with it, Nicholas!"
  Nicholas's eyes searched his. "Yes, but  I had my reasons for doing so--in order to enter  Constantinople--"
  "And I have my reasons."
  Nicholas studied Tancred's  face, then smiled faintly. "As you wish. But  take heed my son; any vow to the Almighty must  be taken seriously."
  Tancred searched the dark, flashing eyes.  "Understood, Lord Bishop. I do not vow  lightly."
  Nicholas smiled. Tancred placed his  battered helmet beneath his arm and knelt to one  knee, bowing his head, now damp from the July  heat.
  He felt Nicholas's hand firmly on his  head and heard him praying in Latin, and then  quietly in Greek, "May Christ guard you  on the road to Antioch, and may we live to see  our loved ones again, and Jerusalem!"
  Tancred offered his prayer, then his sword for  knightly blessing. In return he accepted the  crusader cross. "Deus vult," he  whispered.
  A moment later he stood, and Nicholas  returned his sword. They looked at each other,  both feeling the summer wind.
  "On to Antioch," said Nicholas.  Tancred sheathed his sword. And Mosul.
  As he walked away he looked off toward the    Moslem East, toward Antioch, where Saint  Paul and Barnabas had been commissioned by the  Holy Spirit to bring the gospel to the Gentiles.
  Apollo was impatient, shaking his mane.  Nicholas waited with Leif and Norris  astride their chargers.
  "Helena," whispered Tancred. "Wait for  me! I will return!"
               * * *
  I will pay my vows unto the Lord now in the  presence of all his people. In the courts of the Lord's  house, in the midst of thee, O Jerusalem.
    --Psalm 11618-19

              GLOSSARY

abbey: a group of buildings comprising a  monastery.  abbot: the head of a monastery.  arrow loops: slitlike openings that permitted the
  firing of arrows with full protection.  bailey: a courtyard surrounded by soldiers'
  quarters, stalls for horses, and food  storage rooms.  conical helmet: worn over a hood; the shape
  of the crown and the smooth metal protected from  cutting or thrusting weapons.  craven: a Norman trial to establish guilt
  or innocence.  donjon: a dungeon  durendal: a name for the sword of Roland in the
  epic poem "Song of Roland"; a symbol of  knightly swords pledged to the service of
  God.  gonfanon: a banner that hangs directly from the
  shaft of a lance, just below the lance head.  Great Horse: a specially bred war horse of the
  western knights that could endure heavy weight  and the clash of battle. It responded to leg
  commands so the knight could fight with both hands.  halberd: a cross between a battle-ax and a
  spear.  heraldic: a family insignia worn on the
  helmet, gonfanon, or shield.  jess: a soft leather thong attached to the
  falcon's legs.  keep: the stronghold of the castle, used as a
  watchtower and arsenal. The thick walls were  laced with arrow loops. Usually there was a well
  beneath. The storage and eating rooms were above, and  sleeping quarters were on the top level.  mace: a favorite weapon of
  warrior-priests; was sanctified and carried in  ceremonial processions, slung on a loop
  on the right wrist. It was made of wood with  quatrefoil-shaped head.  morningstar: a type of mace; a round ball
  studded with spikes and attached to a handle by a  chain.
Patriarch: head of the Eastern Church at  Constantinople.  scimitar: a curved single-edged sword of
  eastern origin.
Seigneur: the trusted commander of a castle, a  term of respect.
"Song of Roland": the epic poem about  Charlemagne's Christian victory over the
  Moslem Moors of Spain. It was an early  model of knightly chivalry.

His right hand gauntlet to God he offers it.  Saint Gabriel from his hand has taken it.
    --Song of Roland