I slept in a Navarrese tent that morning—by myself—until the sun became so warm and the sounds of the camp grew so loud that further slumber was impossible.
When I drew back the flap of the tent, I saw Rasheed sitting on the ground nearby. “Have you been there long?”
He smiled sheepishly. “I forgot to tell you earlier. Not everyone in the company made the same vow Gil did. You’re the only woman in a camp full of men who haven’t so much as seen a woman in days. You may want to exercise caution.”
I glanced around. Several of the men had a hard look about them, though none seemed immediately threatening, perhaps because of Rasheed.
“Thank you.”
“Gil would be furious if I didn’t look out for you.”
Sorrow tugged at the corners of my mouth. Gil had said he didn’t care what happened to me, and the Catalans in the tower had believed him. So had Francisco. I didn’t want to believe that Gil had simply been using me. Yet all my life, people had used me instead of loved me. If my own mother had sold me, why would I dare believe anyone else could ever truly care for me? Rasheed’s motivation was off, but I was grateful for his concern, even if he was only showing kindness to me in an attempt to show kindness to Gil.
“Don’t frown,” he said. “Gil’s strong. He’ll make it through.”
Rasheed misjudged the reason for my expression, but I didn’t correct him. Nor did I point out that Gil was mortal. We had no way of knowing what had happened to him. “You’re a good friend, Rasheed.”
He gazed at the Cadmea. “Sometimes, having a good friend can help a person become a good friend. Gil’s done that for me.”
“Did you know each other, before Durazzo?” What would it be like, to have a genuine friendship lasting for years?
Rasheed nodded. “Gil convinced Sebastie to give me a chance when I was an outcast. I was a prodigal son, but instead of a homecoming with my family, I was welcomed by a group of Christian mercenaries.”
Outcast. I could understand a little of that. “What happened with your family?”
The scar on Rasheed’s face pulled at his lips as he thought. “It was more a who than a what. Zubiya. We were friends since we learned to walk. One day she told me her family had found her a husband but that she would rather marry me. I felt the same. I could have been happy married to her. She kissed me, and I kissed her back, but someone saw us. I took the blame, said I started it, forced her, and in doing so, I brought shame on my family. They sent me away.”
“Do you regret lying for her?” I recognized nobility in his sacrifice, but I couldn’t fathom the pain of having a caring family and then losing them.
“The consequences for her would have been worse than they were for me.”
“Worse than becoming an outcast?”
Rasheed nodded. “My family was Muslim. Christians and Muslims worship the same God, but where I grew up, He was a God of wrath, someone who demanded harsh punishment for any sin, especially for women.”
“I’ve seen you praying in Christian chapels. Did the Navarrese Company make you convert?”
“No. Conversion was my choice. It wasn’t a popular one. When my uncle heard, he came after me.” Rasheed ran a finger down his scar.
“He gave you that?”
“He would have done more if Gil hadn’t stopped him.” Rasheed shook his head. “But it confirmed my choice. I wanted to follow a God of love and forgiveness, not a God of anger and fear.”
Rasheed rubbed his scar again. “The least I can do to repay Gil is to watch out for you when he can’t do it himself.”
I looked away. “Gil said he doesn’t care.”
“He does.” Rasheed’s eyes held conviction. He was certain, but I wasn’t.
I thought it best to move on, to talk about something else. “Is there any news about the Catalans?”
“The verguer of Athens is coming with an army. Scouts think he’ll arrive later today. We expect him to attack, and when he does, the Catalans in Thebes will likely join him.”
“How many?”
“More than us from Athens, plus the men in Thebes. But we’ve gone against worse before.”
I’d never seen battle in real life. I’d seen it only in paintings, and I doubted those told the full story. “What should I do when the battle comes?”
Rasheed’s jaw hardened. “Stay away from it. Or try to sneak back into the city. You’re more help to us there than you are here. And you’re probably safer. From their army and ours.”
I nodded. Getting back into the city would be my goal.
I had never seen the Navarrese camp calm, but the activity escalated as the day went on. Men cooked meals over small fires, polished helmets, and repaired mail. Scouts came and went, and a constant stream of men carried orders about.
Francisco found me a few hours after my conversation with Rasheed. He wore the wine-colored surcoat of the Navarrese now, over mail, and held the reins of a black stallion armored almost as much as he was.
“Have you fought in anything like this before?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, but Ballester’s been training me for this since my father was killed. I’m eager to prove myself.” He glanced around. “To the men here, who have more experience than me, and to you.”
“You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”
“How else am I going to win your heart? I won’t be like that other man. I won’t change my mind about you.” He took my hand again and pressed his lips into the back of it. “Are they any better?” he asked, lifting my hand.
“A little. The bandages help. And the injury wasn’t deep.” My back, in contrast, was more painful than it had been the day before, but the wounds hadn’t reopened.
He nodded. “What will you do when the battle starts? You could stay in camp, but if things turn against us, it will become the worst possible place for you.”
I glanced at the Borraiai Gates of the Cadmea, just visible in the shadow of St. Omer’s Tower. “I’ll try to sneak back inside. I can tell the others what’s happened. I’m of little use here, but in Thebes, maybe I can do something to help.”
A shout rang out, calling the men to assemble. Francisco gave me another smile. He was charming, and I was flattered by his attentions, but he didn’t make me giddy. Maybe the giddiness I’d felt with Gil was a delusion, something that hadn’t been real, something that wasn’t practical. Maybe I ought to give Francisco de Lenda a little time and see what happened.
“Be careful, Francisco,” I said.
“I care less about safety and more about success.” He mounted his horse and looked down at me intently before riding forward.
Dust rose from the east of the Cadmea. The army from Athens was marching around the city to meet the Navarrese, the majority of whom were on foot. I watched them form into three groups: horsemen, crossbowmen, and infantry armed with a variety of polearms and swords. Eventually, the Catalans from Athens came into sight. My view of them wasn’t clear, but they had more horsemen, I could see that much.
Heavy cavalry was supposed to be the key to any victory, but there had been exceptions before. When the Catalans defeated Walter de Brienne near the Cephissus River, they’d been outnumbered, and their Turkish allies had been reluctant to help them. But Catalan disadvantages hadn’t condemned them to failure. They’d chosen the site of battle and flooded the fields of grain, creating a marsh hidden below spring growth. The Frankish knights had been slowed in the swamp and then annihilated by a combination of Catalan infantry and Turkish archers.
The Catalans had won an unexpected victory, but now they had none of those key advantages. They hadn’t chosen the ground. They weren’t fighting an overconfident foe. And they had no Turkish allies, reluctant or eager. They’d forgotten what gave them their biggest victory, and I hoped that would make them vulnerable.
Now, in the plain north of Thebes, both armies sent their infantry forward, holding the cavalry in reserve to exploit any openings. I was distant enough that the cries and shouts were muffled, and soon, dust made it impossible for me to tell who was suffering more, Navarrese or Catalan.
Standing on the edge of battle, waiting to see who would win and who would lose, was almost as awful as waiting in the top of the tower, wondering how the Catalans were torturing Gil. Time seemed to slow. Ignorance and worry and dread all swirled together, keeping me on edge.
When the Borraiai Gates opened, revealing a force of armed Catalans from the Cadmea, I could guess what it would mean for the battle. De Ardoino would have scrounged every last Catalan soldier he could find, and they would wage war with the desperation of men whose fortunes and futures depended on the outcome.
They left the Cadmea and formed into ranks, organizing themselves quickly, and then they charged toward the rear of the Navarrese infantry. The Navarrese cavalry rode in to intercept them. The men hacked with swords, and the horses swerved and reared. The maroon of the Navarrese Company mixed with the gold and red of the Catalans, and men on both sides were unhorsed. Some stayed where they landed—killed or wounded so badly they could no longer fight. Others continued the battle from the ground. Wounded horses thrashed and kicked, turning into yet another battlefield hazard.
The Navarrese seemed to hold their ground, but holding wouldn’t be enough to take the city. They had to defeat the enemy, or their journey into the Duchy would be for naught.
Then everything changed. The Catalan horsemen from Athens joined the fray, attacking on the left of the Navarrese footmen. The dust of battle obscured men and horses, and I held my breath.
Horsemen had an enormous advantage over footmen. They could attack with greater power, greater momentum, greater speed. There weren’t quite so many Catalan horsemen as there were Navarrese footmen, but that didn’t make it an even match. One moment, all I could see was a mass of soldiers sparring with swords, axes, and halberds. The next, the Navarrese line broke, and a disorderly retreat rushed toward the camp, where I watched in horror.
The Navarrese cavalry still fought with de Ardoino’s force from Thebes, but the Navarrese infantry hadn’t been able to withstand the combined horsemen and footmen from Athens.
The Navarrese camp was on a rise, a good place to regroup. Despite the disordered state of the retreat, it took only one Navarrese sergeant to shout a few orders, and the retreating men began reforming into a line of sorts. Men with halberds formed the first rank, ready to slash and stab at any attacking horsemen. Behind them, a line of crossbowmen formed.
A soldier ran toward me in Navarrese maroon. The face was hidden beneath a helmet and mail coif, so I didn’t recognize him until he was nearly upon me. Rasheed. He’d been wounded—blood stained the sleeve of his right forearm, and his hand was hidden in a smear of red.
He carried two crossbows and handed me one. “Do you know how to use this?” he asked.
Thomas had trained me with sword and dagger, but I’d never used a crossbow before. “No.”
He showed me. “Just point it and release the bolt. Like this.” He aimed at someone in the distance and hit a Catalan soldier in the chest. “But if you’ve never done it before, wait until they’re closer.”
A bolt from an enemy crossbow struck the ground between us.
Rasheed said something under his breath and ran into a nearby tent. He came back with a pavis. “Can you hold this for me?”
I took the shield from him. It was heavy, long, and thick enough to prevent any Catalan crossbow bolts from plowing into us. Rasheed peeked out from behind the shelter and shot a bolt. Then he steadied the bow on the ground, pulled the string back to the catch plate, and repeated the process over and over again.
I ignored the cries around me and the enemy bolts slamming into the pavis. I ignored the pain in my hands and in my back—Thomas had never let me use pain as an excuse, and I wouldn’t either, not when I was fighting by choice. My task was simple: hold the shelter Rasheed needed so he could stop the Catalans from overrunning the Navarrese camp. If the Navarrese failed, my fate would be as awful as anything Pertusa could do in the tower or Bessarion could do in his bedchamber.
After firing a dozen bolts, Rasheed paused. “I’m moving forward. You can stay, or you can come. Both could be dangerous, depending on how the battle turns.”
I lifted the shield. “I’ll come.”
Rasheed found a new location, shot a few bolts, and then we moved forward twice more. The Catalan cavalry attack had been broken, and now the Navarrese attacked instead of defended.
From the shelter of the shield, I looked around. The dead and wounded lay scattered about, some near, some in the distance, spread between the camp and the gates of the Cadmea.
Rasheed stopped firing.
“What is it?” I asked.
“They’re falling back. They may try to regroup, but they’re out of range now.”
I stood to my full height, where I could peer over the top of the pavis. The fighting was petering out. There were no longer neat lines of Navarrese and Catalan, just scattered groups skirmishing, some on horseback and some on foot. A Navarrese soldier walked toward the camp with a pair of prisoners. No, not Navarrese—it was a Catalan noble in Navarrese surcoat. Francisco de Lenda.
Several Navarrese men approached him.
“Galcerán de Peralta and Pedro Balter!” Francisco shouted.
“Isn’t that the verguer of Athens?” I asked Rasheed.
Rasheed nodded. “And Pedro Balter is one of the notaries.”
Francisco had captured a verger and a notary. Impressive prisoners for a young man to take during his first battle. I hoped he felt he’d proved himself.
Rasheed smiled with satisfaction. “We’re going to win this battle.”
Catalans retreated toward the gate, and Navarrese soldiers regrouped.
The Borraiai Gates would close again. There weren’t nearly as many Catalans as there had been at the day’s beginning, but there were enough to man the walls of the Cadmea and keep the Navarrese Company out.
Rasheed seemed to realize that the moment I did. “If you want to sneak back into the city, we have to act now.”
There was something appealing about staying in the Navarrese camp and celebrating the victory, but the victory would be incomplete as long as the Catalans held the Cadmea. Something far more compelling called me back to Thebes. My role in the battle had been insignificant, but inside the city, I could do something to earn my freedom and fulfill my duty.
I nodded. “I want to make it back inside the city.”