Chapter Fourteen

Something troubles you, my friend.”

Brody stirred himself, looking up from the sand moving just ahead of his horse’s head. It grew hypnotic after a while, he realized. He looked at Veris. “I’m sorry. You said something?”

Then he realized that they had both spoken Saxon and that Alexander was turning his head to listen, his eyes narrowing with sharp intelligence, a furrow between his brows. As Alexander could not possibly understand, Brody was not troubled. But he shifted back to French, anyway. “I apologize. My thoughts were elsewhere,” he told Veris. “You spoke?”

“I did,” Veris agreed. His gaze shifted to Alexander. He did it without turning his head.

The Fatimid was sitting cross-legged upon his horse, his reins between his calves, balancing a thick leather portfolio upon his knees. The portfolio acted as a simple desk for a parchment and a piece of thin coal-like substance which he was using to write upon the parchment. Brody wondered if it was lead. An early and simple pencil.

“I am not good company this day,” Brody replied, for both Veris and Alexander’s ears. “My thoughts bother me.” That would give Veris a way to avoid speaking of anything he didn’t want Alexander to hear. They couldn’t drop into Saxon in front of him without raising his suspicions.

Veris lifted a brow. “Indeed. I’ve had thoughts of my own that need sharing. They might serve to cheer you.”

Brody cocked his head. “Really? What thoughts would they be?”

“I have considered the matter at length, my lord. It would be my honor if you would accept me into your household as your knight at arms.”

Alexander paused in his scribbles and looked at Veris, his eyes widening.

“You wish Selkirk to release you?” Brody asked carefully.

“I do.”

Brody took a breath. His heart was suddenly hurrying. He tried not to show it in his voice or mannerisms. “Do you believe Selkirk would have any objections to releasing you, Will?”

“Aye, he might have one or two, but I believe I could point out more reasons that would be to his benefit.” Veris’ expression was grim and Brody knew he was thinking of Davina. Veris was actually going to tell Selkirk about Davina. A hint or a bald statement. Either way, he was going to use Selkirk’s wife as leverage for his freedom.

It might be dangerous. If Davina learned what Veris planned to do, she could try to counter his attempt to escape her husband’s household…and her dungeon.

Brody wanted to protest that Veris didn’t have to go to such lengths to barter for his freedom. History and Brody’s memory of the siege of Jerusalem told him that Selkirk would die tomorrow in the first attack upon the walls of the city. Veris would be free to seek a new master without this added danger.

But things were different and now Brody couldn’t say for sure that Selkirk would be one of the early victims of the Fatimid swords.

He glanced at Veris calmly waiting for his answer. Veris needed to break away from the poisonous Davina for his own sake.

Brody nodded. “Arrange it, Will. As soon as possible. I’d welcome a knight with your skills into my household with open arms.”

Veris nodded. “As soon as possible, then,” he said gruffly.

But he seemed to be holding back a smile.

Brody didn’t bother hiding his.

* * * * *

THE SUN WAS LEVEL WITH the tops of the highest buildings of Jerusalem when they arrived back at the city.

Theirs was a heroes’ welcome, for water and fresh food had grown so dangerously low in the nearly three days they had been gone that people from the northern and western camps fell upon the wagons of food and water with almost manic delight. Only quick thinking by the more level-headed senior leaders kept the water barrels whole and unbreached, as they inserted guards in front of the desperate allies and went about ladling out first rations of fresh supplies immediately, straight from the wagons.

Brody helped Taylor down from her wagon, over the tops of the heads of soldiers and camp followers and carried her back to their tent on the back of his horse. Veris accompanied them part of the way.

“I will leave you here,” Veris said, reining in his horse.

Brody halted, too. “You meant what you said earlier?” he asked softly, in Saxon.

Taylor looked from one to the other, puzzled.

Veris nodded. “Yes, by the gods,” he said flatly. “There are reasons for why you came into my life.” He dropped his gaze to Taylor. “Both of you, I think.”

She shivered and Brody’s arm tightened around her.

Veris looked back at Brody. “This must be at least one reason. If it isn’t, I’ll make it one. I’ve been looking for a way…an excuse. You’re a damn fine excuse. A worthy one.”

“She’s not going to agree with you on that,” Brody told him. “Watch your back. I won’t be there to ward off spears, this time.”

“I will.” He grinned, turned his horse and headed north, parallel with the long line of tents and encampments sitting out of bowshot of the western walls of the city.

“He’s quitting Selkirk?” Taylor said, in English.

“Yes.”

“And coming to work for you?”

“Yes.”

“Is that what happened before?”

Brody shook his head. He was watching Veris ride away. “Not exactly,” he murmured. “But the end result is almost the same. He ended up a knight in my household. If Selkirk lets him go without a fight and if Selkirk can handle Davina.”

“What could Davina do to Selkirk?” Taylor asked. “I thought Selkirk fought in the siege tomorrow. You said he did, originally. But you sound worried, like Davina might hurt Selkirk, or foul up Veris’ plans somehow.”

“All bets are off,” Brody said gently. “Davina obeys no laws. That is the reason Veris had to deal with her, the first time around. She already tried to assassinate him once, out here in the desert. That didn’t happen last time. Now, with all the changes that have happened, I can’t begin to guess what she may do. We are moving through country as undiscovered as the future.” He looked down at her and smiled gently. “Let’s go get you a more comfortable bed for you to pretend to be frail upon.”

* * * * *

VERIS PAUSED ONLY LONG ENOUGH to wash and change before presenting himself to Selkirk. It had been years since his heart had beat in time with his emotions, but now he found it was hurrying along, squeezing and banging against the inside of his chest. If no other sign had indicated so, this alone told him his decision was sound. His body was awakening once more to simple pleasures, more human responses and stimulus, instead of being dead to anything but the most extreme forms of pain and pleasure.

Selkirk greeted him with arms spread wide and a big smile. His hand shake was firm and his pat on the back hearty and accompanied by fulsome greetings and praise.

“The hero of the hour!” Selkirk declared. “You have done me and the Selkirk name proud, William! The northern lords and their households are relieved of their dire circumstances tonight because of you.” He grasped Veris’ forearm with his left hand while still shaking his hand. “I will not forget this, William.”

He let Veris’ hand go, then turned and picked up a cup of wine from the small table standing by the big shield chair that went everywhere with him. “Tonight in the small hours we roll the siege engines up to the walls of the city. It would have been an impossible task with no water to soothe our mouths and bellies, but you have changed that.” He lifted the cup up to Veris and drank a mouthful.

“You exaggerate my part in the matter, my lord,” Veris replied. “I reported to Brendan of Norwich and followed his orders. It was his man who found the water and Norwich’s skill and leadership that ensured the water arrived here inside the three day limit that Toulouse demanded.”

Selkirk’s cup lowered a little. “But still, you succeeded!” he insisted.

“I followed a leader,” Veris replied. “An excellent leader. One that I would prefer to continue to follow.”

Selkirk put his cup back on the table. “William, you are making no sense at all. Three days in the desert have parched your innards.”

Veris smiled grimly. From the narrowing of Selkirk’s eyes, the man knew exactly what he meant. He simply wanted Veris to speak the words aloud. Veris tucked his thumbs into his belt and looked Selkirk in the eye. It meant dropping his chin a fraction to do it. “I wish to be immediately released from your services and your household, my lord.”

Selkirk took a moment to absorb it. “Immediately? Impossible! We are on the eve of war, man! I cannot possible deprive my retinue of one of my best knights. It is out of the question.”

“I will be fighting tomorrow, no matter which shield is on my tunic,” Veris replied evenly. “The Christians will not lose my skills. Is that not the more important question here?”

Selkirk hesitated.

“You have for the last three days survived quite happily without my services,” Veris pushed on. “You’ve managed to build a siege engine without my oversight. I saw it out there as I came into the tent. I presume Richard managed the matter while I was gone. I trained him and know his abilities. He knows how to handle men well. You will not be without a good second once I am gone.”

Selkirk grew angry. “You already speak as if the matter is settled.”

“It is,” Veris said sharply. “Understand, my lord. I am leaving whether you wish it or no. I am simply trying to help you agree to the matter.”

Agree?” Selkirk’s face turned red. “Do you know what I will do to you if you dare leave without my authority?”

“Or my Lady Selkirk’s, either?” Veris added.

Selkirk sucked in his breath, as if he were trying to catch back words. He coughed and cleared his throat. When he finished coughing, his face was mottled white and red. He sank down onto the big chair, breathing hard and rubbed at his temple.

He bowed his head and for a long moment he said nothing.

Veris understood then that Selkirk had been trying to fool himself that the rumors were not true, that his wife had not been systematically cuckolding him for the duration of their marriage.

If Selkirk truly understood the depth and style of her betrayal, he would attempt to kill her and then discover what manner of creature he had married in fact.

Veris pulled the length of cloth from his tunic, stepped forward and dropped it onto Selkirk’s knee. The blood was old, now. Crusty and stale, but any fighting man would recognize the stains for what they were. The stains had soaked across most of the cloth, but the Selkirk shield and Davina’s stylized “D” were perfectly clear.

Selkirk didn’t try to pick it up. “What is this?” He tried to speak with a demanding, authoritative voice, but it came out weak. Broken.

“Norwich took that from the body of the man Lady Selkirk sent to assassinate me, out in the desert. She had him dress like a Fatimid and shove a spear in me from behind. You have reparations to make to Norwich, Selkirk. His lady took that spear, not I.”

Selkirk gripped his chair arm. “She died?”

“She lives, but only because I and one other between us know enough about war wounds to make it so,” Veris told him harshly. “But I won’t fight another day wearing the shield of a house that plots against me. I’m quit of Selkirk as of now.”

“You have proof of this?”

“You’re holding it,” Veris growled.

“A piece of bloody cloth?” Selkirk picked it up in his fingers. “I could cut any sow’s throat, sop up the blood and cry murder, too.”

Veris nodded. “Then ask anyone in your household under my command who went on the expedition. They’ll confirm the details. Ask around Norwich’s camp. Inspect the shoulder of Norwich’s wife. Look at the wound she carries. Then, when you’re ready, try to find a Selkirk archer called John. A tall young fellow with pale skin and blue eyes something like mine. He’s been missing since the expedition set out for water three days ago. You won’t find him because Norwich buried him in the desert after beheading him, because he tried to kill me with a spear on your wife’s orders.”

Selkirk grimaced. “I know the man of whom you speak,” he said tiredly. He sighed. “I release you, Will. You are right, an immediate release is better.” Selkirk couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

Veris unhooked his hands, letting them move away from the quick drop to his sword hilt. “I will go at once.” He moved level with the big chair where Selkirk was still sitting hunched against one arm and hesitated. The words were there. Get rid of your wife, Selkirk. Don’t just put her aside. Kill her, take the head and heart, burn the body and salt her grave and even then, sleep with a spear by your bed.

But he remembered, all at once, that Taylor had tried a simple gambit with Selkirk: to borrow Veris for her husband’s expedition. Selkirk had won and refused to give her his best knight. Instead, Selkirk had sent Veris at the head of his own expedition to win political influence with the northern lords.

Selkirk had made Taylor feel like a fool for his own gain, while Taylor had beggared herself for Brody’s sake.

Veris looked at Selkirk now and his heart hardened. He straightened up and kept walking toward the tent flap. Let Selkirk stew in his own household troubles. He deserved them.

He pushed aside the flap and stepped out into the late afternoon sunlight. It felt extraordinarily fresh and pleasant out here, for all that it was hot, dry and dusty and the raw, dazzling sunlight bothered his eyes more here than ever it did in England.

As he stood adjusting to the sun, Davina rounded the far corner of the tent and came to a halt.

Shock slithered over her face and was quickly gone as she adjusted to the fact that her gambit to kill him had failed.

She painted a smile on her face and came toward him. She was slender and tall and dark-haired, not unlike Taylor, but that was where all similarity ended. Her slenderness held no feminine softness, even though she covered it with cloth and womanly accoutrements on occasions, or like now, with her own version of her husband’s tunics and leggings. Her breasts were small, as were her hips and there was no sweet hour-glass curve at the waist and hip.

Her eyes were the most alluring thing about Davina. She watched Veris now with what most outsiders might consider to be a blank, polite expression, but Veris knew to be a hungry one.

“Everyone tells me you are a hero, Will,” she breathed, sliding her hand up his chest toward his neck, trying to raise his pulse.

He caught her wrist in his. “Explain why,” he growled. “Why have John try to kill me?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I sent him to spy on you, not kill you.” Her other hand slithered, snake-like, around his neck. “Her beauty and allure is on the lips of every man in the western camps. Now rumor is spreading here in the northern ones. I know your drives, your needs. Three days with only her loveliness to look upon? I admit, I was jealous. I sent John to watch you and report back to me.”

“Bullshit,” Veris told her, grabbing her other wrist.

She blinked. “What?”

Veris yanked her wrists away from him, so that her hands weren’t touching his flesh. He assessed her. “It wasn’t Tyra, it was Brendan,” he said. “You sent John to spy on Brendan and me. John’s attack happened immediately after we—”

Davina’s face writhed with anger. “You are mine, Will. You do not get to choose other lovers!” Her hands curved into claws and he barely managed to keep them from his face.

He shoved her back from him, making her stagger. “Your man failed. You have failed. Next time, if you want the task done aright, do it yourself. I’m quit of Selkirk and you.”

“You are not leaving,” she said and hissed. It was an ugly sound, one that raised the hairs on the back of his neck and made his hand twitch to reach for the knife in his belt.

“Davina?” Selkirk called from inside the tent.

Her protest had carried and alerted Selkirk to her presence.

Veris held open the tent flap for her, forcing her to enter the tent and not linger and speak to him while her husband sat in the big chair within earshot.

Veris wondered why had he thought her eyes to be so marvelous. There was no warmth in them, despite their decorative appeal. He watched her step into the tent, dropped the flap down behind her with relief and brushed his hands together to rid himself of the dust from the tent flap and that part of his life.

Then he went to find his page to give him orders about packing the remainder of his gear.

* * * * *

BY THE TIME HE WAS done the sun was setting and Veris’ mood was turning foul from the delays. In his mind, he was already quit of Selkirk and his dominion, but there were practicalities that needed attention before he could turn his horse south and head for Norwich’s camp. He set up the promotion of Richard to knight to replace him and arrange Richard’s knighthood. There were the positions and armaments for the fighting on the morrow, strategies and supplies to sort out, the dispersal of the water and food they had brought back from the desert and more. Plus the packing and overseeing of the delivery of his personal belongings to Norwich’s camp.

But finally, Veris was free to leave, as the fiery ball of red reached the horizon, with a spectacular display of pinks, reds and oranges across the sky that left many muttering about warnings and portents.

The siege engines were well outlined by the blazing sunset. The citizens behind the walls of the city could not fail to see the completed structures. Their night would not be an easy one.

Davina set upon him just south of St. David’s Gate, an empty piece of no man’s land between the camps of the northern lords and those camps guarding the western walls, where everyone swung around in a wide western curve to avoid the congestion between the two wings of the besieging army.

She picked her spot and time well, as men were occupied with eating their first full supper in days. She took him from behind, a running leap using vampire speed. The knife sheared off his mail, but the impact of her body drove him from his horse.

They tumbled and rolled for a dozen paces as his horse whinnied behind him, rearing. Like a good warhorse, Freyr was trying to fight the enemy for him, but he couldn’t pick this one out when it was wrapped around Veris like a cape.

Davina snarled. It was an inhuman sound. Her canines were fully extended and the expression on her face as she lifted the knife up over him matched the snarl. “You dare presume to leave me,” she growled.

There was blood over the front of her tunic and down her throat. Veris grabbed her wrist, holding back the knife from his chest. She intended to cut out his heart. “Whose blood is that?” he demanded, although he already knew.

“You do not leave me. I am your master. I tell you when your service to me is done.”

He could barely hold her back. Her strength was not just inhuman. Even for a vampire it was extraordinary.

“Where is Selkirk?” he asked. “What did you do to him?”

She laughed. “The fool. He hit me. Me!”

Selkirk had taken a husband’s typical reaction. He had tried to punish his wife for her liaison and for her crimes and Davina had killed him for it.

While she was crowing over Selkirk’s stupidity, Veris used her distraction to test the distribution of her weight. He found the point of imbalance and flexed upward with a roar, tipping her sideways and keeping her knife hand pinned.

“Freyr!” he called and rolled out of the way.

The horse came down perfectly, his hooves aiming for her head, but Davina was so fast that he got an imperfect strike, getting her shoulder at best. She cried out. Even through chainmail, the strike of a full grown warhorse’s hoof would have damaged her. She kept rolling and got to her feet.

But by then Veris had his sword and knife out, ready to face her.

Davina dropped her knife to her left hand. Her right hung uselessly. “A sword and a knife against a woman’s left hand knife only? That’s hardly fair,” she said softly.

Veris leapt upon her. He wasn’t going to let her shoulder heal while they stood there in idle chatter. He would end this one way or another now. Fair was not something Davina understood although she liked to fling the word about because it often made others hesitate for the necessary seconds while she found their weak spots.

Her knife came up blindingly fast and parried past his blades, despite her apparent weakness. She spun away, blood flowing from another cut to her useless right arm, her chest heaving, studying him. All pretense at softness and womanhood were gone.

She sized him up purely as an enemy now. At last. “I will cut out your heart, then eat it,” she told him.

A shudder ran through him. Veris had a feeling she was not giving an idle threat. “Is that what you do with all your slaves?”

She came at him almost before he had finished speaking. Pure instinct got his sword up in time. The flurry lasted longer. She was tiring, her left arm weaker than her right. Veris sensed the tide of the fight was turning his way.

That was when she dropped the knife back to her right hand with a cry of delight and slammed the blade deep into Veris’ side, through the lacings on the side of his hauberk.

She stood with her pale eyes a bare hand’s span from his, watching his pain. Then she shoved the knife deeper, turning it. Veris writhed, unable to help the cry of agony that escaped him.

Davina licked her lips. “You always underestimated me, Will,” she whispered. Her foot hooked around the back of his ankle and pulled. He could feel himself falling backward, but there was nothing he could do about it. She was pushing with all her might and he was overbalanced. He fell onto the hard, dry earth of Jerusalem and knew she had the upper hand after all.

She fell on him with a wicked smile, tearing his tunic aside and yanking the buckles on his hauberk to reveal his chest and the heart beating beneath. “You’re mine,” she breathed, her canines bared. She had another knife in her hands. A longer one. One Veris recognized. The knife she liked to use to gut fresh kill with, because it was long enough to reach deep inside. The knife was raised.

A hand snaked around Davina’s throat from behind and yanked backward. She was lifted up, so that her whole upper body was arched backward. Another hand pulled back the wrist holding the knife, holding it back from Veris’ chest.

“He’s not yours,” Brody growled. “He never was.”

Softly, from dozens of feet away, but spoken clearly enough because she knew that he could hear her anyway, Taylor said in old Norse; “I’m standing behind you, Väinä. Show me where her heart should be.”

Veris reached up to tear away Davina’s tunic. He gripped the edges of her finely made hauberk and heard the leather buckles tear and give. The undershirt came away, too. Her upper chest and the small breast gleamed in the last of the red sunset.

Davina looked past Veris’ head and her eyes widened. “No!” she breathed.

“I’m not yours,” Veris told Davina. “But you are hers. Take her, Taylor.”

The arrow whistled past his head with a sound he’d heard in so many battles. This time, it sounded sweet, like a song. It buried itself exactly in Davina’s upper breast. Deeply, almost halfway down the wooden shaft. The shaft that was just like a stake.

Davina began to struggle, her feet strumming on the dirt. Blood erupted from her mouth.

Brody tossed her away to lie on the sand and struggle, the arrow sticking up like a flag on a conquered castle, wavering as she tossed and kicked and bled and screamed in a voice so high it was almost inaudible. Until suddenly she was still.

“The head,” Veris croaked. “Take the head.”

Brody scrambled to his feet, withdrew his sword, raised it and decapitated her in one swift, powerful movement.

There was a clatter of wood and soft hands on his body. “Väinä…Veris. Please, tell me you are fine.” Taylor tentatively touched the hilt of the knife in his side.

“Pull it out,” Veris told her, turning to look at her. Her eyes were huge, smoky soft gray. Concerned. Warm.

“What?” She sounded shocked.

“Pull it out. Hurry,” Brody urged her.

Her lips trembled, but she nodded and gripped the hilt. He saw her draw a shaky breath and felt the knife slide from him. There was a sucking sound as air replaced the blade.

Taylor fell forward, leaning on her hands. “Oh…” She dropped the knife. “Oh…” she repeated. She crawled away and hung her head and was violently sick. Brody dropped his sword and hurried after her, then stopped and came back to Veris and bent over him. “You are healing?”

Veris began to laugh. The chuckle caught him by surprise. Then it expanded and became a full throated roar that made his side ache and his head hurt.

But it felt damn fine, all the same.