Siege of Acre, Kingdom of Jerusalem, 1191 A.D.
It was because of the lull in fighting that Alexander saw him at all. If the Saracens had not offered their surrender, the Christian forces would still be battering the walls of the city and Saladin would still be trying to route the allies from his skirmish lines behind the siege camps.
The fighting had grown more frantic since King Richard and King Phillip had sailed into Acre three weeks before, almost as if Saladin sensed that now the real leaders had arrived, he must double his efforts. But with the city’s sudden offer of surrender, yesterday, all fighting had abruptly ceased.
Instead, the sounds of the wounded and the sick filled the air, along with the caw of seagulls that hovered overhead and the soft wash of the sea upon the beaches.
With the cessation of fighting, Alex had been able to turn to his preferred trade as a physician and had been working in the tents for hours at a time, his forearms bare and covered in blood more often than not. It was gruesome work, the heat was almost intolerable, even to him, but contrariwise, he was happy. Never, not even in his mind, would he admit that his happiness rose in large part because he was away from Anna.
On the third day of silence, Alex emerged from the tent toward dawn and moved through the mostly sleeping encampments, heading for the sea. He could wash in the water and have a few more moments to himself before heading for his own camp. He had been forced to return there. He’d spent far too long on his feet, tending the sick. To not retire for sleep and rest would raise suspicions.
He wasn’t wearing his sword, but the dagger in his belt was long enough that he could use it for defense, although this close to the city walls, there was more danger from flying arrows or crossbow bolts. But the Saracens in the city were too desperate for peace to shatter it with an unlooked-for attack. The sickness that was ravaging the Christian forces was also weakening the Saracen numbers, even though their physicians would be better trained than Alexander.
The route to the sea took Alex past the outskirts of the English army camp, perched on the north side of the city next to Lusignan’s men. It had been a busy beehive of activity for weeks, but at this hour of the day even the most determined carousers were bedded down and snoring.
A man stepped out between the tents ahead of Alexander, moving with ghostly silence toward the water, too. Alex took in the breadth of his shoulders, the color of his hair, his height….
Alex’s heart stirred and began to beat. It couldn’t possibly be…? He watched the man walk, his hand on the hilt of his sword, the long length of his stride. The cocked angle of his wrist, which spoke of a long-time sword fighter. The tunic was all-white instead of the blue and white Alex remembered, but it fit the same over the burnished chainmail and there would undoubtedly be a red crucifix on the front of it just like Alex’s.
Alex walked faster, closing the distance between them, shuffling through the fine white sand, deliberately not trying to move silently. If it was who he thought it was, he had already been heard.
When he was close enough, he reached out his bloody hand and gripped the man’s elbow.
The man spun sharply, his right hand gripping the sword and drawing it a mere inch or two.
Alex stepped backward and raised both hands. “I am unarmed,” he said calmly, a fact that the man could see for himself, for Alex had stripped off his mail and wore only the undershirt beneath his tunic and simple braies. His bloody bare arms, though, might be mistaken for someone with murderous intentions and he did not want this man to make any mistakes at all.
The man’s eyes widened and his lips parted, before pressing firmly together again. He glanced around them, taking his time, checking for observers. But there were none. The humans they passed among were deeply asleep.
“Alex?” Brenden breathed, just loud enough for Alex to hear it.
Alex nodded.
Brenden stepped closer and his nostrils flared. He was sampling scents. “You’re…”
Alex touched the tip of his finger to his top lip, just over the small rise where his incisor rested when it was withdrawn. “Yes.”
Brenden blew out his breath. He stepped back again, putting normal distance between them and thrust out his hand. “I don’t think we’ve met,” he said more loudly, but still at a soft volume that anyone would use when sleeping men laid all around them. “There is no one here to do the honors and it’s all silly ceremony anyway. Benedict Gilbert, Silchester.”
“Alejandro of Zaragoza.” He hesitated to take Brenden’s hand, for the blood on his was still damp.
“A little blood doesn’t bother me,” Brenden said with a smile and Alex took his hand. There was strength there, held back. But Alex was holding back on his own grip, too.
“Zaragoza, Aragon,” Brenden said thoughtfully. “Are you the one they call The Spaniard?”
“There are many from Iberia here. We travelled with the Duke.”
Brenden nodded. “But there’s only one of you who becomes a physician when he lays down his sword. You saved the arm of one of my men. He thinks you are a miracle worker.”
Alex held up his hands again. “I was going to wash the blood away.”
“I’ll come with you. We can talk without waking anyone, down among the waves.”
Brenden moved beside Alex along the cleared path that led almost directly to the beach. While they were among the tents, they did not speak. At the edge of the water, Brenden sat in the soft sand and Alex walked into the water and bent to scrub the blood and gore from his flesh. He scooped wet sand from the bottom and used it to scour the flesh clean. Then he shook off the water, waded back onto the sand and sat beside Brody. He rested his hands on his knees, letting them dry in the gentle pre-dawn breeze that had sprung up.
“Silchester,” he said softly. “That is new to me. I have been studying the peerage since the Duke ordered me to the Holy Lands with him and that is not one I have come across.”
Brenden grimaced. “Richard created the earldom for me. I saved his life once and that was how he thanked me. I came to England twenty years ago, a penniless mercenary from Tuscany called Benedetto Garafalo. For taking a stray arrow in the shoulder, I became Benedict Gilbert, an earl and English, all at once.” Brenden laughed softly. “Richard insisted. And so it came to be.”
“Tuscany?”
Brenden scrubbed at his hair. “The men of the north there are taller and have pale skin and dark hair.”
Alex grinned. “The men of the duchy of Aragon are all generally dark skinned, with dark hair.”
Brenden glanced at Alex’s dark curly hair. “You’ve learned how to go unnoticed.”
“I had a good teacher.” Alex hesitated. “I have so many questions,” he breathed.
Brenden nodded. “There’s time. There’s always time. And now is not the place.” He shifted on the sand so he was facing Alex more directly and held out his hand. “Brody. Four sixty-one.”
Shock slithered through Alex. Brenden was actually giving his real name and the year of his making?
Hurriedly, he took Brenden’s—Brody’s—hand. “Alexander. Eleven hundred and eleven.”
“Twelve years after the siege,” Brody said. “Did we give ourselves away somehow?”
“Only the most infinitesimal clues,” Alex assured him. “Some of the mysteries I still have not resolved but this one, yes, it took twelve years to reach the solution.”
“Alejandro!” The call came softly from farther down the beach.
Alexander looked over his shoulder. Anna stood at the end of the worn path, where the looser beach sand began, her robe caught up in one hand to keep the hem out of the sand. Her veil lifted and fluttered in the soft breeze. It was growing lighter and the white veil seemed to glow.
“She’s lovely,” Brody said quietly, as Anna beckoned him to her. “Your lady wife?”
Alexander drew in a deep breath. “And my maker.” He got to his feet and brushed sand from his hands and the back of the tunic.
Brody looked up at him. “You are still with your maker?”
Alex held his lips together as the words seemed to press against them from inside, a hot torrent of them. “I am,” he said, when he thought he could speak without betraying himself. All the questions were goading him, all of them pressing hard to be spoken, to have them answered all at once, in the scant few moments left. But, there was always more time. Brody was right, there. There would be other times.
“Perhaps we can talk, later.”
“Of course,” Brody said.
Alex made himself turn away and walk across the sand to where Anna stood waiting. She was a tall woman and her black eyes had no trouble meeting his in a bold way that she would not dream of doing if anyone could see them. In public, she was a most proper wife.
“I don’t know that lord,” she said.
“The Earl of Silchester.” Alex hesitated. Should he tell her the truth? His heart stirred, roused by his dilemma. “He couldn’t sleep. I was prescribing a tincture.”
It was Brody’s secret to reveal, Alex reasoned to himself.
Anna held out her hand. “Come.”
Alex hesitated once more. A human would not have noticed the tiny pause. Then he reached out and took her hand. Cool flesh, long fingers and a dammed-back strength. Anna looked like a delicate woman, but she was much older in vampire terms. How old, she would never say.
Alex recalled Brody’s easy revelation of his name and age. It was a startling difference.
They walked silently back to the tent that was theirs. There were very few women in the camp, most of them whores and followers hoping for a boon from the soldiers. Being one of only a handful of wives in the camp had not bothered Anna in the slightest. She did not mix with the others. Her attention, as always, was on politics. Power and prestige were her coin.
She had one other interest. As soon as they were inside, the flap closed and the guard posted, Anna turned to him and stripped him of his clothes with quick efficiency. She removed her own with the same speed and pressed herself against him. “You have been neglecting your husbandly duties.” Her lips trailed down his throat. They might have hovered over the great blood vessel if his heart had been beating, but it had grown still once they had left the beach.
Not even the sight of her shapely flesh was enough to stir it to life. There were too many thoughts circling his mind. Too many questions. Alex caught her arms and pulled them away from him and pushed her back a step. “Not now.”
She studied him. “Don’t be foolish. You’re not tired.”
“There is a man I’m tending,” Alex lied. “His injuries are complicated. I want to think about his treatment.”
Anna pulled his hands from her arms. First one, then the other, using her natural strength now they were away from prying observers. “Think later,” she said and reached for his shaft.
“Anna….”
“You will obey me.” She was knowledgeable after all this time and her hand was rousing him.
Alex pressed his lips together. “You are my maker,” he acknowledged. “Nothing gainsays that fact. But if you think ordering me to enjoy your body will make me desire it, then there are still facts about men that you need to learn.”
Anna dropped her hand. “What is wrong?” she demanded. “You have never denied me before. Is it that man? The Earl?”
Alarmed, Alex answered quickly. “There are sick and wounded men that need me. Some of them are barely grown and caught up in a war that they do not understand. My conscience makes it difficult to enjoy myself when they lie a quarter league away, suffering.”
It was the truth, but only part of it.
Anna whirled away, reaching for the robe she preferred when they were in private. The robe was made of silk, which was still virtually unknown in this corner of the world, although Muslims had been using it for centuries as a luxury fabric fit for sheiks and kings. It clung to her curves in a way that Alex usually found intriguing, but not now.
She attempted to push the sleeves up her slender arms, for it was warm inside the tent, but the wide sleeves fell back down. She put her hands on her hips. “You were a physician before you became a vampire, so I will allow this…distraction to run its course.”
Alex inclined his head. “Thank you.”
“I am surprised I must remind you after all this time of your obligation to me. You would be long in your human grave if not for me. I am your maker. You swore your fealty to me in return for your making.”
“I have not forgotten.” The words fell stiffly from his lips. The facts of his making and the duties required of him were emblazoned in his mind in fiery emphasis. “But I would remind you that in this human world we live you are my wife and should honor me as a good woman would. I provide you with the leverage you need to fulfill your ambitions. Before you met me, you were a hunted witch living in the most desperate circumstances. As your husband, I give you a cloak of legitimacy and respectability. It would do you well not to forget that.”
This time, Anna’s surprise held her speechless. She stared at him, a frown marring the flesh between her thick brows.
“I must pretend to sleep,” Alex told her. “I will use the time to think about the treatments I can apply when I return to the surgery.” He brushed past her, still naked, and sank down upon the straw-stuffed mattress that was their shared bed, which neither of them needed. Anna had arranged sheets over it and he slid beneath the top one, rolled over on his side so his back was to her and closed his eyes.
Anna did not try to disturb him, as he expected. She moved around the tent, rearranging clothing and possessions, until dawn was fully upon the camp. Then she stepped out and he was left alone.
It was a long time before he could settle his heart and his thoughts.
* * * * *
ANNA DID NOT RETURN BEFORE Alex rose and dressed in a freshly laundered shirt and tunic, ready to return to the wounded and dying once more. Her absence was not unusual. At this time of day she would be somewhere near the cooking pots, collecting food to break their fast that neither of them would eat. There would be lords and knights aplenty standing around eating with whom she could curry favor.
Alex immersed himself in the absorbing work of tending the wounded and healing the sick. Western medicine was far behind eastern practices but he was careful not to show superior healing skills, which would draw attention. But when he thought he was unobserved, he used every skill he could muster.
In his purse he carried rare herbs with strong medicinal properties that he could apply unnoticed. If there were no other physicians nearby, he would clean and dress wounds and fail to bleed the patient. After nearly eighty years of practice, he had accumulated knowledge from the length and breadth of the known world, some of it effective and some of it highly dangerous to the patient. As time passed, Alex had watched the sum of all medical knowledge develop and grow more sophisticated, as physicians learned from their work and from each other. It was a profession that would never become weary.
It was almost a shock to him when Anna appeared at the opening of the tent. The sun blazed behind her, for it was close to sunset. Alex hadn’t noticed the entire day slide past.
Anna gathered up her hems and moved carefully through the patients, who rested on the bare earth with the thinnest of sheets beneath them.
Alex finished re-dressing the wound of the man he crouched next to, patted him on the shoulder and stood up as Anna reached his side.
“I desire a word with you in private, my husband,” she said softly and sweetly.
Alex nodded. “I would like to rest for a few moments,” he said. “Let us move outside. The air is fresher there.” He nodded to the page who carried his chest of tools and supplies and the boy hurried away thankfully. Alex led Anna out of the tent and over to where a single palm tree leaned dolefully to one side. It looked like it might fall altogether with only a little more encouragement, which was perhaps why no one raised a tent beneath it, or used the minimal amount of shade it provided during the day. They would be quite alone there.
Anna spoke even before she halted in front of him. “You lied to me!” she said, low enough so that no one passing would hear her. “I knew you were hiding something from me when your heart jumped. He’s a vampire! You knew he was.”
Alex frowned. “How did you learn of this?” he demanded.
She straightened, as if his response had surprised her. “What does that matter?”
“I did not tell you. He certainly would not volunteer the information, not to you. Did you follow him?”
Her expression shifted and her gaze dropped from his. “I got close enough to hear his heartbeat. His lack of a heartbeat.”
“And you believe he did not notice you from that distance?” Alex asked dryly.
“It does not matter, anyway,” Anna said dismissively.
“Your aversion to the company of other vampires has kept us isolated for years…” Alex broke off, looking at her. There was something troubling in the way she had dismissed his concerns. “What have you done?”
“Nothing that need concern you, since the Earl is but a stranger to you.”
His heart squeezed painfully, moving on its own in a frantic way that he had not felt for a very long time. “Oh, dear God in his heavens,” he whispered. Even his lips suddenly felt thick and awkward. He turned and hurried north, toward the English camp.
“What are you doing?” Anna called after him.
Alex broke into a run, slogging through the hot sand toward the tents that had seemed much closer this morning than they did now. He was moving faster than he should. Someone might notice for there were people everywhere, yet he didn’t stop.
He ran through the narrow gap between two tents and burst out into the wider alley between two rows of them. Most of the tents had their sides untied and lowered, and were merely awnings providing shade and shelter from very occasional rain.
Many of the soldiers were sitting and lying about, taking full advantage of the lull in hostilities, but their heads jerked up. The sound of someone running had put them on alert.
Alex addressed the closest man. “Quickly, where is Lord Silchester? Have you seen him?”
The man shook his head.
Another spoke up, from farther down the alley. “I saw him aways, up by the King’s pavilion.”
“Show me,” Alex demanded.
The man pointed and Alex started to run again, weaving in between the tents, looking for the most direct route in the direction he wanted to go. He dodged soldiers and horses, leapt over gear and supplies and, once, a cooking fire. He saw a smithy ahead of him, with a row of swords laid across a low table, where a young lad was polishing their blades. As Alex passed, he snatched up one of them and flipped it around so he was gripping the hilt.
He began to ask, hurriedly and urgently, every man he came across, for direction to where he would find Silchester.
The last man he spoke to got to his feet, looking concerned. “I’m the lord’s knight commander,” he said flatly. “He came back from the King’s pavilion half an hour ago, with fruit the king had given him. He was going to feed the apples to his horse.”
“Where?” Alex said. It occurred to him he should pretend to be breathless, but the matter was too urgent to bother.
The man picked up his sword.
“No. I’ll handle it,” Alex said quickly. “If I’m right, these are foe you will not fare well against.”
“I won’t show you if you won’t let me come.”
“Very well. But hurry. Show me the way.”
The man took off at a sprint, which Alex had no trouble keeping up with. They dodged between tents and down narrow alleys, out into open sand dotted with dried out tufts of sea grasses and sickly palms. Rope lines were strung between palms and horses were tethered there. They would come to no harm out in the open in this climate and were probably cooler for it than their riders enclosed behind canvas walls.
There were pages and knights scattered among the horses, caring for them and carrying hay and feed sacks. One lad was spraying the horses with seawater from a bucket and the horses were neighing with delight.
Brody was standing at the head of the rope line, talking to a pitch black destrier, who nuzzled his shoulder affectionately.
There were two men with crusader tunics, fully armed and standing directly behind Brody, facing the other line of horses there. Both of them had dark skin and one looked over his shoulder at Brody.
Alex knew he would not reach Brody in time. He lifted his voice. “Benedict! Behind!”
The two men spun to deal with Brody now the alarm had gone up. Brody threw himself sideways at the same time the first man thrust a spear where Brody’s back had been.
The second man leapt forward with a curved knife raised. “Monster!” he cried in the language of the Saracens, which was close enough to Alex’s milk language that he could understand it.
The knife plunged down but Alex was already there. He thrust past Brody’s hip, driving the point of the sword upward. It caught just under the man’s breastbone and slid upward into the heart, killing him instantly. The Saracen didn’t make a sound, but slithered down to the ground limply.
Behind, Alex heard a grunt as Brody’s knight dealt with the first Saracen. He turned to ensure the man had been dealt with conclusively and saw Brody’s knight fold over, the spear in his stomach. He was clutching the shaft, preventing the Saracen from taking the weapon back.
Brody snatched the knife from his belt and leaned over his knight, using the man’s shoulder for leverage and thrust the blade up through the Saracen’s chin, pushing it through the back of his throat and into his brain.
The man let go of the spear he was holding. He didn’t drop like the first. He fell backward like a toppled tree, wrenching the knife out of Brody’s grip.
Brody turned his knight over and removed the spearhead from him. The man was bleeding from the mouth and scrabbled at the sand with weak fingers. He tried to speak, then his eyes glazed over lifelessly.
Brody swore softly.
Alex let out his breath. “A useless waste of life,” he murmured.
Brody looked at him. “Who were they?”
“Saracens. I think they are Assassins. The stealth of their attack and the wearing of Crusader colors suggests they are.”
“And why?” Brody added.
Alex breathed in and let it out. “That is a longer answer.”
Brody looked around. There were too many men about and most of them had stopped what they were doing and were watching with open dismay this unexpected violence.
Alex gripped his tunic and tugged. “Let’s find somewhere enclosed and private.”
Brody nodded and let him pull him into a fast walk.
* * * * *
THEY COULD NOT FIND ANYWHERE enclosed that was not already occupied, so they walked out along the beach until they were away from everyone, where the afternoon breeze would snatch their words away long before anyone could hear them. They stripped off their boots and stockings and stood ankle-deep in the water, letting the sand run from between their toes and watched the sun sink into the water, glowing red and turning the sea pink.
Brody looked at him. “Why are Assassins trying to kill me?” he asked bluntly.
Alex sighed. “Because my wife hired them to do that.”
Brody nodded, as if this wasn’t the surprise to him it should have been. “Tell me about her,” he said flatly.
Alex crossed his arms and held them against him. He made himself start. “Twelve years after the siege of Jerusalem, I found myself in the mountains in Iberia. I had been looking for a creature that some called a monster, but that I was sure was the same in nature as I had come to believe you and Will had been.” He shrugged. “You never ate. You rarely slept. And I saw both of you on separate occasions move with a speed that was unnatural. It was that supernatural quality that began my search and the more questions I asked, the more sure I was that the creature I was looking for, that so many humans seemed to be deathly afraid of, would provide the answers I sought.”
“Your wife was that creature?”
“She was. Like you and Will, she seemed to be completely human in appearance. But she was in far more dire circumstances, for the village where she had been living had grown suspicious of her and named her a witch.”
“That is not a reputation that is easy to lose,” Brody murmured.
“Anna made a bargain with me. She would make me a vampire—that was the word she gave for her true nature. In return, I would help her overcome her difficult situation. As I was a man, in a man’s world, it was easy for me to pass as a lord and Anna as my wife, which gave her the protection she needed.” Alex shook his head. “I did not understand that Anna had ambitions far beyond rising above her difficulties. She used my position to further her personal power and has ever since.” He described the intervening eighty years and how they had ingratiated themselves into court life first in Toledo, then later in Zaragoza.
Brody was silent for a time once Alex had finished. He kept his face turned into the wind and breathed in the salt air. “In all that time you never came across another vampire?” he asked. “Not once?”
“There were others I suspected might be, but Anna would not let any sort of relationship develop. She said that was not the way among vampires. She said we avoid each other deliberately to not rouse suspicion.” Alex unclenched his fingers from the tight fists he was holding them in. “But I have always wondered if that truly was the way of it. I only had to recall you and Will—”
“Veris,” Brody said.
“That is his real name? Thank you. I remember how you and Will were together and it seemed to me that your relationship was much more….”
“Civilized?” Brody growled.
“Kind,” Alex amended.
Brody stared at him. “Of course we are kinder to each other. That bloody woman cut you off from everyone who might have told you otherwise and used your sense of honor to hold you to her for nearly a century! Alex, no one treats another person that way, not even vampires!”
Alex realized his hands were back to tight fists again. His heart was thudding in a way that made him feel slightly ill, a sensation that he’d not experienced for a very long time. “I hadn’t realized how deeply and thoroughly her taste for power ran,” he said at last. “Of course, I must sever the relationship, now I know.”
“I suspect she’s already done that for you,” Brody growled. “Once she hears that her assassins have failed, she’ll either try to kill you, or try to leave.” His gaze met Alex’s directly. “What she does do is entirely up to you.”
“I won’t kill her,” Alex said quickly. “No one deserves that.”
“She might not give you a choice,” Brody warned.
“In that case, the decision is hers.” Alex spoke with far more calm than he felt.
“Listen to you,” Brody said and rested his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “This is all too much news for you to take in. Your heart is working too hard.”
“I’m fine,” Alex said stiffly.
“You’ll force yourself to feed early if you do not compose yourself.”
“The events of this day have already ensured that I must feed soon.” Alex shrugged.
“Still, let’s sit for a while and speak of happier times. No one can approach us across the sand without us hearing it. We can speak freely.” He walked up the slight slope to the dry sand and sat, crossing his ankles.
Alex settled himself in the sand next to him and turned a little so he could watch Brody’s reactions. He hesitated. There had been so much Brody had said and not said, that he had implied between the words, which spoke of a far different world than the one Alex had known for the last eighty years. And now, perhaps, he could get the answers he craved.
“What is it that you do not ask?” Brody said, with a small smile.
“Where is Veris now?”
“He’s back in Tuscany, healing the locals and writing books. He grew tired of war and had no wish to be part of this one. He travels to England every five years or so to see if I need his help.” Brody smiled. “He hates the damp, so he returns to Tuscany to dry out.”
“You’re still…together?”
Brody lifted a brow. “You knew that much?”
“I guessed. It explained many little mysteries.” Alex shrugged. “I have passed my century mark, Brody. There is little that I have not seen or heard now and even less that shocks me.”
Brody smiled. “Oh, you will learn to take that back. Give it time. Life hands out lessons every time you become too complacent.”
Alex nodded. “Like today? Such as this moment right now?”
“You weren’t handed this lesson because you grew complacent,” Brody said firmly. “Your ignorance was taken advantage of by another with no scruples. Now, you have merely learned the truth. You can feel shamed or humbled by that, Alex, but if you had been one whit less a decent man than you are, she would not have been able to do what she did.”
Alex absorbed that. “Thank you. I think. Decency does not seem to have served me well.”
“But it is what you are. Perhaps it is your faith that provides it. Yet some of the most unscrupulous men I have met wear the cloth.”
“Robes don’t provide faith,” Alex pointed out.
“And that is probably the difference,” Brody said in agreement. Then he smiled. “We’re still together, Veris and I, but I wanted to serve the king one more time. I didn’t for a moment think that the Pope would call everyone back to the Holy Land a third time, so when I returned to England, I thought I would be able to stay there for a while.”
“So you left Veris in Tuscany?”
Brody shrugged. “It was my turn. He left me to head off to Russia about fifty years ago. He claimed he wanted to see the great palaces there.” Brody laughed. “He will never admit it, but I think he wanted to learn more about the Tartars, who seem to inspire more fear than Northmen once did. I think he feels his heritage has been slighted.”
“But he came back?”
“Once he’d drunk enough vodka and bedded enough women, yes. The Tartars had nothing to teach him.” Brody shrugged. “I could have assured him of that before he left, but he’s a most stubborn man.”
Alex struggled to absorb the enormous revelations that Brody’s remarks and observations were providing. Brody’s regard for the big Northman shone through every word he spoke, even though his tone was dry and even though he seemed to have no illusions about Veris’ shortcomings.
Neither of them placed demands upon the other. They appeared to have no expectations beyond those that arose from their feelings for each other. It was a refreshing and very different form of relationship, one that Alex greatly admired.
“You give each other freedom,” he murmured.
Brody tilted his head, considering that. “Yes,” he agreed at last. “I suppose that is what we do.”
“And are all vampires like you?”
Brody laughed. “All vampires are different. There are good ones and bad ones. They all arrange their lives in ways to suit them.” He sobered. “No one enslaves anyone anymore. It was a practice, a very long time ago, for vampires to have human…feedstock. But that was abandoned long ago. The same rules of consideration and kindness for others that humans extol are what help vampires live together, too.”
Alex considered that.
“It’s not like we know any better than the humans we live among, even though we have lived longer,” Brody pointed out. “We learn new ideas and ways of thinking at the same time humans do.”
Alex wrapped his arms around his knees. “Like this new idea that kings and high borns are accountable to those they rule?”
“I’ve heard those same rumblings,” Brody said. “I predict that the idea will boil over in the next few decades. Like the idea that women are equal to men.”
Alex snorted. “You jest.”
Brody shook his head, but he was smiling, too. “It is a radical idea, I admit. But there are some women I have met whom I would readily acknowledge as equal in all ways but physical strength.”
Alex let out a breath.
“Your heart has halted,” Brody said softly. “Good.”
“Your company is stimulating, so I don’t know why that should be. I have learned more in the last few moments with you than I have in all the decades before.”
Brody scowled. “I could cheerfully bleed her to death.”
“I will deal with her,” Alex promised. “But first I must think it through. It would be too easy to strike back at her just because she took the first blow. As a husband, I am entitled to kill her out of hand and no one would protest. But if we are to improve as a species and if humans are to improve, then shouldn’t we question everything that is common practice?”
“It’s not just your rights as a husband that are in question here,” Brody pointed out. “She bargained with the enemy. Richard would have no issue calling that treason of the highest order. She would hang from a gibbet before sunrise.”
“For all the good that would do,” Alex said. “She would survive hanging.”
“Not as your wife, or as Anna of Zaragoza,” Brody replied complacently. “Consider the matter, Alex. Forcing her to abandon this current life that provides her with all the comfort and power she desires…it would be the least she deserves.”
“Except that the Duke is my liege lord and in Aragon, they burn people for crimes against the state. That, she would not survive. Oh, I will consider it. I have much to consider along with it.”
“You are far too conscientious for a vampire,” Brody said with a sigh. “Sometime, blood calls for blood and decency be damned.”
Alex nodded. “You might be right, but I know in my bones this is not one of those times.”
* * * * *
IT WAS CREEPING TOWARD DAWN once more when Brody and Alex went their separate ways. Brody had been watching the ramparts of the walled city with growing unease. “I don’t like this,” he finally said as the first pale streaks of sunrise painted the sky behind them. “There’s far too much activity for a defeated city waiting for terms of surrender. I want to warn Richard.”
Alex got to his feet. “Richard is not the only one who should be warned. I will speak to my Duke.”
Brody’s instincts proved to be accurate. Shortly after dawn, the Saracens poured from the city gates, falling upon the siege lines with ululating cries, while Saladin’s forces issued from the north and east, to attack the allies from behind.
Alex did not see Anna when he returned to his tent to don mail and armor, sword and shield. He was glad of her absence, because he did not want to divide his attention between the battle at hand and the matter of Anna’s perfidy.
The Duke of Aragon was allied with the French king, Phillip, who commanded the allies on the south side of the city. The sea formed a shield to their left as they battled toward the city walls, driving the Saracen back inch by inch throughout the long, bloody day.
As night fell, the fighting ceased. The Saracens were in a bad position. Saladin’s fresh troops had been held at bay by Richard and his allies to the north, so the tired and ill forces inside the city had received no relief and no assistance. On the morrow, they would be far more exhausted and depleted. It was not a happy position for them and the allies fully expected a renewed entreaty for surrender to be issued at first light the next day.
In the meantime, the siege lines remained alert and monitored the city walls, discouraging any Saracens from showing their face over the top of it by sending a hail of arrows, bolts and even stones whenever they did.
Alex only learned of the surveillance second-hand, for he was busy in the medical tent, tending the many wounds and serious injuries received during the day. He had no chance to change or even remove his mail. He worked with the metal links clinking and swishing and his sword slapping his hip. The boy who carried his chest of tools he charged with watching his visor, too. The lad carried it around under his arm, the tool chest hanging from his other hand.
It was long past midnight when the worst of the injured had been seen to and the screams and whimpers had diminished to the tense quiet that injured men kept when they were focused upon recovery. Casualties had been light. It had been a victorious day in that regard.
By then, Alex thought it safe to deal more personal problems. While he had been working over the wounded, he had reached a decision. As no one was certain what the dawn would bring, now was the time to put that decision into place.
He didn’t stop at his tent. He didn’t want to risk meeting Anna. Not yet. It would be time to deal with her when everything else was in place. He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do with her, anyway. When he saw her, it would be time to decide. The manner of their meeting would tell him what to do.
He tucked his visor under his arm and strode along the sandy path between the camps, heading north toward Richard’s camp. The camps were all quiet. Men were either sleeping, or keeping vigil. Alex sensed the presence of the watchers, observing him pass through the night.
There was even less merriment in Richard’s camp. Saladin’s men had been rested, fed and ready to fight. It would have been no easy task holding them back and it was Richard’s success that had ensured that Acre would fall into their hands tomorrow.
Alex made his way through the tents to the one where he had found Brody’s knight commander. There were men sitting in front of it, the same as last night, but they were silent, staring at the flames of the small fire with morose expressions. They had lost their knight commander, Alex reasoned. He regretted disturbing their vigil.
“I seek the earl. Can you tell me where I will find him?”
They looked at him with a range of expressions, but every single one of them held surprise.
One of the men got to his feet. “Ye’ve not heard the news then, milord?”
Alex tried to calm his suddenly beating heart. “What news?”
“The earl was lost to us today,” another said and spat into the fire.
Alex gripped the hilt of his sword, controlling his reaction. “I intrude upon your mourning. I offer you my apology. Perhaps you could tell me where the body is being kept? I would like to pay my last respects.”
The man who was standing jerked his head toward the King’s pavilion. “Yonder, in the chapel beside the King.”
“Thank you.” Alex stepped around them and hurried toward the big tent where King Richard was housed. He let his heart loose to beat as it would, so that he could feel the fear loose within his chest and his belly.
There was a smaller, white tent to one side of the King’s heavily guarded striped pavilion and Alex made his way around to the entrance. Two more guards stood vigilant, but made no attempt to stop him from entering. It was a house of God and welcomed anyone.
He stepped inside. There was a large crucifix hanging at one end of the tent and candles had been lit beneath it. A dozen men stood bareheaded around the table in the middle of the room. They were dirty with sweat and blood and still wore mail and swords, but they had put their shields aside and washed their faces.
Lying on the table, his cloak wrapped over his legs and his hands on his chest, was Brody.
There was a jagged rent in the left breast of the tunic and blood covered most of that side. That was why Brody had been forced to “die”. Too many witnesses would have seen him take a blow close to the heart for him to dismiss it as a surface wound and keep fighting.
One of the knights standing around the table glanced at Alex and he nodded.
“You’re friend to Silchester?” the man asked.
“Indeed,” Alex replied. “This is a bitter blow. Is the body to be sent home? I would like to accompany it.”
Another cleared his throat. “Normally, that would be the way of it. But the King’s physician says the body must be burned before morning. The heat in this accursed county will produce bad blood. So we will burn him at sunrise.”
Alex swallowed. “May I be a part of that ceremony?”
“If you’re a friend to the earl, I don’t see why not.”
“Thank you.” Alex put his visor down at the foot of the table and bowed his head to pray. Once he had finished he kept his head down, thinking hard. Brody had been too well respected and liked. Now, his friends and admirers were determined to see him off with suitable ceremony. There were too many witnesses to steal the body away. A diversion at the right moment might work, but there was no one he trusted enough to ask them to provide the distraction he would need.
Men came and went, moving around the table to pay their respects, as the night wore on. Alex stayed where he was, planning and discarding scheme after scheme. When the bearers arrived to carry Brody away, Alex was still no nearer a solution.
He followed the bier out, surrounded by Richard’s senior retinue. Dawn was announcing itself with bitter red streaks across the sky, a sure warning of a bloody day ahead, or so the mystics always declared.
Alex wanted to believe them. He could not see a way out of this mess. He was still looking for an answer when they laid Brody upon the small mound of precious wood and called for torches. The men gathered around soberly.
At the very last minute as the torches were put to the wood, Alex considered drawing his sword and screaming in his native tongue, which sounded much like that of the Saracens’. That would pull attention away from Brody, but these men were all angry with the Saracens that had killed their colleague. Alex would not suffer a simple sword wound that could heal. They would tear him apart and that still might not save Brody.
As the first of the timbers began to smoke and burst into flames, a high pitched scream rang out. The inhuman sound of it pricked every sense Alex had into high alert. He turned to face the new danger, despite the crackle of the timbers in front of him.
Anna was swooping toward him, but she looked very little like a lord’s lady and his wife. She wore no veil. Her hair was loose and her eyes wild. The hem of her robe was hoisted to let her run and swirled around her knees, revealing her ankles and calves. Alex had time to think that this was her true character showing, before she fell upon him, a long knife in her hands.
The blade buried itself in his shoulder. He fell backward, deliberately letting his feet slide out from under him. The fall gave him room to draw his sword. Around him he heard the ring of iron as every other warrior there leapt to defend themselves from the hellion in their midst.
The knife was still buried in Alex’s shoulder, the edge of the blade grinding against bone and Anna kept her hand on the hilt, driving it deeper. It pulled her down with him. Alex had only to lift his sword point and she drove herself onto the blade.
But that wasn’t going to be sufficient, not for Anna. She grew momentarily still, adjusting to the sword through her middle. Alex used that moment to lift her and turn himself over, so he was on top of her. The sword pushed back out as the point jammed into the soil beneath her and a foot of bloody blade reappeared.
Alex lifted himself off her and pulled the knife out of his shoulder. As the knights and lords around him muttered and growled, he leaned over Anna and buried the knife in her chest, right over her heart. Then he deliberately carved the heart out of her chest, using the clean cuts a physician would. He plucked the heart from her chest and threw it on the flames as the men around him staggered back in shock and confusion.
But it still wasn’t enough. Alex pulled his sword out of the body and moved around to the side of it, raised the sword and decapitated her.
“God’s teeth!” one of the knights cried in shocked horror.
Alex ignored them. There was one last thing he needed to do. He picked up the body and tossed it onto the funeral pyre that was now a raging fire, with flames leaping higher than anyone around it. Then he picked up the head and threw it into the flames too.
When he turned around, the ranged men were staring at him, shock written on every face.
“The woman was my wife and I caught her with another man,” he said. “She was an adulterer and a whore. When I said I would punish her for her crimes, she cursed me.”
The men muttered and stirred uneasily.
“She was a witch?” one of them asked.
“Do you doubt that?” another said. “You heard the sound she made as she attacked him. Would anyone doubt she was anything other than a godless witch? I say it was well done.” The man nodded at Alex.
Alex nodded back and leaned on his sword like he was weary. “I must have my wound tended to,” he said weakly. “My apologies for interrupting your vigil. I will pray for Silchester and for all of you.”
They parted silently, letting him through. Alex didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. When he had brought the sword down to sever the woman’s head, he had seen for himself that the bier where Brody had been lying was empty of everything but the bloody cloak. Now flames hid all.
Brody had used the distraction to escape.
* * * * *
ALEX HURRIED BACK TO HIS tent to wash away the blood of the day and find the dark cloak that had rested at the bottom of the trunk since arriving in the hot and dry Holy Land. Then he hurried back to the stretch of beach where he had sat with Brody the previous night.
He found Brody sitting at the far end, his back against the rocks there. He also wore a dark cloak with the hood pulled over his head to disguise his features and the sides wrapped around his knees, which were pulled up against his chest.
They gripped each other’s arms in greeting, then Alex sat beside him. Silence settled over them.
Brody stirred. “And so another life ends,” he said softly.
“Will you go back to Tuscany?”
“I must. Word will go back to England and there is a man I trust there who will ensure the message is sent to Veris. I must arrive in Tuscany before the message does.”
“And then?”
Brody looked up at the sky. “Then, I think, the next life for both of us. Veris has spoken lately of heading north, to his homelands. It might be time for that journey.”
The silence fell again, but it was a comfortable one. Alex was in no rush to end it, but Brody would have to leave very soon, or risk discovery. So he spoke of what lay on his mind. “I was going to ask you to take me to England with you. You were in need of a knight commander.”
Brody smiled. “I would gladly let you come to Tuscany with me, but I don’t know what will happen when I get there and the journey will be hard enough without funds.”
“Ah.” Alex lifted his cloak away and untied the purse at his belt. “Here, these should help. They’re gold.”
Brody hefted the purse. “Thank you,” he said with gratitude. He tied the purse to his belt, over the bloody and singed tunic. “And you?” he asked.
Alex let his head rest back against the rock and looked up at the light blue morning sky. “I have a whole new life to arrange,” he said slowly. “This time, I can shape it the way I want. And now I have a good example of what that might look like.”
Brody got to his feet. “You’ll enjoy it, too. The first few times are highly entertaining.”
“Will I ever see you again?” Alex asked, getting to his feet, too.
Brody considered him. “Have you ever been to England?”
“Never,” Alex confessed.
“There is a city there that has existed since time out of mind. The Romans called it Eboracum. The Saxons called it York and it still has that name. In one hundred years, go to York. I suspect the city will still be there, but even if it isn’t, the ruins will be. I’ll do my best to be there, too. If Veris can withstand the damp for a few months, I’ll bring him, too.”
“Twelve hundred and ninety-one,” Alex said. “What month? What day?”
“If I’m not there when you get there, stay for a year. I’ll find you.”
Then Brody pulled him into a hard embrace, surprising him. Alex felt a small warm glow of comradeship and knew that come what may, he would be there in York in the appointed year.
Friendship demanded nothing less.