Chapter Eleven

The next morning, Catherine went to extreme measures to avoid de Montfer. She had to protect her secret at all costs. If it meant walking the other direction whenever he was near, so be it. If it meant pretending sudden hearing loss as he called her name, oh well. To play the part of a fool? Or a coward? Oui, her tattered pride could take it. But why, oh why couldn’t he return to the rear guard with King Louis?

De Montfer and Eleanor spent their time on horseback conversing like old friends. She had every faith that strategically Eleanor was three steps ahead of him at all times. What did he hope to gain?

De Montfer and his beast of a horse approached her place in line. “This game is reaching ridiculous lows.” Had he heard her thinking of him? “How many times must I apologize if I somehow offended you?”

Catherine stared straight ahead. It seemed hiding a secret from a man she desired made everything sharper. Including her senses. He exhaled and her skin pebbled. He swallowed, and she felt drawn to the strong line of his throat.

He muttered a curse at her stubborn silence and cantered on.

“Whew,” Mamie said, turning to watch him ride away. “I don’t know what happened between you, but on my oath, I swear I saw sparks.”

“It’s the light through the trees playing tricks on you.”

She knew when Payen was nearby. Even before she saw him, she identified his sandalwood scent. Her traitorous body yearned to lay her head against the strong breadth of his chest and, sad to say, sleep. He seemed strong enough to keep her nightmares at bay.

Fatigue clouded her judgment. Which didn’t stop her from fantasizing as they reached the river Caicus, three miles out of Pergamum.

She and Mamie, still mounted on their matching white horses, joined Sarah and Fay by a cluster of trees.

“The best bathhouses were in Constantinople, though I never want to go back,” Fay said.

“Hot enough for the steam to rise, with extra lavender to cover the scent of horse manure.” Sarah’s eyes were half closed as if she were dreaming.

Catherine sighed, her body slumping over the saddle horn. “I would stay in until my toes pruned.”

“I don’t care what wrinkled. I’d call for more hot water,” Mamie said. “And a gorgeous knight to wash my back.”

Queen Eleanor’s arrival ended the reverie. De Montfer was at her side. Eleanor had taken to wearing more blue and gold on the journey than crimson and white. Was it to match de Montfer, to make her husband happy, or to hide the dirt of travel?

“This city has much biblical history to offer,” Eleanor declared. “But I would have you all come with me to the Goddess Athena’s Sanctuary.”

Catherine tightened her grip on the reins, surprised at the queen’s choice of a goddess over Christ.

Payen winced. If it made him uncomfortable, she would happily go along for the ride.

“Athena is a woman of ancient feminine might.” Eleanor turned to de Montfer. “Do you know of her, monsieur?”

“Of course,” de Montfer, atop his black stallion, said. “A virginal war goddess.”

The queen’s expression hid laughter. Eleanor turned her mount toward the road to the city. “By the time we are through, we will be thoroughly educated on all that Pergamum has to offer regarding Athena, for she was very powerful here as well.”

Payen smiled, though Catherine sensed his trepidation.

“Did you decide how long we are staying?” Mamie said. “The last I heard we might stay a week. There would be time for a bath.”

“King Louis wishes to keep moving,” Eleanor said. “If I had a say, I would stay longer than it takes to refresh our supplies. But it is not my decision. It is up to the king’s advisors and army captain.”

“Not even a night?” Mamie’s shoulders drooped. “Too bad.”

“Non. We will make our way to Athena’s sanctuary and stretch our muscles. Invigorating.” The queen cantered forward, her spine ramrod straight.

A sense of doom hovered, but Catherine couldn’t tell if it pertained to the expedition. She looked for Gaston, who waved from his seat with Jacques. He’s fine. Then what? She touched her necklace. Ragenard?

They reached the huge Byzantine wall of Pergamum, the excitement tangible as the hundred or so members of the queen’s retinue gathered close inside the city.

Catherine breathed deeply. “It smells ancient.”

“It stinks,” Mamie said with a wink.

The guards and nobles dismounted and tethered their horses.

“Be careful,” Catherine said to Jacques and Gaston, who were in charge of the beasts.

“The only danger is them falling asleep from boredom,” Payen said. “Besides, King Louis will be arriving soon.”

It was getting harder to ignore him. Catherine hid her smile and took her place at the queen’s side. They walked through the north end of the city toward the upper acropolis.

“It’s bigger than Nicaea,” Mamie said, looking around at the old homes of stone and wood. “But feels abandoned.”

“We trod the same path of Christ and His disciples,” Sarah said.

The thought caught Catherine off guard. She stumbled backward, twisting her ankle on a loose paver.

Payen caught her by the arm. “Are you all right?” He looked into her eyes. “These stones are old.”

She swallowed. Was she to be indebted to him for the entire journey? Jerking her arm free so she could think, for the Virgin’s sake, she said, “Oui. Old.”

He looked away, jaw clenched.

Explaining her situation was not a possibility. Someday she would be free to do so, but until then she had to keep away from him.

In groups, they passed the ruins of the old acropolis at the base of the hill. Catherine looked back, shivering, as if a ghost tapped her shoulder. Between the broken columns and fallen ruins, she swore she saw shadowy movement. Ragenard. She squinted, shielding her eyes with her palm.

Blessed Virgin! Was that even the same golden brown of Ragenard’s hair? Dear God.

What if she never received forgiveness? Her punishment: a haunted life.

She gasped for air. Eleanor, Mamie, and, curse him anyway, Payen all turned toward her as she desperately sucked in a breath.

Payen pounded her back, which doubled her over but allowed her to take in sips of air.

“What’s wrong, Catherine?” Eleanor’s breath warmed her cheek, but she couldn’t answer her liege.

Mamie rubbed the middle of her back, somehow finding the tension and kneading it loose.

She stood, trembling.

“What happened?” De Montfer crossed his arms, no doubt judging her.

“I saw”—she lowered her voice and spoke to the queen and Mamie, rather than the observant lord—“Ragenard.”

The queen released a sympathetic sigh, her hand on Catherine’s shoulder.

Mamie, Fay, and Sarah nodded.

“Have you ever had such a reaction before?” the queen said.

“Never.” Catherine exhaled, her lungs hurting.

“What about when you sleep?” de Montfer said, his gaze probing her soul. “Or is this why you don’t?”

“True,” Fay said. “You never sleep sound when you dream of Ragenard.”

Catherine faced de Montfer, glaring at him for forcing her confession. “As you all know, I don’t sleep well. My dead husband haunts my dreams, and now he creeps into my waking moments. I can’t rest.” Tears welled, and her throat ached. “It is the reason I don’t sleep with you all for longer than a few hours at most. I don’t want to wake you. It keeps getting worse. And now . . .” She shrugged and looked at the ruins, where there was no trace of a man. Now I am losing my mind.

Payen looked taken aback before regaining his aloofness.

“We knew it was bad,” Sarah said. “Have you asked Larissa for a sleeping powder?”

“I am afraid of what might happen if I can’t wake up.”

“We will watch you sleep,” Mamie said.

“Take turns, gladly,” Fay said.

“Yes.” Sarah pressed her hand against her stomach and winced. “Although sleep has been evasive for me, aussi.”

“I know,” Eleanor said. “Find the well of Athena, and we shall ask a boon. Let us continue.”

Payen coughed behind his gloved fist.

Now that the worst of the pain was over, Catherine was embarrassed. She bowed her head and followed the queen on the arduous path to the top of the giant hill. If only Athena would grant her one night’s solid rest.

As Payen walked with them, Catherine wondered if her destiny was to learn humiliation. Or to suffer the consequences of her own bad decisions.

The past two years would have been entirely different had she married George. She would be safely home with her family and perhaps a child of her own. Clemont Manor would be filled with laughter, not death.

Warming enough to loosen her cloak, she looked at the sky, which went on forever and seemed bluer, brighter than at home. The ground—gritty yellow-gold dirt, white rock, and gravel—was quite different from the moist, brown dirt of France.

“What do you think of all this?” Payen gestured toward the mountain across from them, where small homes had been carved from the cliffs. Stone steps created an uneven, winding road from the mountain’s base to the very top.

“It is difficult to believe people live like that! From so far away, they look like ants darting around a mound of dirt.”

“A thousand years ago, Pergamum was considered the center of learning. There was a large library filled with Roman scrolls.” De Montfer’s enthusiasm was obvious. “Did you know this is where parchment was first created?”

“Here?” She looked around, noticing the Roman ruins mixed with Byzantine expansion. “I can’t imagine it a thriving city. It is abandoned and sad now.”

“The bones of something wonderful. See?” He pointed beyond the mountain. “That is the Aegean Sea. The Caicus River provides access. Pergamum was a military stronghold before the Byzantine Empire gained power. Emperor Manuel moved the center to Constantinople.”

She considered his words, thinking of the violent heathens impeding their pilgrimage. “And the Turks want Constantinople?”

“The Turks want everything.” Payen laughed.

Catherine could not let herself relax and enjoy Payen’s company. Because it was so tempting, she picked up her pace to walk next to the queen. There was no room for a third person on the narrow path. He fell behind.

“Are you feeling better?” The queen’s shoulder brushed hers.

“Yes, thank you.” She whispered, “Although I didn’t want de Montfer to know about my poor sleeping habits. He sees everything as it is.”

The queen kept a brisk pace, unmindful of the steep edge. “But I asked him to be aware that you sometimes walk around on your own at night. To keep you from harm.”

Catherine bit her cheek. Her own queen had set the wolf upon her.

“Catherine, you are safe within my retinue. Nobody can harm you. Mon fleur,” the queen whispered, “you must ask Goddess Athena to give you the strength to find your own peace. As our disbelieving de Montfer said, she is the virgin goddess and, as such, defends herself and women.”

“But . . .” Eleanor didn’t know the entire truth. She knew Ragenard was mortally wounded in a forbidden joust. That there was an altercation between her and Ragenard’s brother, resulting in the townspeople clamoring for her neck. Eleanor had found her running for her life, bloodied and torn. The queen had accepted her dazed story of being late on rent. She had never pressed for details.

“Haven’t I always championed women?”

Catherine nodded.

“Women used to be revered, and there will come a time when they are again. Until then, we must use our wits and courage. The mighty oak breaks in a windstorm. The willow bends and survives.”

Calmed by Eleanor’s company, Catherine sighed. She stepped ahead, reaching the top of the mountain. She closed her eyes and let the sun bless her with warmth.

“I hope this sanctuary is worth the blister on the bottom of my foot,” Sarah said, walking up from behind. She held her hand to her side. “Why couldn’t we take our horses?”

“Because,” Eleanor said with a slight wheeze, “this gives us time to stretch. Besides, the city council doesn’t want foreign riders going up to the acropolis. We could have hired mules.” She waved her hand. “Pah.”

“I would be grateful for a mule, my queen,” Fay said, catching her breath as she reached the summit, followed by the last of the noblewomen.

“Perhaps on the way down.” Eleanor took in the view. “Such beauty. Look. Well worth blisters, Sarah.”

“Stunning.” Catherine blinked into focus the tableau from the upper acropolis. Panoramic views showing the sea, the city at the base of the hill, the river, the plains, and the stands of trees.

Warmed from the walk up the mountain, nobody complained of a chill.

Fay looped her arm through Catherine’s. “What are those?”

“Olive trees?” Catherine guessed. Traces of ancient power remained beneath the grassy ruins. Her sensitivity hummed to awareness.

“They were another sign for Athena, along with a huge spear.” Eleanor extended her hand over her head to signify how long the goddess’s weapon might be. She wandered the ruins, inspecting old columns and ruined friezes. “She almost always is portrayed wearing a helmet and breastplate, with an owl and a snake.”

“Isn’t that Zeus with her?” De Montfer pointed to one of the chipped carvings.

“Oui,” Eleanor said, taking off a glove to touch the white stone. “The myth goes that she was born from her father Zeus’s head, wearing full armor and calling a battle cry.”

Fay walked beside Catherine. “It is magical here,” she said softly. “I feel it. Do you feel it?”

“See how red my hands are? They are warm too.” Catherine’s feet tapped the earth, anxious to dance or run. The energy in this ancient place called to her soul. She looked to Payen, who appeared unaffected. She sauntered closer to him, her hand on her hip. “You don’t believe, de Montfer?” Catherine challenged.

He kept his arms loose at his sides, answering in clipped tones, “I think, as was the case with Aphrodite and Hera, that goddesses lead decent women down the wrong path, giving false hopes of beauty triumphing over all and of love worth dying for.”

Catherine snapped her mouth closed.

The queen’s eyes widened.

Had he really insulted the queen and her retinue of courtiers, her Court of Love? He needn’t have been so honest. She’d thought him more cunning.

“Monsieur,” Sarah said, her blue eyes fierce, “explain.”

The other noblemen stood back, murmuring.

Catherine almost felt sorry for de Montfer. Almost.

“It is my opinion,” he said, “that the average person is ill equipped to accept life’s hard road. They pray for a boon, they pray for a child, and they pray for a good crop, not understanding that the good crop will come if they merely work hard. Children spring from a healthy marriage, not sacrificing a rabbit to the Moon Goddess.”

Catherine brought her thumbnail to her teeth. He should just be quiet.

But no.

“Women are not meant to be warriors. They are caretakers of hearth and home. Mothers. Wives.” Payen straightened his shoulders, his jaw set.

Mamie put her hand to her sword.

Catherine stepped in front of her friend, then met the queen’s angry eyes. “One of the things we have learned in your court, my liege, is that everyone is entitled to an opinion. Even when they are wrong.” She smiled at Eleanor, uncomfortable at being placed in the position of peacemaker.”

A few of the nobles laughed nervously.

Turning, Catherine faced the man she did not mean to desire. The man she’d set up to fail by asking the question. “Lord de Montfer,” she said, “I challenge you to a fight.”

De Montfer swiped his hair from his forehead. “I told you, I will never fight you.”

She withdrew an arrow from her quiver. “Not a physical fight but an archery contest.”

“My talent does not lie with the bow and arrow.”

“Humph.” She played to the crowd and tried to lighten his and the queen’s moods. “So no physical fighting and no archery. What can we possibly do to solve this problem?”

The queen, her gaze narrowed, nodded to Catherine.

“I know,” Fay said. “The rock game.”

“I don’t understand.” De Montfer crossed his arms.

“It is like falconry.” Catherine made flying motions with her arms.

“You want to chase a piece of dead meat tied to a training string?”

A few from the crowd laughed.

“Non, monsieur, since we were not allowed to bring our falcons with us on pilgrimage, I have been honing my skills with target practice.”

Mamie and Sarah each gathered small stones.

With a threatening scowl, Sarah handed five to Payen.

Mamie grinned and gave Catherine her five small rocks. “Let him have it.” She swaggered away.

“As the female falcon is a huntress, so was Goddess Athena,” Catherine said, rotating her shoulder. “As was Boadicea, Diana, and so on. Women are more than caretakers of the hearth.”

Fay led Payen, the queen, and the nobles to a slumbering winter garden.

“So what are we to do? Use this rock to knock a bird from the sky? Our caravan might leave without us before we ever hit one.”

The queen’s mouth lifted in amusement.

“I’m ready,” Catherine said to Fay. “Throw!”

Payen knew he would win. He was a master falconer. Not only did he have access to the royal mews, but his family had an extensive collection of hunting birds. Whatever moves Catherine thought she had, he would have them too.

Not only had he offended the queen and everyone in her party, but Catherine had deliberately set him up. Games. If the lady hadn’t enamored him, he would have eased his way past the inciting question: “You don’t believe, de Montfer?”

No, he didn’t believe in beauty or love worth dying for. He’d wanted Catherine to know his true feelings regarding women warriors, for God’s sake. What did women know of fighting? And why this little game of rock throwing?

Fay tossed the first of the rocks in the air, then another and another. Catherine knocked all five back to the ground.

“Lord de Montfer,” Catherine said, winking, “I offer you a truce: applaud my skills and leave it as a debt settled. In all fairness, I have practiced these particular moves so I could keep my eye sharp while away from the mews. Nobody here expects you to do better than one of five.”

Payen bowed. “I, with much regret, do not accept your offer, though I commend your ability. I would try.” How hard could it be?

“Would you care to practice first?”

“I am ready.”

Fay threw a rock in the air, and the sunlight forced him to squint. With careful calculation, he threw his rock. And missed. Once, twice. Three times. Sweat cooled his brow.

“You should have taken the truce, de Montfer.” The queen smiled.

And because it was a royal suggestion, he gathered his bruised pride and gracefully bowed out of the competition.

“You were very close,” Fay said, her gray eyes shining.

Sarah sneered.

Mamie grinned and tossed her red curls.

The queen clapped, her courtiers joining in. “Very entertaining,” she said before walking back toward Athena’s Sanctuary.

Had he ruined his chance to be in Eleanor’s graces?

Payen turned and found Catherine smiling at him. A real smile, not goading.

“I owe you an apology,” he said. “Another one.”

“Not me,” Catherine said. “The queen strives to raise the standard of women’s lives. Men like you set her back, until she proves her point.”

He had to be sure she understood. “I still don’t believe women should be warriors.”

Catherine gestured toward Eleanor. The queen balanced on a broken column. A ray of sun lit her beautiful face, her auburn hair streaming behind her. She drew a sword, threw back her head, and laughed.

Payen was entranced.

“Or goddesses?” Catherine nudged his arm. “Queen Eleanor is the epitome of feminine beauty and strength.”

“Must I be wrong all afternoon?”

“You have your beliefs. The queen has hers: bringing chivalry and respect for women back into society instead of keeping us tucked behind castle walls.”

“You were held there for a reason. A woman was a bargaining tool, one that could be stolen and impregnated with the enemy’s child.”

Catherine pulled her cloak back so he could see the short yet sharp sword at her side. “I can protect myself.”

“War is not fair. A man does not come at you in one-on-one combat. Usually there are many men.” All determined to gain a single prize.

“I hear your concern for a woman’s well-being, and I can’t fault you for that.” She rested a hand on his forearm. She’d removed her gloves for the rock throwing and neglected to put them back on.

Payen relaxed and watched her slender fingers curl over his wrist, imagining her caress.

“All I ask is that you open your mind to more than one way to the truth.”

“I listen and observe. I make sound decisions.” He brushed his hair from his face.

“You think you are funny.”

Her half smile teased him. In more ways than one. He bowed his head, wondering what it would take to get past her loving memories of marriage so that she would see him instead of Ragenard. “I make myself laugh. That should count for something.”

Mamie called from behind collapsed columns. “I found the well. Remember, Catherine, you promised to read my fortune!”

Catherine looked up, her hand still over his wrist, her lips curved in a smile. “Shall we go ask Athena for a boon? A wish? I will ask for sleep. What will you ask for?”

“Why would a goddess of women grant a man’s wish?”

“Athena is concerned over right versus wrong. Contrary to what you may believe, breasts and a womb do not indicate wrong.”

“You sound very certain.” Payen would rather research the well before making any wish. “It seems frivolous.”

“You lost my challenge, de Montfer,” Catherine said, her eyes daring him.

He had lost. Indeed.

The challenge.

His rationalization.

His pride.

Would he lose his heart?

He followed Catherine through the dried grass.

Queen Eleanor stood among the queen’s guards, who circled the well. They bowed their heads over the rock-and-shell walls, making their wishes. Though they dressed as men, they exuded feminine beauty.

Each of them was clearly a noblewoman pledged to finish the crusade. Why? What made them decide to add chausses and split gowns to their arsenal of formidable weapons? As individuals, the ladies were unique. As the queen’s guard, they were more so.

“The well is too low to scry,” Catherine told him as he took his place next to her. “I can try later, if you want me to read your fortune. With a dish of water.”

Payen leaned on the stone edge of the ancient well. “I make my own fortune.”