Chapter Eighteen

War.

Catherine’s arm was stiff, but she didn’t release the grip on her sword. She rode with the reins in one hand and her weapon in the other. Payen had been right about the Turks opening fire. The skirmishes intensified, and a dozen soldiers had been killed in the past three days. The heathens hid like cowards behind rocks and cliffs, firing arrows on the caravan from the mountainsides.

The king’s archers rode the perimeter, picking off the Turks as soon as the enemies dared show themselves.

“I’m hungry.” Mamie’s joy for life seemed as damp as the blue plume in her brown leather helmet. She, like all the queen’s guards, wore fitted armor now that the fighting had escalated.

Catherine’s stomach rumbled. “Want some dried beef?”

“I’m tired of beef. I want fresh fish or baked pheasant. Hot bread.”

“Dreamer.” Catherine’s mouth watered. The last hot meal she’d had was the stew shared with Payen.

Thinking of Payen brought a different insatiable hunger to mind. Did he really love her? She’d been unable to breathe once he’d said the word, fighting her urge to kiss him senseless.

She eyed the sky, determining it was past noon. In their push to reach Ephesus by Christmas and before the bad weather, the crusaders stopped only at night, the king’s army sleeping in shifts. They set up half camps, sharing tents and limiting the supplies used, alert and ready to move quickly. The Turks hadn’t dared another night attack.

Catherine noticed how Payen carried himself now in the midst of war, as he did every day: observing and applying reason. He kept Jacques and Gaston safely on the inner line of his men, with a strict warning to stay put. He palmed the hilt of his sword, carrying the weight as if it were nothing.

Riding in the vanguard of blue and gold with the queen’s guard, Catherine knew she would fight to the death to protect the queen or Gaston or . . .

Payen was everywhere, riding, organizing. From his position to the left of the queen, he scanned the mountainside for an enemy.

She turned away. While she and Payen could be at odds, Catherine would never put Eleanor at risk by causing dissension.

Payen’s men were interspersed on either side of the line. Knight Templars shone like beacons with their white tunics and red crosses. A sense of pride enveloped her, though before now, her pilgrimage had nothing to do with saving Edessa.

“We will be there soon.” Eleanor unrolled the map.

Thankfully, the last few days had been dry, allowing them to make decent time. Unfortunately, the good weather allowed the enemy to keep pace. Catherine thrilled to the challenge, though she had eyestrain from looking for flashes of color behind rocks and trees.

“We will need a defendable camp so we can rest awhile,” de Montfer said.

“The Valley of Decervion,” Eleanor called across the moving horses. “Louis wants to celebrate the holy days there. After a visit to St. John’s burial site, naturellement. My husband has not once forgotten why we are on this pilgrimage.” Her strong voice rang with conviction.

Catherine was glad to hear it. Two nights ago, the king and queen had argued. Loudly. He’d stormed from Eleanor’s tent.

Eleanor had hinted that he was suspicious about her correspondence with her uncle Raymond. Catherine hadn’t pressed to see if he had cause to worry.

“How can you read that scroll while riding? It makes my belly twist watching you.”

“I’m making good use of my time.” Eleanor studied the map. “The captain leads the way, but I like to be prepared.”

“There is nothing wrong with that,” de Montfer said.

No doubt he was born prepared.

“I haven’t seen a Turk since morning.” Mamie leaned over her mare’s neck to peer at the brown and black mountains.

“Because we are so close to Ephesus?”

“It seems logical that the heathen Turks would stay clear of the Christian city.” Sarah shifted on her saddle. “I can’t wait to get off this horse and be on solid ground for a while. Have a meal that we don’t eat while riding.”

“We can’t let down our guard, ladies,” Eleanor said. “These Turks have proven to be wily pests. We must expect the worst. I want you in uniform for the rest of the journey. You can wear your pretty clothes again once we reach Antioch. We will be safe with Uncle Raymond.”

Catherine hoped her pretty clothes made it through the rain without rotting.

“Do you think so?” Payen said.

Catherine sensed there was another layer to his interest. For King Louis?

“Raymond is wonderful, de Montfer,” Eleanor said. “Charming, clever, and one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met.”

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Mamie said, grinning.

Eleanor shook the scroll at Mamie. “He is off-limits to you, mon cher. My uncle is married, so there will be no fun and games. With him.”

Mamie stuck out her lower lip. “If you have a change of heart, simply say the word.”

“I won’t.” Eleanor faced Payen. “But there will be music and dancing. Conversations over wine and a feast. Raymond knows how to live.”

“I have heard he is a brave warrior,” Payen added.

“He is that too. He rules Antioch well, with a large army under his command.”

“Will he be joining us to take Edessa?”

Payen’s question could be innocent or not. He was so casual it was hard to tell.

Is that why he rode in the vanguard with the queen? To gather information for King Louis about Raymond?

It made perfect sense.

Catherine wished the queen would talk about something else. What if the queen slipped and hinted toward the real reason she wanted everyone to love her uncle? So he could be King of all Outremer. King Louis would be furious and perhaps unwilling to forgive . . .

Catherine pointed to a speck on the horizon. “Look!” They’d been on a slight decline for a while now, and if Catherine squinted, she could make out something blue. “What is that?” She didn’t care what it was, so long as the conversation didn’t return to Raymond.

“The ocean!” Eleanor unrolled her map again, steadied it against the pommel to study before returning her gaze to the speck. “At last. We will have Greek ships to trade with instead of the small towns that barely have enough to feed themselves.”

“I feel guilty for eating their food.”

“We pay high enough prices to wipe away any hard feelings,” de Montfer said.

Sarah clucked to her mare as it stepped too close to Mamie’s horse.

“Even the horses are ready for a rest,” Catherine said.

“Louis will be pleased to celebrate Christmas in Ephesus. He wishes to pray at St. John’s tomb and see a holy relic of Virgin Mary in one of the churches.” Eleanor laughed in triumph, glaring at the receding mountains, where the Turks remained.

The road widened, leveling to a large plain. The crusaders spread out, and the view cleared for miles. Once they reached the city wall of Ephesus, the vanguard had to wait for the rest of the caravan to arrive, which took another hour.

Not one to waste a moment, Eleanor called to raise a small tent and have her trunks unloaded. Catherine and the other guards helped her freshen up. By the time King Louis and Emperor Conrad arrived, she would be ready to make a royal appearance. She chose a purple gown trimmed in gold-and-ivory lace.

“I would have you ladies change into the crimson-and-white tunics and armor, but since we have de Montfer’s men with us too, it will look better if you stay in your blue-and-gold.” Eleanor gestured toward the water basin and assorted cosmetics Larissa had laid out. “Please comb and perfume at will!”

When they were done, Catherine felt much refreshed, and Eleanor had been transformed into a goddess.

De Montfer assisted the queen atop her white mare. Eleanor loosely held the reins in her white-gloved hands. Fay fanned the queen’s long, auburn hair over the side of the horse. As a token of propriety, gossamer ivory silk covered her locks. The gold circle holding it in place flashed in the sunlight.

Catherine, Mamie, Fay, and Sarah mounted their horses, keeping a square formation around the queen.

“Heads will turn as we tour this ancient and holy city,” Eleanor said. “And people will know King Louis and Queen Eleanor have arrived to do homage.”

Jacques stared in awe, shifting, his hat crunched in his hands.

Gaston, waiting on the ground, tugged at Catherine’s boot. His big brown eyes greeted her. “She is the most beautiful queen in the world.”

Another man captured by the queen. She smiled. “Yes, she is.”

The king arrived, his thin, gold crown resting on his blond hair. He joined Eleanor, who leaned to whisper in his ear. Louis brushed some of the dust from his cloak and chausses, calling for a squire to wipe the dirt from his boots.

Payen rode next to her in line, his thigh muscle visible from the snug fit of his hose. “Is all of this necessary? I’ve seen a few scrawny children peeking around the wall but other than that?” He shrugged.

His black stallion snorted, startling her mare.

She glared. “It doesn’t matter if there are only five people. Are you supposed to be here?” She’d specifically told Mamie when they were setting position that she didn’t want to be by Payen.

She found him too distracting.

“That’s what the redhead said. Male, female, male, female. Two sets in the front of the royal pair and two sets in back. That’s us.”

She would have a few choice words for Mamie the next time they were alone. What had they been talking about? Oh yes, image. “Queen Eleanor understands how important pageantry is to the people. Commoners want to see their monarchs dressed in gold and velvets while riding white horses and tossing coins.”

He tilted his head, his hair glinting in the sun. “Whatever for?”

“Really, de Montfer? You, the man who thinks everything through at least a dozen times, cannot understand that the queen creates the illusion of power and grace? I may not be as observant as you, but I can tell from the deserted walls that Ephesus is not the great city it used to be. Not like Nicaea or Smyrna, teeming with all manner of people. But that just means when the queen and king formally proceed through the gates, they will offer faith and hope to the hardworking peasants who will cherish the finery and beauty of the royal couple for the rest of their days. It will be a story told to their children and grandchildren. That is how one becomes great.”

He rubbed his chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Nevertheless, the cost is high to create this illusion. Odo reminds the king often that ready coin is sparse. Tossing coins to children when we could use it for food?”

“This pilgrimage is approved by Pope Eugene III so we can save Edessa from becoming a heathen stronghold. France is wealthy enough to sustain the cost.” She spoke with confidence, knowing Eleanor’s stance on the subject.

“The king and queen have been arguing, as you probably are aware. Part of it is about funds.”

Only a part. Catherine wondered what he thought to gain by sharing personal information. A confidence for a confidence?

At last, the procession moved through the city gates. Catherine’s horse went forward at a sedate walk, and Payen’s black stallion matched the slower gait. Hardly anyone was about, and she scanned the ruins for possible danger. A cat sunned himself on a broken bust, the orange tail flicking over a large marble nose.

She took a deep breath, not seeing anything to harm the queen. “Queen Eleanor pays for her retinue from her own coffers, as Duchess of Aquitaine. She chooses the velvets and adornments. Odo shouldn’t care.”

Payen leaned in. “He plays off the king’s piety. Louis would be satisfied with brown clothes, sackcloth, and the occasional hair shirt.”

Catherine laughed, then stopped herself. Now was not the time for him to get under her skin with witty commentary. She kept her posture perfect, confident but not arrogant. “The queen prefers silks.”

“I was in King Louis’s tent, and he had one oil lamp. The queen?”

Was that a goat chewing weeds from a cracked marble urn? It seemed as if this gate to the city was mostly abandoned. “Five.”

She looked down the long road, the pavers all cracked and uneven. A group of three children, younger than Gaston, waved from the side of the road as the procession went by. People came from their homes and businesses to wave.

“She doesn’t think of cost, but Odo and Louis are mindful of such things. Perhaps a compromise of three lamps could be arranged?”

Catherine snickered. “I don’t think Eleanor realizes her oil usage is being negotiated. She simply wants the tent to be bright and cozy. She likes her cushions and pillows and wine. She compares Paris to a gray day, while Aquitaine is sunshine. She is a flower craving the light.”

“I am not arguing against this, though I would have if I were helping pack the caravan. Women tend to bring too much. The queen has more than a dozen gowns and ten boxes of jewels.”

Catherine gritted her teeth. “Just because King Louis has but two pair of boots—”

“Odo and Thierry fight against what they see as excess. As Louis’s friend, I am hoping to find a peaceful compromise. I’d like to avoid more fighting between the pair.”

“Eleanor is the queen of France and the Duchess of Aquitaine. There is no such thing as too much. It is all hers if she wishes, and Odo and Thierry should remember that.”

Was that a chicken roosting on the church step?

She continued, “King Louis is married to a magnificent woman who thinks of him when she puts on this pageantry. Perhaps, as his friend, you could remind him of that?”

While gleaning information from Catherine about the king and queen’s argument, Payen studied his surroundings. He noticed the increase of peasants. Drawn to the procession? Dodging horse hooves for coins? Poverty showed in their simple tunics and leather sandals. He picked out a goat herder, field-workers, and, closer to the water, fishermen. A few brave souls crowded close enough to touch the horses, while the children stared at Queen Eleanor as if she were an angel. Catherine had been right about that.

Payen realized he’d made her angry again but didn’t know how. They’d merely been having a conversation, he thought.

He tried again. “I expected something grander,” he whispered, nodding toward the people.

Catherine murmured something he assumed was agreement, but she could have been cursing him. Would he ever understand her? He was too new at feeling love. Perhaps he was doing it wrong. Catherine refused to discuss it, and talking it over with anybody else seemed mortifying.

The residents of Ephesus multiplied as the royal procession made its way toward St. John’s Church on the other side of the city. This area still showed signs of poverty, but a few more people bustled about.

“This is basically a fishing village,” he said, “with a lot of broken rock and marble. Where’s the big seaport? I hope Emperor Manuel managed to get a ship in the harbor. You will never believe this, but I am out of soap.”

She bit her lip, one of the many fascinating ways she showed her annoyance. Payen liked this one a lot. Her white teeth lightly nipped her plump, pink lower lip. Then she quickly released it, as if she knew better.

How soft her mouth was, how sweet her tongue.

“Stop staring at me.”

His gaze remained on Catherine’s profile, the desire between them palpable. “The hills are too sloped for the Turks to be a danger, and visibility is clear. I don’t see anything to be afraid of.” He’d fallen in love with her little sighs, her joie de vivre, the way she jumped into the melee with complete faith that things would work out the way they should.

“You should be very afraid of me. Very. I will not let you wait for me. I feel what you are thinking, and you have to stop it.”

It didn’t surprise him she felt his emotions.

At last, they reached the end of the road. They had the choice to turn toward the water or leave the city walls, where St. John’s tomb supposedly rested. He craned his neck to see the harbor. “Ships!”

His enthusiasm stemmed from his new vision, a future with Catherine at his side. One letter, sent home on a ship in the harbor below, returned the expectations of his father, to his father. He’d be free. One letter had changed the course of his future. The expectations of his father would be on his father.

“Greek?” Catherine said, still staring straight ahead.

Was her deportment part of the charade? The queen’s guards gave an impressive show. Catherine held her weapon properly, and she could shoot an arrow straight through the trees. She’d earned her status as warrior woman, if that was what she truly wanted. However, the crusade would not last forever. God willing, in a few more months it would be time for her to retire her sword.

He would wait.