Chapter Two
Payen scowled. “We will take turns sitting with Emperor Conrad.”
“I don’t require much sleep,” Catherine said. Memories of Ragenard disturbed her dreams. She rubbed her hands together. “I will take the first shift.”
“It looks dark outside because of the storm, but it’s too early to rest.” Dominus peered out the tent. “Where is that fool Hector?”
“Is anybody hungry?” Payen said, looking about the haphazard stacks of trunks and straightening them as he went, gaze ever averted. “Once it stops pouring, I can fish.”
“I am fine.” Catherine tapped her thumbnail to her teeth. Ridiculous to be afraid to breathe, cognizant of the rise of her breasts, of her heart pounding in her ears. She pressed her lips together, uncertain where to rest her gaze. Looking at Payen made her pulse jump.
Payen picked up the emperor’s shield and leaned it against the tent wall. Following his lead, she too began cleaning. Straightening. With every move de Montfer made, she noticed the stretch of fabric over the line of his back. The curve of muscle at his calf. The soft fall of a mahogany wave at his jaw. Appalled, she pressed her hands to her cheeks and hurried toward the tent opening.
“It is stuffy in here,” she told Dominus, pushing her face outside. “Ah, that’s better.” The splash of cool rain against her flesh returned her sanity. Starting immediately, Payen de Montfer meant nothing to her. She touched the diamond pendant as a reminder that she had other things to do.
“Better?” Dominus laughed. “You have a raindrop on your nose.”
She wiped it free, liking the knight well enough. “Much better. I would say let the breeze in,” she added quietly, “but the draft might harm Emperor Conrad.” She turned and noticed the tent had been organized into a sitting area with blankets spread out for sleep. How unlike her deceased husband Payen was. It wouldn’t have occurred to Ragenard to see to anyone’s comfort but his own.
She shook off the thought and walked to the cot, pressing her hand to the emperor’s forehead. “Cooler.”
“Queen Eleanor did not exaggerate your healing skills,” Payen said. “The king will be pleased at your efforts.”
Startled, she nodded her thanks. “It is clear you know him well.” An idea occurred to her. “Were you in the church together?”
“No. Childhood companions, before he began his religious studies.” He tugged his smooth chin, as if he hid a secret or two himself. “He showed my family great honor, choosing me to be on his council once he became king.”
Catherine hid her smile. Honor. It formed de Montfer. “He trusts you, perhaps because of your time together as boys?” Gathering information, tucking it away to share with the queen. Oui, that was her purpose.
“I have never given him reason to doubt me.” Payen sat on a trunk and gestured toward the three-legged stool. “Come, sit. Dominus? Join us?”
“I’ll stay here.” Standing by the tent entrance, the knight folded his arms. “If Hector does not arrive soon, I will go find him myself.”
Uneasy, Catherine perched on the edge of the stool. What did de Montfer want from her? What did she want from him? “One of the most difficult things for a monarch must be choosing those around you. Trust is hard when people are so different. Queen Eleanor”—she hesitated half a breath, hoping to draw information from the stoic lord—“is the opposite of King Louis. Raised in Aquitaine with wine and dancing, poetry and pageantry.”
“Hmm.” He sent her a nod, half-lidded eyes studying her.
“King Louis, reared for the church, or so I heard?” She knew as well as anyone that Louis was second choice for the throne. What would his friend say about it?
“He was, but then young King Philip died.” Payen gritted his teeth as if the subject were painful. “Louis accepted the honor of the crown with grace and pride, as he has shown every day since.”
No details. His loyalty to Louis went as deep as hers to Eleanor. She was right to keep him at a distance, and she would warn the queen to do the same.
“Do you think Louis will forgive Emperor Conrad”—she lowered her voice—“even though he chose to go ahead?”
Payen finally answered, “Emperor Conrad has paid a high price for his impatience. If he chooses to join his forces with ours, I believe King Louis will welcome him as a brother, as a friend.” He glanced at Dominus.
A reminder to Catherine that they were not alone.
How to use this situation to the queen’s advantage? She looked at the trunks in the tent. What did they hold?
“At last!” Dominus pulled back the tent flap. “Hector, where did you go?”
“I found clothes. Survivors.” The wounded soldier entered the tent, carefully looking from the emperor to Dominus to Payen while his gaze lightly skipped over Catherine. He’d changed into a slightly cleaner tunic and allowed someone to wrap a bandage around his arm.
“Welcome.” Catherine rose.
Payen stood as well.
Hector’s teeth chattered. From fever? Cold? She sensed fear.
“How many men do you have?” Dominus asked.
“Less than ten,” he answered in a grim voice. “That’s all that remains from close to a thousand. I . . . I am Emperor Conrad’s aide-de-camp.”
“Why did you not introduce yourself as such from the beginning?” Payen walked toward the soldier, stopping directly in front of him.
Catherine knew. It was obvious the aide felt guilt over leaving his liege. If the worst happened and Conrad died, it would be better if nobody found the man who hadn’t saved the emperor. Payen clearly did not understand as she did.
Hector paled and stared at the tent floor. “I—”
“Why did you wait so long to come to us?” Payen spoke casually, invitingly.
Deceptive.
“I lost consciousness from a blade to the head. I woke this morning and made my way to Nicaea for assistance. I thought the king would be there. The surviving soldiers brought us all to camp here, hidden from the Turks but also from any who might have helped us. They didn’t know what else to do.”
“What happened, man?” Dominus clasped the soldier’s shoulder.
“We were betrayed.” His gaunt cheeks seemed to sink further. “Turkish heathens poured from behind the hills, where they’d been waiting to ambush our army as we stopped to water our horses.” He gestured toward the heavily breathing emperor. “Will he live?” Hector’s voice broke. “I will never forgive myself if anything happens.” He bowed his head. “It was a nightmare, waking to find my liege fighting for his life in this hovel.”
Payen coughed into his fist. “We will do all we can, mon ami.”
Hector faced them, his damp hair curling at the temples. “We thought we’d beaten the Turks back. It was a ruse. We pushed forward through the mountains. Once we stopped to rest, there were Turks everywhere. They leaped from the trees, like monkeys!” He caught his breath. “We were slaughtered.”
He weaved on his feet.
She left the emperor’s side to guide Hector to a stool. “Water?”
“My thanks.” He drained the cup and handed it back without bothering to look at her, speaking only to Dominus and Payen. “I would send a report to the pope. Emperor Manuel has betrayed us.”
“You have proof?” Catherine felt Payen’s careful control as he questioned the aide and encouraged him to talk. Payen was very good at listening.
“The guide Emperor Manuel gave us turned and fought for the Turks.” Hector stood, his strength returning with righteous anger. “I’d say that’s proof enough. Emperor Manuel is a threat to Christianity. We should join with our allies and take Constantinople.”
What? Catherine made herself inconspicuous as Hector spoke his mind. Dominus pounded his left fist into his right palm, anger in the thinning of his mouth. Payen remained calm as Hector suggested war against Constantinople. All of King Louis’s barons had urged Louis to take the city while inside, but the king had remained stalwart and focused on regaining Edessa, as promised. Not even Queen Eleanor could alter his decision.
Would this latest Byzantine deceit change the king’s course?
“Take care,” de Montfer suggested. “You are still weak. When did you eat last?”
“I don’t remember. There is dried food in one of these trunks.” Hector opened two before finding the one he wanted.
Catherine noted the contents of the trunks. What would the queen prefer? Correspondence?
“These few were all the men brought back. Not much.”
Most likely important, though, Catherine thought. Or why bother?
They shared a quick supper of dates, nuts, and sausage. Catherine listened intently to the talk centering on Emperor Manuel’s latest lie. This would add fuel to the queen’s fire. Eleanor wanted Louis to take a prominent role in the crusade, while Louis seemed driven by the pope’s blessing.
Dominus and Hector, with renewed purpose toward the holy cause, left to rally the other men to leave for Nicaea in the morning.
“We should take turns resting,” Payen said, gesturing toward a pile of blankets he’d made into a pallet. “Are you tired?”
She was exhausted. “No. You go first.” She looked toward the feverish Conrad. “I will wake you when I get drowsy.”
Payen studied her face. “Are you sure? If each of us takes a few hours, it will be morning before we know it.”
Emperor Conrad moaned.
“I am happy to do this. Really.”
Payen nodded and lay on the pallet.
She gave all of her attention to Conrad, giving him a few sips of water, bathing his head, and slipping another pinch of powdered herbs beneath his tongue to make him sleep deeply.
When she finished, she turned to look over her shoulder and assure de Montfer that Conrad’s fever would break. He was sound asleep.
Knowing she had just moments before Dominus and Hector returned, Catherine quietly opened the nearest trunk.
Payen realized Catherine was about to speak and quickly shut his eyes, slowing his breathing. Her feminine wiles affected his common sense. Her flushed cheeks, her delicate breaths. Her slender, curvaceous form as she bent over the emperor . . . Christ’s blood, he’d almost swallowed his tongue when she’d shifted her hips.
Wasn’t this how women sought the upper hand? Using their beauty to bring a man low. Even though his mind knew the ruse, his body responded.
This was why Odo and Thierry, the king’s advisors, conspired to keep the queen at the opposite end of the caravan. Louis claimed to love Eleanor, but emotion weakened the man. Why would he pretend Eleanor’s guards served a purpose? Louis seemed to think the ladies capable of saving Lady Abigail.
He secretly peered at Catherine as she straightened the thin blanket over Conrad’s body. Humility, compassion. He had to admit the lady had fine qualities one normally found only in a plain woman.
He closed his eyes, determined to sleep. Payen shifted, his shoulder digging into the ground despite his well-made pallet.
He heard the barest squeak of a leather hinge. What would make that noise? A trunk. But why would Catherine open one? Hunger?
Curiosity drove him to peek.
Treacherous.
Catherine le Rochefort sifted through Emperor Conrad’s papers.
Careful to keep his breaths even, he watched as she read some of the correspondence and laid others aside.
Dominus’s and Hector’s voices neared the tent.
Catherine looked up, quickly putting everything back in its place, with the exception of one letter, which she tucked in a fold of her gown. Touching her throat, she went back to Emperor Conrad’s side.
It took all his internal fortitude to keep from shouting, but he’d learned that quiet observation often netted a larger truth.
The men came inside, and Catherine greeted them in a sleepy tone. “De Montfer piled some blankets in case you want to rest.”
“I would be glad to sit by my emperor’s side,” Hector offered.
“You look like you need a healer as much as he,” she chided gently, giving away no sign of her perfidy. “Please allow me to serve your liege.”
“She’s right, Hector,” Dominus said. “Lay down before you fall down.”
Payen wished he’d not pretended to sleep so quickly, but what he’d witnessed would definitely interest the king. The innocent-looking Lady Catherine was a thief.
He fell asleep wondering what she’d taken.
He woke to the gentle touch of a soft hand against his brow, his shoulder. He blinked, wondering if he dreamed as Catherine smiled her greeting, her dark braid falling forward to brush his cheek as she bent down. “Dawn is breaking,” she said in a honeyed whisper. “The rain has stopped.”
“The emperor?” He rolled to his side, his body willing to greet the lady in a friendlier fashion than the situation warranted.
Dark shadows circled her eyes. Not a lover. Thief.
“He, too, is awake,” she said, standing back as he stumbled to his feet. “I worry his fever will return if we travel this morning.”
“Lady Catherine,” Dominus said, “you think to overrule the wishes of an emperor?”
“Oui, when it is for his own good.” Catherine put her hands on her hips, looking like an overzealous nursemaid. She was not backing down even from the giant Knight Templar.
Now he understood why she’d woken him so sweetly. She’d wanted him to take her side. Games played by a beautiful woman. No surprise there.
He bent to pick up the blankets, folding them before walking toward the emperor. He asked over his shoulder, “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Dominus and I shared the duty. I dozed on the stool. You can’t be angry about that.” Catherine shook her head. “Emperor Conrad’s health is the issue.”
“Fever?” he said.
She brought her thumbnail to her lower lip. “It’s gone. But—”
“No more fever, and he wants to go,” Payen said in cool tones. “We travel across the lake, not horseback over the mountains, my lady.”
Dominus chuckled.
Red slashed Catherine’s cheekbones. He’d never seen her temper before. He counted the night a twofold miracle for opening his eyes. A termagant and a thief. All he wanted was to get across the lake, grab his squire and horse, and ride for the king.
From the opposite side of the tent, Conrad’s voice cracked. “I’m not a child. I want to see my friend the king.”
“King Louis will not be in Nicaea for another day or two.” Catherine tapped her toe and raised her brow as if she expected them to do as she wished.
In the past, such things may have worked for the beauty, but Payen was immune to her dubious charms. He looked to Dominus. “Can we make good time?”
“I am the emperor.” Conrad pushed the blankets aside as he struggled to sit up. “And I insist.”
The Knight Templar nodded. “I’ll send Hector for the boat.”
“Pardon me.” Catherine glared at each of them. “Look at the perspiration on the emperor’s upper lip and forehead, just from the effort used to sit! You explain to the queen why you bring her a man on his deathbed, and I will surely explain how he was well until you interfered.”
Payen and Dominus, with the help of Hector, got Conrad in the boat. He ignored the chill emanating from Catherine as they crossed the lake. Lady Catherine le Rochefort was not his problem, and once he shared with the king what he’d witnessed, he’d wager the queen might have another opening at her table.
Catherine jumped from the boat, her boots crunching on the rocky shore. She kept the basket tight to her chest and waved good riddance to the men. Payen de Montfer was stubborn. If anything happened to Conrad because he’d been moved too soon, the shame did not lie on her shoulders.
She carried plenty already.
Hurrying past the market to the inn on the opposite side, she almost bumped into Payen’s squire. He paced in front of the stables, his expression earnest.
“My lady!”
“Your lord is on his way, squire,” she said.
“Merci,” he shyly answered, running to open the inn’s door.
Hmm. A gentle lad with manners. How long, she wondered, before de Montfer ruined a good thing?
She rushed inside, seeing the hall mostly empty. The dais, specifically. Full to bursting with news, she somehow walked up the stairs rather than run and at last knocked on the queen’s door.
Larissa answered. “Wondered if you’d ever come back.” The handmaiden reached for the basket.
“Wait.” Catherine pulled the parchment free before releasing the handle.
Larissa cocked a brow. “Busy night?”
“Very.” She walked into the room. “Where is the queen?”
“Here, Peony!”
Catherine blushed with pleasure at the queen’s use of her secret name for her. All the queen’s ladies had one.
Eleanor came from behind a screen, tying her thin blue robe around her slender waist, her long auburn hair waving down her shoulders. “How is Conrad?”
“He survived the evening. Whether or not he survived the crossing this morning we will have to see.” She huffed. “All night I bathed the man’s forehead. Well, Dominus and I took turns. This morning, dawn breaks, as does the fever, and Payen de Montfer thinks he knows best!”
Queen Eleanor patted her bed. “Come sit, mon fleur, and tell me everything. What is that in your hand?”
Catherine gave the missive to her. “I took it when Payen and Conrad slept. I hope it helps but—”
“We will get back to this. I sense it comes out of order from the night’s events?”
“Oui.” She took a deep breath, looking around the queen’s organized chamber. Filled with gowns, gloves, jewelry, hose, shoes, everything organized by object. Larissa had her hands full trying to keep the place tidy.
Payen also preferred a neat space. What did she care about that man?
“Off to the kitchen for refreshments,” Larissa announced without asking permission. “Anything special for the royal sweet tooth?”
Eleanor laughed at the woman’s impertinence. “Raspberries.”
“In November? We are not in France or Aquitaine, my queen,” Larissa said, hand on her hip. “I will see if there are honeyed almonds. That will have to suffice.” She left, locking the door behind her.
“That woman is worth her weight in gold, though I would never tell her so,” Eleanor whispered. “I will miss her when we return to France and she weds her farmer.”
“Offer her a permanent position,” Catherine said. “How fortunate you chose her rather than a royal cousin for this journey.”
“Larissa would be torn apart by court scandal just for being peasant born. Non, I wish her to be happy. But let us talk about you. I am concerned for your happiness as well. You and de Montfer do not suit?”
“How anyone can tolerate his noble, honorable arrogance I will never understand. Yet he seems to be bosom friends with King Louis.” Catherine sighed. “One good man recognizing another?”
“Such a species is scarce, I know,” Eleanor said. “In women too. We all have a little of the devil in us, I think. Now, tell me of Conrad. I’d wondered if the rain kept you away or if it was Conrad’s illness.”
“Both. His fever raged, and the weather ensured we stayed inside his tent. The wounded soldier from yesterday is actually Conrad’s aide-de-camp.”
“Why did he wait so long to come for help?” Eleanor brushed her fingers through her hair, separating the tangles.
Catherine touched the diamond pendant beneath the neck of her gown. “Hector said the Varangian guardsman whom Emperor Manuel sent to be their guide turned against the Germans.”
“Betrayed,” Eleanor whispered, her eyes glittering. “I knew it.”
“His word exactly. And that the few survivors tried to tend Conrad while hiding from the Turks. Hector himself was unconscious.” She met Eleanor’s probing gaze. “But here is what I found most interesting.”
“More?” Eleanor braided a section of hair. “I knew I was right to send you.”
“Hector told Dominus and Payen he needed to send correspondence to the pope.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened.
“Suggesting, my queen, that the pope urge King Louis to ally with the other Holy States against Constantinople.”
“Dear God.” Eleanor sucked in a breath, her white teeth catching her lower lip. “Very well done, Peony. What is in these letters?” She spoke quietly, though they were alone. “Will they be missed?”
“They are from Emperor Manuel’s wife, in private correspondence to Emperor Conrad. I was looking for anything connecting Conrad and the pope but only had time to pilfer one trunk.” The prospect of returning the letters seemed more dangerous than taking them. “I skimmed them only. I hope they are something you can use.”
Eleanor tucked them in her robe. “Where is de Montfer now?”
“I left him at the shore. He and Dominus should arrive any moment with the emperor. I wanted to see you first.”
“You did the right thing.” Eleanor patted her hand. “We must coordinate Lady Abigail’s freedom. I’ve warned her to be ready to move.”
“We don’t need de Montfer’s help.” Catherine held the queen’s gaze.
“I know.” Eleanor sighed. “Diplomacy requires that I allow my husband certain favors. If he wishes for his trusted friend’s assistance in the matter, I cannot say no.”
Bowing her head, Catherine bit her tongue. Marriage bound a woman tighter than chains, but what other options did they have? The church? She thanked God every day for Eleanor’s saving grace. Without her liege’s timely intervention, she wouldn’t even be in a nunnery. She’d be as dead as Ragenard and his older brother, George. Hanged, most likely, for murder.
Larissa returned with a tray of refreshments. Apple cider steamed from a ceramic pot, and a shallow bowl of honeyed almonds glistened.
Catherine rose unsteadily, her stomach too knotted for food or drink. “Do you need me to stay?”
Eleanor shook her head. “I have no need of you this morning. Larissa is here, and the king’s soldiers guard the inn. Where are you going?”
“The market. I owe Dominus some soap.” Catherine recounted the stinky incident, to Larissa’s delight and the queen’s horror.
Eleanor handed her a heavy purse. “Buy the best supplies you can. I fear our journey will not be as easy as it has been until now.”
“My thanks.” Catherine left with a lighter heart, knocking on the door to the room she shared with the other guards.
Fay answered immediately and pulled her across the threshold. While Eleanor’s room held royal clothing and accessories, this room overflowed with four women’s trunks and clothes. Brushes, creams, and cosmetics dusted the tall table by the window; gowns and cloaks hung on the hooks by the door. Pink, yellow, orange, and red. Colorful and chaotic.
“Catherine! We worried for you last night. How is the German emperor?”
“He will live.” She lifted a shoulder, knowing she sounded harsh. Payen agitated her senses. He seemed attracted to her and at the same time repulsed by her. “It is the king’s messenger you should worry for. Payen de Montfer has got to be the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”
“Take off your cloak,” Fay said. “Let me fix your hair.”
“I need to go to the market,” Catherine said.
“I will walk with you, if you are in the mood for company. Queen Eleanor told us this morning we could have the day free for ourselves. Sit first.” Fay quickly smoothed Catherine’s hair with an ivory comb, agilely rebraiding the mass. “There.”
“Thank you.”
Fay’s shining gray eyes brimmed with happiness Catherine hoped to feel again one day. She wore a daisy chain of glass flowers and gold links with her yellow gown and a gold circlet over her thin, ivory veil. Fay had the gift of being a chameleon, and while she looked the part of a lady now, she could be anything.
Catherine lifted the pouch of coins. “We are searching for supplies. I am ready to travel again.” She’d spent her year of marriage to Ragenard on the move from one village to another. The past six months she’d been mostly on horseback.
Growing up as the youngest child, she’d been active, too, preferring outdoor activities with her brothers to the embroidery her mother and sisters enjoyed. She’d learned to flirt, paint, read, and ride: suitable skills for a young lady expected to marry well and bring her family honor and joy. Instead, she’d brought them pain.
“Ready?” she asked too brightly, handing Fay her cloak.
The two women put on their gloves as they walked down the stairs. “There’s Mamie,” Catherine said, pointing and waving at their cloaked friend across the dining hall. “Flirting with a handsome knight, of course.”
“Sarah and Jonathon are there in the corner.” Fay lowered her voice. “They haven’t been getting along very well.”
“Relationships run hot and cold. They will see their way.” Catherine wished Sarah nothing but happiness, but her friend and fellow guard hadn’t smiled in days. She wondered if the babe weighed so heavily or if it was the looming marriage that brought Sarah low.
Fay opened the door, and the two women walked outside, immediately pulling their hoods up against the brisk wind.
“It was not so chilly earlier.” Catherine shivered. “I hope it doesn’t rain again. I’d planned to practice with the new arrows I bought.”
“You don’t want to warp the wood,” Fay warned.
“Wait!” Mamie’s voice carried along the wind, and they turned. She hustled toward them, smiling wide. “Tell me everything,” she said, looping her arms between them both so she was in the middle.
Catherine admired Mamie’s infectious appetite for life. “You first,” she shouted over the clanging blacksmith. “Who were you talking to?”
“Just a man.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I am so hungry I could eat a horse.”
“That sounds awful!” Fay wrinkled her nose. “How about a pastry instead?”
Catherine scanned the tables squeezed together in the crowded market. Mountains and a lake as large as the sea surrounded the gated city. Only a day’s travel on horseback to Constantinople, Nicaea burst with visitors. Though most spoke Greek, many other languages were heard, such as her native French, German, and Latin. The bright colors of the tented stalls provided a cheerful contrast to the gray day.
They neared the center of the bustling market. Stalls and shops lined five roads, ending at the water with the tanner. “Food. Gossip. After we shop,” Catherine said, putting her gloved finger to her lips.
Mamie arched her red brow. “Oh, secrets. I love secrets.”
“Look.” Catherine stopped, bringing Mamie and Fay to an abrupt halt. “There’s that boy again.” Her body tensed; her emotions flared. Sensitive to a fault, Catherine wished she understood what these feelings meant. Her grandmother suffered the affliction as well, sometimes knowing things without reason.
“Give him a coin and be done with it,” Fay said.
“I did.” He’d taken it and run.
The dirty, dark-haired boy, who looked seven or eight, palmed an apple, slipping the fruit inside the many folds of his too-large tunic.
Catherine’s heart ached.
“We could bring him to the church.” Mamie released Catherine’s arm. “Ask if they will take another mouth to feed.” She pursed her lips, eyes narrowed in thought. “You’ve been fascinated with this child since we got here. Beggars are everywhere, Catherine. Why don’t you champion one closer to home?”
“I feel . . .” She shook her head, unable to clearly identify her own mind’s prompting. “Never mind. I think this weather is affecting my mood.”
The boy disappeared behind an olive barrel, watching. He lifted his gaze, perhaps drawn to her stare, and she shifted away. He had no cloak. No food. They were leaving in two days. Who would slip him coins when she left for crusade?
She changed the subject to something possible. “Shopping.”
“Here’s bread.” Mamie picked up a loaf partially wrapped in paper, inspecting the underside. “Moldy.” She set it down and clicked her tongue.
“Watch for rocks.” Fay sniffed with disdain. “Poor Sarah almost broke her tooth. Do you think the markets will be like this all the way to Antioch?”
“Emperor Manuel is enforcing fair prices, angering the merchants who want a bigger profit. They see us as the infidel and don’t care we are on a quest for God. Leaving us no choice but to buy inferior goods.” Catherine gave the sullen stall owner a glare and kept her pouch in her hand. “The answer to your question, Fay, is yes. Choose carefully in what we buy. I think we will have better luck getting supplies from the smaller towns.”
“Moi aussi.” Mamie went to the next stall, where the merchant sold dried fruit.
Catherine saw the boy from the corner of her eye as he darted to the bread stall. Was he following her? Hoping for another coin? None of her friends within the queen’s retinue knew it, but she’d once known hunger and hadn’t been too proud to filch a bite here and there. The boy stayed at the edges of the stall, waiting until the merchant looked away before daring to pinch a small bun. He must be new, she thought with a stab of sympathy. He wasn’t very good.
“To the left? Under the green awning.” Fay led the way.
The bun and apple would see he didn’t starve today. She focused on the task at hand, buying supplies. At the least, soap.
Mamie picked up a bar wrapped in stiff cloth, sniffed, then set it down, wrinkling her nose. “Use that and smell worse than before your bath.”
Fay giggled softly, and Catherine smiled.
“Did you just insult my wares?” The black-haired man with oily curls escaping beneath his hat leaned over the table of ill-shapen soaps and smacked the wood next to Mamie’s hand.
Catherine jumped. With a few exceptions, the Greeks held no respect for the crusaders and didn’t bother to pretend otherwise. Still, the gesture was rude.
“Were you eavesdropping?” Mamie tapped her chest. “I was having a private conversation with my friends.”
The man’s nostrils flared as he continued to glare, heavy black brows crowding above his eyes. “Women,’” he muttered.
“Do you want to know what I said?” Mamie straightened her shoulders.
Please say no. Please say no. Catherine exchanged a glance with Fay. Though trained as guards, they did not always wear their weapons. In this instance, the lack saved the merchant’s neck from Mamie’s sword.
“If you don’t like my soap, pah.” He spat to the side.
“I said”—Mamie made a show of wiping her hands on her cloak—“I wouldn’t wash my goat with that soap.”
Her goat? The merchant’s brows rose to his hairline, and his face turned crimson.
Catherine swallowed her startled laugh and tugged Mamie backward, but her friend refused to budge.
“You insult my business!” The Greek’s raised voice drew the support of the other merchants. “What do you know of quality? Infidel.” He put his hands on the table and leaned toward Mamie. “Frank.”
Catherine’s apprehension soared. She stared at the merchant, then over Mamie’s head at Fay while pulling Mamie’s cloak. “Come on, Mamie. We can shop elsewhere.” What would Queen Eleanor say if they found trouble in the market?
“Is there a problem here?”
With relief, Catherine turned toward the sound of the deep, French-speaking voice, then immediately realized her mistake.
Lord Payen de Montfer, dressed in snug hose and a blue-and-gold tunic, his cloak casually thrown over one shoulder as if he did not feel the cold, stood behind them. His loose brown hair fell in waves to his chin, while his amber eyes seemed to absorb the scene at once: Fay, Mamie, and Catherine herself in a public altercation.
“We are fine, monsieur.” She gripped Mamie’s straining arm.
“So I see.” De Montfer spoke in an even tone that commanded attention over the shouting. In fluent Greek, he demanded of the man, “What is this about?”
“This woman”—the man gave another loud hawk and then spit—“insults my soap. What does she know of perfection?”
“If soap smells like the arse end of a camel, chances are it is made from camel dung.” Mamie pinched the tip of her nose, refusing to back down despite the growing crowd of Greeks.
The merchant’s face turned dark purple as he leaped toward Mamie.
Fay and Catherine yanked their friend backward, allowing de Montfer between them.
“Mademoiselle,” the king’s messenger interjected smoothly, bowing his head toward Mamie. “Your lady’s skin is no doubt too delicate for a warrior’s soap such as this.” He turned and gave a commiserating nod to the merchant. “However, my men will be grateful for something to cleanse off the dust of travel. I will take a dozen.”