LXVI
"It has been four years since I mounted a horse and drew my bow inbattle," said John Chagan with a grin. "A man grows old if he does notfight."
Rachel paused in her work of setting up their tent for the night tostare at him, wondering if he knew how unready for fighting he looked.The pouches under his eyes were as prominent as his cheekbones, and thecheekbones themselves were criss-crossed with tiny red lines.
It had been nearly a month since he had taken his pleasure with her inbed. She was glad enough of that, but she felt sorry for him, evenknowing that his death in battle would free her. The way his handstrembled, he would be lucky to get an arrow nocked, much less shoot itat an enemy.
The tent flap was pushed aside, and a Venetian crossbowman backed inholding one end of Rachel's traveling chest. Another man followed at theother end.
"What have you got in here--marble blocks?" the first archer grumbled ashe set the box down on the carpeted tent floor beside the bed.
"My helmet and sword and coat of mail," said Rachel with a smile. "Iwould not want to miss the battle."
Fear whispered to her that the armed men who traveled with the Tartarsmust be aware that she had valuables in that chest. If any of them evergot an opportunity, they would not hesitate to steal it from her. Andstab her to death to get at it, if they had to. She hated carrying theheavy box everywhere. But even if she could have found a safe place forit in Rome, she had no way of knowing whether she could ever get backthere to claim it. The chest held her prisoner as much as John did.
She had thought that while she and John traveled with Charles d'Anjou'sarmy, she might be able to slip away. Perhaps if there was a battle, shemight escape in the confusion. But she could not do it alone, not if shewanted to take the chest.
"You can take my place if you are so eager," the second Venetianlaughed. "I've seen battles enough."
"Where are we?" she asked.
"Icerna. Still in papal territory."
"Where are we going?" She heard a movement as she asked the question,and looked over at John. He was pouring himself a goblet of red winewhile eyeing Rachel and the Venetians distrustfully. He had learned noItalian, and perhaps he thought she was flirting with the two archers.
"We are coming to a town called Benevento. Right on the Hohenstaufenborder. Supposed to be a papal city, but you never know. Border citiesusually give their support to whoever is closer to them with the biggerarmy. The rumor is that whether the town is Guelfo or Ghibellino, KingCharles will let the troops have their way with Benevento. And hightime. How is a man to live on the miserable wages our would-be kingdoles out to us?"
"Enough of your damned complaining!" a deep voice boomed. The flap ofthe tent flew open, letting in a blast of chill air, and Cardinal deVerceuil strode in. Terror raced through Rachel. She quickly dropped aquilted blanket over the chest containing her treasure.
De Verceuil threw back the fur-trimmed hood of his heavy woolen cloakand, though his words had been for the Venetian archers, glared atRachel accusingly. She felt herself trembling. He was dressed in brightred, but like a soldier, not like a man of the Church. He wore a heavyleather vest over his scarlet tunic, and calf-high black leather boots.
_God help me, what is he going to do to me?_
Sordello, the capitano of the Tartars' guards, followed the cardinalinto the tent. His lopsided grin was as frightening as the cardinal'sangry stare. His eyes narrowed, and Rachel felt her face burn as helooked her up and down.
"Out!" Sordello snapped at the two Venetian crossbowmen. After they weregone, the tent flap opened still another time, and Friar Mathieu hobbledin, leaning on his walking stick.
"We do not need you," de Verceuil growled in his French-accentedItalian.
"John needs me," said Friar Mathieu. "To translate for him. And I thinkRachel needs me too."
"Stupid savage should have learned Italian by now," said Sordello.
_Ah, you are very brave, capitano, insulting him in a language he doesnot understand_, thought Rachel contemptuously.
De Verceuil glowered at Friar Mathieu.
"You cannot protect her."
"Protect me from what?" Rachel's voice sounded in her own ears like ascream, and her heart was pounding against the walls of her chest.
"John can protect her," said Friar Mathieu, "if he understands what ishappening."
He looked full into Rachel's face, and there was a warning in his oldblue eyes. She was almost frantic with fear now. She had not been sofrightened since the day John and the rest of them had invaded Tilia'shouse and carried her off.
What was Friar Mathieu trying to warn her about?
"What do you know of Sophia Orfali, Ugolini's so-called niece?" deVerceuil demanded in his French-accented Italian.
_Friar Mathieu has betrayed me!_
Rachel looked over at the old Franciscan and saw him close his eyes veryslowly and deliberately and open them again. _Keep your mouth closed_,he seemed to be trying to say to her. She had to trust him. She couldnot believe he would say anything to turn de Verceuil against her.
"I--I know nothing," she said. "Who is this you are asking about?"
"What happens here?" John asked Friar Mathieu in the Tartar language."Why are the high priest and this foot archer in my tent? I did notinvite them. Tell them I send them away."
Friar Mathieu started to answer in the Tartar tongue. Rachel strained tohear him, but Sordello's ugly laughter overrode the friar's voice.
"I escorted Sophia Orfali to Tilia Caballo's brothel more than once,"Sordello said. "And I know she was going to visit _you_ because Ioverheard her telling that to that devil David of Trebizond."
So it was Sordello, not Friar Mathieu, who had been talking to deVerceuil. She should have known.
Rachel heard Friar Mathieu now. "I am talking to _you_, not to John," hesaid in the Tartar's tongue, and she understood that Friar Mathieu meanther. Neither de Verceuil nor Sordello understood the language of theTartars, or knew that she knew it. As long as Friar Mathieu did notaddress Rachel by name and kept his eyes on John, who looked confused,it would appear that he was talking to the Tartar and not to Rachel.
De Verceuil strode over to the wine bottle standing on the low table byJohn's bed. Without asking permission, he picked it up and drank deeplyfrom it.
"The Tartars travel with the best wine in this whole army," he declared."Better than the cheap swill King Charles carries with him." Sophiaglanced at John and saw that he was glowering at de Verceuil.
Friar Mathieu said in the Tartar tongue, "Sordello went to the cardinalwith the story that you must be some sort of agent for Manfred andtherefore it is dangerous for John to keep you with him."
Why would Sordello do that now, Rachel wondered. He could have accusedher anytime in the past year. She could not question Friar Mathieu,though, without giving it away that he was talking to her. Did Sordellohave some plan to get the chest away from her and desert?
"They know hardly anything about you," Friar Mathieu said. "Do not beafraid. Admit nothing. Deny everything. I think Sordello knows moreabout Ugolini's household, and about Tilia Caballo's brothel, than issafe for him to admit. Say nothing, and I believe they will frustratethemselves."
John smiled and nodded at Friar Mathieu. "I see what you are doing," hesaid in Tartar.
De Verceuil was looming over her. "Speak up! What was your connectionwith Ugolini's niece? _Was_ she Ugolini's niece?" Even though she wasstanding up, he looked down on her from an enormous height. His deepvoice and great size terrified her.
She said, "I know nothing about any cardinal or any cardinal's niece."
De Verceuil seized her by the shoulders, his fingers digging in so hardshe felt as if nails were being driven into her muscles. She was almostdizzy with panic.
"You lying little Jewess!"
Suddenly Rachel felt a violent shove, and she was thrown back againsther quilt-covered chest and sat down on it hard. She looked up and sawthat John was standing before de Verceuil. I
t was he who had pushed themapart. His arms were spread wide.
"Do not dare to touch her again!" John shouted in the Tartar tongue. Heturned to Friar Mathieu and jerked his head at de Verceuil.
"Tell him!"
When Friar Mathieu had repeated John's command, the cardinal answered,"Tell Messer John that we have reason to believe that this Jewish whoreis an agent of Manfred von Hohenstaufen, the enemy we are marching todestroy. She met with Sophia Orfali, Ugolini's niece, and Ugolini andhis niece have both fled to Manfred. Manfred has tried before now toharm Messer John, and he could do it through this girl."
John shrugged and glowered at de Verceuil when he heard this.
"Foolishness. Reicho does nothing but read books and comfort me. She hasno friends, and no one comes to talk with her. Except you. Go away."
De Verceuil took another swallow from the wine jar.
"Put that down!" John shouted. De Verceuil did not need to have thattranslated. He put the jar down, frowning at John, offended.
"Sordello is right," de Verceuil said. "The man is a savage."
"Do you want me to tell him so?" said Friar Mathieu.
De Verceuil replied to this with a haughty stare.
"Tell him this," he said. "Tomorrow we march to Benevento. King Charleshas sent scouts and spies into Manfred's lands, and they have learnedthat Manfred is moving in our direction with a large army. Larger thanours, if the reports are to be believed. We would be stronger still ifyour friend the pusillanimous Count de Gobignon were to put in anappearance."
Rachel remembered the Count de Gobignon, that tall, thin, sad-lookingman who had so frightened her with his questions about Madonna Sophia.
Everyone was asking questions about Madonna Sophia. There was no doubtthat Madonna Sophia and her friends had some secret. Rachel had alwaysknown that, though she did not want to know what the secret was.Whatever it was, Rachel promised herself that no one would get a hint ofit from her.
"Count Simon was reported coming down the east coast of Italy," saidFriar Mathieu. "He could have joined our army if King Charles had beenable to wait for him in Rome."
"King Charles did not choose to wait in Rome," said de Verceuil.
"Oh, I think he did," said Friar Mathieu. "I think he would have beenhappy to stay in Rome if his supporters, such as his marshals andyourself, had not pressed him to move southward when you heard Manfredwas on the march."
"I did not know that you ragged Franciscans were experts on militarystrategy," said de Verceuil.
"We are not. Indeed, war greatly grieves us. But we do possess commonsense."
What if there were a battle and Manfred won? Rachel thought. WouldManfred's soldiers kill John? Would they treat her as one of the enemy?Would they rape her, steal her treasure? She had always hoped to escapeto the kingdom of Sicily, and now she was in the camp of Sicily'senemies.
"Will there be a battle?" she asked timidly of no one in particular.
De Verceuil's head swung around toward her. "Do not worry about thebattle, little harlot," he said in an unpleasantly syrupy voice. "Yes, Iexpect we will be too busy tomorrow and the next day to concernourselves with you. After that, perhaps we will have some Ghibellinoprisoners to help us find out what you have been up to. And you willfurnish our weary troops with diversion."
Rachel felt as if her body had turned into a block of ice. Was he sayingthat he would let the troops have her? That would kill her. Aftersomething like that, she would want to be dead.
"Please--" she whispered.
"Yes, diversion," said de Verceuil, reaching down to take her facebetween his hard, gloved fingers. "It has been many a year now since Ihave seen a Jew burn. And when you go up in flames, it will mark a newbeginning for this Sicilian kingdom of heretics, Jews, and Saracens. Youwill be the first, but not the last."
He let go of her face just in time to avoid being pushed away by John.He took a last swallow of wine and turned and strode out of the tent,followed by Sordello, who turned and gave Rachel a last leering,gap-toothed grin.
"Is that a great man among your people?" John asked Friar Mathieu, hisface black with rage. "Among my people he would be sewn into a leatherbag and thrown into the nearest river."
Rachel sat on her traveling box, her hand pressed between her breasts toquiet her pounding heart. She could hardly believe what she had heard,that de Verceuil wanted to burn her at the stake as an agent ofManfred's after the coming battle.
_Oh, God, let Manfred win, please._
* * * * *
His name was Nuwaihi, and he was so young that his beard was stillsparse. He came riding with his two companions out of the blue-grayhills to the north, and brought his pony to a skidding stop besideDaoud. He turned his mount and they rode on together, side by side, inManfred's vanguard.
"I saw the army of King Charles, effendi, I and Abdul and Said," he saidin Arabic, gesturing to include his comrades. "The Franks are on theroad that leads from Cassino to Benevento. They are about two days' ridefrom here. We hid behind boulders close to the road, and we countedthem. There are over eight hundred mounted warriors and five thousandmen on foot. They have many pack animals and wagons and merchants andpriests and women following them. Just as our army does." His breath andthat of his pony steamed in the cold air.
Daoud felt a prickling sensation rise on his neck and spread across hisshoulders. Two days' ride. The armies could meet tomorrow. Tomorrowwould decide everything.
Now, if only Manfred could conceive a plan for outmaneuvering Charles.If only he would take Daoud's advice. He knew Europeans preferred tofight pitched battles, and he prayed that Manfred would not choose thatway.
"Did you see a purple banner with three gold crowns?" Daoud asked.
Two weeks ago a courier from the Ghibellini in northern Italy hadbrought word that Simon de Gobignon's army had passed through Ravenna,on the Adriatic coast. It seemed unlikely to Daoud that de Gobignonwould catch up with Charles in time to take part in the coming battle.
"No purple banner. They fly the white banner with the red cross."Nuwaihi turned his head to the left and spat. "And all the soldiers havered crosses on their tunics." He spat again. His fierceness pleasedDaoud.
At one time, he thought, he would have been sorry to learn that Simon deGobignon was not with Charles's army. He would have longed to meet Simonon the field and fight and kill him. But now he understood that he hadhated Simon because Simon resembled the Christian David that he mighthave been. It did not matter to him that he would not meet the Frenchcount again. Instead, he could feel relieved that Charles would not haveSimon's knights and men as part of his army.
Nuwaihi went on, "Their Count Charles, he who would be king, was at thehead of the column. I knew him because he wears a crown on his helmet.His banner is red with a black lion rearing up on its hind legs."
Daoud looked over his shoulder and saw Manfred not far behind him, on awhite horse with a black streak running from forehead to nose. The kingof southern Italy and Sicily, in a cloak the color of springtime leaves,was the center of a mounted group of his favorite courtiers. Onestrummed a lute, and they were singing together in Latin.
_A brave spectacle. Manfred rides into battle singing Latin sonnets._
A Mameluke army on its way to war would have mullahs praying for victoryand a mounted band playing martial music on kettledrums, trumpets, andhautboys.
The young blond men around Manfred, Daoud knew, were nimble dancers,witty talkers, skilled musicians, and expert falconers. How well theycould fight he had yet to see. Manfred was the oldest of them, but rightnow he looked as young as the others. He had on no visible armor, thoughDaoud knew he regularly wore a mail vest under his lime tunic.
Behind Manfred, all on glossy palfreys and wearing mail shirts, rode hisSwabian knights, Lorenzo Celino and Erhard Barth in the first rank. TheSwabians' grandfathers had come to Sicily to serve the Hohenstaufens,and they still spoke German among themselves. Like their king, they woreno helmets, but most
of them had fur-trimmed hoods drawn tight aroundtheir heads to protect them from the February wind. Above them flutteredthe yellow Hohenstaufen banner with its double-headed black eagle.
The column of knights, four abreast, stretched westward down this mainroad. The lines of helmets and pennoned lances disappeared over thecrest of a pass cutting through the bleak mountain range that formed therocky spine of Italy. Snow outlined the crevices in the rocks thattowered above the army of Sicily.
Manfred's host moved at a leisurely rate Daoud found typically European.The march west, after they had assembled at Lucera, had taken two weeks.The mounted warriors were held to the pace of the foot soldiers. Twicethe army had been struck by sleet storms that changed the road into ariver of mud. Rather than press on, as Baibars would have, Manfred hadordered his army to halt and seek shelter in hillside forests.
In some of the valleys the army had been able to spread out and marchbriskly over frozen fields and pastures. But then, along a mountainsideor through a pass, the road would close down again, and the flow oftroops would slow to a trickle.
Daoud turned back to Nuwaihi. "Were you close enough to the road to seethe Tartars I told you of? Two small brown men with slanted eyes?"
"Yes, effendi, they were riding near the head of the Franks. Just as youtold me, they had eight mounted men wearing red cloaks guarding them.And before and after them marched many men carrying crossbows."
_Their people are such masters of war. How they will laugh at theidiotic way Christians fight each other._
Daoud wondered whether the enemy army were mostly Frenchmen, or asmixed a host as Manfred's troops were. Manfred's thousand knights andfour thousand men-at-arms included Swabians, south Italians, Sicilians,and Muslims.
_If only, instead of three scouts, we had three hundred men lying inambush along that road, we could have broken Charles's attack andperhaps killed him and the Tartars then and there._
Daoud thanked Nuwaihi, Abdul, and Said and sent them to join the Sons ofthe Falcon, riding today as the rear guard. He rode back to Manfred,hoping he could persuade the king and his commanders to use wisely thegreat army they had assembled.
Soon Manfred, Erhard Barth, several of Manfred's German and Italiancommanders, Lorenzo, and Daoud were dismounted and gathered in a fieldbeside the line of march. Manfred's orderly had brought a map of theregion and spread it out on the ground, weighting the edges with rocks.
As Manfred crouched over the map, his five-pointed silver star with itsruby center hung over a town, represented on the map by an archway and achurch surrounded by a wall. The drawing was marked with the Latin name"Beneventum."
"We can be in Benevento by nightfall," said Barth. "And Anjou's armywill probably arrive at the same time. There is but one road they canfollow." He pointed to a brown line that ran down from a large oval, atthe top of the map, drawn around a collection of buildings and marked"Roma." Between Rome and Benevento was a series of towns, each indicatedby a drawing of one or two buildings surrounded by walls. Mountains wereshown as rows of sharp little points.
"Benevento is a Guelfo town," said Manfred, "and deserves to have usmove in on it and quarter our troops there. The town is at the end of along valley that runs north to south. The opening at the north end ofthe valley is a narrow pass. Anjou's army must come through that pass.They will find it easier to get into the valley than to get out, becausewe will be waiting for them."
Daoud felt a surge of exasperation, and quickly pushed it back down.Anger would not help him.
"Waiting for them?" he said. "If we are making war, we do not _want_ tomeet them."
Manfred frowned. "If we drive them up against the north end of thevalley, we will have them trapped." Manfred smashed his fist into hispalm. "There will be nowhere for them to escape to."
_He is getting tired of my giving advice that contradicts the way hethinks things should be done. After all, he did win battles before Icame here._
But to simply meet Charles's army face-to-face, like two bulls buttingheads, seemed lunacy to Daoud.
"Such a battle will be bad for both sides," he said. "We will butchereach other."
_Perhaps I should have spent less time training my men and more tryingto teach Manfred._
"We do outnumber them," said Manfred testily.
"And if every one of their men kills one of ours and every one of ourmen kills one of theirs, there should be a few of our men left at theend of the battle. Do you call that a victory?"
"Show some respect for your king!" a Neapolitan officer snapped.
"No, be still, Signore Pasca," Manfred said to the Neapolitan. "I wantto hear Emir Daoud out. What can we do, except meet them and fightthem?"
Daoud remembered how he had wished that instead of scouts he had set mento ambush the Franks. He studied the map.
"Let us send men into the mountains around here and here." He ran hisfinger over the angular shapes the mapmaker had drawn around Benevento."Then, when Charles's army is in the valley, we will fall upon it fromboth sides and destroy it."
No one spoke for a moment. The younger Swabian officers were looking athim with mingled horror and disgust. Manfred stared at the map withembarrassed intensity.
Erhard Barth broke the silence. "Such an ambush would not be accordingto the customs of chivalry, Herr Daoud. Even if we were to win thebattle in such a fashion, the victory would bring us so much infamy thatit would be better had we lost."
"We are not in Outremer, thank God," said a Swabian with a long scar onhis cheek.
"And we are not Saracens," said the one called Pasca. "Most of us."
"In other words, our noble commanders would refuse to fight?" saidLorenzo, glaring angrily at the other officers.
How would Baibars deal with these men, Daoud wondered. He might cut offa head or two and lavish gold and jewels and robes of honor on the rest.But Daoud had placed himself under Manfred's orders. And Manfred's armywas not disciplined as Islamic armies were. European armies were made upof bands of warriors led by men who might or might not choose to takeorders from their overlord.
"You cannot turn my men into Saracens," said Manfred firmly. "Even mySaracens fight like Europeans, because they have lived in Sicily forgenerations. You have trained two hundred men in your Mameluke methodsof fighting, and I have seen that they are a brilliant unit, but youwould need many years to teach your ways to thousands of knights andmen. And I must give my Germans and Italians a plan that will beacceptable to them."
Erhard Barth's mouth drew down in an apologetic grimace. "It is the waywe are used to fighting, Herr Daoud."
It was infuriating. Daoud felt rage burst in him like Greek Fire. With asilent inward struggle, he brought it under control. For good or ill,his destiny was bound to Manfred's.
When the conference ended, Daoud's horse picked its way among the shrubsand rocks beside the road, retracing the line of march back to thesupply caravan. Daoud felt a powerful need to spend a few moments withSophia. She had insisted on coming with him. He had wanted her to stayout of danger. Now, tormented by misgivings about the coming battle, hefeared for her even more. But nothing now could spare them fromtomorrow's peril and it lifted his heart to know that she was here.