The Dagger and the Cross by Judith Tarr Read Free Book Online Page A

He
bowed to the Rhiyanan king and said clearly, “I bring you greetings, my lord of
Rhiyana, in the name of my lord of Jerusalem. He regrets that he cannot greet
you in his own person; he begs your indulgence.”
    It was all perfectly correct, and deeply, subtly insolent.
Gwydion, who had known all the nuances of insult when this pup’s father was in
swaddling bands, inclined his head a precise degree.
    Aidan spoke for him with rich pleasure. “My lord of Rhiyana
accepts the apologies of the lord from Lusignan. Is he, perhaps, indisposed?”
    “A slight fever,” said Amalric easily, keeping his eyes on
Gwydion, betraying no anger at the title which Aidan gave his brother. “No
cause for alarm.”
    Or, his mind said clearly, for joy. He was a jarring
presence to such senses as Aidan’s: plain forgettable face, clever eyes, mind
darting from thought to thought with dizzying quickness. He relished this game
of kings, and the spice of fear that was in it.
    Aidan preferred a good clean battle. He raised his cup and
drank rather more deeply than might have been wise; not that it could befuddle
him as it would a human man.
    “We hope,” Gwydion said to Amalric, “that your brother
recovers swiftly from his indisposition. A kingdom is never well served when
its king is ill.”
    Amalric crossed himself piously. “Your majesty is kind. My
brother would be pleased to speak with you when you come to Jerusalem; and the
lovely lady”—he bowed to Elen—”perhaps would consent to bear the queen company.”
    “It would be my pleasure,” said Elen, coolly and flawlessly
courteous.
    Aidan smiled to himself. The hoyden had grown into a great
lady. Maybe, after all, there was hope for Ysabel.
    He was pleased enough, almost, not to mind that Amalric
accepted the place which had been made for him; even though it was beside Elen.
Joanna was on his other side, and she was well able to keep him in hand.
    He seemed content to be the skeleton at the feast; he
essayed no further insolence, nor played any game that Aidan could discern,
unless this was all of it: to be here, and welcomed, and accorded courtesy.
Aidan put him out of mind. Let him bear the tale to his fool of a brother. They
did nothing here that was not perfectly proper. Even Guy might be capable of
comprehending that.
    o0o
    Elen was glad when the feast was over. Bred as she was to
courts, she had no fear of great gatherings and the dance of thrust and parry
which was conversation in their midst, but even royal blood could grow weary of
it. And she was more than weary. She was wrung dry.
    Riquier had been no great marvel of a husband. She was given
to him at fourteen, to seal an alliance which her father reckoned
indispensable. She gave him three children, none of which lived past infancy.
Now he was dead, and she shocked herself. She grieved for him. She wanted him
back.
    Sometimes she wondered if Gwydion truly understood, or if he
had brought her with him simply because she asked. That too had been a shock:
how keenly she wanted to be away from any place which reminded her of Riquier.
Rome was almost good enough. Outremer might even heal her. They said it could,
if a pilgrim’s heart was pure.
    She grimaced as her maid undressed her in the room which the
two of them must share. It was an eastern room, not large but airy and cool,
with a door that opened on the garden. This part of the house, Lady Joanna had
said when she showed Elen to it, had been the harem when Acre was a Saracen
city. It was not a gilded and scented prison, as she might have imagined. It
was merely separate, and quiet.
    Quite unlike her heart, or her unruly body. Whatever Riquier’s
shortcomings, he had been a skilled and frequent lover; and she had learned to
be his match. The fall that killed him was quick, and therefore merciful, and
of that she was glad. But she could not forgive him for abandoning her.
    Someone rapped lightly at the door. Joanna, casting a shrewd
eye over the room and its