CHAPTER TWELVE
That night, the army camped about fifteen miles from Southwell, amassed in a big group with blazing fires and the smells of cooking meat. Rory hadn’t really been around the heavy smells of roasting, fatty, animal flesh and she quickly realized that the smell made her very nauseous. It was a heavy, cloying smell. She wouldn’t even touch the mutton that had been freshly cooked, so Kieran broke out the earthenware jug that was about a quarter full with the wonderful orange segments and some bread and butter. That was about all she would eat. After all of the trouble he went to, she was exhausted and wanted to go to bed.
She slept with David and Bud, and Kieran spent all night talking to his brothers just outside the tent where Rory and the boys slept. A fire blazed warmly and the Hage boys drank and talked, mostly about Kieran’s sojourn to the Holy Land.
Kieran eventually informed them of the secret meeting with El-Hajidd and Simon de Corlet’s treachery. Although he told his brothers that it was a secret peace meeting, he did not mention the gift that would seal the bargain. The Crown of Thorns did not yet make it into the conversation, mostly because Kieran wasn’t sure how his brothers would take that particular bit of knowledge. But he also made it very clear that the king knew that he was not a traitor, courtesy of an informant, and that it was Simon who had been branded both liar and traitor. At the end of the conversation, he informed them that Simon was thought to have returned to England to escape the king’s wrath.
The knowledge that Simon was somewhere in England brought great ire from Christian in particular. The man tended to be the most volatile of the four and he swore he would seek out de Corlet and deliver the man a painful death. Andrew, the youngest, went along with his brother while Sean, perhaps the most politically informed of the group, sat mostly silent. Sean, as an agent for Richard and William de Longchamp, was essentially a spy. He knew more, and saw more, than most. While Christian and Andrew planned a slow and agonizing demise for de Corlet, Sean turned to Kieran.
“I’ve not heard any rumor of de Corlet’s return,” he said quietly. “But trust me when I say that I will find out what I can.”
Kieran looked at his brother; eighteen months younger than him, the two had always been inordinately close. He’d missed Sean a great deal and he respected and admired his brother tremendously. While Kieran went with Richard to The Levant, Sean had stayed home to fight for Richard’s cause on English soil. It was, in Kieran’s opinion, the more difficult battle.
“Where is the prince right now?” Kieran’s voice was low.
Sean inhaled thoughtfully. “As of one month ago, he was at Belvoir Castle.”
Kieran was silent a moment. “Sean,” he said softly, slowly. “There is something I did not tell you about my meeting with the Saracens,” he moved closer to his brother as Christian and Andrew continued to drink and spew threats. “There was a deeper purpose to that meeting, one that is at the heart of everything. You see, El-Hajidd presented me with a gift for the Christian kings, something of such great Christian significance that it would provide no doubt as to the Saracen sincerity. This gift is why Simon spent nearly a week attempting to assassinate me before I was able to leave the Holy Land.”
Sean’s dark eyes glittered in the weak firelight. “What is this gift?”
Kieran thought on where to begin. “Let me give you a brief history lesson and then perhaps you will understand better,” he began. “When our Lord Jesus Christ died on the cross at Mount Calvary, his body was taken and prepared for burial by Joseph of Arimathea among others. ’Tis said that after the resurrection, Marc collected not only the shroud of Christ’s burial, but the diadem of thorns that had been cast to the floor of the vault when our Lord’s body had been wrapped. As you know, Jerusalem was under Roman control and no place for Christians. Especially those close to Christ. Joseph traveled north in his ministry, carrying with him the shroud and the crown, until he came to Tyre.”
Sean nodded slowly, increasingly enthralled. “Go on.”
Kieran did. “While in Tyre, he stayed with an innkeeper and his family. Romans abound, however, and the innkeeper saved Joseph’s life against a band of particularly cruel soldiers. In thanks, Joseph gave the pious man one of the only possession of value he had; the Crown of Thorns. The innkeeper kept the crown and passed it down through generations of his family. Eventually, the family converted to Islam, although the crown was still kept sacred. When the Crusades came, the patriarch of the family buried the crown to keep it from being destroyed by vengeful fanatics. Even as the family fought against the Christian knights, the crown was still kept hidden until the coming of Guy de Lusignan and Frederick of Barbarossa.”
“And?” Sean was on the edge of his seat.
Kieran was fixed on him. “The family had risen to prestige within the ranks of Saladin’s warriors, including the eldest son and heir. When the collapse of Acre became apparent over two years of continuous fighting, the heir attempted to negotiate a truce without Saladin’s consent. Saladin, of course, was reluctant to a surrender of any kind, but El-Hajidd, the heir apparent of this family, was convinced a peaceable treaty was necessary in order to preserve what was left of Saladin’s forces. As a show of good faith, he extended the Crown of Thorns, the relic his family had kept safe for over one thousand years, as a peace offering, something the Christians would value above all else.”
By this time, Sean was gazing at him with some shock. “And you accepted the crown?”
“I have it in my bags.”
Sean struggled not to let his jaw drop. He stared at Kieran with the most awe-struck expression. “God’s Blood, Kieran,” he hissed. “If this is true, then you hold the greatest holy relic to ever exist. What are you planning to do?”
Kieran cocked an eyebrow. “My goal was to live long enough to bring it home. Now that I am here, I am not sure what to do. I would seek advice from you and Father to this end.”
Sean was still dumbfounded. Across the fire, Christian and Andrew had deteriorated into drunken revelry. Kieran watched his inebriated younger brothers a moment before returning his focus to Sean. The second eldest Hage brother caught Kieran’s attention and, after a moment’s pause, simply puckered his lips thoughtfully.
“Father will have something to say about this, to be sure,” he finally said. “That and the fact you have taken a wife without his permission.”
The corner of Kieran’s mouth twitched. “He will fall in love with her as I have.”
“He will want to know about her family.”
“I told you. Her family is Irish nobility. The name is Osgrove.”
Sean just shook his head. “I am not as confident as you, Brother,” he said. “She is a beauty, no doubt. I’ve never seen finer. But in Father’s world, as long as she is from a good family, she can have the outward appearance of a horse.”
Kieran snorted. “He cannot do anything about it regardless of how he feels. Libby is pregnant with the next Earl of Newark and Sherwood whether or not he likes it.”
Sean inhaled deeply, thoughtfully, eyeing his brother as he did so. “He always expected more from you than the rest of us,” he said quietly. “Unless your Libby is a Princess of Ireland, I am not entirely sure he will approve.
“That is his misfortune.”
They wisely moved off the subject and on to other things. As Christian and Andrew eventually passed out from too much alcohol, Kieran and Sean stayed awake the rest of the night, talking quietly until dawn.
*
The next morning, Rory was introduced to the power, wealth and majesty of the Hage family.
The morning was foggy and she awoke nauseous. As the Hage army began to dismantle the tents and servants began to pack up their goods, Rory stood near her carriage with David and Bud, watching the activity and thinking that everyone pretty much looked like they had just walked out of a Medieval faire. Those Renaissance-type festivals were fairly accurate with their dress, weapons and other articles, because everyone around her looked just like what she had seen. She wished Dr. Dietrich and Dr. Peck could see what she was seeing; they would have been amazed. She doubted Bud could have survived without coffee, but it would have been one heck of an adventure. As she watched Kieran and his brothers give orders and make sure the army mobilized, she found herself swept up in this world she now found herself a part of.
Everything about it was different from what she knew to varying degrees; for instance, the grass beneath her feet was wild and thicker than modern-day, cultivated grass. The roads were only roads in the literal sense and not the even, well-made and paved paths that she knew. The heavy rains that they had been having for weeks had created mini-lakes along the road to Southwell and the ride was bumpy and rough.
Feeling nauseous as she did, she eventually grew ill in the rocking and rolling carriage and got out to walk. Kieran, at the head of the column, found out by a message passed up through the ranks and he reined Liberator around and thundered back along the army until he came to his wife’s carriage. She was slugging through mud and water, her skirts hiked up around her knees, but she was walking very determinedly. When Rory saw Kieran approach, she put up a hand to stop his rebuke.
“Save it,” she told him. “I can’t ride in that thing anymore. It’s making me sick.”
He reined his horse near her, trying to be gentle. “Sweetheart, I know you do not feel well, but we will not reach Southwell until tomorrow if you walk. You must ride.”
She shook her head. “Uh-uh,” she snorted humorlessly. “Not in that thing.”
“Would you at least ride in the pony cart?” he asked nicely.
“Maybe.” She looked up at him. “Where’s Yusef? I haven’t seen him this morning.”
“He is riding at the head of the column in a place of honor.”
She twisted her lips doubtfully, moving closer to him. “He may not be comfortable with that,” she said quietly.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s a stranger in enemy lands,” she explained.
When Liberator realized Rory was beside him and tried to shove her with his big head, she poked him in the nostril and he snorted unhappily.
“Gross!” She wiped off her snotty finger, returning her focus to Kieran. “Did you ask him if he wanted to ride with you or did you just tell him to?”
Kieran had no idea what she was driving at as he tried to comfort his pouting charger. “He understands that I am putting him in a place of honor.”
Rory gazed at him a moment longer before shaking her head doubtfully. “I’m not sure about that,” she said. “He may not be comfortable in the middle of a bunch of white English soldiers who don’t know him as well as you do. They may be cruel to him. They don’t understand his ways and they might make him feel bad. It’s called discrimination.”
Kieran really didn’t get her concern but he tried to humor her. “Then what would you have me do?”
“Ask him where he wants to ride next time. Don’t tell him; ask him. Let him do what he is most comfortable with.”
Kieran was trying to understand; he really was. But it was difficult. Rather than argue with her, he simply agreed so she wouldn’t grow upset.
“As you wish,” he said. “Now, back to the pony cart. Will you at least ride with Kaleef? You know that you should not be exerting yourself so.”
Rory glanced back behind the cab to see the old man driving the little pony cart. Bud was riding with him. With a shrug, she stopped and waiting until the pony cart caught up to her. Kieran had Bud get out and Rory took his place as the pony cart continued to move. Bud climbed up on the bench seat of the carriage next to the driver. With everyone shuffled around and settled, Kieran left his wife with a wink and returned to his post at the head of the army.
Rory watched him go, admiring the way he rode Liberator, the power and strength that radiated from the man. She was in the middle of the Hage war machine and trying to analyze it clinically, from the shoes they wore to the weapons they brandished. She found it rather fascinating that the entire army was mounted, which gave her an inkling as to how wealthy and powerful the Hages were. Most armies were foot soldiers with just a few mounted officers and knights. But she was surrounded by at least three hundred mounted men. It was impressive and, if she were to admit it, a little intimidating.
The fog began to lift by mid-morning and the deep green landscape began to come into view. It was fairly flat topography but for a few rolling hills now and again, lush and dotted with sheep. Rory was riding fairly comfortably beside Kaleef when she began to hear a buzz going through the men. The chatter was growing but she couldn’t quite catch what they were talking about. Kaleef suddenly nudged her, pointing to the northeast. Straining her eyes, she eventually saw what had the men so excited. It was an awesome sight to behold.
Southwell Castle appeared on a distant rise, a massive castle of pale-colored stone that reflected the weak sunlight like a beacon. Rory stared at it, studying the structure, as they drew closer and she began to see that Southwell wasn’t only a castle; it was an entire city. The castle proper was on the top of a gentle rise, an enormous four-story keep like the ones at Rochester or Hedingham, planted at the crest of the hill. As they drew closer and she could see the architecture, she noticed that the walls of the keep had what was called “blind arcading”; a series of arches applied to the façade as decoration. The Normans were particularly fond of that kind of architecture but she’d never actually seen it in such a perfect state; it was extremely impressive. Other than the huge, block-like keep, she could only see walls; miles of them, concentric walls that encircled the hill and then another set that enclosed a portion of the city. It looked like what the ancient fortress at Mycenae must have looked like. It was absolutely enormous.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed, studying the castle as the light grew stronger and the structure suddenly looked as if it were made of gold. “Look at that.”
Kaleef’s old eyes focused on the distant city. “It looks like Paradise.”
She nodded, her eyes never leaving the vision. “And Kieran is going to inherit the whole thing,” she breathed, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Amazing.”
Kaleef looked at her, noting how entranced she seemed. He continued to gaze at the woman; her perfect skin, perfect face, perfect teeth. There was nothing imperfect about the lady. She was also, clearly, very misplaced with her strange speech and forthright behavior. He’d known that from the beginning. Her odd songs and peculiar mannerisms spoke of a difference even more pronounced than his was. He continued to study her, the faint cosmetics on her face that were so strange yet so appealing, the way her eyebrows were perfectly shaped over her perfect eyes.
“Lady,” he said softly.
“Hmmm?” Rory answered, still staring at the castle in the distance.
“Where is America?”
Her head snapped to him, the hazel eyes focusing. She was afraid to answer him, having no idea where he had heard of America. Kaleef could see her hesitation, her fear.
“When you came to me for help when you were injured,” he reminded her, “you told me that you were from America. Where is this place?”
Rory suddenly remembered that conversation, that dark night. It seemed like a million years ago.
“It’s across the sea, to the west of Ireland,” she said. But when he had no real reference point, she illustrated with her hands on her lap. “Here’s England, here’s Ireland, and then all the way over here is America.”
Kaleef digested that. “I have never heard of this country.”
She looked at him, wondering just how much to tell him. He seemed the quiet sort, a very old Middle Eastern man misplaced in the world of the English. She felt sorry for him, just as she felt sorry for Yusef. But she was misplaced, too, and, in that sense, she felt a kindred spirit with him.
“That’s because it hasn’t been discovered yet,” she said softly. “Kaleef, are you really an alchemist?”
His dark eyes regarded her. “I am what I am.”
He was being evasive with her, probably out of fear. “Look,” she put her hand on his wrist. “I want you to understand that your secrets are safe with me. I would never betray you. You can trust me and I hope I can trust you, because the things you and I talk about can never be repeated to anyone other than Kieran. He’s the only one who wouldn’t think we were witches and try to burn us at the stake.”
Kaleef regarded her a moment longer, distracted when the pony cart hit a particularly deep rut and the ponies struggled to pull it free. When they were moving again, he turned back to her.
“My knowledge is not limited to the mysterious,” he finally said. “I was a healer, once, and a very good one. But I knew there was more in this world that we did not understand and was yet to be discovered. I have discovered many wonderful things that others might consider blasphemy.”
Rory thought back to how the old man had given Kieran potions to suspend his bodily functions and caused the man to sleep for eight hundred years. Even to this day, no one had done what Kaleef had in his little hut with all of his mystical and odd ingredients. The man, as far as she was concerned, was a genius.
“I know,” she murmured. “Succotrine aloes, zedoary gentian, saffron and rhubarb.”
Kaleef looked at her as if she had just struck him. He began to grow very nervous and Rory’s hand tightened around his wrist.
“Don’t be frightened,” she whispered. “Kaleef, I swear I will take your secrets with me to the grave but I have to say, what you have discovered is the most miraculous thing I’ve ever heard of. I’ve always wanted to talk to you about it.”
He was less nervous but still shaken as he tried to drive the ponies and look at her at the same time. “Who told you this about me?”
“Kieran.”
“How does he know?”
She wasn’t sure how she could adequately explain everything. She took her hand off his wrist and sat back against the bench. “Because you saved his life, once. You are the reason he is living today.”
Kaleef shook his head. “I have never saved your husband.”
She cast him a long glance, a gentle smile on her face. “You and I are going to have a very long talk one of these days about the amazing properties of your potions. I think you’ll find it very interesting.”
They fell into contemplative silence as they approached the mighty castle of Southwell. As they drew closer, Rory became more and more enamored with the sight. The city loomed before her in all of its Medieval glory and pageantry, with its people and massive walls and banners snapping on the parapets in the wind. It was at that moment that Rory began to understand that she was really, truly entrenched in another period of history other than the one she was born into.
She had arrived.