Prologue
Pamiers, 1223
Arpais knew the world and its ways well enough to recognize the sounds of swordplay when she heard them.This was no game or practice, unless a warrior’s daughter could be easily fooled.
Had she not awoken to these same sounds countless times in the East when she rode with her father?How many times had she listened to the distant sounds of the Mongols claiming victory over yet another town?It could not be, she told herself in rising fear, not here, not in this sleepy village where Robert hadpromisedshe would be safe.
She listened for some sign that she was mistaken, but the clink of steel could be no other than the blow of blade on blade, and her mouth went dry.The fighting was close, too close for her comfort, and Arpais gathered her new babe to her breast as she dared to peek out into the street.
A man swore and she ducked quickly back into the shadows.The sight of fresh blood between the cobblestones outside her door made her own blood run cold.She watched in horror as her older neighbor came out to investigate.His violent dispatch before her very eyes stunned Arpais, despite all the horrors she had witnessed in this life.
When the knight responsible for the deed pivoted to turn his steely gaze upon her, Arpais’ heart fairly stopped.’Twas impossible that he would strike her down while she clutched a child to her breast but still she did not dare to breathe lest she provoke him.
The knight stepped closer, raising his stained blade with purpose, and Arpais knew her hope was a futile one.She spun in terror, hearing the knight shout behind her, and ran down the street.
Her daughter began to cry and she hugged the babe tighter, angry tears blurring her vision as she darted through the congested streets.Suddenly, she tripped over a bloody corpse and fell to her knees.She put out a hand and found a warm body.She was horrified to find a glassy stare so close to her own, and she stumbled to her feet once more.
There was no safety here, for the evidence lay before her on the cobblestones of every street and alley.’Twas a wholesale slaughter.Arpais felt numb as she recognized yet another dead neighbor bleeding at her feet.Her bile rose and she ducked down an alley, desperately trying to think.She could not even look upon the dead for fear of seeing yet another whose laugh she knew and had heard of late.
She was alone, not safe, and she silently cursed the men who had left her in this position.First, her father had returned to the East, then Robert had shown the poor judgment to die and leave her alone in his homeland with their child.A pox on both of them and their grand plans.Arpais clutched the swaddled child closer, knowing that somehow, in some way, she had to ensure her daughter’s survival.
She stumbled over another corpse that was still warm and feared that it might be too much to hope for her own survival.
Her father’s plan for launching a new royal bloodline was forgotten.This was her babe, beyond any lofty political aims, and Arpais would do anything to see her offspring safe.She had to find the child a haven.
The Pereille clan, she thought suddenly, wondering why the obvious solution had eluded her so long.If she could reach Montsalvat, they could offer her child a sanctuary.Arpais spared a quick glance for the distant peak where she knew the fortress loomed, refusing to be daunted by the distance.Alzeu and Iolande would see to her daughter: indeed they owed her no less for the pledges that stood between Alzeu and Robert.Arpais had only to reach the fortress to see her beloved babe safe.
Somehow she must reach Montsalvat.
Filled with determination, Arpais burst into the town square.She looked up from the sickening carnage, the very stillness of one knight standing alone drawing her gaze.He stood alone, his sword yet in its sheath, surveying the carnage.He looked puzzled, perhaps astonished at the chaos surrounding him, and that alone was enough to give her hope.Intuitively, she knew that one way or another, she would persuade him to help her.
To help her child.
Indeed, she had little choice.
Guibert stoodmotionless amongst themelée, his gaze following the familiar and jagged outline of the hills beyond the town walls.His thoughts were filled with memories of his childhood spent nearby.He could just close his eyes and the years would fall away, peaceful memories crowding out the wanton destruction surrounding him.
It was an abomination to find such destruction in this place.
The sun-baked dirt, the smell of the familiar bracken, the brilliant hue of the sky all recalled the seemingly endless days of his youth.Guibert de Perpignan found himself wondering how far he stood now from his grandfather’s old stone villa.It had been decades since he had set foot in this area, years since he had heard his sister’s mischievous giggle.He could not recall when, if ever, he had previously felt such a keen sense of solitude in his mercenary life.
Perhaps he grew too old for his trade.
He felt an urge to abandon this battle and seek out his kin.
The sounds of battle rose around him, the cries of the dying, the rhythmic thump of falling blades finding their mark.Guibert surveyed the town now cast into disarray with horror.Although normally amongst the first to the fray, he found himself reluctant to participate in what had become his daily task.He was uncertain for the first time of the “justice” he and the other crusaders meted out when he thought of his sister and her proximity to this carnage.
She should have children by now, he realized, wondering where his sister now made her home.Could she have fallen prey to an attack of this kind?To this one on this day?Could he be so close to home and yet be denied a sweet reunion by the very business that brought him home?The very thought turned his battle-weary heart to ice.
Deaf to the victorious cries of his companions, his gaze was drawn again to the ragged peaks jutting toward the sky outside the town walls.Guibert recalled a tale of his grandfather’s, easily recalling the bright-eyed old man huddled before a raging fire on the hearth.He could see those bushy white brows catching the firelight as the older man talked, his three young grandchildren silent with wonder as they hung on his every word.Guibert had been the most keen of all.
His had been tales of the return of the rightful king to the throne, stories of the king who would come from these very hills and restore his divine bloodline to the regal seat.Guibert remembered them all.He looked about himself wondering whether the ancient legend had anything to do with the purge of this province ordered by the church.
Perhaps it was his uncertainty that prompted the woman to trust him, but Guibert never knew the truth of it.No sooner had she appeared from nowhere and shoved the bundle of embroidered cloth into his arms than she was struck down, decapitated by a single blow.Her fingers twitched where they lay across his boot.
Guibert barely glanced up at the other knight’s victorious hoot.His attention was snared by the woman’s blankly-staring almond-shaped eyes.Such beauty.Such frailty.It seemed wrong that she was dead.He barely had the chance to shake his head in dismay before the bundle in his arms began to wail.
Chapter 1
