THE LEGEND
A Medieval Romance
By Kathryn Le Veque
PROLOGUE
1270 A.D.
The Holy Land
“He is dead,Alec! Let him go!”
Two men were huddled on the sand in a heap, one man clutching the other to him fiercely as blood coated the both of them.
A tall, superbly muscled African again nudged the one of the pair who happened to be alive. “Let him go! We must leave this place!”
The man raised his face from where it had been buried against the head of the other, his sunburned skin coated with tears. “I did this. God help me, Ali, I did this!”
Ali crouched next to the white man, his black hands grasping at the hard English armor. “’Twas an accident, my friend. He came from the shadows and you had no way of knowing it was….”
“God, no!” Alec screamed his anguish. “Christ, Peter, wake up! Wake up and walk from this place with me!”
Ali’s onyx eyes darted about the abandoned fortress, searching for the approaching enemy. They had been concealedamong the crumbling ruins for nearly two weeks until the Muslims had discovered the refuge of thirty English knights. English who had been raiding villages, killing Muslim enemies and causing heavy losses to weaken the area for the glorious arrival of Prince Edward. It was the prelude to another siege of Acre and the Seventh Crusade was at hand.
But their hideaway had been discovered and even now nearly three hundred Muslims lay siege to the English warriors. Hope for escape was dim, but there was still time if only….
“Alec,” the black man yanked him harshly, dislodging the dead man and causing him to fall in a heap. “We must leave.Now!”
Alec groaned when the body fell away from him, struggling against his friend. But the grappling ceased when they heard the clash of weapons in the distance.
“Oh, Christ,” Alec mumbled, torn between the body on the floor and knowing that he should vacate. His breathing was ragged, harsh. “Oh, Christ, Ali, I cannot leave Peter’s body to be destroyed. My father will never forgive me.”
“Your father will understand,” Ali insisted, tugging desperately. “If we do not leave now, Lord Brian will have lost two sons.”
Rapidly, shakily, Alec knelt over the body of his brother and kissed him on both cheeks. Tears sprang to his eyes again, pelting warm droplets on the cooling corpse as he touched his brother’s face for the last time.
“Forgive me, Peter,” he whispered in a strangled voice. “’Twas dim and you wore no armor and I…. I thought you were an assassin.”
Ali waited as long as he could before yanking at Alec again. “Now, Alec, or we both die!”
Alec knew it to be true; he could hear the screams of his fellow knights and the clash of weapons drawing closer. Unsteadily he rose, taking Peter’s sword with him.
Ali was already running, pulling Alec with him. Alec’s legs were moving as ordered but he continued to look back at the prostrate body of his brother, nearly cut in half, bathed in his own blood. Blood that Alec had spilled from him.
Agony clawed at him as he beat a hasty retreat down the escape tunnels carved beneath the hot desert sands. His breathing was rapid and uneven, pain filling every corner of his mind.Dear God, how could I have killed my own brother? How could such a thing have happened?It had been a senseless mistake; his sense of self-preservation acting before his reasoning mind questioned the action, and then….
Alec knew God would forgive him, just as his father would be gracious with his mercy. But Alec was not concerned with the forgiving nature of those not guilty of fratricide. It was his own quality of self-forgiveness he was concerned with.
Aye, it had been dark. The interior of the deserted garrison was always dark. Peter and Alec and the other Christians met the Muslim siege bravely. In command of the advance party for Prince Edward, Alec held off the siege for as long as he could until one of the crumbling mud walls had given way and a multitude of Muslim warriors had poured in through the breach.
After that, there had no longer been a chain of command. The English had panicked, and chaos ruled.
Alec had ordered a few of those still retaining their senses to seek the interior and escape through the secret tunnels carved out by the Saracens many years before. The Muslims had been everywhere, killing anything with white skin, filtering into the abandoned garrison in chase of the Christians. In the madness, somehow he and Peter had been separated.
The enemy was, literally, everywhere. Alec and Ali had found their way into the depths of the sublevel, awaiting other English knights to direct them to safety. Amidst the chaos and darkness they heard footfalls. Alec tensed; his broadsword ready to gut the unsuspecting intruder, for no clarifying signals had yet been given. Every knight knew to emit an identifying signal whilst traversing the tunnels to assure allies within earshot that a friend, and not foe, approached. The signal, given every five or six steps, was a single grunt.
Alec had waited for the rhythmic grunting, but there had been none forthcoming. When he saw the flash of a sword and a naked hand holding it, he hadn’t given a second thought as he lashed out and caught the intruder mid-section, severing him cleanly.
