our timing could not be worse, could it?”
“I know,” she agreed and sighed. “I know. . . .”
“I am about to blaspheme,” he admitted, “for as much as I yearn to see the Holy Sepulchre, I am even more eager now to visit Jerusalem’s fine inns.”
“Oh, yes,” she breathed, “one with a spacious, soft featherbed, clean sheets, a flagon of spiced wine, and a sturdy latch to bar the door.”
But they were miles and months away from that enticing vision and they both knew it. Kissing the face upturned to his, he brushed his lips against the lashes that shadowed her skin like silky fans, tasted the sweetness of her mouth, and found he could pretend no longer, even to himself. “Mariam . . . I have to warn you, cariad. I am falling in love with you.”
She slanted a mischievous glance through those long, fringed lashes, her eyes shimmering with golden glints. “It certainly took you long enough,” she complained, but when she added, “Ana behibak,” he needed no translation for that alluring Arabic whisper.
“Rwy’n dy garu di,” he said softly, and she needed no translation, either.
ON DECEMBER 23, Richard moved his command headquarters eight miles south to the ruins of the Templar castle called Toron des Chevaliers by the crusaders and Latrun by the Saracens, and there he celebrated Christmas in royal style, or as regal as festivities could be when conducted in tents during relentless rainstorms.
TWO DAYS LATER, Richard observed the holy day of St John the Apostle by holding a dinner for the poulain lords who’d not thrown in their lot with Conrad of Montferrat. He did not remember that it was also the twenty-fifth birthday of his youngest brother, John, not until reminded of it by Joanna, and he was sorry she had. Philippe was surely back in his own domains by now and the French king would inevitably reach out to John, try to coax or bribe him into a seditious alliance. Richard had been very generous with his brother and he ought to be able to rely upon the younger man’s loyalty. But John was something of an enigma to his family, and Richard would have felt much more confident of his fealty had he not been more than two thousand miles away. No ships had arrived from Europe for months and for all he knew, Philippe was ravaging Normandy with John’s heartfelt help. But he resolutely pushed these concerns aside, for “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” It would be foolish to borrow fresh troubles when he was already fighting a war on three fronts—with his French allies and Saracen foes and the vile winter weather.
The dinner was a success, even if it was a Friday fast day, with lively entertainment provided by troubadours and musicians, and even livelier conversation. The guest of honor was Raymond, eldest son of the Prince of Antioch. Although Raymond had been an enthusiastic supporter of the crusade, his father had so far remained aloof and Richard thought it politic to make sure the son knew he was a valued ally. But the guest who shone the brightest during dinner was Hugues, Lord of Tiberias and Prince of Galilee.
Hugues was in his early forties, his shrewd, hooded eyes a startling blue against skin weathered by years of exposure to the Outremer sun, a man as resilient and enduring as the land of his birth. He’d fought at Ḥaṭṭīn; in his youth, he’d survived four years in a Saracen prison; he knew Salah al-Dīn personally; he was one of the few barons of the kingdom who’d not defected to Conrad. These were all reasons why Richard considered him to be a man worth listening to; it was an added bonus that Hugues now revealed himself to be knowledgeable about one of the great mysteries of the Holy Land, the secret killing sect known as the Assassins.
Richard had heard of them before his arrival at Acre, for their notoriety had spread even as far as Europe. They were led by a chieftain known as “the Old Man of the Mountain,” and it was said he promised his young followers an afterlife of eternal pleasure in return for a martyr’s death. The Franks had told Richard their name was derived from the Arabic word for “hashish,” for they were believed to imbibe it before their missions. They’d been in existence only a hundred years or so, yet there were already so many legends and lurid tales circulating about