himself.
Jocelyn had made every effort to accommodate the man and his sharp-nosed wife. She’d assigned them the sunny bower she’d called her own before moving into the lord’s chamber. She made sure Sir Thomas accompanied her to the cellars when she had business in the counting room, where the keep’s gold and treasures were kept. Likewise when she unlocked the spice room to dole out precious peppercorns or cinnamon sticks to the cooks. He rode with her when she went to inspect the outlying farms and orchards, and dispensed in her name such justice as she decided appropriate.
Yet try as she would, she could not like the man. He was puffed up with his own consequence and quick to remind everyone within hearing of his kinship to the king. Worse yet, his wife was petty and cruel to those who served her. Jocelyn had spoken to the woman about that more than once. On the last occasion, she’d threatened to take a whip to her if she struck or kicked or pinched another maid so hard as to raise bruises. Thus Jocelyn had to stifle a groan when she saw Sir Thomas and his shrew of a wife already seated at the high table.
Given his exalted position, the steward sat on her left. As castellan, Sir Hugh held place of honor on her right. Sir Guy, husband to Lady Constance, sat next to Hugh. Jocelyn nodded to her loyal vassals and managed a polite smile for the king’s cousin.
“Good morrow, Sir Thomas.”
“And you, lady.”
The steward’s wife inclined her head as was due Jocelyn’s rank but forebore to speak as a small army of pages scurried to serve them. Since the first meal of the day was the lightest, they offered only thick slices of bread, cold pigeon breast, sardines drenched in olive oil, stewed boar left over from the night before, pears, candied cherries and a plate of the dates so plentiful here in the East.
Sir Thomas waited to scoop up a sardine with a bread crust and pop both in his mouth before fixing his gaze on Jocelyn. “What’s this I hear? Did you indeed ride to El-Arish yesterday to purchase a slave?”
“I did.”
“God’s tooth, lady! El-Arish is on the other side of a border much disputed between my cousin and the Fatamids.”
“I’m well aware of that, Sir Thomas.”
“Yet you went to the slave market?”
Jocelyn downed a swallow of ale before replying. The story she’d devised to explain her excursion into enemy territory came easily to her lips.
“I heard there was a new batch of Frankish prisoners to go on the block. I felt it my Christian duty to ransom one or more of them if I could.”
The king’s cousin could hardly argue with that. So many pilgrims and other travelers had been taken by pirates of late that not even the royal treasurer could ransom them all.
“But the one you purchased,” he said with a frown. “Did I mishear, or does he indeed lie in your bed?”
“You heard aright,” Jocelyn replied coolly. “When we returned from El-Arish yesterday afternoon, I bade Sir Hugh see the poor wretch was fed and bathed, then asked that he be escorted to my chamber. I wanted to know from whence he came and why he’d journeyed to the Holy Land.”
“Yes, but—”
She ignored the interruption. “I know you’ll be most pleased when I tell you he has vowed to join the Knights Templar. Of all the great warriors who defend your cousin’s kingdom, they are the most fierce.”
“That is true enough,” Sir Thomas was forced to concede.
It was, they both knew, an uneasy alliance at best. Since their humble beginnings as self-appointed protectors of pilgrims, the Order of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon had grown as rich and powerful as the kings of Jerusalem themselves.
Nor did it help that rumors skittered and swirled concerning their founder’s insistence that they be allotted quarters abutting the one remaining wall of Solomon’s second temple. More than one rumor whispered the Templars had broken through the walls to search the
Jocelyn had made every effort to accommodate the man and his sharp-nosed wife. She’d assigned them the sunny bower she’d called her own before moving into the lord’s chamber. She made sure Sir Thomas accompanied her to the cellars when she had business in the counting room, where the keep’s gold and treasures were kept. Likewise when she unlocked the spice room to dole out precious peppercorns or cinnamon sticks to the cooks. He rode with her when she went to inspect the outlying farms and orchards, and dispensed in her name such justice as she decided appropriate.
Yet try as she would, she could not like the man. He was puffed up with his own consequence and quick to remind everyone within hearing of his kinship to the king. Worse yet, his wife was petty and cruel to those who served her. Jocelyn had spoken to the woman about that more than once. On the last occasion, she’d threatened to take a whip to her if she struck or kicked or pinched another maid so hard as to raise bruises. Thus Jocelyn had to stifle a groan when she saw Sir Thomas and his shrew of a wife already seated at the high table.
Given his exalted position, the steward sat on her left. As castellan, Sir Hugh held place of honor on her right. Sir Guy, husband to Lady Constance, sat next to Hugh. Jocelyn nodded to her loyal vassals and managed a polite smile for the king’s cousin.
“Good morrow, Sir Thomas.”
“And you, lady.”
The steward’s wife inclined her head as was due Jocelyn’s rank but forebore to speak as a small army of pages scurried to serve them. Since the first meal of the day was the lightest, they offered only thick slices of bread, cold pigeon breast, sardines drenched in olive oil, stewed boar left over from the night before, pears, candied cherries and a plate of the dates so plentiful here in the East.
Sir Thomas waited to scoop up a sardine with a bread crust and pop both in his mouth before fixing his gaze on Jocelyn. “What’s this I hear? Did you indeed ride to El-Arish yesterday to purchase a slave?”
“I did.”
“God’s tooth, lady! El-Arish is on the other side of a border much disputed between my cousin and the Fatamids.”
“I’m well aware of that, Sir Thomas.”
“Yet you went to the slave market?”
Jocelyn downed a swallow of ale before replying. The story she’d devised to explain her excursion into enemy territory came easily to her lips.
“I heard there was a new batch of Frankish prisoners to go on the block. I felt it my Christian duty to ransom one or more of them if I could.”
The king’s cousin could hardly argue with that. So many pilgrims and other travelers had been taken by pirates of late that not even the royal treasurer could ransom them all.
“But the one you purchased,” he said with a frown. “Did I mishear, or does he indeed lie in your bed?”
“You heard aright,” Jocelyn replied coolly. “When we returned from El-Arish yesterday afternoon, I bade Sir Hugh see the poor wretch was fed and bathed, then asked that he be escorted to my chamber. I wanted to know from whence he came and why he’d journeyed to the Holy Land.”
“Yes, but—”
She ignored the interruption. “I know you’ll be most pleased when I tell you he has vowed to join the Knights Templar. Of all the great warriors who defend your cousin’s kingdom, they are the most fierce.”
“That is true enough,” Sir Thomas was forced to concede.
It was, they both knew, an uneasy alliance at best. Since their humble beginnings as self-appointed protectors of pilgrims, the Order of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon had grown as rich and powerful as the kings of Jerusalem themselves.
Nor did it help that rumors skittered and swirled concerning their founder’s insistence that they be allotted quarters abutting the one remaining wall of Solomon’s second temple. More than one rumor whispered the Templars had broken through the walls to search the
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