for he knew that Alain had no thought of their personal triumphs. ‘Had Richard curbed his temper, mayhap history would have had kinder words.’
Alain smiled oddly, shrugging off his mood. ‘We fought bravely, but the odds were against us.’
‘And now what, my friend?’ Bryne’s brows rose.
They had lingered some months in Italy, taking time to see the wonders of the country, visiting the great university and medical school at Salerno. They took care to stay clear of Calabria, where King Richard had unjustly seized a beautiful falcon on his journey to the crusades, causing much anger amongst the villagers who had owned it. For a while they had lingered in the lush countryside of Italy’s rich wine-growing area, drinking its produce and enjoying the idleness their labours had bought for them.
‘Ah, that is the question,’ Alain said, and for a moment a merry smile danced briefly in his deep blue eyes. ‘For myself, I think I am weary of foreign lands…’
‘Aye, I, too, have felt the call.’
‘It is years since I saw my mother. She will have despaired of seeing her son again.’
‘I wonder if my family still lives?’ Bryne frowned as he looked into the distance, an odd expression in his eyes. ‘We have all we could ever need here and yet…’
Of late both men had become restless, and as Alain looked at Bryne he suddenly knew what was in his mind.
‘So we go home?’
‘I left England in the year 1187 to offer my sword to Duke Richard. It was some many months before we set out for the Holy Land, as you know, for King Henry died and Richard was crowned king of England. It is now the beginning of the year of our Lord 1195 and I confess I long for a sight of my own land.’
‘Yes, I, too, have felt the need for home and family,’ Alain agreed. ‘When I left England it was to gain wealth and honour as my brother before me, and perhaps I have achieved a part of what I had hoped for.’
‘You are rich and no knight hath fought more valiantly, Alain. What more would you have?’
‘Indeed, I have oft wondered.’ A wry smile touched his mouth; he could not place a name to that elusive dream. He only knew that it eluded him still. ‘Mayhap I shall find it in England. We shall set out for Rome on the morrow, Bryne, and find a ship to take us home.’
The sound of screaming penetrated Alain’s thoughts. They had set out early that morning, hopeful of completing their journey to Rome within three days, and had been making good time. Alain’s mind had been elsewhere as they rode through the softly undulating countryside. Now, suddenly, he was alerted to danger. That was a woman screaming and she was in some considerable distress. He looked at his companion and saw that Bryne was alert to the situation.
‘Over there!’ Bryne pointed to their right. ‘See, at the edge of those trees. Brigands are attacking three men and two women, and ’tis clear they are outnumbered by the rogues.’
‘They are surrounded,’ Alain said and spurred his horse. ‘Come, Bryne. One last battle before we seek our ship!’
His trusted sword was in his hand as he led the charge, Bryne and the men they had led into many such battles following behind. The thunder of hooves echoed in his head, and he could smell the blood, heat and dust of other fights, remembering the screams of the injured and dying his horse had trampled underfoot in the heat of battle. A wry smile touched his mouth. Had he ever been young and naïve enough to believe that there was glory in war?
He raised his right arm, sword aloft, as he bore down on the first rogue. He was aware of a woman struggling with men who were apparently bent on abducting her and let out a yell that would strike terror into the heart of any warrior. Slashing to left and right, he fought like fifty demons as he hacked his way through to the woman. As always, his sword gave him strength to overcome his enemies. Its magical powers, in which he firmly believed, had carried him through bloodier fights than this. Saladin’s soldiers were fiercer warriors than these scurvy knaves, who had already begun to break ranks now that they were faced by Alain’s men.
From the corner of his eye he saw that the girl had managed to break free from her would-be captors and was being cared for by one of her own people. It was clear that the fight was over and that the brigands were fleeing into the trees from whence they had come.
Alain gave the girl a smile of reassurance and then turned his head to glance at Bryne. Seeing that his friend had dismounted, Alain did the same. He moved towards the girl they had saved, sword in hand, intending to ask her if she had suffered any harm at the hands of the brigands. He began to speak and then something hit him from behind and everything went black as he fell. He thought he heard the girl cry out, but could not save himself as he sank to the ground at her feet.
‘What have you done, Maria?’ The Lady Katherine of Grunwald sank to her knees beside the still form of the man lying on the ground. ‘You have killed him and he saved me from those wicked men.’
‘Oh, my lady—’ the older woman looked at her in dismay ‘—he had his sword ready. I thought he meant to kill you.’
‘You foolish woman!’ Katherine laid her hand on the knight’s forehead. He had such lovely golden hair and was beautiful to look upon. She thought that she had never seen a man so fair. ‘Now his men are angry and will likely punish us.’ She looked up as a tall, dark knight stood over her, sensing his anger. ‘Forgive my woman, sir. She did not realise what she was doing.’
‘I saw what happened,’ Bryne said, glaring at her. ‘Your woman hath done what all Saladin’s army could not, lady. Pray that he is not dead, for I pity you both if he—’
Alain’s eyelids flickered, his long lashes shadowing against sun-bronzed skin for a moment before he opened them and gazed into the anxious eyes of the girl bending over him. His first thought was that she was no more than a child, thin and pale, her dark eyes large in a face that was interesting rather than beautiful. Behind her he could see Bryne’s angry stance and realised in a moment what was going on.
‘No, don’t murder the child, Bryne,’ he protested, sitting up and groaning slightly as his head spun. A wry smile touched his mouth. ‘It was not the child that hit me, I swear.’
Katherine looked at him apprehensively. Was he angry? He did not look angry. Indeed, it seemed he was amused. She gave him a look of apology.
‘It was Maria who struck you and she is very sorry. She thought you were one of those wicked men who attacked us.’
‘The brigands?’ Alain groaned again, feeling the back of his head gingerly. ‘Maria hath the arm of an armourer to hit so hard. I vow ’tis a wonder that she did not crack my skull open.’ Despite the pain in his head, his blue eyes were bright with mischief as he looked at the older woman. Her face was a picture of rueful indignation and it made him want to laugh long and hard, something he had not felt like doing in many a day. ‘What did you hit me with, woman, a mace?’
‘It was naught but a moneybag,’ Maria said, glowering at him. She was a large woman with big strong arms and a heavy build. ‘It is money for the ship to carry my lady home to her family—but you may take it if you let us go on our way.’
Alain was on his feet now. He looked the woman over, taking in her belligerent stance and fearless gaze. She was like a she-wolf defending her young, prepared to fight for the child she loved.
‘Fear not, Maria,’ he said and smiled at her, amused and somewhat touched by her devotion. ‘You and the child have nothing to fear from us. We came to help you and will go on our way now that the brigands have gone.’
‘Maria is truly sorry,’ the girl said, recalling his attention. He saw that her eyes looked startled, somehow pleading, like a young deer caught in a hunter’s trap in the forest. ‘Please do not desert us, sir. I believe we have some leagues to travel as yet and, as you saw, we are not able to protect ourselves.’
‘You were foolish to travel