Outcasts

by Martin Lake

  Eraclius laughed. 'And you give credence to this?'

  Simon nodded. 'I do, my lord. I have often found that the filthiest ear can hear most clearly.'

  Eraclius swilled the last of his wine around his mouth. 'You may be right, Simon Ferrier, you may be right.'

  He paced about the room. 'Guy is lower-born than Conrad yet he bedded his way to the throne. Perhaps Conrad will try the same tactic.'

  'But how, my lord?'

  'Princess Sibilla is not the only woman with a claim to the throne,' he said. 'There is another, young Isabella. She is Sibilla's half-sister and some, like Balian, believe she has the better claim to the throne. She is married but to an effeminate, Humphrey of Toron. Perhaps Conrad is casting his eye towards the girl.'

  He rose and a servant brought his cloak. Simon gestured to Gregory and William to accompany them to the citadel.

  They arrived just before noon. Eraclius loathed being the last to arrive at a meeting, for preference he would arrive first. He scowled at Simon for getting him to the citadel late.

  Simon told his men to wait for them in the guardhouse and followed the Patriarch into the Great Hall.

  A huge table had been placed in the centre of the hall. At its head sat Bohemond, with two chairs on either side. To his left sat a young man Simon had not seen before. He looked to be sixteen or seventeen years of age. His face was cold and hard. He sat in silence, staring moodily at a knife which he spun upon the table. The chair to Bohemond's right was empty.

  Around the table were gathered all of the nobles of Antioch together with other great men who happened to be in the city. Simon recognised a dozen by sight but few by name. Balian was sitting close to Bohemond. Next to him was his friend Jerome who was the only one in the assembly to acknowledge Simon. Eraclius headed towards an empty seat next to the old knight.

  Balian's squire, Ernoul lounged at the end of the table and beckoned Simon over. Simon pursed his lips. He enjoyed Ernoul's company but did not trust him. He suspected that these feelings were fully reciprocated.

  'You look tired,' Ernoul said with a grin. 'I hear that your girl has killed several of her previous lovers with her insatiable demands.'

  'You are only jealous,' Simon said.

  'I don't deny it. She has the look of an angel.'

  'Thank you,' Simon said.

  'And the appetites of a devil,' added Ernoul with a crooked grin.

  Simon chose not to rise to the insult. He gestured towards the top of the table.

  'Who is the boy sitting next to the Prince?'

  'That is Bohemond's second son,' Ernoul answered. 'He is the apple of his father's eye. He is also called Bohemond.'

  'He looks troubled.'

  'He is. And he means trouble. Steer clear of him, Simon, for your own good.'

  'He is only a boy.'

  'True. But he has the brain of a Pope and the heart of a Saracen.'

  Simon chuckled.

  At that moment, Prince Bohemond stood and the other nobles did likewise. The only person who did not rise was young Bohemond. He had to be dragged to his feet by his father.

  Simon craned his head to see the person they had risen for. It was Princess Cybil. He was surprised to see her take the vacant seat to the right of her husband.

  'A woman at a council meeting?' he whispered to Ernoul.

  'I know. Astonishing isn't it? Look how the nobles scowl. They think it's disgusting. Yet she has the intelligence of any half dozen of them combined.'

  Simon looked at him in surprise. 'You jest?'

  Ernoul shook his head. 'Watch and listen. You will see.'

  Simon examined Cybil as she glanced swiftly at the men around the table. He could barely drag his eyes from her. She was beautiful yet there was more to it than this. She had a confidence and a glamour like he had never seen before. She stole the attention of everyone in the hall. The nobles might hate her but they were also enthralled by her.

  All except for one.

  'Bohemond's son does not like her,' Simon murmured.

  'Of course not,' said Ernoul. 'In fact, I'd say he hates her. When he was a small child his father divorced his mother, Orguilleuse d'Harenc. It still rankles with him.'

  'Bohemond divorced her because of Sibyl?'

  'Oh no. He divorced Orguilleuse for Theodora, the niece of the Byzantine Emperor. It was a marriage of convenience, of course. As soon as the Emperor died Bohemond got rid of Theodora and climbed into Cybil's bed.'

  'I can't blame him.'

  Ernoul chuckled. 'Me neither. But others did. The Pope excommunicated him and placed the city under an interdict.'

  Simon turned towards Ernoul. 'Excommunication?'

  'Yes. But it didn't bother Bohemond one jot. He imprisoned the archbishop and looted all the churches.

  'A delegation from Jerusalem came to try to make peace. Bohemond laughed in their faces, robbed them of their cash and kicked them out of the city. The delegation was led by your master, Eraclius.'

  'So that's why Bohemond and Cybil were cold towards him.'

  'That and the fact that Eraclius finds it hard to hide his lust for the Princess.'

  Simon grinned. 'He's not the only one.'

  Ernoul laughed quietly. 'Content yourself with your little whore, my friend. Princess Cybil is far beyond your sights. Dismiss any thought of her from your mind. At best you would be a morsel to her, a frightened mouse in the jaws of a cat.'

  We shall see, Simon thought, remembering his first meeting with her.

  Bohemond rapped upon the table and the council commenced.

  'I have sum…sum…summoned you here today because of disquieting news,' he said with an effort. His stuttering always grew worse when he had to address a large meeting.

  'We have heard that Saladin's brother al-Adil has led a large part of the Saracen army to attack the castle of Kerak. It is completely surrounded.'

  'What does that matter to us?' said an elderly noble. 'Kerak is in the deserts of Moab. What importance does it have to Antioch?'

  'Humphrey of Toron is said to have fled there,' Balian said. 'He is strengthening its defences.'

  'I thought he was still Saladin's captive,' said the old noble.

  'He was,' said Bohemond. 'Saladin let him go free to join his wife on condition he take no further part in the war. But Princess Isabella has put fire in his soul and persuaded him to defend Kerak.'

  A man laughed quietly. He was as dark as a Saracen, as skinny as a bone and very tall. 'Forgive me for saying so,' he murmured, 'but the thought of Humphrey of Toron defending anything is just laughable.'

  'This is no time for jest, Armengol,' said Eraclius. 'You may not be the Grand Master of the Hospitallers but you are the Provisor. You should behave in a more seemly fashion.'

  Armengol raised his hand with a flourish. 'In matters of morality,' he said, 'I always defer to the Patriarch of Jerusalem.'

  There were loud guffaws from the assembly. Some of the knights even banged on the table to show their appreciation of Armengol's jest.

  'Saladin appears to be treating Humphrey with more seriousness, at any rate,' Balian said, looking around the room as if defying anyone to gainsay him.

  'He knows that Kerak is at the cross roads between Damascus, Mecca and Cairo,' he continued. 'Whoever controls Kerak controls the key trade routes in the Holy Land. Saladin also realises the importance of Isabella to all Christians. If he were to capture her then he would have a hostage beyond value.'

  'So is this the purpose of the council,' said Armengol, 'to debate the fate of a chit of a girl.' His face showed a mixture of contempt and astonishment.

  'This girl is the daughter of King Almaric,' said Balian. 'Many would agree she should be Queen of Jerusalem.'

  Bohemond raised his hand for silence. 'Enough of that. We are not here to resurrect past man...man…manoeuvrings. It matters little to Antioch who is King of Jerusalem. What does matter is that al-Adil does not conquer the castle of Kerak or seize the young princess.'
>
  'So what would the Prince of Antioch suggest we do?' asked Armengol in a condescending tone.

  Bohemond stared at him. He had no liking for the man but was well aware that he might be confirmed as Grand Master of the Order. He would need to be civil at the very least.

  'That is for this council to decide,' he answered. 'My view is that we are too weak to attack al-Adil's force. But we could mount a rescue mission for the Princess.'

  'And what about the Lady Humphrey?' said Armengol. There were loud guffaws at his jest, only silenced when Bohemond slammed his fist on the table.

  Armengol chuckled aloud before he continued.

  'Will you leave him to the Saracens' mercy. Although I presume he secured his freedom by offering his person to Saladin.'

  The nobles drummed upon the table. Armengol said what they all wanted to believe.

  'I don't care one way or another for the boy,' said Bohemond. 'But Isabella is fond of him so we shall have to rescue him as well.'

  Armengol flung his arm in the air in a gesture of disgust but contented himself with this.

  At this point Princess Cybil placed her hands together and leaned forward. The gesture was seen by everyone and the council fell silent.

  'I believe it is vital that Isabella is rescued immediately,' she said. 'It is, however, a dangerous mission. I know that the Lord of Antioch, my husband, would wish to lead the attempt and I support him in this.'

  She paused and sighed softly. 'However, I am certain that everyone here will do their utmost to dissuade him, preferring him to stay in Antioch and guard it against any potential attack.'

  Almost all the nobles raised their voices to prove that she was correct in this assumption. She turned towards her husband with a sorrowful face as if to say that her worst fears had been proved.

  Ernoul grinned and bent towards Simon.

  'See how she plays the dupes?' he whispered. 'And this is only the beginning. I wonder what her ultimate purpose will prove to be.'

  'If you will not allow the Prince to lead the rescue,' she said, 'then who would you suggest?'

  She sighed once again, even louder, her bosom rising like the moon above water. 'I really think it should be someone who is high-born.'

  Her step-son leapt to her feet. 'I am the highest born in this room.'

  He paused and then bowed towards Bohemond. 'Saving my father of course.'

  'Of course you are,' said Cybil. 'Now that your brother Raymond is Count of Tripoli.'

  The young man gave a look which would have made any one quail but she affected not to have seen it.

  'As such,' he said through gritted teeth, 'I plead the right to lead the mission to castle Kerak.'

  Bohemond beamed with pride at the courage of his son. Then a flicker of doubt filled his eyes.

  'But you are much too young, my dear,' Cybil said quickly before her husband could speak. 'This is a job for a man, not a boy.'

  The young man stared at her in fury. 'I am a man. And I am the noblest born here. I claim my right to lead the mission.'

  The council rose to their feet in loud support of the young man.

  Cybil bowed her head, as if to the inevitable, and turned towards her husband.

  'If this is what you want, my son,' he said, 'then so be it. I am proud of you. But the task is a deadly one and no one will blame you if you change your mind.'

  'He will not change his mind,' said Cybil. 'Talk of danger will only strengthen his knightly resolve.' She gave the young man a smile so warm that even his hatred of her was momentarily soothed.

  She held out her hand to him and he bent and kissed it. For a moment, all seemed well. Then Cybil shook her head and began to mutter aloud. She took a deep breath and addressed the council.

  'You have made the right decision in sending my step-son to rescue Princess Isabelle,' she said. 'However, I think that such a young head as his should be supported by wiser, more experienced ones.'

  She turned her gaze towards two of the men around the table. 'I would like to suggest that young Bohemond be accompanied by a mighty warrior and a wise and intelligent thinker. I suggest that he be accompanied by Provisor Armengol de Aspa and Patriarch Eraclius.'

  Both men blanched at the thought, both men began to wriggle, seeking for a way out.

  Eraclius was the more swift to find one.

  'I greatly desire to go with young Bohemond,' he said, 'for I seek retribution against the infidel. However, alas, the Holy Father in Rome has commanded me to stay in Antioch and re-build the Church of the Holy Sepulchre here in Antioch.'

  'Really?' said Bohemond. 'When did he say that?'

  'I received the letter yesterday,' Eraclius answered.

  He turned towards Simon. 'You have the letter safe?'

  'I do, my lord,' Simon said.

  'Shall I ask my servant to run and bring it to the council?' Eraclius continued.

  Simon's stomach churned. There was no such letter. Was Eraclius expecting him to forge one and bring it back?

  'Why not?' Bohemond said.

  'There is no need, surely,' said Balian. 'Even if the Holy Father had not commanded the Patriarch to stay here, I think we can all see the wisdom of it.'

  Cybil gave Balian an angry look but he affected not to notice.

  'Armengol de Aspa, then?' she said. 'Will the Acting Head of the Hospitallers go with my step-son? I am sure that all of the Barons of the Kingdom would thank him for doing so.'

  Armengol licked his lips. He had been trapped and he knew it. Yet his burning desire to become Grand Master overcame his doubts.

  'I would be honoured to accompany the Prince's son,' he said.

  Cybil sat back, well pleased. She had rid herself of two out of the three people she wanted out of the way. She would have to set another trap for the wily Eraclius.

  The nobles strode out and Simon waited with Ernoul until the chamber was empty and they could leave.

  'I must attend upon my lord,' Ernoul said. 'Farewell, Simon. I hope you keep safe.'

  CHAPTER 45

  ILL-BRED KNIGHTS

  Tyre

  The pain from the whipping began to ease. The following day, although they were still in pain, John, Bernard and Matthew found themselves hard at work under Laurence's direction. Clearing the city of the damage and of the dead was proving a monumental task. The streets near the city walls were littered with boulders from the Saracen siege engines. Elsewhere, the walls and timbers of houses had slid into the streets, making them all but impassable.

  However, it was the dead who were proving the worst problem.

  The stench from the bodies was overpowering and threatened pestilence. Huge swarms of flies buzzed above every corpse, so dense they looked like the smoke from fires. Cats and dogs feasted upon the remains, fighting for scraps, tearing open the bodies to reach the succulent innards. The animals were beaten off by the disposal crews but they did not slink far, crouching down in the dust to watch for a chance to return to their meal. The disposal crews worked at top speed to try to clear the bodies.

  Laurence had assigned John, Bernard and Matthew to work one of the corpse carts. Because of his great strength Matthew was assigned to pull the cart. John and Bernard had the less physical but more grisly task. They had to haul the bodies off of the streets and onto the cart.

  Because of the heat and the depredations of the hungry animals, few of the corpses were any longer whole. Often, John and Bernard would grab a corpse by its arms and legs and feel the body untangle from itself, leaving just the limbs in their hands. The stench from the oozing flesh was unbearable. No matter how many herbs they stuffed into their nostrils they could not avoid the gagging reek.

  Laurence was sympathetic. He had taken the strangers under his wing and was impressed at how hard they worked despite the pain from the flogging. Despite this friendship, he remained a hard task-master, so determined was he to get the job finished and the city cleansed.

  'How long will this go on for?' Bernard asked him on t
he second day.

  'Until the city smells as sweet as a bride's arse,' Laurence answered with a grin.

  'You are an expert, I suppose,' said John.

  'I am indeed,' Laurence answered. 'I've been wed four times myself and have deflowered a further seven brides on the morning of their nuptials.' He closed his eyes. 'Oh the fragrance as I toyed with them.'

  'Why would any decent woman want to sleep with you?' John asked.

  'Who said anything about them being decent?' Laurence answered. 'In any case, I am famous for the size and girth of my member.'

  'Pity their little arses, then,' said Bernard.

  'I agree. But I had to do it that fashion or I'd have been found out by their husbands and my gizzard would have been slit.'

  'A pity it wasn't,' John said.

  Laurence smiled and then gave him an almighty slap upon his back, exactly where the whip had scarred. 'Don't be like that, John,' he said. 'You should be grateful it's me who is in charge of you.' He sauntered off, whistling out of tune. John doubled up in pain.

  In truth they were glad that Laurence was their overseer. He was loud and bluff but he treated the men in his crews fairly, rewarding the hard working with a brief word of thanks, yelling and kicking at the slackers. As a senior member of the city guard he was accustomed to giving orders and his men obeyed him concerning the disposal of bodies in the same way they obeyed his commands in battle.

  On the third day the city was finally cleared of corpses and they were relieved of this onerous duty. From this point on they would be able to tackle the litter of war, the Saracen shot and boulders, the fallen masonry and timbers, the dangerous buildings.

  A week after they had started on the clearance Conrad ordered that all crews take the following day to rest. Most decided to spend it in the taverns. They had been the first establishments to open for business when the Saracens ended the siege and they did better trade than the food stalls and the churches combined.

  As soon as he heard the order, Laurence led his crew into The Saracen's Throat, the largest tavern in the city. 'The drinks for my crew is on Lord Conrad,' he cried, throwing a large bag of coins upon the table.

  His men could not believe their ears. They had never known such largesse in their lives.