“Do you have a woman at home?” she asked after a moment.
He shook his head. “No, but I have sisters. I would like them and my nieces and nephews to know what has become of me should God wish me to die here.”
She finished feeding him and stood up. “I am sorry,” she said, “so sorry.” She made a sign to the guards and started back up the stairs. Again, William received a kick in the ribs and the door slammed down, leaving him in darkness. Curling up, drawing his knees to his chest, he closed his eyes. At least they had fed him. At least he was still alive.
He had fallen into a restless doze when the trapdoor slammed back again. This time he was dragged to his feet and upstairs into the room. His legs would barely hold him up and he stumbled forward before being pushed to his knees. However, he was not afraid that he was about to die. The cellar with its bloodstained walls was the killing place.
Theo was there again with his smile and his knife, but uncertainty flickered in his face now. “Andreas has been arrested and is being interrogated,” he said with a sneer. “Soon we shall know everything.”
William said nothing. He hoped that the man Andreas, as unwitting a victim as himself, would survive whatever questioning they put to him.
A muscle flexed in Theo’s cheek. “You can make things easier on yourself by telling us what you know. What is the point of suffering when you do not need to?”
“I have nothing to conceal and I know nothing,” William replied wearily by rote now. “I only ask you to return me to my men and let us be on our way.”
The woman stood on tiptoe and whispered in her father’s ear. He listened, his face twitching with impatience.
“You told my daughter that you serve a king, and, indeed, of your quality, there is no doubt.” His lip curled. “But even quality can be overcome.”
William nodded. “A king who is dead, brought down by sickness in his youth and prime, and my duty is to pray for him at the tomb of Christ. That is the vow I took. I was a knight of his household, a man sworn to guard him, but I could not protect him from death. This is my last service to my lord; I have no interest in anything else. I am no spy.”
A baby’s wail filled the room, and the woman went to a basketwork cradle, lifted out a swaddled infant, sat on a stool, and put the infant to her breast. She spoke in rapid Greek to her father. His reply was a terse command and a chopping motion before turning back to William.
A loud knock shook the door and one of the male servants went to open it. After a muttered conversation with whoever stood outside, Theo was summoned. Then more discussion and some sharp exchanges. The merchant returned to the room clutching a piece of parchment, his beard bristling.
“Well,” he said to William, “it seems I have no further use for you, underling of a king.” He fingered the knife, and William tensed. “You may return to your friends, but from this day forth, you are a marked man.” He nodded to his henchmen. “Hold him.”
They seized William and pinned him down, even though he lashed out with his feet. They pushed up his left sleeve. Theo took the knife and with focused deliberation cut a vertical line from wrist to elbow in a single narrow stripe and then made three horizontal slashes, marking William with the emblem of the Greek cross. The sensation burned his flesh like white fire, and he gritted his teeth against the shock and the pain.
“Now,” said Theo, his eyes glittering with hatred, “you bear the mark of the true faith. Let this be a lesson to you and to all with whom you associate and who would come through here, spreading their slime of lies.” He stuffed the map back inside William’s tunic.
His daughter put down the baby and brought a cloth to staunch the blood running down William’s arm and then bound the wound, flicking William looks of sympathy and warning.
The henchmen dragged him to his feet and bundled him out of the door into the courtyard. Theo followed and indicated to his son-in-law that he should sever William’s bonds, which he did with a few short chops of his knife blade, nicking him further in the process, before shoving him to his knees.
William struggled to his feet and stood swaying and blinking in the light. There was no sign of his men. The mastiff growled and lunged on its chain. “Be on your way.” Theo gave him a shove. “If I see you again, I shall not be so lenient. And know too that you are being watched.”
The servants marched William to the gate and pushed him out into the alleyway, and then the door was shut and barred behind him. He stared numbly around, lost in the midst of a dark nightmare. He had no money, no safe conduct—but perhaps he was well rid of that considering what it had brought him—and only the soiled and stinking clothes in which he stood. He had expected to end his life in that cellar with its bloodstained walls. Now, his horizon had widened to the gutter in the street and he was in just as much danger as before. His arm was throbbing, so was his head, and he had a raging thirst. He had no idea where his men were or how to start looking for them.
He took one step and then another. His vision swam, and he had to hold on to the wall. Behind him, the gate opened again and he tensed, thinking that they were going to murder him beyond their premises. However, it was the woman who emerged, a water skin in one hand, a cloth bundle of food in the other, and his cloak over her arm. “Quickly, take these.” She looked hastily over her shoulder. His knife was there too, and his belt.
“Why are you helping me?” William demanded.
“Because there has been too much bloodshed already, and I will not have yours on my hands. And also for the sake of your sisters. When you spoke of her, I believed you.” She looked anxiously over her shoulder again. “He let you go because he thinks you are spying for Rome and that if he has you followed, you will lead him to bigger fish.”
William snorted. “Then he will have to follow me all the way to King Baldwin in Jerusalem, and it will not be worth his while because I know nothing and have nothing—or I might just lie down here and die.”
“That shall be as it is. You are warned and I can do no more.” She indicated his wounded arm. “The last one who came through here he killed, and he may yet do the same to you. I hope you reach Jerusalem. Turn right and then right again, and you will come to a wider road. Follow it away from the sun and you will reach the sea wall.” Turning around, she went back through the gates, and he heard the bolt ram shut.
He unstoppered the water skin, took a sniff, and then a dubious swallow. The taste of leather filled his mouth but nothing worse, and he took several deep gulps before donning the cloak and following her directions with faltering steps. On the second right turn, he came to another alley, darker than the one before, but with a tunnel of light at the end. Two men stood inside a narrow doorway, pulled back a little, concealing themselves. William knew this was the end if they chose to set on him.
“Sire? My lord? It is you! I knew you were still in there!”
William stared at Eustace and Geoffrey FitzRobert as both men fell to their knees in the filthy alleyway and thought it the finest sight he had ever seen. “Get up, you fools!” he said, his voice almost cracking. “That’s the last thing you should be doing, but by God I am glad to see you!”
Eustace stood up, tears glittering in his eyes, his features beard shadowed and gaunt. “Praise God! We’ve been keeping watch for three days now!”
“Three days?” So that’s how long it had been. He pulled Eustace into a fervent embrace, the same with Geoffrey, but swiftly released them, knowing the terrible danger they were still in. “Where are the rest of you?”
“Waiting near the basilica,” Geoffrey said. “It is the best we could do. We have joined some travelers who were friendly disposed toward us.”
Sweet relief swept through William that his men had come to no harm, and it almost buckled his knees. “We should not stay here.” Stepping into the alley, he stumbled but thrust himself upright by force of will, spurred on by the knowledg
e of danger.
As they made their way through the narrow passageways and entered more open ground, William told Eustace and Geoffrey what had happened to him. “They are part of a spy network, but for which faction I do not know. Perhaps the emperor, perhaps one of his rivals. The one named Theo said they would be watching us closely. They think we are carrying secret messages from Rome to undermine them.”
“That brat of theirs has been shadowing us,” said Eustace with a sneer of distaste. “I caught him yesterday and told him I would cut off his ears if I saw him again. I don’t know if he understood me, but if we are being followed, it is no longer by him.”
“I have no doubt someone else will have taken his place,” William said. “We must leave this place as soon as we have made our prayers.” Assailed by nausea and dizziness, he slowed his pace. “What happened to you when they seized me?”
“They told us you had important personal business to conduct with Theo and that you would be some while and we should leave and come back later,” Geoffrey said. “We were reluctant to go but knew how dangerous it would be to create a disturbance, so we left but kept watch. They barred the gates, and when we demanded to see you, Theo told us through the door grille that you had left by another way and continued on your own and had ordered us to do the same. They even invited Ancel and Robert into the house to search for you, to prove you were not there, and then told us to go before they called down the emperor’s soldiers on us. We knew you hadn’t left, unless they had murdered you, so we found this place, made our camp, and kept watch.”
“I was in the cellar,” William said hoarsely. “Trussed up like a chicken for the pot. I never heard you, but nothing would have emerged from that place—unless they wished it to. It was a room full of hidden screams.” He shuddered and stopped for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Sire?”
He took a drink from the water skin. His flesh was crawling as if being walked over by ants. “Is the cloak safe?”
Eustace nodded. “Yes, sire, Ancel has it, and we still have the horses and most of our supplies. We spoke among ourselves, and if you had…if we had not seen you again, we were going to continue to Jerusalem so that our young lord’s cloak would get there even if we were down to the last man.”
William swallowed and blinked moisture from his eyes. “I was a fool,” he said roughly. “I thought I had their measure, and I thought I knew all the perils of men’s trickery and evil deeds, but not so.”
Geoffrey noticed the blood seeping through the bandage on William’s arm. “What have they done to you, sire?”
“Nothing. A scratch.” William hid his arm behind his back. “It does not matter now.”
Entering broader thoroughfares with better light, they passed street sellers shouting their wares. The smell of hot oil, garlic, and spices wafted from braziers over which street vendors were griddling slashed silver fish. There were stalls selling flatbreads and hot vegetable stews glistening with oil. William’s stomach growled with hunger, but he felt sick too and almost retched.
Eustace, with his strong sense of direction, led them through the twisting entrails of the city. William gained glimpses of towers and porticoes of polished marble, of churches, curved and domed, of mosaics and statues, and beyond them, dark alleyways leading back into the city’s bowels. He tasted sick fear, knowing how easily they could all be swallowed up again.
The route seemed to go on forever, and William’s feet began to drag and trip, and his pace slowed. Geoffrey offered him his arm to lean on, and he was tempted to take it, but pride kept him upright and in his own control, and he pushed himself onward. Eustace led them down another alley that opened out into a space where a building had once stood, now a heap of rubble and charred timbers tendrilled with weeds. People had taken advantage of the open ground to set up ramshackle tents and were sitting around fires, and among these groups, William saw the rest of the men.
Ancel leaped to his feet, his face crumpling with an agonized expression of joy and grief. “Gwim!” He rushed at William, flung his arms around his neck, and burst into tears. “Dear Christ, I thought you were dead!” His voice tore. “I thought we would never see you again!”
William returned the embrace and felt Ancel’s shudders almost as his own. “You can see I am not,” he said in a choked voice. Pilgrim was jumping up at him, licking his hands, snuffling and thrusting at his sleeve. “You were wrong on both counts, for which I am overjoyed.”
“What happened to you?”
“I will tell you later.” William slumped down on the ground as all the strength left his legs. “But all of the hostels on our itinerary are compromised.” He looked around at his companions, who were staring at him with equal measures of shock and joy. “We must make our way as best we can and be on our guard. They believe we are bearing messages from Rome and Apulia that oppose their rulers—we are in grave danger.”
Eustace handed him a cup of wine laced with sugar.
“I told you we should never have come here,” Ancel said with bitter satisfaction. “We should have sailed direct from Brindisi.”
William drank the wine, and as it burned down his gullet, it gave him strength. “Hindsight is a wondrous thing, Brother,” he snapped. “Eustace says you still have the cloak?”
“Yes…” Pursing his lips, Ancel nodded to the familiar bundle among the baggage.
“Then first thing on the morrow, we shall take it to the great basilica and pray, and then we must leave.” The role of leader settled over him again, and through his exhaustion, he welcomed the familiar comfort of the burden—to be under his own control and not in the power of others.
Ancel gestured to William’s arm as Geoffrey FitzRobert bound and anointed it. “What happened?”
Feeling smirched and embarrassed, William kept the wound turned away from Ancel’s curiosity. “They cut me because I had nothing to tell them, and they wanted to mark me with their symbol to show their power.”
“Bastards,” Ancel muttered.
“It is nothing.” It was like being a branded felon.
“It will soon heal,” Geoffrey said as he finished bandaging the wound.
William pulled his shirt over it and stood up, feeling defensive and uncomfortable. Onri was eyeing him with mistrust that only served to increase his chagrin.
* * *
The great church of Saint Sophia was older and greater than Saint Peter’s in Rome, and entering through its doors was like being engulfed in an enormous reliquary, the lofty interior of its dome covered in golden mosaic, arched with light. Everything shimmered and dazzled. Gold and jewels, crosses and candelabra, the heady smoke trails of sacred incense thickening the air like gauze floating toward heaven and dusting the light. Seated in majesty in the dome of the apse, the Virgin Mary with the infant Jesus on her lap gazed out over all. Her right hand was on the Christ child’s shoulder, and it seemed to William that she was looking down at him with calm and critical evaluation.
Overwhelmed by the opulence and beauty, he fell to his senses and fear. The glorious interior of the church and the horror of what he had endured at the hands of some of the city’s denizens was a contrast beyond comprehension. His injured arm throbbing to the beat of his heart, he struggled to make sense of God and wondered if he was still being punished for Rocamadour even though he was doing his utmost to make it right. Perhaps, indeed, he was being tested and had to prove his mettle. Beneath the Virgin’s stare, he still felt unworthy of forgiveness but even more determined to prove himself. He had been spared, and that was cause for hope.
* * *
Ancel ceased spooning broth into his mouth and glowered at William. “I don’t trust him, Gwim. He’s a shark. We would be mad to cross the water on that thing!”
William swallowed his exasperation. Ever since first light, he and Augustine had been at the waterside, striving to find someone willing
to bear them across the Arm of Saint George, to the trading port on the other side. The prices the boat owners were asking were extortionate, and deliberately so, he suspected. They had been met with hostility and indifference from every person, save for one man in a threadbare tunic with a vessel that reflected its owner’s state of dress. His price was ridiculous for what he was offering, and normally William would not have contemplated such a transaction, but he was desperate to leave this place. If God really did want to forgive him, then let him show it now and let him survive.
Ancel waved his arm. “Look at all the fine ships moored here, all clean and seaworthy. Why can’t we cross on one of those?”
“Do you think I have not tried?” William snapped. “If you can get one of them to take us across, then be welcome. If not, then hold your tongue.”
Ancel continued to scowl. “You would trust all our lives to him and those battered planks?”
“I trust all our lives to God,” William said tightly. “The crossing is less than a mile, and the weather is calm. I would not do this unless I had to—you know I hate the sea—but I will not stay in this place another night.”
Ancel cast his bowl aside. “I wonder what our mother would say if she knew you were putting us all in line to drown. If you expect me to sail on that thing with you, then you are mistaken. I shall go my own way!”
William grimaced at Ancel’s tirade but took it as a positive sign. At least matters were returning to normal if Ancel could harangue him like this, although bringing their mother into the conversation revealed how agitated his brother was, since she was always saved for William’s greatest transgressions. “As you wish, but first you must find someone willing to take you, and then you have to be able to pay their fee. However much you think Augustine and I have been shirking our efforts, you will not find it easy.”
“Money is not much use if you do not reach the other side.”
“I intend to get us all across this water, or that man will die for it.” He nodded at the boat owner, who was making ready to load his rickety vessel with their goods.
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