"I congratulate you, young Elias. And to be truthful, I am a little relieved. You were making us all look really bad."
"So, Black Beast, where have you been keeping yourself?" Ranulf cut in.
"You know each other?" she asked, darting looks at each man in turn.
"Well enough to know what influence a scoundrel can have on a young knight," the big man said. He reached a hand across her and clasped Ranulf's. "After paying for Giuliana, did you have any gold left?"
Ranulf grinned. "Oh, there is always more where that came from." He laughed as Black Beast and a few others near them put their hands to their money pouches. "Don't worry, I'm not the one of my company who can steal in plain view." Stretching his neck, he looked over his neighbors' heads. "There he is over there."
In concert with the other heads about them, she looked where he nodded. There stood Thomas the Silent, his eyes closed and his mouth moving. He was either praying or singing. He certainly was not conversing with anyone.
Ranulf grinned around at them all.
"How do you know each other?" she prompted.
Shrugging, Black Beast supplied, "In some battle or another. Either on the same side or not."
"You don't mind fighting without a cause? Without honor?" she shot at the mercenary, appalled.
He simply cocked his head and smiled. "You mean to say that any soldier fights for something he believes in? Not someone else's cause?"
She glanced at Black Beast who appeared to have nothing to say. "What about this holy pilgrimage?"
A cloud passed quickly across Ranulf's face. Getting his expression in hand swiftly, he shrugged. "There are mitigating circumstances."
The Frankish knight on his other side lowered his voice. "Mainz?"
Elisabeth was astounded by the bitter anger on the usually jesting Ranulf's face.
Jehan rapidly demurred. "Forgive me," he blurted, lowering his gaze.
Ranulf glared at the Frank and moved to where Thomas stood. He roughly prodded the man, who Elisabeth noticed had a hunting bow slung on his shoulder. Thomas looked up startled, then moved as far to the side as was possible. Ranulf squeezed into the tight spot smashed up between protesting men.
"Mainz? The Jews?" she inquired of the Frankish knight.
He muttered, "Nothing." He turned his back on her.
At her questioning look, Black Beast shook his head. "I have heard rumors, but they are so muddled that I dare not spread them. Some say he and his band took part in the massacres. Others said he had a mistress among the Jews and fought the rampaging pilgrims. Still others say he was part of the desecration of the cathedral. I don't know."
All grew silent. Elisabeth gazed out at the coast of Brindisi, which slid by and seemed to grow more distant. It was beautiful in the failing light, she thought. Why is the earth so fair and men's hearts so dark?
Once the light had failed she leaned to Albrecht. "I have to piss," she said in a whisper. "What do I do?"
It was apparent that Albrecht had not thought about the problem any more than she had. "It's dark. Can you just go to the rails?"
She watched other men making their way through the standing crowd. "Where are they going?"
Albrecht stood on the tips of his toes to see what Elisabeth saw. "They are going to the beakhead."
"The beakhead? What is that? And how do you know what it's called?"
"Some squire told me to find a spot up near there, that I would be glad I did. Wait, I see him. He's the big burly fellow, the one climbing out on the beakhead." He watched a moment. "Oh."
"What?" she pressed.
"He's leaning way out to take a piss."
Elisabeth paled. "You have to climb out on that thing to piss?"
Albrecht shrugged. "Well, at least it's more private. I guess that is where you should go."
"And do what?" she demanded irritably. "Pull down my britches and sit with my arse to the sea? Everyone else is facing the other way."
Albrecht replied, "Not everyone. Can't you pretend you have to, you know . . . ?"
"I suppose. I might be able to get away with that in the dark." She started the process of pushing between men and made her way to the beakhead. To a man standing in her way she quipped, "Gotta take a shit. You mind?"
The man moved away from the spot at the fore of the cog. Elisabeth managed to relieve herself without anyone being the wiser.
Back in her old spot, she nodded to Albrecht. "It worked."
"I had an idea about daytime," he whispered as she pressed herself next to him.
"I can try to wait," she suggested.
Albrecht glanced about to see if anyone was regarding them. He shoved something hard against her thigh. "Put this in your britches," he rasped.
"What?" she asked, feeling for whatever it was he was poking her with. It felt like a piece of leather or some other hide. It was about the length and width of her hand. She obediently slipped it under her tunic and shirt and then into her britches.
"Roll it up," Albrecht instructed.
Her eyebrows darted up. "Oh, I get it! Then I just piss through it." She reached in to manipulate the improvised penis.
A man next to her looked her up and down, disgusted. "Can't you do that in private?" he complained as he turned his body so his back was to her.
"I wasn't . . . ," she began. She continued to grapple with the leather piece. She sighed deeply when she was done, then grinned at the man. "There, all done and no accident."
Amazingly the device did the trick. If she could avoid pissing in the daylight she did, but inevitably with the amount of water they all had to drink to survive in the constant sun, she would have to go to the beakhead at some time. She used men's own fear to be tagged as a sodomite against them, glaring and making crude remarks to anyone who seemed to be watching her when she reached into her britches to pull out the device. "See anything you like?" she sneered to one man, who blushed and turned away.
She still got urine on her hose, but some of the men were pissing where they stood, so she smelled better than most.
The voyage saw her and her companions constantly dashing to one side or another to make way for the crew as they grappled with lines, changing the orientation of the one sail to catch the wind, and seemingly constantly in motion, constantly making adjustments to this and that. The result was that Elisabeth and Albrecht found themselves in various parts of the vessel and with new companions. She had a short opportunity to watch the man who hung onto the steering board to help direct their bearing. The rocking motion of the deck actually made standing for hours easier, as shifting to compensate used muscles in her legs and back that should otherwise have cramped.
As the islands south of Greece slid by, Elisabeth admired how the buildings stood so starkly white against the hills behind them. On one occasion she pointed out the ruins of a temple on a summit. Alain, who had managed to worm his way near them, explained about the Ancient Greeks and their gods.
As long as they were following the coast they put in to shore to camp for a night on the beach. Elisabeth found her false penis so convenient, she even used it much of the time they were ashore.
One night ashore dozens of villagers descended on their camp, bringing with them music and a syrupy wine. The young women were dressed gaily if skimpily and proceeded to dance among the campfires. One by one they drew men from the crowd and made them dance with them. Elisabeth was one of the first chosen, and she could tell the bright-eyed woman was hoping for more than the dance. She certainly would have liked to comply, but her luck with the whore in Bologna was unlikely to hold. Finally the young woman danced away to find better prospects.
Elisabeth stood back to watch the merriment, sparing the wine so as not to make some embarrassing mistake. She was taken aback when one of the village men called her over to where a group of them stood with their arms draped over each other's shoulders. They pressed her into the line, and then when the music started, they taught her a line dance with weaving steps. As she mastered them the
music and the dance grew rapid. She threw her head back and roared with laughter, reveling in the freedom of the dance. When it finally ended, she was breathless with exertion but elated to receive the back slaps of the men, not one of whom spared his heartiest blow.
Albrecht grinned when she finally rejoined him at their campfire. "My lord, you could have had your pick of the girls. They have been ogling you since the first one picked you out!"
"What about you? No one catch your eye?" she replied, taking a long draught of the weaker wine he offered her.
"Not ready for that yet," Albrecht replied. "Besides, I don't want to get found out."
"Found out how?" came Black Beast's voice as he slipped in beside Elisabeth.
She forestalled the inquiry by making one of her own. "Now what are you doing here, my lord? Why are you not off along the strand with some big-eyed, big-arsed wench?"
The Beast puffed up his chest and answered, "Oh, I have been. Three times so far."
Elisabeth and Albrecht did their best to look like they believed him.
Chapter Eight ~ The Sublime Port
Whatever wonders of man or God she had witnessed to this point in the pilgrimage, Elisabeth was unprepared for her first sight of that golden city itself. As the ships grew nearer, having passed through the narrow strait called the Hellespont and into the Sea of Marmara, they began to see a massive city. As light dimmed, it became a bejeweled and sparkling eminence in the distance, with the utter blackness of the sea at its base. The hubbub on the ship became louder. Then the vessel seemed to drift to a halt.
"There's an imperial barge approaching," Alain explained.
From where she stood, Elisabeth could see the colorful canopies on the barge but little else. The pilgrim knights grew quiet, with only occasional speculative murmurs. At the fore of the ship a grumbling began just before the barge drew away. One could hear "What is it? What's happening?" called in numerous languages from one section of the passengers to another and then another. The ship was underway, but in no time it was clearly sailing due east and not angling to the city.
By the time the news made it to her spot on the deck, the stories Elisabeth heard had metamorphosed into several versions of whatever the truth was. She and Alain listened and then turned to examine what they heard, sharing their analysis with Albrecht and Black Beast and others nearby.
Alain said, "One thing for sure, we are not putting in to Constantinople. We are being redirected."
"Where?"
"Why?"
"What are they going to do with us?"
Alain waved aside all the questions. "I'm not sure. Something happened, something with the Lombards, that has Emperor Alexios hopping mad."
"That doesn't sound promising," Elisabeth sighed.
Someone from a short distance away called to them, "Nicomedia!"
Alain shook his head and cupped an ear with his hand. "Where?"
"Nicomedia! It's in the Gulf of Izmit."
Alain waved acknowledgement and thanks. "Never heard of it."
"It must be farther east," someone observed. "Not too far, I hope."
"Getting a dry arse might be the least of our troubles," Black Beast scowled.
"I thought Alexios called for pilgrim knights to come to his aid against the Turks," Elisabeth queried.
"If the Lombards have not queered our welcome," Alain put in. "In any case, I suppose we will find out soon. You might want to make sure your armor and weapons are in good order."
Jehan de Liege laughed. "What the salt sea won't damage, the piss all over the deck will."
They sailed steadily east with small boats full of armed men in the Emperor's livery on each side, ensuring they put in only where allowed. Elisabeth watched with regret as the magnificent city grew smaller and smaller as they sailed away.
A terrible stench reached her nostrils as they were guided at last into a port on the north shore of the Gulf of Izmit. The gangplank was hoisted into place, and she and her companions followed the rest of the passengers to and over it onto the quay. There men in armor wielding cudgels directed them with shouts and curses in a company into the town of Nicomedia and thence to a fenced-in camp full of ragtag tents, lean-tos, and less identifiable shelters. The camp was crowded and it became clear immediately that this was where the smell had come from. Elisabeth looked at the camp's people. They were peasants, mostly, a few unhealthy-looking priests, one or two dozen men with partial armor but no weapons. She heard the Lombard dialect of Italian spoken.
"Arêtes!" The word was shouted in French, then repeated in what she took for Greek. It came from the left, down along the stretch of fence that ended a matter of a rod's length down that way.
The pilgrims that had just arrived did not need to be told to stop. They had started to balk when they saw the camp gate opening. Shouts of "No!" and "What's the meaning of this?" accompanied the start of a scuffle up ahead.
The commander of the Byzantine guards shouted the same word she had heard, confirming that it was spoken in Greek, the language of the Byzantine Empire. The tumult died down as a man in full European armor came toward them and approached the guard commander. They proceeded to talk and gesture volubly. Neither Elisabeth nor her companions could make much of it.
At last the commander of the guards threw his hands up and, shouting an order, stalked away. The guards stayed where they were, penning in the large group of newly arrived pilgrims. The man who had argued with the commander turned to them. A number of the higher-ranking pilgrims moved to him and encircled him. Between shouted questions, answers, oaths and lamentations, little appeared to be resolved.
Glancing to her left, Elisabeth noticed Ruggiero, the Italian mercenary, striding to where his companions lolled on the sidelines. Beckoning Albrecht, she made a beeline for the mercenary band.
"Why, if it isn't our old friend Elias von Something," Ranulf called to her. "And his pet man."
"What did you find out, Ruggiero?" she insisted, ignoring Ranulf.
The Italian looked at Ranulf, who nodded. "They wanted to take us into that camp, but the officer up there told them we won't go in until we hear from one of our leaders. And the two Stephens, Odo and Conrad have gone to Constantinople to get an explanation."
"Who are these people?" she demanded. She knew they were the Lombards, but wanted both affirmation and amplification.
Scratching his dark, bushy beard, Ruggiero looked back at the camp where inmates now stood pressed against the fence, shouting a combination of insults, pleas, catcalls, and questions to the newly arrived. "They are the Lombards, the pilgrims who came with the Archbishop. Anselm."
"Why are they imprisoned?" Ranulf asked.
"Well, from what I got they arrived by land a couple months ago, basically stripping the land all along the way to the city. Alexios forced them into a camp near the city walls. They broke out and got into the city and ravaged the place."
"Oh God," Elisabeth moaned.
"It gets worse," said Ragnar as he returned from the same errand as Ruggiero. "They stormed the palace and killed one of the Emperor's lions. They are here and under guard because of that. But what do you expect from a rabble?"
"So Anselm did nothing to prevent it?" Albrecht asked, earning a snort of derision from three of the mercenaries and a derisive shake of the head from Thomas.
"Anyway, the big fellow there says we are not to be housed with the Lombards," Ruggiero added. "The high ups are off to get us allowed to enter Constantinople. We are to be escorted there when they get back."
Ranulf put in acerbically, "If they get back."
The commanders did come back. They had the Byzantine guards help to arrange billets for the mass of the army, shiploads of which continued to arrive. They chose a good-sized company of pilgrim knights to return to Constantinople with them. Elisabeth and Albrecht, as well as Black Beast, Alain and Gerhardt and their squires were included. The mercenaries were not.
It was too far to walk back to the great city, would ha
ve taken far too long even on horseback. The small groups of knights and squires and a few churchmen were escorted to small rowed boats which made better speed.
It was the month of May, but not the May they knew in France or Germany. If it was spring here, it was no spring they recognized. It seemed bone dry and all but lifeless in the intense heat that reflected off the water into their eyes, blinding them.
As they came closer to the magnificent city of Constantinople they began to pass villas with luxurious gardens, exhaling scents and the sound of fountains, refreshing their souls. They were better disposed to goggle at the great marble walls of the Byzantine metropolis as they loomed ever higher before them. Its stones glowed golden in the summer sunlight, the battlements so high above them that they could not distinguish features on the faces of the patrolling guards there. They made landing at an opulent quay, then followed their escort to the imposing fortress.
The foot of the walls was lush all about with food gardens. The common people who bent to their toil stood, stretched their backs and stared at the walking officers who returned their gazes.
For Elisabeth the journey so far had been quite the adventure, her mind always on learning how to behave convincingly like a man, honing her fighting skills, simply taking care of each part of the trip. Now with the walls before her, walls like no city or town or fortress she had ever seen, her mind turned abruptly back to the purpose of this quest. She glanced at Albrecht who walked alongside her carrying her shield and lance. In his eyes she recognized the same realization.
"Are you thinking about, um, you know?" she asked, taking care not to use her brother's name, now ostensibly hers.
She could see from how he dropped his eyes that he was in fact thinking of Elias, his lover. "Yes, and how much he wanted to come here, see this city, then go on to see Jerusalem."
Elisabeth put one hand on his shoulder. "It all just came over me now, the same."
Albrecht nodded and swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. She squeezed his shoulder.
"But," she suggested, "don't you feel him with us? Walking with us and smiling that gleeful smile of his as he tries to see everything at once?"
Beloved Pilgrim Page 14
